#as if he ever has anything even resembling an off day

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Minotaur!König x Ariadne!Reader Theseus is dead. You’re escorting the Minotaur, more beast than a man, out of the Labyrinth. The problem is, he seems to be more interested in what’s between your legs than in his mission of killing the notorious king of Crete… (12 k. Minotaur is not an actual hybrid in this fic. Reader is Hecate’s initiate. Part 1 here.) Tags/warnings: Shameless smut mdni, dubious consent, extremely possessive behaviour, abduction, first time (König & reader are both virgins), hugs & cuddles, washing blood off your monster boyfriend, awkward flirting, semi-rough sex, shifting power dynamics, sexist insults & slurs (the citizens of Crete do not approve of your choices), implied cannibalism, fluffy ending. Mythical AU.

The candle goes out before you reach the surface.

To someone else, it would be the end of the world: to you, it’s only a hindrance, a nuisance, mostly. 

You’re not easily distressed. If you were, you wouldn’t be in the service of the greatest goddess of the Underworld. And you’re not mourning losing the sight of your warmly illuminated beast... You’re only worried about what he will do once the darkness descends. Whether he will forget about his vow, whether the baser instincts take over him once the darkness falls.

And darkness is not capable of making you lost: you can always follow the string in your hand. But without light, it’s difficult to predict the Bull’s moves: whether he decides to maim or fuck you against the wall, you can never tell. He hasn’t lived in the real world among people; he doesn’t know what’s right or wrong and what’s expected of him. Even the best of men can succumb to the demands of the flesh, so what power would a Bull Man have against his animal wants? No one ever taught him to respect the gods, let alone the maidens who serve them...

Then again, if a simple candle was the only thing that kept you alive, then what’s the point of lamenting the loss of it? Your life was already forfeit when you chose to descend here.

So you let it go: as always, the greatest lesson in life is to simply let go. Of control, of judgment, of fear, of hope. 

He doesn’t say a thing when the light flickers, then fades. The candle goes out in silence, and you let it drop before the remaining wax burns your palm.

And it’s not the absence of light, but strength, that forces you on your knees before even an hour has passed. There’s still a long way to go, and the yarn is like a thin string of hope in your hand, but you’re too exhausted, too worn out, too hungry and too tired to go on.

The Bull Man doesn’t object to your suggestion to lay down and sleep for a while. He has walked behind you in silence the whole day. Or night… You can’t tell the difference; you lost count somewhere along the way down here. The air is stale and humid, and there’s no torch, not a single candle anywhere and even if there were, you wouldn’t do anything with them without a flint. 

The horror is kept at bay only through your numerous exercises with the goddess who introduced you to darkness many, many moons ago. You were initiated during the dark Moon, the new Moon, the blood Moon, introduced to the mysteries of the maiden, mother and crone, to the secrets of both the living and the dead. You’re not afraid, but your body still warns you of danger: you just don’t know if it’s a memory from childhood or a reaction to the Bull, panting behind you – out of lust or exertion, you don’t even know. Someone who wasn’t a maiden probably could tell… At times, you curse the fact that there hasn’t been a single phallus inside you because men too possess knowledge. Taking a man into your bed would have initiated you to a different set of mysteries, but now, you are poking blind. 

The Bull Man is an animal, you remind yourself. The longer you stay in his company, the more he starts to resemble a human, even if he is a man of few words. How he even remembers them is another mystery: you thought he was sent down here as a young boy. He speaks oddly but eloquently, a remnant of his noble descent, perhaps. Or perhaps he has listened to the people speaking in the Labyrinth, eavesdropped his victims an hour or two before killing them. Whatever the reason, you have to constantly tie your tongue because there’s simply no point in talking to a beast. The less you know about him and his past, the better.

You ready yourself for sleep, but the cursed cold of the tunnels keeps your body awake. Your flesh is human even if your mind is forged to withstand hunger, thirst and pain. Endurance against cold was never your strong suit, and you miss the heat of the sun, the warmth of it on your skin, even the ample light it gives. You, a lover of the moon, missing the heat of Apollo… It’s a joke, surely.

On the stone floor, it’s even colder, the rough, damp ground making your very bones ache. How on Hecate’s name has the beast survived this place?

“Bull Man,” you speak into the darkness, thick like an impenetrable wall and thin like a virgin’s veil.

“Maiden,” he echoes with a dark, low growl, slightly amused by the name you’ve selected for him.

“Are you cold?” You whisper.

Perhaps he doesn’t quite understand the question or why you asked it. It doesn’t matter: you have to swallow your pride and ask for his help if you’re going to survive this dark prison.

“I don’t get cold,” he finally responds.

“Good. I need your heat.” 

The silence drags on, and you fear he has misunderstood you again, but then he speaks again, with the same slightly amused tone as before.

“Come take it.”

You’re not sure if you’ve completely lost your mind, crawling to him through the uneven floor of the Labyrinth. Who knows what he will do to you once he gets those arms of iron around you? You’re placing your maidenhood, your whole body at his mercy. And you’re not even sure if it’s a he, if this thing is human at all. 

Human or animal, your hand meets the bull’s head on the way to him. He has taken it off, then... It’s not a part of him, just like you suspected. Maybe he is just a giant, daunting man, born from whatever forbidden desire Pasiphae had. Who knows if she only went to a foreign lover’s arms when her husband was at war? Who knows if King Minos has trouble getting his phallus up… These things happen: women get pregnant from their lovers, they do desperate things to pacify their husbands. And you don’t need a bull to get yourself an heir...

You feel his heat before you feel his skin: the Minotaur is verily blazing. He has gotten used to the cold, it seems, his body like a small bonfire in the clammy tunnel. 

“Cold little female,” he comments when you snuggle towards him shyly, thoroughly aware of the uninviting chill of your body. 

You settle next to him, every muscle in your body tight like a bowstring, your breaths shallow when he gives you a welcoming rumble. Goosebumps prickle across your skin and your throat goes dry, the thick swallow in the tunnel echoing around you like a thief.

Arms like iron go around you, and his body is taut, just like yours, but for a whole different reason entirely. He’s not afraid or nervous; he’s just… big. Pure muscle, his whole body thick, the stock and heat of him remind you of the sun. A miniature sun down here in these dark tunnels, but while you start to slowly soften in his arms, a different threat is already emerging. It doesn’t take long before his cock stiffens against you, and with the scarce clothing you both have, you can feel its every excited twitch.

Artemis… Protect me from this beast. Turn him into a dog if he tries to penetrate me. Let him rip my throat instead… 

You’ve never prayed to the Virgin Goddess; you don’t know if she can even hear you from down here. But Hecate would only laugh if this Bull decided to breed you. No mercy would arrive from that direction: she would either send a disease of blisters upon the Minotaur for touching her chosen or then she would cackle like an old woman, thousand times raped.

“Thank you,” you whisper, hoping your kindness will distract him from what’s happening downstairs.

“My pleasure,” he grumbles, mimicking the words he probably heard as a child in his father’s great hall. 

It sends a chill down your spine and butterflies into your heart to hear him speak like a polite man of court. And again, you think of asking him about his childhood... His mother, his father, the things he remembers from the surface. How he survived here without water, if there are underground springs here somewhere. Whether he eats humans like they say... If he ever embraced the dead women he killed. 

“Can you do it again,” he rumbles against you, cutting you away from your grotesque thoughts.

“...Do what again?” 

“Touch me… With your hand.”

His words are blunt now, his speech clumsy. But the way he says it is not an order. It’s an odd beg, more like. Laced with hope and wishes far away from greed. This Bull is never greedy, per se… He’s just lacking. Starved, for so many things that you fear there’s not enough time nor kindness to give him what he needs.

Your pulse flutters when you slowly lift your hand and caress the strong cords of muscle that make his neck. The rumbling returns; it turns into a low purr as the beast relaxes under your touch. Something softens inside you when he sighs from relief. His unbridled happiness tugs at your heart, trying to yank open something forbidden. It’s the softest violation you’ve ever felt: to be held by a giant killer having a roaring erection, while the said killer clearly enjoys your caress like it’s the touch of Aphrodite herself…

You even stroke his face. His jaw, unclenching under your touch; his cheek, covered with what you suppose is simply a wild, overgrown beard. 

“Your hand,” he groans softly, “makes me sleepy and warm…”

The cold, uncaring goddess recedes. The burdens of past, present and future dissolve. Softness takes place in your heart; the iron locks give in like brittle brass. A smile plays on your lips as you continue to pet him softly, lulling you both to sleep with your voice.

“Then sleep, Bull of Crete...”

���

You wake up to his cock pressing against you.

Not against your stomach like when you went to sleep – that you could do with – but against your cunt, barely veiled by the thin linen of your dress.

The panic is soon wrestled down with reason: you tell yourself it’s just a cock. It’s just him. You’re simply in the Minotaur’s arms, and he’s sound asleep still; there’s no reason to buck and jerk and scream. 

The darkness feels like a safe womb now, but with nothing to lock your gaze to, you have to take a moment to ground yourself into reality. And the first thing you ground into is a thick cockhead, pressing fast into your nether lips. He’s practically at the gates, and you’re lucky he’s still asleep.

It’s perhaps your fault this happened in the first place: you notice you’ve dragged your thigh over his hip; as if wanting him to fuck you in your sleep… You embrace him like Helen of Troy, and he holds you through his sleep like a man in love, perfectly content with napping on the cold ground with you.

“Mm…” The beast stirs, probably noticing how the female in his arms is tense as a rod. “You smell like you want to fuck…”

“No I don’t,” you hurry to whisper.

Gods curse this man’s ability to smell everything from miles away. Blood and humans and, apparently, a woman at her most receptive. 

What if he can actually smell the wetness between your legs?

“We need to go,” you slowly remove your leg from on top of his waist, hoping it would go unnoticed that you were clutching him like a lover. You have no such luck: he grabs your thigh and draws it back, sets it safe and snug around his waist while adjusting his grip on you, now hugging you entirely like a lover would.

“I want to mate with you,” he says softly. “You want to mate too. Why go?”

He sounds so adorable when he’s still in the process of waking up to a new day. Drowsy and sweet, voice husky from sleep, body warm as can be, the hard-on between his legs happy and stiff.

“I thought you wanted to kill the king,” you try to point out. 

“This is more important,” he gruffs. “Urgent.”

The cock pushes further up and against you, now spreading your folds under the dress, trying to penetrate into your heat. Your eyes go wide as thick need pools down to meet his greed. His body, his cock makes your head go dull for a moment; you feel like you’re not even capable of thinking actual thoughts.

“No, it’s not. We need to get up.”

You stiffen in his arms, push yourself away, and to your surprise, he actually lets you go. Reluctantly and with a hollow grunt, but he lets you go. 

You rise with a wobble, and adjust your dress, your head spinning from his advances. You swear he becomes more man-like every day, every passing hour, even. Or is it just you who’s changing…? 

The Bull Man is up before you get to ponder on that thought for too long. Your heart and head struggle to find their footing for a moment, your legs are so weak you feel like fainting. He catches you before you fall, the warm, thick arms closing around you with stout affection.

“You need more heat?” He asks softly.

You look up out of habit, even if you can't see his eyes, covered by the carcass again because his voice is muffled.

“No… I’m hungry.”

He’s silent for a moment, probably thinking what he could do to help the situation. You fear he will suggest you go back to visit his “pantry” and eat whatever horrible, half-rotten man-flesh he might have in store there, but he only holds you close to prevent you from sliding back to the ground.

“Hmm. No mice up here,” he ponders. 

“You eat mice…?”

“Sometimes.”

You leave it at that: you don’t want to know what he’s had to do to sustain himself down here. You don’t even have a fire to cook the vermin, even if you would be ready to eat even those after another day or two without food. 

“Not a long way up,” he says. “We will reach the sun soon. Then I’ll find you something to eat.”

“How do you know that…?”

“The air smells different.”

You sigh and search for the string, your lifeline to the outside world. You can’t wait to get out of here, and with both hurry and an odd dread, you hike for what seems like another whole day. Tension, hunger and thirst distort your thoughts, and you’re sure by now that the time flows differently here in the Underworld. With no small amount of pride, you feel accomplished to have survived this place so far. Even gods have had to do some tricks to escape the nether worlds: it is no small feat to charm the Minotaur and then walk out of here unharmed. 

To your knowledge, you’re the only one who has ever escaped the Labyrinth. You haven’t even had time to think about what you will unleash with you… The demon that walks on your heels will take his revenge, not only on the king but on the city who threw him here. 

Well. It’s their problem now. Minos and Pasiphae simply have to deal with their successor. The world will simply have to deal with the Underworld’s wrath. 

And oh, how Hecate would laugh if she saw this monster prince of Crete escape his prison because of you – the feared Minotaur set free, only because he’s mesmerized by a woman. You suspect he would have his cock jumping for any girl, though. It's not because you're an exceptional sorceress that he follows you: it's your cunt he's after. And it shouldn’t make you feel jealous that he probably gets distracted the moment he sees a better offer walk by.

But it does. In your darkest wishes, you would keep the Bull Man all to yourself. Get him a leash, perhaps... Feed him with your own hands and let him grope you in the dark, watch him go wild from lust when you finally give him access to your cunt. 

Many would hardly think you’re a virgin if they took a peek inside your head. But the things you’ve seen and done, the white bulls you’ve slaughtered for the dark Goddess, adorning them with cypress wreaths before slashing their throats open, would turn any woman bleak and twisted like this. For once, you would like to save the bull from slaughter.

When you see the first evidence of light, your body lets out a sigh it has been holding ever since you arrived here. Seeing the sun gives you more strength than any food or meal, and you pick up your pace while the Minotaur behind you begins to hesitate. 

“It’s too bright,” he says before you’ve even walked out of the tunnel, now turning into a vast cave, the entrance to the Labyrinth. 

You turn around to look and stop in your tracks when you see the fear in his eyes is acute. It’s mixed with wonder, the curiosity wrestling away doubt slowly but surely. He only needs a little nudge, a gentle pull, an enticing little smile and eyes that he can trust.

“You’ll get used to it soon,” you extend your hand. 

He takes a step, then another, then another, until he reaches your outstretched fingers, and hand in hand you walk out of the Labyrinth and into the bright morning sun, burning over the kingdom of Crete.

He’s only a breath away from panicking, but covers it well. You wonder if it’s truly the light that’s too bright or if the feeling of being so exposed is what makes him so afraid. Clearly, the vast space opening up before him is intimidating. 

There are grassy plains as far as the eye can see, little hills that dot the horizon, and skies so expansive and bright it must hurt his eyes. Goats are grazing under the sun, trees are bending in the wind, the rustling of leaves and the sound of birds calling him to look in all directions as he tries to make some sense of his surroundings.

“It’s alright,” you give his palm a soft squeeze, and the way he looks there under the sun, so big and powerful and able, and still so utterly lost, is giving you heartache you haven’t known since you were a child.

“There’s… so many colours,” he says, looking at the blue summer sky, the deep olive greens, the dirty whiteness of the goats, the flowers upon the grass. A butterfly, flying past, yellow like the citrus that people harvest from a few miles from here. A big blackbird with an orange beak, swooping down to catch a cricket, the slate grey pigeons flying so close to the sun that he has to shield his eyes even if they’re already safe and sheltered under the bull head.

Seeing his wonder and awe makes you look at the scenery so differently that it burns, it actually hurts: there’s so much beauty in the world, and you have always taken it for granted. Cursed the rain and the storms, cursed the droughts, cursed the gods for sending down another famine, when in truth, the world was filled with abundance, of colours, of life and joy… And all you’ve done is worship darkness. Now the darkness is out: it’s standing next to you, watching the view of your mundane everyday life like it’s nothing short of a miracle.

And when you turn back to look at him again, his eyes are upon you.

“What?” You ask, freshly caught in your moment of weakness.

“You are pretty,” he says, eyes wrinkling with delight under the mask. 

Gods damn him… 

He doesn’t know that human men don’t act like this, talk like this, or if they do, there’s usually something vile involved behind it all. He doesn’t know how to play games, he was never introduced to the lies and deceit of the world.

The Bull of Crete only looks at you with soft fondness in his stare – he doesn’t understand that he should cover that softness as well if he intends to win. Any woman could put a leash on him before another moon has passed, but he doesn’t seem to care. And it’s not even heat or hunger that makes you weak this time... It’s those eyes, looking at you with more and more warmth.

“Nonsense,” you huff without a voice, and turn towards the old road with an adoring bull on your heels.

The cold sigh of the underworld is quickly left behind you as you walk up the old carriage road, nearly grown in with weeds. The Labyrinth is located miles away from civilization, but the people living in these hills are used to the cold cave by now. They trust that the Minotaur will never escape and only turn away their heads and close the doors of their huts when the screaming, crying human sacrifices are delivered to the mouth of the cave. Little do they know that the monster is now looking at their little hills and goats with delight, not bloodlust.

For the Minotaur is fascinated with your world: he has to touch every leaf, every tree, every blade of grass, it seems. The goats are afraid of him, but one small nanny is bold enough to come and sniff his hand. Perhaps it remembers that beings walking on two feet give her apples sometimes, and the giant studies this small white animal with gentle curiosity, allows the goat to smell his hand, only chuckles when the goat gives out a little scoff when she notices there are no treats to be found there.

The vision is more adorable than when you’ve seen children play with kittens, and no matter what you do, you can’t turn your heart into ice anymore. You were taught that the Minotaur is a monster who enjoys torturing his victims, creatures far more helpless than him. Now you see him watching the she-goat with warm curiosity, rumbling softly inside his helm, far from the ravaging beast that approached you in that tunnel what seems like months ago.

You watch him with tender sadness as he marvels at the sky and remembers how he used to sit in the shade of an olive tree when he was a child. He goes to sit there now and examines how the sun filters through the massive branches of the tree as if trying to recall the memory. 

He asks questions like: “How can you humans stand this heat?” or “Why is there only one road?” and listens to your answers carefully.

He says he can smell the sea, even if the salty water is miles and miles away, and gets curious about what’s behind that hill, or that one, what about that one… You wonder if he’s even interested in killing the king anymore and suggest that he could just forget about this cruel place and buy himself a sea voyage with that expensive sword. He could get rid of his helmet and ask if anyone needs a goat herd or an able-bodied man to help at construction sites or stables; he could get work from the docks any day, sail to Athens or some other big city, forge himself a new life. 

But he doesn’t want to.

He says he has to avenge his mother who always cried when he was little.

More wretched tugs pull at your heart as you approach the city. The lovely summer’s day turns into a nightmare once people see who’s on his way to the heart of Crete.

You don’t understand their screams, not anymore, while only a few days ago you knew they preceded death. The Minotaur doesn’t kill anyone, mainly because he doesn’t have to. Everyone flees before his wake, people rush to their homes and bar the doors, even soldiers slip away to be with their loved ones or run to warn the king if they have any loyalty left. 

You’re left to walk through the marketplace in settling dust and tense silence as the Bull Man explores the abundant samples of food on display. He has to have a taste of everything from all stands, but only after he has offered figs, olives, grain, grapes, grilled meat and fish to you first.

“Eat,” he says and shoves a handful of pine seeds your way. “You were hungry?”

“This is not the way to–” you ignore the food only through sheer willpower. “This is not right. People own these things. They sell them at the market, you need to pay for these.”

“Pay? With what?”

He looks at you for a moment, unable to recall what money is and how these things are supposed to work. He probably had his mother’s servants bring him everything he needed as a child anyway, so how could he know? 

“They will take your hands for stealing,” you try to explain with softly building despair.

“I will take their heads before that.”

“The next king will hunt you down and punish you,” you rush after him, and when he won’t listen, you seize his hand and finally get him to halt. He looks down at the weak palm around his wrist, then raises his gaze to you.

“Bulls don’t have kings.”

Your attempts to tame him are futile. The things they’ve taught him to be are now being used as a way to escape responsibility, and while it’s none of your business, you refuse to let him believe that he is nothing more than an animal.

“You are not a bull,” you wail in frustration. “You’re a man.”

He hesitates, only for a moment; the gentle, loving gaze makes your legs weak.

“You’re the first to think that.” 

Then he rips himself away from you, softly but sternly.

He doesn’t need directions to the palace: he knows he has to head for the most prominent building in the city to reach the king. The grandiose heart of Crete, white-chalked and beautiful under the burning midday sun is the pride of every citizen, even if it houses another monster.

You sigh as you watch him go: the Bull Man, the demon of the underworld, the one you thought would rape you bloody before you get to crawl out of the Labyrinth. The fact that he wanted to kill his father more than he wanted to be born again into a new life wasn’t a surprise, but that he chose to bloody his sword rather than his cock is somehow... insulting, almost. 

What actually haunts you is how your insides coil and turn when you rush back to your temple. It’s not like you thought the Minotaur would take you with him. Board some trade ship bound for distant shores, and ravage you ever so softly in the belly of the creaking hull. It’s not like you dreamed of petting him to sleep while you two embark on a new life. But the way your heart twists and wails inside your chest makes it clear that losing him is even more painful than losing Theseus and the life he promised you. 

You never even wanted Theseus; you only wanted him to take you away from here. His affection would have been the result of ample witchcraft at best.

He’s practically already dead, and your heart turns to stone far more slowly than you would prefer. It’s just your luck to first have the golden hero of Greece look down on you in disdain, and then witness even the Bull Man walk away from you like you never meant anything to him. Men killing each other is the oldest story in the world, and you want no part in it, but something in this beast has stirred you awake from a long, cold slumber. It’s infuriating that you can’t dispel a simple animal from your heart. Oldest story in the book, that one, too…

But oh, how you now yearn after some cruel, lowly, dirty beast… The Minotaur already owns you, and he never even had to plunge his sword inside you to prove that. Besides, you would’ve been perfectly willing had he decided to take you on the green grass, under the vast sky, while some noisy goats graze around you. You realize that that’s what you expected to happen, and when it didn’t, you’re left more than disappointed: you're left completely hollow. You always find out these things a little too late, it seems… The Bull is headed for the palace and will likely get killed after he slaughters his cruel father. There’s at least thirty spears in that building, and more will arrive when called.

You arrive at the temple, panting and with your body flushed and weak. The maidens at the entrance share a quick glance with each other before turning their fearful gazes back to you. They’re the youngest arrivals, not even initiates yet; one of them hardly even bleeds. 

“The King is dead,” you announce without bothering to even greet them, and the girls huddle up together like they’re a bunch of slaves about to get slapped.

You realize you must look like an animal with your dirty robes, dishevelled hair and your wild, alive stare. No wonder they look like they’ve seen a ghost... You basically are one, coming back from the dead like this.

“What?” 

A priestess arrives at the threshold like an image of Hecate herself, dressed in robes as black as the midnight sky, but you don’t shy away from her like you used to.

“Or he will be. Soon. The Minotaur is here.” 

“How did you… How did it...”

You’ve never seen the priestess in disarray. She’s always composed, cold and distant, but seeing you like the wraith that you are, freshly escaped from the Labyrinth, spat back from the bowels of the earth like the dark gods didn’t even want you there, makes even the greatest of Hecate’s servants a little uneasy. 

She gathers what’s left of her dignity and finds her most commanding voice. Sadly, it doesn’t have the power to shake the ground anymore.

“Where is Theseus of Athens?”

“Disemboweled… is my best guess,” you say in a listless voice, then turn your head toward the smell of fresh fruit.

Normally, you would walk these halls with dignity, but now, you simply barge in and grab the first piece of food you find. You ought to get whipped for your insolence, but no one dares to raise a hand against you. The maids and priestesses stare in shock as you eat and drink like a starved prisoner. You’re a living Hecate in certain aspects, your arrival the first toll of the bell of doom as the palace guards sound the alarm.

So…

The Minotaur has reached the king.

…

The priestesses deem it only logical that the King finally pays for his sins: the gods have been offended by the number of human sacrifices sent to the Labyrinth, and this is their way of exacting revenge. You were only an instrument of their will.

After a quick wash and some more food, you begin to feel like a human again. The maids bring you a new chiton, flowing and white: your old clothes are burned in a brazier as if that would help you forget.

And this might be the only place you don’t get blamed for unleashing a monster. You were at a crossroads with the Minotaur, and anyone would have done the same: try to talk him out of his killing spree, calm him down, entice him with a gift. No one expected that the beast could even speak, so your approach was unusual, perhaps, but it worked. Hecate guided you through the tunnels, even when the candle went out, she stilled the Bull’s loins until you reached the sunlight where the beast got distracted with other things. You leave out the Minotaur's attraction to birds, bees and butterflies because your story is unbelievable enough as it is.

But the Minotaur will be slain after he has done his deed: Minos is the one who should be punished, not the city of Crete. And it is only just to put down this beast, a mercy.

So when he appears between the pillars of temple, this time wholly covered in blood, people are bound to scream. Even the priestesses who are used to seeing blood, shriek like widows when the Minotaur steps inside the holy shrine of Hecate.

“Where is the maiden of the crossroads?”

He came back for you, after all…

The boom of his voice is familiar, and yet, you cower on the bench when you hear it. The Minotaur sounds like he’s an envoy of Hades himself, and while you’re not among those who scream and yell, it still sends shivers down your spine to hear him speak like that.

Or is it the excitement, a tiny flame of hope that makes you quiver like this?

“We all belong to the goddess,” someone peeps, the Minotaur now descending down the stairs.

The massive head turns, gaze like razor sweeping across the marbled shrine. You’re so far back that he can’t catch you, sitting behind many bodies and faces, and before you can force yourself to rise, the main priestess, the oldest, most crooked of the crones, steps forth to meet this beast.

“This is a House of Hecate,” she speaks. “No man is allowed to enter unless they are Death.”

The black carcass turns, but the priestess doesn’t waver. If anything, her spine turns into unbreakable metal before this man’s gaze.

“I am Death,” he says, far more gently than anyone would expect. Then he walks past the crone like she’s just a harmless elder. No one does a thing, because even the head of your temple is powerless now.

“She had a red string and a candle. Where is she?”

He grabs the first woman he sees, and you rise up before he decides it’s time to thrust his blade into someone to loosen the tongues of these women. 

“Please,” you take a hesitant step towards your Bull. “I’m here... I’m the one you’re looking for.”

The Minotaur lets go of the frightened initiate the instant he sees you. She’s shoved aside with little interest, the blue eyes behind the corpse now solely fixed on you. The way they soften into hazy ice makes your knees weak – that’s the stare of someone who recognizes their loved one among a thick, dull crowd…

“Come with me,” he extends a hand when he reaches you, strong legs swallowing tiles like he’s in a hurry to get back to you. You open your mouth, close it, and look at his hand, the rough, enormous palm held out for you to place your own little hand in.

“You belong to me,” he says with great weight when you don’t speak. It should spark the ire of the goddess for him to dare to talk to you like this… But mostly, your body sings. It tells you to take a step and take his hand: to let him have you, once and for all. 

“My place is here,” you utter, all power gone from your voice. All your dreams, all your fears are offering their hand to you with his, and the maidens, mothers and crones of this hall look upon your exchange with the Bull Man in stupefied silence. 

“You were sent down to me,” he presses on. “You are mine now. You belong to me.”

Your body is singing, singing, singing.

It’s not a request… Or a proposal. 

It’s a god, taking what’s his.

…

You swallow with nothing in your throat and look at the head priestess with helpless misery: she looks back with the eyes of a noxious Medusa, wholly dispassionate to the problems you brought upon yourself. And what could she even do? She’s unarmed against the claims of Hades: Death is now in love with you, and there’s nothing you or anyone else can do about it. 

He doesn’t want to stay in the city, as enchanting as it is, saying that it stinks and that he’s tired of the screams. No one wants him here; he already knows that, and the task he was meant to do is done. He doesn’t seem to be much moved by it either, only asking you if there is a place where he can wash the blood off himself. 

People become more bold when they see you walk out of the city. Not even the sight of a crimson demigod makes them watch their tongues. Insults and slurs follow you through the streets, shouts such as “Kingslayer!” and “Beast!” are accompanied with curses such as “You are an abomination!” and “Go back to your lair!” 

No one treats him as their prince and savior, no one sees him as the man he truly is. And because hatred thickens in crowds, you get your share of the insults as well. 

What kind of a woman would follow a beast like him? Have you sold your soul to the demons of the desert, or has Hades himself forced you to be with this monster? Are you behind the murder of their king?

“Must I remind you?” You turn on your heels, standing tall and proud with the posture of a queen. “According to the old laws, the one who slays the king is the next to rule.” 

“You led him out of the Labyrinth, didn’t you?” the voices ask.

“Gave him your cunt, too,” they sneer.

“You’re worse than the bloody Gorgon,” they mock, but you have a thick skin: if anything, you take it as a compliment to be referred to the mighty slayers of men.

What cuts through your heart is the filth and hate they spit at him, the man who has known nothing but loath since he was born. 

“Hecate’s whore… I should kill you first,” one soldier shouts with spit running down his chin.

The citizens of Crete would never hail the Minotaur as their king, but none can say the deed didn’t prove great strength. Some would even call it justice. He is the queen’s son, after all: he’s more royal than any of these dung-stinking peasants will ever be. He should never have been sent down to those tunnels in the first place.

Before you know it, the Minotaur swoops past you in haste, diving towards the screaming crowd with hunched shoulders and a fiery breath.

“Stop,” you say, and he halts immediately, gaze still directed to the one who called you a whore. The soldiers back away along with the peasants and tradesmen, these poor, humble Cretes who act like they never meant to be so mean.

“Let us go in peace,” you command, voice unwavering and stern. “Or I will curse you all. You and your families, down to the seventh son and seventh daughter.”

That manages to shut them up. The threat of a curse frightens these poor beasts even more than the enraged Minotaur breathing fire through his helm. No one wants rot and puke to follow them wherever they go; no one wants to doom their offspring with illness, death and sorrow. They disperse in all directions and only hiss and whisper as they go.

You spit on the ground as your last gift to these people, leaving the city of Crete with the ever-adoring Bull at your heels.

“You’re even prettier when you’re angry,” he says while walking next to you, voice thick with genuine passion and awe.

You roll your eyes: any man would cower before Hecate’s curse, but this one? This one only gets more horny. 

“Perhaps you are part bull after all,” you retort dryly.

“It takes more than one spear to kill me,” he boasts, but you don’t need more proof of his prowess. Surely, people have tried to kill him in the Labyrinth, but he’s survived every single attempt on his life – for that alone, he should be a decorated hero.

The only thing that makes you annoyed, however, is this childish need to prove he could’ve taken the whole city by himself just because some man happened to call you a slut.

“Mother said I’m a monster instead of a man,” he says, completely unaware that your snap wasn't meant as a compliment. He says it like he’s partly proud of it, and you finally sigh and turn. 

“Your mother was heartless. And wrong.”

The Minotaur only looks at you with a building passion that goes straight to your loins.

“But you’re not.”

“...What?”

“Heartless.”

You feel stripped naked before him, the way his eyes seem to burn away your poor dress. But the fact that he unearths your most guarded secret, just like that, is a catastrophe of a far wider scale.

You’re not sure who’s tied to whom anymore… Or if you’re tied to each other, the gods now laughing in their wine as they look down at you two: a fierce and bloodied giant following the maiden he stole like it’s you who took him and not the other way around.

You reach the roaring waters of a waterfall in silence, the night wrapping the lands inside a dark blue veil. Stars will be visible soon, and with the moon creeping up to the sky, you won’t be needing candles tonight. The silver mistress gives plenty of light for you to admire your beast, and compared to the thick darkness of the tunnels you emerged from this morning, it feels like a generous blessing.

You sit on the banks of the small, clear pond, utterly exquisite at nightfall. The sun’s heat has turned into a warm, caressing breeze, and you submerge your feet into the water, giving out a satisfied sigh as the cool pond embraces your travel worn feet. The Bull sinks to a crouch some distance away from you, curious about your obvious moment of pleasure.

“Did you meet her…? Your mother?” You ask from the cool water lapping at your feet – how can a simple man make you feel so restless and shy?

“Did you… kill her?” 

“She cursed me,” he says, sullen and wholly unsurprised. Time and time again, you are shocked by the hatred his own kin shows him. How can a mother be so cruel?

“How could I kill my own maker?”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “For everything.” 

You swallow before such unwavering love. The same man who cursed the gods yesterday  honours the womb he came from so much that he won’t raise a hand against it, not even when his own mother spits curses at him. You don’t know if it’s his greatest strength or biggest weakness, but sometimes you wonder if he’s more human than humans, this beast.

“I’m not,” he retorts immediately. “The king is dead. Mother is safe. I have you... This is the best day of my life.”

You turn to look at him. Time and again, the lack of lies and deceit in this man catches you off guard. It’s more painful than any wound, to see how the Minotaur has no protective skin against the corrupted human nature, that he is human nature before it was defiled.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” you falter. 

The chiton pools around your ankles, and you wonder if the man even breathes anymore. You know your skin is glowing with the last rays of the setting sun, you’re aware that the water and moonlight play upon your skin and make you look like an illusion, powerful in its own way.

When have you ever faltered…? Back when you were a little girl, you reckon, the notion euphoric and eerie in your bones.

You rise up and undress before him nonchalantly, trying to ignore the fervid stare of your admirer. Unclasping the brooches holding up your white linen dress, you let it fall down and set you free, secretly reveling in the downright carnal stare now glued to your skin. 

Ripe for plucking, you think while stepping out of the pile of cloth and into the thin evening air. His gaze feasts on you: the plump breasts no one ever loved, the vulnerable navel down below, the dark triangle between your legs, the secret power it holds.

Heat pools into your core as you watch him: everything in your body turns warm and soft when you take in the utter heftiness of him. The mean, swelling phallus between his legs, the near inhuman strength those shoulders and chest possess. Your body is the complete opposite of him, ethereal, almost, compared to the absolute brute strength before you. 

His eyes linger there the longest until he rises too, stiff and dreamy, a beast entirely taken by a thrall. The loincloth is practically torn away, as if it’s only a nuisance he must get rid of immediately. His eyes never leave your shape while he bares himself, and the phallus, you notice, belongs to a human. It’s thick and wondrous, fully erect, adorned with dark curls and accompanied by a set of balls you’ve mainly seen on horses. Big, full and round but unlike animals, they’re covered in dark fur, almost black here in the evening light. Thick seed beads through the slit of his cock from simply seeing you, and the way his chest heaves makes it clear that this man is ready to mate as soon as he’s allowed to do so. 

“You need to take off your helm,” you lift your chin, thoroughly aware of your power over him, even if it’s laughable, a miracle that he doesn’t fuck you on the spot like the animal he is. “You’re a man, not a bull.”

His eyes don’t betray any kind of hesitation. He doesn’t seem to be interested in whether he wears his mask or not. He just blinks as if he’s indeed under a spell and nods.

“If you say so.”

The broad muscles flex as he takes it off, and what is revealed to you from underneath the head is both a surprise and a disappointment. There’s not a monster under there, only a man, a stoic, boorish, shaggy male who’s in desperate need of a wash and a comb. He’s somewhat handsome under all that facial hair and knots, actually, not bad at all – if you like your men rugged and wild. 

He lets the head drop to the ground with a thud as if it was never a part of him at all, and follows you into the pool like you’re his mother and he’s your cub about to get scrubbed clean. 

He seems to dwarf you, even when half submerged in the pond, leaning back with a sigh not unlike yours. If you’re afraid, your body has a peculiar way of showing it: even in the clear, glossy water, you can feel yourself get wet. Never have you seen such strength, not in any man: in horror and awe, you realize he could be a descendant of Zeus himself. As if providing proof to these claims, he looks up to the sky, mesmerized by the myriad stars dotting the vast, unattainable blue.

Using this momentary distraction to your advantage, you reach to pluck a handful of moss from the bank. With this soft little sponge in your hand, you hope to make it clear that this is indeed a bath, not foreplay. 

“They’re stars,” you say softly while slinking closer to him. “Have you ever seen them...?”

“Yes,” he rasps with his head lolled back, throat completely exposed. It always hurts your heart to see that he trusts you so fully. You are no threat to him – even if the gods changed the moss in your hand into a weapon of some sort, you wouldn’t pose any kind of challenge. And still, the way he allows you to creep towards him and wipe his rough hide with the makeshift sponge without so much as flinching is heartbreaking. 

“I have forgotten…” his voice drifts off as he examines the night sky, eyes filled with distant, glass-like delight.

“Beautiful, aren’t they...?” 

“Your world is pretty,” he brings his gaze back to earth and to you. “But you’re the loveliest thing I’ve seen so far.”

You almost freeze upon hearing that. His compliments always catch you off guard, but this time, something forbidden and long forgotten comes undone: a lost want, no, a need to hear such simple words of shallow praise.

“You do not scream... You do not run. Why?”

Your eyes are liquid, glass about to break as you set yourself on the task of scrubbing him clean. You refuse to get emotional in front of him: an initiate of the dark goddess, shedding tears when a horny man calls her pretty? What utter nonsense.

But then he grabs your wrist: not to seize back power, but to prevent you from escaping this fragile moment.

“You are different,” he agrees calmly, then releases you, but you reckon it’s mostly because he misses the soft rubs you were giving him. 

“Perhaps I’m crazy,” you breathe while looking at the damp curls on his chest.

Yes… That’s the only explanation for this madness. It has to be.

“Is that why you took me?” 

“I took you because you’re mine. I want you.”

“You can’t just take what you want,” you warn softly.

“Why not?” His head tilts a little to the side as he’s trying to make sense of you and the manners of your world. “Don’t you want to be mine?”

You lift your gaze and risk a look into his eyes, stripped from all facades as always. You even catch a passing wave of worry there: he had counted on you being as fascinated with him as he is with you. The hunger behind that want, the need to be something special to you, is a whole another issue that must wait until your head is more clear. Way more clear…

“Perhaps,” you confess.

“I have nothing to give you,” he shrugs, eyes looking slightly past you this time, out of shame or anxiety. It takes a while for you to understand he’s liking you to the goods at the market and thinks he’s expected to have money to be able to keep you.

“You don’t need to pay for me,” you smile, trying your best to disguise the soft amusement in your voice. His brows only furrow as he tries to calculate and think.

“I don’t understand the rules of this world,” he finally shakes his head. 

“I’ll teach you.”

For a while, he only looks on with fascination how you rub his arms and belly, basically massaging him with the wet moss. His eyes drift closed when you scrub the back of his neck, the stout erection only getting thicker under the cool water. You’re careful with his legs, not because you’re afraid he’s ticklish but because you try to avoid touching the huge cock already jutting up from happiness. It gives a few excited bounces when you wash his inner thighs, hopeful to get its needs satiated soon. 

“I can hunt for you,” he suggests. “Bring you food… Protect you.”

He’s visibly excited when figuring out a way to give you something in return. He wants to provide offerings for your company, your lore, and eventually, your cunt, too. You might be a virgin, but you’re not stupid: of course he wants the soft, wet prize between your legs. A pair of lovely tits to squeeze at night... Ears to groan hushed confessions into, thighs to nibble, bite and suck until you cry... 

“What do you think?” He asks, breath heavy from the bliss you’re already granting him by simply giving him a bath. “I could give you my heat. Please you...”

“You know how to please women?” 

“No. But you could teach me.”

The way he says it is not shy. Only tentative. A bear, walking on ice and hoping it would carry his weight. One wrong step and the ice will swallow him, spitting out his bones only in spring. 

And then…

“Do you know how to fuck?”

The ice holds, mainly because you’re too shocked to even slap or ridicule this man. His eyes bore into you with such unbridled greed that you have trouble keeping your precious pride intact.

“Of course,” you hear yourself whisper like it would be an insult to your intellect if you didn’t.

“Teach me,” he says, ever more greedily.

“I…”

Your jaw is left open, but not a word comes out. A strong palm closes around your wrist again, this time to bring you flush against him. The water laps at your skin, a distant crow cackles somewhere. Your hand is brought to his phallus, but he doesn’t have to wrap your fingers around it: you do it all by yourself, breath locked in your throat as you feel how hard and blazing he is.

“You want my cock,” he says, mouth only an inch from yours. “Don’t you...?”

You wet your lips – a mistake, because his half-lidded gaze darts to your mouth the instant your pink tongue lashes out. You’re in a predicament, but on the other hand, what else did you expect, taking your clothes off in front of a touch-starved bull?

“I’d give it to you happily,” he insists. “No female ever wanted to spread her legs for me.”

Or a leash. 

Your fingers tighten on their own, they mould around him. Like a bond…

“Really?” You breathe. “What fools they were...”

The cock gives a full throb inside your palm, exalted to be yours. But only a moment later, the dreaded Minotaur moves. 

You find yourself under him before you can even gasp for air: the soaked, hot body of a giant now pinning you on the grass and crushing you under it with ease. The weight of your error is fully pressed against you: he was never tamed, and you were a fool to think you could put him in chains.

The raw scent of earth and musk fills your nostrils, making the stars above you spin. His cock is trapped between your bodies, giving another rich pulse against your thigh. Gods, if he were throbbing like that inside you…

“You make my skin burn,” he growls into your ear, the heat of his skin now unbearable, the coarse hair prickling your skin from neck to thigh. “My loins, ache…”

“Are you a witch?” He asks, and you finally allow yourself to breathe.

If he only knew… But hexes and charms are of no use for you now: the only thing you can do is moan, apparently, as he dives for your neck, planting barbarous kisses on your skin.

Down, down, down he goes, pure avarice driving him to feast on every part of you. You’re too weak to stop him when he searches for the source of your intoxicating scent. Discovering it between your thighs, he dives nose-first into your sex, meeting your core with a hungry grunt.

Your back arcs with pleasure, your nails sink into his back: a funny thing to do when he’s already as close as can be. The trail of crude kisses leads him to your breasts, and you try to keep your whimpers in control, but a gasp erupts when he drags a hot tongue across your nipple. Massive palms close around your tits while you squirm in his hold: he doesn’t seem to be driven by the need to please you; rather, he wishes to study you first, examine how your body reacts to his groping. He leaves your breasts aching and sore, every bite and suck managing to make you wetter and wetter, your cunt screaming for attention by now.

“Gods...” you wriggle on the soft earthen bed, not expecting him to take you with his mouth first.

He withdraws, only a little, but his voice is surprisingly soft.

“Do I hurt you...?” 

“No… But this is not mating…”

“Even I know that much,” he says darkly, and grabs you by the waist, moves you around like a doll until you find yourself on your belly. 

He looks at you from between your thighs, demonic and keen. The broad shoulders force your legs wide apart when he’s seated there, waist-deep in the water, with you hauled to the shore like a siren.

Not a moment is wasted as he pulls you back to him by the hips: you’re drawn to all fours, a hot streak of cum dragging on the inside of your thigh from the cock that meets your skin. He grabs and steadies it with an annoyed grunt, and the fat tip is shoved straight into your folds, your nether lips parted with brute force almost. 

“Guide me.”

His voice is demanding, impatient as he drags the fat head up and down the entrance of your hole, coating his cock with your slick in the process. You wonder if it’s instinctual, if he knows that this is where he should poke and that it will hurt you less if he’s well-oiled. He’s about to rut you into oblivion the instant you tell him where to shove his cock, and the prospect only sends more sap flowing down your thigh.

“There…” you stutter when he finds it, the aching spot that’s leaking profusely. He pushes the head in, not by teasing but by bullying, almost forcing it inside from how tight and unreceptive you are.

“Tighter than my fist,” is his only comment, and it makes you shudder. “I will not last long…”

You wince from the burn, but the rest of it glides in like a dream, and suddenly you’re filled, to the capacity, one could say. He grunts just from the way your womanhood is hugging him, not sure what this foreign object inside you is – is it a good thing or a threat?

“Easy then,” you breathe a huff into the sweet night air, filled with fireflies and night birds who know nothing about the fucking you’re about to go through.

He doesn’t move – inside you, that is. Outside, he crawls forward until he moulds around you, heavy body enveloping you completely. The hairs on his thighs tickle the back of your legs, his chest scrapes your back just so as he demonstrates how you belong to him in every way. But when your cunt starts to squeeze him again, he swallows thickly.

“Does this feel good to you too…?”

You catch faint confusion and concern in his voice, astonished that such a soft, frail body like yours can take his cock just like that. Little does he know you’re still adjusting to his size, thanking all the gods that he doesn’t move yet.

“Yes,” you confess because it does feel good: his thickness inside you, stretching you both gently and violently, studying how it feels to be inside a loving, wet heat.

“Then I will fuck you every day,” his lips come to brush your ear. “Many times...”

You hear yourself whimper, more humble now than ever. No man would dare to take you on all fours, but here you are, like a bought bride about to get stuffed…

He withdraws a little, asks, “Like this?” when he returns with a rough, nasty thrust. The balls meet your mound, heavy on the tender nub you’ve flicked when you’re lonely, covering your mouth while you do it. Both your hands are planted on the ground now, your legs spread before this beast, cunt filled to the brim with his cock.

“Not so rough,” you warn, and he heeds your instructions to the letter until he’s moving in and out with a slow, delicious pace that allows you to feel every thick bump of him. Soaked now down to your thighs, the sounds of your mating is utterly sloppy and slick, and of course he’s curious.

“Are you always like this…?”

“Like… what,” you huff in between the slow, torturous thrusts.

“Soft,” he rasps. “Tight… Wet like rain.”

“No. It’s just when…”

“When you want to fuck?”

You whimper for an answer, mostly because he starts to slip from the agreed sluggish pace. His cock invades you with more urgency, chasing the eruption that must be generous from those thick balls that should belong to a horse.

“I knew it…” he says dreamily behind you. “Some women want to mate with bulls...”

He punctuates his newfound pride with a full, deep thrust, and you wince.

“You’re not a–”

“Keep telling yourself that, little maiden.”

He exhales a hot smile next to your ear, and you’re neck deep in love. Your mouth hangs open, your lids half closed and fluttering from the way he pounds into your poor, abused cunt. Heavy balls slap your swollen nub with careless abandon, making you squeeze his thickness every time he hits the end of you. His grunts become more animalistic with every thrust, and your cunt is a wild thing, leaking and weeping and throbbing until you fear there’s something wrong with you – no woman is supposed to be this needy for a beast…

I’m going to come… You realize in horror as the slick sounds of fucking overthrow even the coursing roar of the waterfall. The knowledge shoots your body full of dark, hot ink; it explodes inside your core like a liquid star, throbbing through your cunt currently being ploughed like you’re nothing but a needy, sloppy hole for him. You’re swimming in so much pleasure that it’s almost painful, the revelation some secret of the gods, no doubt. 

He growls when you moan, heavy arm snaking its way around your middle to keep you in place for him. The purr is eager and low, the rumble erupts from his chest like a thick, loving volcano, a statement of how perfect you are. He nuzzles his nose into your neck and rubs his scent all over you while fucking you through it, the divine rapture that leaves your throat dry from moans. 

He doesn’t need to be told what it means when you’re crying like that: he doesn’t need to be explained that his cock is giving you ample pleasure. It’s so desperate, how much he wants to both fuck and please you, just own you and fulfill you, that you start to shake, your frail body not capable of handling the orgasm he just gave you. 

Your strength fails, and you find yourself on your elbows, cunt even more exposed to him now, the cock pistoning into you with a relentless pace. He’s like a titan upon you, taking pleasure from your quivering, weak frame and the tight wet hole that belongs to it. You’re still in rapture when he starts to sound like broken, wounded man.

“You were made for me,” he huffs. “You were made...for me…”

His voice evaporates along with your thin, adoring mewls, just before he fucks himself over the edge. You can feel the hot, thick spurts, filling you as he roars into your hair, balls pressed flush against your sex, thighs meeting yours in a moment frozen in time. 

They can probably hear him all the way to the city, hear what a cunt like yours does to an invincible beast like him… But his cries are only met with silence; the night sky looks back with disinterest, the birds continue their songs when they notice it was only the roar of a mighty beast that filled the land. Before long, he’s groaning above you, using your hole more softly; loving it until the last drop is milked. 

When he stops, his whole body is trembling from release, but you’re not given a moment of reprieve. He forces you to the ground with him on your back, the rough, thick body never leaving yours. Coarse beard chafes your neck, his body trapping you completely under him, he even opens his jaw to take your shoulder between his teeth and bites you while his cock is still pulsing fat inside you. 

“I can’t get enough of you,” he pants into your ear, angry, almost.

“Good,” you breathe a smile, but he’s not satisfied.

“You couldn’t get enough of me too… I noticed.”

“You gave me pleasure,” you agree. “Lots of it.”

“That was a lot of seed… I haven’t spilled in days.”

He huffs into your ear, astonished and proud that he could do such a thing. You feel him shift to take a better look at you, fingers arrive to graze your temple as if to make sure you’re real, as if having his cock inside you wasn’t enough proof of that. They’re a little shaky, a little uncouth, but the touch is gentle enough, and sweet.

He's boasting again perhaps, you don’t know, but you give him a soft laugh, notice how he stops breathing momentarily when hearing the bright sound.

“I am filled to the brim with you, yes… It will take a while before I can take more.”

“...You have other holes in you,” he offers after a while, quite seriously, in fact. 

“Get off me, you beast,” you huff and squirm to get out from under him, but there’s a luscious grin on your face, a smile that tells him you would more than approve of his obscene ideas later. 

“This feels good,” he murmurs into your hair. “This feels right...”

He allows you to leave from under him, only whines when his cock gets exiled from your cunt. He misses the wet heat like a newborn child misses the womb, but you need to recover from the recent invasion. Seed gushes out from your hole, making a mess on the ground as he pulls you against him, wanting to cuddle you next.

You wonder if he even knows what cuddling means as you lie there with a sticky mess between your legs and the heat of an entire sun on your cheeks. You smile into the coarse, sweaty body hair tickling your nose, deciding it doesn’t matter whether he knows or not: the most important thing is that he wants to hold you like this.

“Yes,” you smile. “This feels right…”

Something blooms in your chest. An odd flower, persistent and sweet. 

The stars above are cold but motherly as they look down on you two: born again into a world that doesn’t want either of you. The only things that accept you now are flowers, birds, the wind and the rain, bees and salty sea, but that’s aplenty. That’s more than the whole of Crete could ever give you.

“Are you thinking about your hero,” he asks above you.

“What? No…”

“Good,” he rasps, so softly now that you start to fear he’s about to cry.

You are more than capable of lying, but Theseus hasn’t crossed your mind in hours: the last time it did, the memory was received with loath and disdain. Thinking about Theseus while you’re draped all over your Bull, his seed flowing out of your womb... What a ridiculous idea. 

The reason for his hardly disguised anger is laid out plain before you: he's just jealous like any other man. Somehow, it makes you feel even more glowy inside.You’re my hero, you want to say, but have no courage to spill out the words. He was balls deep inside you mere moments ago, but telling him this intimate truth seems to be too much.

It never occurred to him, then, that you would enjoy copulating with him. He fucked you with the impression that you needed thoughts of another man to make you wet… That perhaps with the help of the image of Theseus in your mind, you were able to come with his cock inside you. 

“My Bull,” you whisper. “Tell me your name. You must have a name…?”

His breath stops only for a moment, the heart in his chest gives an arduous beat before he answers.

“Asterion.”

Starry one…

Of course.

All monsters have names, usually the opposite of what they’re claimed to be. His birth is in heaven, in the stars; he belongs to the company of heroes and gods.

“Asterion,” you whisper it out into the night air while the animal an man both find their new home in your arms. “Your birth is written in the stars. Did you even know…?”

“Does that make me a hero?” He snorts, more old wounds torn open right before your eyes. 

You wriggle yourself out of his hold, but he avoids your stare. You lift a hand to bring those beautiful Olympian eyes back to you.

“It makes you immortal.”

Perhaps you should’ve known he would be enticed with an apple instead of tethers and deals. Or with a palm, held out with no intent to strike… 

It’s lovely, how he blinks every time he’s confused. You’ve yet to see him shy, but if he ever is, this might be the moment… You even catch him swallowing under that wild facial hair, an awkward blob right after that blink when his birthright is acknowledged.

But even more dumbfounded he becomes when he realizes you’re truly and veritably admiring him. When you whisper it to him – you’re my hero – and watch something shatter in him that was supposed to wrench itself free, that’s when he’s truly granted divinity.

Perhaps it was all about becoming animal again, allowing the other to have a sniff. Baring your throat and embracing the instinct to trust. Marrying your wild soul… The deepest magic of all.

#könig x reader #könig cod #könig x you #konig x reader #könig mw2 #konig x you #könig smut #könig fanfiction #konig smut #cod könig

[yanderenightmare]

TW: nsfw, noncon, emotionally distant yandere, death threats

gn reader

Thinking about an extremely aromantic psychopathic yandere who’s completely out of touch with his feelings...

From the moment you infected his mind, he desperately wanted nothing more but to gauge you out and bleach your existence away.

He was ready to do anything.

It's not like it's something he hasn't done before. It shouldn't have been a problem. But standing there above your sleeping form with the knife to your unsuspecting neck, he felt his own throat close up.

Something he'd never felt before made him stop – something in his chest that ached worse than any pain he'd ever beared – something that made his hands shake with cold and his eyes leak warmth down his face.

He doesn't understand what's going on, and it's annoying. You're annoying. He doesn't want to see your face, but at the same time... the thought of going without it pisses him off even more.

He doesn't want to keep you around, but he ends up feeling as though he has to. He tells himself it's only until he feels ready to finish you off – like a lamb raised for slaughter in the wolf's den.

You don’t really know what goes on inside his head when he glares at you with hints of vexation and hunger – eyes narrowed at you almost in disgust, as though you’re some sort of nuisance, some sort of sickness he can’t seem to shake – but also something else – something hungry – something in the way he locks his jaw and swallows thickly before growling out an irate sigh as he throws his shirt off and climbs on top of you.

It seems almost as though he sees it all as a simple means to an end – as though the urge arising within his gut is a plague he needs to cure as quickly as possible – and you as a mere tool for him to do exactly that.

He never kisses you. You don’t think he knows how. The sex isn’t any good either – all cold, methodical movements as though he’s a robot who’s been told to complete a task it wasn’t programmed to do. 

It’s obvious he doesn’t view you as much more than something he owns. 

Sometimes, he’ll even look surprised when you voice wishes and needs of your own – as though he’s forgotten that you’re still a living, breathing thing and not just something he’s hunted and killed and stuffed for sport.

But that’s how you feel most days anyway – like a dog’s humping toy – just a limp thing made up of cotton and torn fabric trying to hold itself together, getting more frayed by each passing day.

It's surprising he hasn't killed you yet. He told you he would when the time was right, but it's been more than a while now. You wonder if it's a surprise for him as well.

Probably not...

He’s like a machine. Wordless, sept for the steady string of growls and groans as he fucks you fast like you’re this annoying reminder that he’ll never be able to get rid of the warmth in his gut forcing him to complete the tedious task again and again and never be done with it.

It almost feels as though he hates you.

While his hand holds yours down, cuffing your wrists above your head with the other wrapped tight around your throat. Not because you bother fighting back. But – you think, perhaps… he feels as though it’s your fault somehow – your fault that he feels this way. 

He’ll mutter about it sometimes – that he was just fine before you came along – level-headed, composed, perfect before he met you. 

He pulls out just before cumming inside you, tugging himself in quick faps, then blows all over your stomach and chest. 

The sigh he breathes out is like an exclamation of “fucking finally” while his throbbing length bobs, still seeping pearls of cum, slowly calming down the more he squeezes it all out into a white pool on your pelvis. 

He isn’t much better after, either. 

Loosening his grip on you, he’ll grunt out something along the lines of “Go clean yourself up.” 

But sometimes... as time goes on... he starts doing something that somewhat resembles a kiss before leaving you.

It's awkward, like a brush or press of his stiff lips against yours – one of which reminds you of the type of nudge a dog could be trained to do in exchange for a treat – almost like a thank you.

He hasn't spoken about killing you in a while...

It scares you – how it's become so trivial it almost feels marital...

You don't know what scares you more though...

The thought that he's going to kill you one of these days, or the thought that he's forgotten about it all together.

BNHA – Bakugou, Overhaul, Shigaraki

JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Toji, Kenjaku

DS – Muzan, Sanemi

HxH – Illumi, Feitan

AOT - Levi

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere smut #yancore #smut #yandere my hero academia #yandere boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia smut #mha smut #yandere mha #yandere bnha #my hero smut #my hero academia smut #bnha smut #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut

[spenceobsessed]

post prison!spencer reid x fem!reader

genre: enemies to lovers, smut with a plot

summary: spencer can't help but despise his "replacement", especially during an undercover mission in a nightclub.

MDNI 18+

“this is insane.” penelope garcia mutters on the other end of the phone call. “there’s no way jeffery was able to absolutely take himself off the internet.” she huffs, the keyboard clicking in the background. “i’m gonna keep working. i’ll be back in a jiffy, i swear!” she says sweetly before hanging up.

the unsub, jeffery hogan had abducted then murdered four young women in los angeles california. the team had been in la for three days now, and jeffery had already killed two more women before they could stop him. all of them were getting antsy and a little angry.

you sigh, leaning back in your chair as the rest of the team begins talking amongst themselves, minus spencer, who had been staring at a map for twenty minutes.

“reid.” you say, catching his attention. he doesn’t look up, but you can tell that your voice startled him slightly.

“hmm?” he says, annoyance lacing his tone. you roll your eyes. he had been an absolute dick to you since day one. the whole team had described him as a saint, yet, you couldn’t see it. yes, he was attractive, but that didn’t distract from how hateful he was towards you. plus, you had been nothing but nice to him when you first met him, doing nothing to get on his bad side.

“did you make a connection between the locations?” you ask curtly. he huffs. “i don’t see you doing anything helpful.” he snaps, finally looking up from his map to glare at you.

“spence,” jj begins, joining the conversation unknowingly. “any connections?” he smiles and turns to face her, like you hadn’t just asked the same question.

“the one common location that overlaps with all the crime scenes and significant places in jeffery’s life is the ‘night owl’, a local night club.�� reid says, smirking at you when he finishes his sentence like a teenager. you scoff.

emily gives them a look that says “act professional please”.

“we have no idea what he looks like, we only know bits and pieces of his life that garcia could dig up, how are we going to catch him?” matt asks, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed, a coffee in hand.

“i could go undercover,” you begin with a shrug. “most of the girls he abducted have been around my age and have my same features.” emily nods in agreement.

“one issue.” rossi says. “the unsub has always abducted women on dates.” you nod. that’s true.

“i could go with you.” matt says, standing up straight and taking a sip of his coffee. you open your mouth to thank him but emily cuts you off.

“no offense simmons, but what if we sent in reid instead? he closer matches y/n’s age and resembles the victims boyfriends more closely.”

spencer opens his mouth to protest but tara cuts him off with a smile. “great idea, you guys should leave in an hour or so, you better start getting ready.”

you watch as reid fights the urge to say something rude, but is quickly whisked away by emily.

jj helps you get ready in another conference room of the precinct, dressing you like the average clubber.

your outfit is a small, tight, red mini dress, with matching heels and accessories. you had to admit, you looked good. you found yourself wondering what they had put reid in and whether he would find you attractive in this tight dress.

“you look amazing.” a voice breaks you out of your trance as you’re putting in an ear piece. you smile, turning to face emily.

“thank you.” you say softly, using your hands to smooth out your dress. “i think i’m ready.” you add, slightly nervous. emily reassures you that you will do great and asks you to follow her outside.

that’s where you’re met with spencer reid. he looks unfortunately handsome, hot even, wearing the most casual “spencer outfit” you have ever seen: corduroy pants, converse, and a white button down. the white button down was sheer linen (very beachy) and allowed you to barely see his chest. you quickly remind yourself that he is in fact a dick, hoping that will somehow make him less attractive.

you watch as his eyes wander your body. emily seems to notice and clears her throat.

“you guys gotta get going.” she breathes out a smirk on her face.

reid walks over to the side of the car. you smile slightly as he opens the door, your smile fading as he slides in alone slamming the door behind him.

“petty bitch.” you mutter. your heels angrily clicking against the asphalt as you walk to the other side of the suv, ripping open the door and sliding in with your arms crossed. you slam the door behind yourself, eyes glaring into the side of reid’s face.

“look,” you begin, your tone angry. “if this is going to work you need to at least try to pretend not to be a fucking asshole.” he scoffs, turning to face you.

“watch your tone.” he says lowly, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. your arms are still crossed and you watch as spencer’s eyes go from your face to your tits, then back up again.

you remind yourself that indeed, he's just a man. he may be a genius but behind that, he’s simply just a man with needs. you were going to make tonight hell for him.

you smirk, eyes glaring into his. “do your fucking job and i just might comply, doctor.”

he turns his head away from you, staring out the window, a new type of tension in the air.

“can you guys hear me?” jj says through you ear pieces. “yeah.” reid says, you can hear how angry he is, just through one word.

the team gives you both a rundown and reminds you both of your parts.

“…remember you’re a couple!” garcia reminds you. the team agrees loudly on the line. “yeah,” alvez says. “pretend to like each other for one night.”

“we’ll try, alvez.” you reply as the suv pulls up in front of the busy nightclub.

you look over at reid. “open my damn door and look like you fucking mean it.” you say through gritted teeth. he doesn’t respond as he steps out of the car, shutting his door quietly and makes his way over to your side of the car. he opens your door with a fake smile on his face, putting out his hand for you to grab. you get out of the car, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

“grab my waist.” you demand. he huffs under his breath, reaching his large hand to rest on your waist. he leans in to whisper back. “you will not dictate this night. i have over ten more years of experience than you, on this team. you do not get to boss me around, y/l/n.” he says through gritted teeth, pulling away from your ear with a fake smile on his face. you don’t have time to respond as he says; “let’s go, baby.”

the nickname hits you like a brick, especially the way it comes out of his mouth so effortlessly. in an attempt to control your composure, you smile and lean against him as he rubs his hand lovingly across your waist.

you both enter the night club, the mix of bright lights and darkness temporarily blinds you as you grip onto spencer for support.

“don’t respond, but we see you’ve made it inside. go grab a drink from the bar then hit the dance floor.” emily orders. spencer nods, leading you towards the busy bar.

as you approach the bar, the bartender asks what you both want. “i’ll have a club soda with lime.” spencer says, turning his head to look down at you. “what do you want, baby?” he asks, rubbing circles on your waist softly. you smile back up at him pretending like you don’t want to kill him and subtly dig your ass into his crotch. he sucks in a breath.

“i’ll have a vodka soda.” you say with a sweet smile on your face. the bartender nods going to make the drinks.

you look back at spencer, his jaw clenched and his breathing heavy. you set your phone down on the bar and “accidentally” knock it off of the counter.

“oops!” you say dryly, bending down to pick it up, your ass now rubbing against his crotch. you subtly feel something twitch in his pants.

“y/n.” he warns you. you nod innocently. “hmm?” you hum. he moves his hand from your waist. you look back at him to silently scold him, but he quickly uses both hands to push you away from his crotch. he slides his hands down your waist, to your ass, then pulls down your dress in one quick motion. a man standing to his left begins complaining loudly about how he can no longer see your "fattie". you almost thank him, then remember that its fucking spencer you're dealing with.

he doesn’t say anything and simply hands you your drink, leading you away from the bar and the creepy men, to a nearby table.

you bite your lip to hold back hateful words that dare to spill out. you stand in silence, spencer sipping his drink while you chug yours.

"you look miserable." emily says in your ears. "do something." she adds.

"wanna dance, pretty boy?" you ask him, the nickname falling from your mouth accidentally. you pretend like it was on purpose as spencer looks up from his drink, slightly stuttering over his response.

"y-yeah, yeah." he repeats, regaining his composure. he grabs your hand and leads you towards the crowd of sweaty people dancing, only looking back once to make sure you were still there

spencer scans the crowd as he pulls you into his chest harshly.

"i'm not just some doll you can throw around, reid." you yell over the music, sick of his bullshit. he looks you in the eyes and shrugs.

as the song changes, couples around you begin to make out.

"kiss me, reid." you say, realizing the awkward dancing in a crowd of horny couples would defer the unsub's attention. spencer doesn't seem to hear you. "reid." you repeat, his eyes still scanning the room. "spencer." you say, the first time you've ever said his first name to him. this catches his attention. his gaze finally falls to you, his frame towering over yours as you wrap your arms around his neck.

"i need you to kiss me, spencer."

the usually dick-ish man makes no cocky response. instead, he simply tips his head down capturing your lips in a kiss. the kiss is awkward at first, but quickly turns heated as you press your body against his. his hands, which were loosely on your waist move downward, rubbing circles on your ass and somehow moving you closer to him.

you run your hands through his hair, feeling him moan softly into your mouth. his sweet noises immediately go straight to your now-wet-core. you break the kiss for a second, to catch your breath, your faces still inches apart.

spencer's pupils are blown, his hair is messy, and his lips slightly swollen, tinted red from your lipstick. fuck, you want to devour him.

spencer quickly resumes the kiss, this time you don't have to ask. you easily feel how hard he is already, with his cock pressed against your leg.

you groan softly as you push your tongue into his mouth, eliciting more sweet noises from the handsome man.

"nice job guys, we have a suspect at 3 o'clock." emily says into our ears, reminding us that we aren't alone.

“let’s go somewhere more secluded.” spencer whispers, his breath hot on your cheek. he wants to lure the unsub out. you nod, waiting for him to move. instead his hands are still on your ass, his eyes on you, like he’s taking a mental picture.

“pretty boy.” you say almost inaudibly. “let’s go.” he spins you around so you’re in front now, able to maneuver your way out of the crowd. one of his hands rests on the small of your back protectively as you head towards the back corner of the club, a stark contrast to the way he was treating you less than 10 minutes ago.

“the hypothetical unsub’s eyes are still on you guys but he hasn’t moved, we can’t seem to see his face on camera. you need to get him to move closer.” jj announces in your ears.

“she’s telling us to kiss again.” you whisper. he nods, placing his large hand on your cheek and swiping his thumb across your lips. you wrap your arms around his neck, leaning into kiss him. he picks you up slightly, just enough to allow you to sit on him as he takes a seat on a random couch.

as he moves from kissing your lips to your jaw and neck, you instinctively begin rocking your hips against his, feeling how hard he is under you.

he groans softly against your neck, his kisses becoming sloppier.

“y/n.” his tone desperate, the use of your first name alarming. “if you keep going i might not be able to maintain professionalism.”

you bite your lip excitedly. “do you want me to stop then, spencer?” his eyes stare into yours, his hands on your hips.

“no.” he breathes out, pulling you closer to him and kissing you again. he moves his hands upwards as his lips move downwards, slowly leaving kisses and rubbing your now-visible nipples through the thin fabric for your dress. you suck in a breath at the new sensation, your head thrown back in ecstasy.

“the unsub moved into the light, it’s jeffery. sending alvez and rossi in now to apprehend him. you guys can stand down, nice work.” emily says, startling them slightly. you pull away from spencer, your underwear undeniably wet and your cunt begging for attention. you awkwardly remove yourself from his lap, sitting next to him on the sofa, noticing that in fact he was hard, an outline of his dick highlighted in the odd club lighting. he squirms in his seat slightly, obviously trying to readjust.

“y/n,” he says, noticing your eyes on him. you hum in response, your eyes moving from his cock to his face. “bathroom.” he says simply.

he doesn’t give you an opportunity to respond, simply getting up and leaving the room. you wait for a few seconds, processing his words and attempting to wrap your head around the fact that an hour ago you hated this man and now you were dying for him to fuck you.

a few minutes pass and you make your way to the bathroom where you don’t even knock, you simply walk in. spencer is there waiting. immediately as you enter the bathroom, he locks it, then attached his lips to yours. you moan softly into the kiss, jumping up to wrap your legs around his waist. he, however, seems to as other plans as he sets you down on the sink and lowers himself between your legs.

he leaves soft kisses up your thighs, your legs now thrown over his shoulders. “spencer,” you beg, his lips dangerously close to your cunt. “please.”

he smiles as you beg, hooking his finger on your underwear and pulling them down your legs roughly. he lowers his head farther in between your legs, licking a slow stripe down your cunt, causing you to squeeze your legs around his head and moan.

hearing your reaction, spencer moans softly against your pussy, the vibrations making you gasp.

unfortunately the club music had been turned off and if anyone were to walk by, they would probably hear you making sounds. you cover your mouth with your hand to make sure you guys don’t get caught.

he moves his tongue farther into you, the sound of his mouth on your soaking wet cunt making lewd sounds that fill the small bathroom.

you moan into your hand, bucking your hips against his face.

he pulls his mouth away from you and without skipping a beat he inserts one of his large fingers into you, grinding his crotch against the edge of the sink to get himself off.

you open your mouth to tease him but he interrupts you by adding another finger into your pussy. you can’t help but moan loudly, feeling your walls clench around his fingers.

“so good for me.” he says breathlessly, his fingers’ pace rough inside you and his hips fast against the sink counter.

“spencer,” you say in between ragged breaths. “i’m so close!” he smiles at your words, removing his fingers from your pussy with a pop.

you groan softly, hating the feeling of emptiness.

“spencer.” you warn, sitting up to get a good look at him. he has a look in his eye, a smirk on his face.

“what’s up?” he says nonchalantly, licking you off his lips and his fingers. you ask yourself how he can be so calm when he was literally just finger fucking you and eating you out. his cock is still dangerously hard, a spot of pre-cum on his cute little pants. you catch yourself imagining how big he is.

“fine.” you huff, seeing how he didn’t seem like he wanted you to finish. you insert your own fingers into your swollen cunt, pumping them inside yourself like spencer had been only a minute ago.

you over exaggerate your moans watching as spencer begins to rub himself through his now tight pants.

“i’m not going to beg you, pretty boy, but i need your cock inside of me right now.” he smirks at your words, making his way back over to you, hands moving to your face, kissing you passionately.

“i’m pretty sure that was begging, y/n.” he says as he pulls away from the kiss, beginning to unbutton his pants.

however, loud knocks interrupt him. "spencer?? are you in there??" emily's familiar voice, fills the room.

"uh, yeah! i'll be out in a second!" he says, beginning to re-button his pants, his cock still visibly hard. emily says something inaudible from the other side of the door then walks away. you lean forward on the sink counter, resting your head on spencer's shoulder, his arms wrapping around you.

after a second of peace, you hop of the counter in an attempt to fix your appearance, sliding back on your awkwardly soaked underwear.

"can we please finish this later?" spencer speaks up, catching you off guard. you smile, your brain still processing the fact that an hour ago you wanted to kill this man.

"yes, please."

part 2 :)

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader smut #bau #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fandom #part one #smut #enemies to lovers #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spenceobsessed

[writeyouin]

Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) X Fem-Reader - Sinless Sinners

Chapter 1 - Hate For All Sinners

A/N – I couldn’t stop thinking about this short King after episode 5 of Hazbin Hotel came out. This is mostly a fic for me, to get me back into writing. (WILL DO A MALE AND NONBINARY ONE SOON!)

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

MALE VERSION HERE

NON-BINARY / GN VERSION HERE

“Who’s that?” Lucifer asked, pointing you out to Charlie.

In truth, he would’ve likely asked that of the next person he saw. As Charlie’s father, Lucifer was trying desperately to show how interested he was in his daughter’s project, even if he was barely holding onto anything she said. It wasn’t that he was disinterested, or too ignorant to understand the situation, but rather that after spending so much time as a recluse, locked away in the protective space of his workshop where he wouldn’t have to see the sinners or the Hell he was responsible for creating, Lucifer could barely comprehend what was going on around him. He knew it was because he was depressed, but he was trying and he had to make Charlie see that, even if it meant feigning fits of hypomanic excitement.

Yet, Lucifer found himself genuinely… horrified by you. He had seen many types of Demon over the millennia. Typically, they tended to represent Earth’s animals, such as that annoyingly powerful Deer Demon, Alistair, whom Lucifer had met thanks to this very tour… not that Alistair was worth mentioning, piece of shit that he was, mingling with Lucifer’s daughter when he had no right to even breathe the same air as her-

Lucifer caught his snowballing thoughts, turning them back to you. You weren’t an animal Demon. There were other types of Demons of course, though Flora and Fauna were the most common; object Demons also existed, such as that rather famous one that people talked about, the TV Demon, V-something? Lucifer couldn’t remember his name. He didn’t watch Television… he didn’t do much of anything these days.

“Oh,” Charlie sidled over to you, wrapping her arm warmly around your shoulder as she corralled you towards her father, “Dad, this is (Y/N). She’s one of the hotel’s, uh, allies I guess, right (Y/N)?”

“That’s right, Sir,” You held out your hand for Lucifer, who was staring dumbly at you, uncertain what to make of you.

As the ruler of Hell, fuelled by angelic power, Lucifer could always read a Demon, or rather, he could read their strength. For example, he knew after only one meeting that the bartender, Husk was a strong Demon, though his power was clearly being dampened by a soul contract, whereas that little snake fellow Sir Pentious was rather weak, though he had potential if he could manage to claim even a few souls of his own, but you? You were entirely different.

First off, you didn’t resemble an animal, plant, or object… You were the most human-looking Demon that Lucifer had ever seen; frankly, he found that disturbing. Secondly, you didn’t seem to have much if any power. What was wrong with you? To come off as human with little demonic power… Well, if Lucifer didn’t know any better, he would guess that you weren’t a sinner at all, but you had to be. You were definitely dead; that much he could tell. And, you were in Hell.

Dead and in Hell - those were the only two qualifications for becoming a Demon, so why were you like this?

“Dad, are you listening?” Charlie said exasperatedly, clearly annoyed that Lucifer’s thoughts seemed to have trailed off once again.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Lucifer stated, staring at your hand which you had seemingly retracted when he wasn’t paying attention. Damnation! Now Charlie was going to think he had snubbed her friend on purpose.

“So, (Y/N) is another one of your patrons. That’s nice.”

“What? No. Dad, I just told you, (Y/N) has no interest in being redeemed.”

“Oh,” Lucifer looked you up and down disapprovingly. It figured. Even this non-Demon was looking for power in Hell, probably so you would finally be a killer worth bragging about – Honestly, what was the point? All sinners were the same. Greedy, destructive forces who wouldn’t stop until there was nothing left to break.

“Yep, she’s our only permanent resident who wants to help rehabilitate other souls. Isn’t that great? She helps with everything here, and she doesn’t ask for anything in return.”

“That’s not true,” You blushed at Charlie’s praise. “Your daughter is very generous, Sir. She lets me stay here rent-free.”

“And that’s all you want?” Lucifer asked suspiciously.

“Honestly? Yeah.”

Lucifer shook his head but didn’t argue. He didn’t want to know what your real motivations were. It was probably as simple as hoping for regular boons from the Princess of Hell; you were clearly just biding your time. Besides, if you didn’t want to redeem your soul, then you must be just like Alistair, a sadistic monster just waiting to see Demons repeatedly fail in their attempts at redemption.

Now that his curiosity was sated, Lucifer decided that he didn’t want to lay eyes on you again. You weren’t worth his time. Only Charlie was… Well, Charlie and Vaggie, because any woman his daughter loved was practically family to him. He was glad when the tour continued, leaving you behind to catch Nifty who was trying to pull a piece of fabric from Lucifer’s coat, muttering something about the ‘Ultimate bad boy.’

“Okay, I can get you the meeting,” Lucifer agreed, doing what he could to support Charlie’s dreams of saving her people, even though he didn’t think there were any redeeming qualities for any denizen of Hell.

It hurt him to tell Charlie that he wouldn’t be able to go with her to that lofty paradise, having been cast out; how he wished he could protect his daughter from those who carried out God’s will. Still, she never asked him for anything, and if this was what her heart most desired, he would do all in his power to help.

“Will you be okay?” He asked sombrely.

“I’ll be fine,” Charlie assured him, taking hold of his hands.

“That’s my girl.”

For a moment, it looked like Lucifer was done, but he paused, worried that this wasn’t enough to make up for the years he had been absent, leaving Charlie to fend for herself while he shut himself away.

“Is there anything else you need?”

Charlie couldn’t help but worry about her father. What would happen when he went back into isolation? He needed something to focus on, but… What was there for him when all of Hell was his prison?

She couldn’t help thinking about how little Lucifer thought of all the other citizens of Hell. If only he could see that they weren’t as terrible as he thought. Granted, they could be violent, and loud, definitely rambunctious, but these were his people, and he had to see that his gift of Free Will was a good thing, yet, if she said any of this, she was certain Lucifer would only laugh at her or tell her to get real while playfully pinching her cheek. There was no way that Lucifer would leave his home to hang out with any citizen of Hell.

Then it hit her. If Lucifer wouldn’t leave his manor to visit people, then people should be allowed to visit his manor. Or better yet, one person should be chosen to go and live with Lucifer so that he would learn just how good people could be, and Charlie knew just the person for the job.

“Actually, Dad, there is one more thing.”

“Name it,” Lucifer smiled, glad that his daughter wanted to ask things of him, as any normal child should want from their parents.

“I think it would be good for you to socialise, just a little bit.”

“Charlie,” Lucifer’s voice was strained at the thought of going anywhere else in Hell.

“I know,” Charlie reassured him, looking into his eyes; she looked so understanding that he relaxed slightly. Then, she continued in a more upbeat tone, “That’s why I think you should take (Y/N) to live with you, as your maid!”

She pounded her palm decidedly, much like a judge pounding her gavel.

“What? NO!” Lucifer sputtered.

You for your part, had seemingly been shocked into silence, watching the exchange uncertainly while Alistair grinned devilishly at you, and Angel Dust was holding in a snicker. Granted, you could have argued, but Charlie was stubborn, and she always had some kind of wild idea. Whatever she was thinking, you decided that you would go along with it; there was usually a method to her madness after all.

“It’s fine, Dad, (Y/N) doesn’t mind, right (Y/N)?”

You shrugged your shoulders passively, “I guess?”

“See? You should get to know your citizens, Dad. It will be good for you, I promise. They’re not all as bad as you think.”

Lucifer took one hard look at you. Honestly, he wished his daughter had picked the porn star or that psycho maid. You, as a very human-looking Demon, were a vicious reminder of his past mistakes. Still, he had told his daughter he would do anything for her, and he had already promised her a meeting with Heaven, and nothing could possibly be worse than that.

“Alright,” He agreed.

Then, he summoned a portal for you with the flick of his wrist.

“Good luck, kiddo.” He said to Charlie, and upon keeping a safe distance from you, he waited for you to step through the portal.

“Charlie, I’m assuming that you have a good reason for this,” You said before taking a step towards your newly appointed home, “Just call me if you need anything.”

With that, you were gone, followed closely (though not too closely) by Lucifer.

#fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #reader #fem reader #lucifer morningstar #lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer hazbin hotel x reader #charlie morningstar #vaggie #angel dust #husk #sir pentious #niffty #alistair #hazbin hotel #hellaverse #sinless sinners #chapter 1 #part 1

[hwajin]

☆°. — silly boyfie things | skz

genre: fluff

pairing: skz x gn!reader

note: i haven't posted headcanons in ages and this was SO much fun to fabricate omg hope you like it 🫶🫶

— CHAN

he would FIGHT with you over the check after you went out for dinner. like literally FIGHT and not budge when you propose to pay yourself, because you feel bad that he always, always pays for the both of you. you think you smarted him out when you invited him for dinner calling for you to pay but he has his wallet ready the moment you finish your food, telling the waiter the bill is shared and having his money out faster than you can look — it nearly enrages you every time, but he tells you he genuinely enjoys paying, doesn't mind it and wants to do it, so you have no chance other than letting it go (even if reluctantly).

— LINO

he's so annoying he thinks it's PEAK commedy to say "no" to every single favour you ask him only to do it seconds later. OR saying no and waiting, actually not doing said favour and waiting for you to get annoyed until he'd nudge and end up doing it after all. giggles as if he's the funniest mf like he enjoys seeing you being annoyed so much. acts like this in front of friends and in public in general as well, ALSO cringes sm when you show him affection whenever on a get together though the moment the two of you are alone he literally won't be able to keep his hands off you. like he pretends to be so disgusted when you even as much as touch him in public, and the moment you're alone behind closed doors he's slouching onto you like a koala.

— CHANGBIN

omg you can't tell me that he didn't invent the "no you hang up first" 😭 like you'd be coming to the end of a conversation (often while he's on tour or smth tho he literally needs to hear your voice every single day so he calls you like whenever he has a minute even of free time) and at some point he's like "aight hang up 🥰" and you play along and hit him with the "no you do 😆😝" and the quarelling goes back and forth (jokingly on your side, in ALLLL seriousness on his) and at some point you say goodbye for real and hang up AND YOU CAN BET THIS FUCKER CALLS BACK like all pouty and actually slightly upset that you had the audacity to hang up??? and you're like someone has to at some point we can't have an endless phone convo??? and he's like why not do YOU NOT LOVE ME???? yeah you get it.

— HYUNJIN

bro this man NEEDS him to be your lockscreen on your phone. like it's an actual need of his or else he's gonna cease to exist he thinks. like you're obviously his wallpaper (both on his lock AND homescreen) so when he catches a glimpse of your phone and you dare to have just a random pinterest pic as your lockscreen, one you've chosen mindlessly altogether he RIOTSSSS. pouts as if his life is depending on it, clutches his heart as if it's gonna stop any minute, gasps and side-eyes you as if you straight up cheated on him. takes a selfie RIGHT that moment (it takes him a while because he both can't decide whether he wants it to be cute or sexy, and because he wants to look good either way) and sets it as your lockscreen instantly. checks like daily to see if you've changed it (if you did to tease him he LITERALLY is moments from breaking up with you).

— JISUNG

he sends you pics of ugly looking animals with a 'you' attached to the message. like even if it has no resemblence with you altogether. like it'll be a fish, a whale, a bird, a funny looking dog and their all attached with 'you'. and like he finds it so funny even if you never react to it, in fact finds it SO hilarious that at some point he will send you pics of literally ANYTHING he sees ever — like furniture, tools, random fucking street lamps, you name it — with a 'you' attached to it and CACKLES as if he invented comedy himself. the bright side to it, he takes this to the romantic level and shoots pretty pics of flowers and sends them with the same 'you' attached to it, or pics of the sky, or of a particularly bright star. so maybe it's not that annoying after all.

— FELIX

he causes his friends to tease you because he literally can't shut up about you. like every single thing you do he even slightly adores (which is, every single thing period, tbh) is being reported to his friends because he's just so in love with you he has to get the words out or he'll combust :((. like you'd maybe get him a little gift, smth small about stuff he's interested in lately, or these "i saw this and thought of you" gifts and he presents said gift to his friends as if it's an artifact of love itself, and the next time you're over they're going at you, teasing the shit out of you because tbh, they've teased felix so much already for talking their ears off that they need another victim. you basically never stop blushing when around them, hearing constantly just how much your bf talks about you when you're not around (and you'd lie saying you don't like it).

— SEUNGMIN

bro just straight up leaves you on read except when your text contains something of advantage to him 😭😭. like you haven't seen him in a while and want to catch up a bit? he reads the message and responds like 5 hours later ("we've seen each other yesterday, you can't possibly miss me enough to talk again"). or when you send him random tiktoks or shitposts — opens and reads them and then doesn't ever bother to even leave a like 😭. though the moment you hit him with a text like "running to the supermarket, you want anything?" he's responding the same second and you grow salty every time, wondering why you put up texting him in the first place.

— JEONGIN

pretends to be jealous like a LOT. like the first time he'd be actually jealous, going fresh into the relationship with insecurities still gnawing at you and him and when he confesses you reassure him, making sure he understands there will never be an occassion on which he needs to be remotefully jealous, even. and after that he simply pretends to be, for shits and giggles and to piss you off. like you talk to the barista for your order? how could you even look their direction omg. you send a quick text to a friend while out with him? how dare he's not the single most important thing in your life rn. you tell him about a dream that didn't involve him? breaking up with you this very instant. can't stop himself from giggling at his one if a kind humour while watching you grow annoyed every time anew.

@happycandynoelle @es-kay-zee @jeyelleohe @angelwonie @lix-ables @yvniek4ng @ppiri-bahng @bintificreads @svintsandghosts @llunapastell @sensitiveandhungry @minniesvenus @junebug032 @noellllslut

#skz fluff #stray kids fluff #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz x reader #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #bang chan fluff #lee know fluff #changbin fluff #hyunjin fluff #han jisung fluff #lee felix fluff #seungmin fluff #yang jeongin fluff

[covetyou]

sleepless

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: unprotected PIV, creampie, fingering, cumplay, pet names (baby, sweetheart, darlin’), mild praise kink, very mild dubcon (sleepy reader), bratty reader, no use of Y/N. word count: 3.5k summary: It’s been days since you last got anything resembling decent sleep. You’re exhausted, but more than that, you’re angry. Every little thing is pissing you off, and you just want to be left the fuck alone. Joel, ever the gentleman, has a solution to your sleeplessness, and your bad mood.

A/N: This was an out of body experience and I don’t know how it happened. Seriously, I stood up out of bed and wondered what the fuck I’d done. I haven’t written a single thing in an entire year (and that was for a funeral), and I have never written smut and don't know what I'm doing. So. Enjoy?

This one is for all of us who get really grouchy when tired. Or hungry. Or if the phase of the moon just isn't right. I see you honeybuns, and so does Joel.

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terrible graphics by me

“What's got your panties in a bunch?”

You were in a shit mood. It was a shitty day, and you were in a shit mood and Joel was not helping.

“Nothing.” You huff out. Totally believable.

Joel runs his tongue over his teeth, eying you. “Okay… You need to go make yourself come or somethin’?”

You slam your mug on the counter, hot tea sloshing over the edges with the force. ”No Joel, I don't need to fucking come.”

It was true. You didn’t. What you needed was to be left the fuck alone with your bad mood and misplaced rage. What you needed even more was to get some goddamn sleep.

“Right.”

“Just fuck off, Joel.” You say. And he does.

An hour later and you still haven’t left the kitchen. You haven’t seen Joel again either - he knew better than to bother you when you were like this. He’d just piss you off more, which hardly seemed fair when he wasn’t the one to piss you off to begin with. You were the one to piss yourself off to begin with. You’d barely gotten more than a full night's sleep across 4 whole days, you were tired as hell, and the sleeplessness-induced irritation was starting to seep into every part of your day. You didn’t want to inflict your bad mood on anyone, but you would if it came to it, just to be left the fuck alone in peace and quiet.

Slamming doors as you tidy away the things you'd used that day, you continue to stomp around the kitchen. It was your mess. You'd used the coffee pot. You'd used a mug, a spoon, a plate. But it still pissed you the fuck off and you were trying to conceal the blind rage that was flowing through you.

You slam yet another door, putting a plate away - why did you use a fucking plate instead of eating over the sink - and suddenly your front is crushed against the counter, a warm, solid mass pushed against your back and strong arms boxing you in either side. Joel. You could hit him. You could fucking hit him. But you don't.

“Fuck off, Joel.” You say through gritted teeth, gripping the counter in front of you.

“When did you last sleep?” He growls in your ear. You feel his warm breath ghost the side of your face. How the fuck did he know. As if it wasn’t obvious.

You don’t answer, and he nudges a shoulder forward, momentarily pushing you more firmly against the counter to get you talking.

“At night.”

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he sighs. “Which night, smartass.”

You’d taken the opportunity given by the movement of his arm to slip out from where he’d pinned you. You were not in the mood to play this game.

“I don't know.” You sneer at him as you fold your arms over your chest. It may have been childish, but you didn’t care.

“Yeah you do.”

“I said I don’t -”

“Yes. You fuckin’ do.” He was stern now, pointing a finger at you, daring you to be a smartass one more time. “Because I know it sure as fuck weren't last night.”

Busted. “The night before.” Looking away, you busy yourself with folding a dish towel.

“Really.” It’s not a question. Joel cocks an eyebrow at you with a twist of his head.

Shrugging your shoulders, you mumble back to him. “Couple hours.”

“And the night before that?”

“Didn't know you were the fucking Spanish inquisition.”

He cocks an eyebrow. Again.

“A couple fucking hours, Joel. Now fuck off and leave me alone or I swear I'll -”

He grabs you as you’re about to slap the dish towel onto the counter in anger and pulls you forward into his chest. His nose is practically touching yours and his eyes are impossibly dark.

“Shower. Now.” He means it, but you resist, trying to pull from his arms. You're pissed off. Now is not the time for him to be telling you what to do.

“No, I-”

“Get in the fucking shower.”

You can feel your top lip preparing to curl itself into a snarl. 

Instead, you turn on your heel and head for the shower.

You’re still damp, wrapped in nothing but a towel, when you exit the bathroom.

“You done?”

Joel is stood there at the foot of the bed, his t-shirt already discarded somewhere in the room. His belt is unbuckled and he’s beginning to unbutton his jeans and pull down the fly. You can’t help but stare. The sleep-deprived rage that’s flowed through you all day feels an awful lot like arousal when your brain is too muddled to know which way is up. And when you’re looking at Joel. Especially when you’re looking at Joel. 

You gawk at the hard planes of his body. Broad shoulders, muscle built from years of working on construction sites, and a softness around the edges given to him by the comforts you know he loves so much.

It’s only 6pm. You were now more tired than angry, some of your anger washed away in the shower, somewhere between scrubbing your body and rinsing conditioner from your hair. 

You float toward the dresser and open a drawer, planning on readying yourself for bed - you suspect that’s the plan anyway. “Shower and bed” is your usual routine, after all. You distantly register that he’s talking again, but the words don’t compute until he’s twisting your head toward him with a firm finger on your chin.

“No panties. Get on the bed.” He cocks his head toward the plush bed in the middle of the room. You don’t move. “Get on the fucking bed.”

Dropping your towel, you move to the bed. You’re compliant. So tired you’ve given up. So tired, the rage can’t take hold in the same way any more. So tired, you’d do just about anything to get a few hours sleep. The fight in you has all but fucked off. For now.

Your limbs feel like lead as you pull yourself onto the comforter and fall back somewhere toward the center of the mattress. You’re too tired for grace right now. You just need to sleep. If only you could fucking sleep.

There’s a rustle of discarded jeans, and a moment later, the mattress is shifting under Joel’s weight and the heat of him radiates up you as he shifts his body on top of yours. At some point your knees were knocked apart and his own had settled between them, but you don’t remember exactly how. All you're focused on is the heat of him. 

A large hand ghosts over your hip, down the soft swell of your thigh and between your legs. He starts stroking gently at the soft skin of your inner thighs. Moving up, and up, and up, he switches sides just before meeting the apex of your legs and moves to give your other thigh attention.

You don’t know if you’ve been breathing, but you’re not dead yet so you must have remembered at some point. All you know is you’re somehow sensitive and numb in equal measure - feeling everything so harshly, but so distantly.

Soft kisses are being pressed to you - your neck, jaw, temples, chest. Up and down, just like his hands. The movement of him could send you off, but the heat above of him is burning through you too much for you to be lulled to sleep.

Swapping from side to side, he caresses your soft flesh until he’s so impossibly close to your center yet not close enough to be touching. A soft sweep of his hand over your cunt, and you’re pulled from your daze with a jolt.

“Joel, I said I don't want to come.” You try to be firm, gripping his arm and lightly tugging, but you don’t want to be. You do want to come. You’re tired, you didn’t want it before, and you’re being stubborn because fuck you always are, but now that he’s here - now that he’s there - you want it.

“I ain't makin’ you come. I'm gettin’ this pussy wet so I can fuck it.” He says it so matter of factly you could headbutt him.

Instead, your mouth falls into an o-shape and you stare at him. Your grip on his arm weakens, partly with your resolve, and partly with exhaustion.

“I -”

“Shut up.”

“But I -”

The firm fingers that were caressing your thighs so softly a moment ago are suddenly gripping your chin hard, and your eyes snap directly to his. “I said shut the fuck up.” He lands a gentle peck on your lips before releasing you, trailing his hand back down the contours of your body. His nose brushes up and down the side of your neck and jaw, occasional soft kisses being pressed to the sensitive skin there as he breathes you in. 

You are floating.

His fingers meet your folds again, relentlessly teasing and stroking the softness of your labia, a flare of something coursing through you that stokes a fire no longer built of rage, but arousal.

Joel looks down the stretch of your body as he feels at your entrance, parting you with two fingers. Teasing, he swirls his finger tip just outside of you, collecting the veritable oil slick you'd generated in the last few minutes of his careful teasing.

“There we go. We got there, huh?” He almost sounds condescending and you want to slap off the smug look you know is on his face.

“Now. Here's what we're gonna do.” He murmurs into your ear as he still teases around your cunt, dipping a little further in but never down to a knuckle. 

“You're goin’ to shut the fuck up and take what I give you. Then you're goin’ to go the fuck to sleep whether you like it or not.” 

He pulls his finger from your cunt, and before you have a chance to protest the loss of sensation or his instruction, he’s slipping the slicked finger between your lips. Your brain stutters to a halt and all you can do is gently suckle on his digit, tasting the sweetness of your own pussy.

“That taste good?” He strokes your hair, your face, and a soft whine escapes you. “Yeah I know it does baby.”

He brushes your hair back as he takes his finger from your mouth and puts it into his own, tasting the remnants of you. You stare at him, dumb from sleep, dumb from the wetness you know must be dripping out of you. 

“I know.” He coos as he sits back on his haunches. His heat is so far away now, and you almost whine again until you feel him notch at your entrance. Your eyes widen. “I know.” He pushes in the weeping tip of his cock - you don’t know how long he’s been hard but you can feel it- and slides in with a gentle thrust. Rocking his hips, you take more and more of him until he slides home and pushes his hips until they’re flush with yours. 

You are so impossibly full, stretched without much warning, and your mind so deliciously blank that breathing has to become a conscious effort.

He pulls out slightly, giving you room to breathe, before pushing back in, deeper than before. “That's it. You take it. You're getting your medicine now, huh? I'm goin’ to come in this pussy and you're goin’ to go the fuck to sleep. Ain't ya? Huh? Answer me sweetheart.”

Practically going cross-eyed with the effort, you look him in the eyes. “Mhm.”

“Good. There's a good girl. Just take it and then you'll sleep. You been needin’ this. Too damn pissy for your own good to be able to ask for what you need.”

He’s fucking into you so deep, so gently that you can do nothing but quietly gasp with each rock of his hips into yours.

“Once you get some come in your pussy that'll send you right to sleep.” He’s right. You know he’s right and it’s all you want. You need it, but words are lost to you so you nod your head softly, before letting out a deep moan. He’s pushed himself even deeper and he’s holding there for a moment before releasing. He repeats the action a few times, and your moans get higher and higher pitched.

“I'm goin’ to get it nice and deep, just how you like it. This is where you need it, ain't it?” He pushes low on your stomach. He’s always been big, but like this he feels even bigger. You let out a whine. If you had the energy to sustain your rage and be fucked, you'd be furious at your own pathetic noises, but you were so past any of it.

“Yeah.” Too sleepy and too cockdumb, it’s the first word you’ve been able to utter for what feels like an hour.

“Oh, baby, I know, you're so tired.” He tuts and picks up the pace of his movements, his solid length slowly drawing out of your messy cunt before punching back in.

Maybe if you were even more tired, the smooth, rhythmic movement of his hips slapping against yours would let you drift off to sleep, but it has the opposite effect. You can’t possibly sleep now. You need him, you need more. He’s everywhere but not everywhere enough and your arousal pools and drips down from your needy hole, down the crevasse of your ass and onto the bed below. 

Words are gone again, so you whine, high pitched and needy.

“You're taking your medicine so good baby. So good.” His words shoot right fucking through you. You could come. Oh fuck, you want to come. But you don’t know the words anymore - you don’t know any words.

So you whine again.

“Oh, it's okay, it's okay.” He shushes you, kissing your temple. “I know what you need.”

He doesn't tease. He simply brushes a hand down between your legs, never breaking the rhythm of his cock thrusting in and out of your dripping cunt. He splays his fingers around your pussy for a second, feeling his length as it slides in and out of you, collecting your wetness in the process.

Those same fingers trail up and find their place on your neglected clit, circling lightly.

He searches your face, waiting for the connection of his fingertips with your clit to register in your eyes. There it is.

“That's it, huh? That right there.” He adds a firmer pressure to his fingertips as he swirls them around your slicked clit. Your eyes have glossed over and you let out a keening whine at his ministrations, your pussy already twitching around him. 

“Thank you. Thank you.” It’s barely a whisper, but it’s words, so you’ll take it.

“Oh now she's polite, huh. Gettin’ what she needs and suddenly she remembers her manners.” He teases. Asshole.

He was so good at this. All of it. He knew the exact buttons to push, the exact way to get you wet, the words to say, the way to be. If you wanted it hard he'd give it hard, if you wanted it gentle he'd give it gentle. And this, some delicious no-man's land in-between where his movements were gentle but his words were somewhat harsh, was sending you over the edge.

The rhythm of his fingers and cock is so in sync, so perfect, that you feel your whole body begin to quake as the beginning of your orgasm flares through you.

“Oh that's it, you fucking come. You come. Didn't even know you needed it huh. Don't even know your own pussy like I do, baby. You needed all this. Needed my cock in you, feelin’ so good, needed to come around me.”

Your walls flutter around his rock solid length, gripping him, and your legs clench, trying to snap shut but unable with the press of his body between your thighs. Your orgasm washes over you, briefly blinding you and you feel Joel’s fingers and thrusts speed up, fucking you through it and rocking you back and forth as your mouth opens in a silent scream. 

One ragged intake of breath later and you go limp against the mattress. Joel stills, removing his fingers from your oversensitive clit, stroking at your arm and making you twitch.

He nuzzles his nose into you and gives a deep press into you with his hips. You gasp and open your eyes. His face is softer now - no condescending wrinkle of his raised brows, no smirk.

“You gonna play stupid next time? Huh?” He softly traces a finger over your chin and mouth.

“No.” You try not to pout at him, you really do. You’re not sure you succeed.

“You gonna ask for what you need when you need it?” His finger moves to trace over your nose, your forehead.

You nod, soaking in the feeling of his hands, acutely aware of his cock still impaling you so deeply. “Mm.”

“Good. Good girl.” He mumbles into your mouth, kissing you, licking at the seam of your lips.

With a sudden movement he pulls out and snaps his hips forward, swallowing your gasp with his mouth.

You’re fucked out and exhausted, but he’s not finished.

“You're gonna take this come now.” He practically whispers it, and you want to scream with how it reignites every nerve ending in your body to his touch. “I'm gonna come in this pussy and then we're getting those panties on you.” His head ticks over to the dresser, where the drawer still lies open from earlier. Oh. You’d forgotten about that.

“Then, you're goin’ the fuck to sleep.”

“Mm.” You nod weakly. You'll do anything. Anything he says.

“We'll deal with the messy panties when you wake up, sweetheart. See how much of a mess I make in you.” 

His movements barely speed up, barely get harder, but you know he's close. He’s been close for a while - he likes it when you fight but he likes it when you’re feeble too. 

"Yeah. Ohhhh - fuck - yeah." He doesn't stop moving, fucking you in the same steady rhythm as he empties himself deep into your cunt, thick ropes of come filling you and making you feel even more impossibly warm and wet as it leaks out of you already, still stuffed full of Joel's cock.

"Fuck. There we go.” He says with a sigh, stroking your shoulder and kissing your neck. “There we go baby.”

His cock twitches as it starts to soften, but he holds it, and his come, inside of you for a moment until it’s an impossible task.

You’re delirious from the orgasm, from the constant rhythm of Joel’s fucking setting a metronome up in your body, and from so little sleep.

A deep kiss is pressed to your lips, you try to catch it and return the pressure, but your reflexes are so slow that he’s away and sliding out of you before you can even register what’s happening. Another stroke of your shoulder and his weight is suddenly off of you completely.

You could float away without him there to tether you down.

Distantly, you hear the slide of a drawer in the dresser. You're dozing when he slides one foot then another into the legs of your panties, before pulling them up your legs to your knees. Fingertips ghost up your legs, and meet at your dripping core. He looks at the mess made of your pussy, clicks his tongue, and he fingers some of the escaped come back into you with two thick fingers.

“Up.” His voice gruff with post-orgasm relaxation and his fingers still gently moving inside of you. You lift your hips, probably barely, but it's the most you can give right now. Joel shimmies them up the rest of the way with one hand, and pulls his fingers from inside you once they're settled in place.

He rubs the soaked seat of your clean panties. "We'll keep that right there, right where you need it.”

"Mm." You nod, barely seeing him now through the haze of your sleepiness and that post-fuck haze. He was right. You did need it. He was always right.

Another soft kiss is pressed to your temple, and you feel a soft caress across your arms, shoulders, neck, face. 

Just as you register the cold you feel without him on top of you, you feel the weight of a soft blanket fall over you. Your eyes are impossibly heavy now, but you realize you haven’t been seeing anything for a while anyway. You almost don’t recall ever being angry - your frustration from the day flipped into arousal so quickly, and melted away with the waning of your orgasm.

“Sleep.” His voice is so deep and so inviting. Your body so relaxed and ready to give in to him, give in to sleep.

You’d been chasing sleep for weeks, only for it to evade you. Being given dregs of what your body would let you have. But this time, for the first time in weeks, you don’t let your eyes fall closed, you close them. You don’t let sleep take you, you take hold of it. 

“Sweet dreams, darlin’.” And you’re gone.

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x you #coveted fics

[dreamsy990]

you know i used to think it was weird how sora and roxas have such different personalities for supposedly being 'the same person' but after playing a few games i sort of realized that they do have similar personalities, because roxas acts how sora does when he's under extreme stress.

compare roxas to sora in, say, kh1. that's where a lot of peoples idea of sora's personality comes from. sora is generally very upbeat and optimistic in that game. not very similar to roxas, right?

but let's switch the game and talk about a game where sora is ABSOLUTELY GOING THROUGH IT. chain of memories.

sora's resting state is melancholy in com. he only ever cheers up in short bursts, usually when he's joking around with friends. just like roxas.

he's quick to anger, and tends to lash out at the organization members. best example of this is when larxene makes him 'remember' namine, and he swings at her repeatedly, even after she's gone. he only stops when jiminy is able to snap him out of it.

you know what scene that resembles?

sora, while a bit more on the angry side and less sad, continues to act like this in kh2 when he's in stressful situations. (he also has a tendancy to insult people which, while it's not very related to the point, is very funny and sora saying 'gonna cry?' to xigbar is great.) i cant comment any further than that about kh2 off the top of my head.

so, roxas acts like sora does when he's stressed, right? but why is roxas always acting like that? to which i say, he isnt!

he only ever acts like that when he's also in fucked up and stressful situations, which happens to be a CONSTANT in his life. but when he's hanging out with axel and xion, a decidedly NOT stressful situation, he's a lot more like sora. he's teasing his friends and insulting his coworkers and joking around and acting like a normal kid. not really important, but unless i misremembered some sora lines which is VERY possible, both roxas and sora respond to friendly insults with "oh thanks!" a lot. just a funny little detail that felt relevant.

the biggest differences between roxas and sora boil down to environment and... i dont know how to put it besides volume? roxas is very quiet and tends to keep most of his thoughts to himself, while sora is very loud and expressive in comparison.

there is one other huge difference i noticed, which is less character based and more story. sora wanted to get off destiny islands and explore with his friends, but roxas just wanted routine. sora wants adventure, and roxas wants things to stay the same, for days where he gets off work and eats ice cream with his friends to last forever, to keep having conversations about nothing and watching the sunset. roxas wants normalcy, sora wants excitement. it's just interesting seeing their contrast.

not sure if this is very well said or anything i just wanted to talk about my boys

#random thoughts #its been a while since i got to use that tag eheheh #i bet theres a few people following me who didnt even know i did analysis posts #the fact that sora and roxas grew up in very different environments is pretty important btw #roxas was already a bit quiet and being in a cult where any expression of emotion is immediately shut down probably didnt help #we'll probably never get a good idea of how roxas would be if he was in a normal situation #id say some of the twilight town stuff might be a close estimate but even that doesnt really fit considering all the shit going down #even from the very start hes being accused of theft hes Not doing the best #anyways. sora and roxas are different obviously #but theyre a lot more similar than people really talk about #kingdom hearts #roxas #sora #not rereading this so it might be a little weird and hard to read sorry

[wttcsms]

diesel is desire (we were playing with fire) ; sebastian sallow

pairing sebastian sallow x f!reader word count 4k synopsis sebastian sallow is a good friend. so good, in fact, that when you find yourself under the ungodly influence of a lust potion, he's willing to help give you some relief. content contains seventh year au, dubcon (under the influence of lust potion), darker take on seb's character lol <3, breeding kink, creampie, possessive!sebastian, possessive sex, virginity loss, babytrapping

“Why did you go out of your way to avoid me?” 

An accusatory voice momentarily breaks you free from the overwhelming feelings you were struggling to deal with, but the voice is too familiar.

The source? Sebastian Sallow — a very disappointed Sebastian Sallow, which after two years of friendship (and the lingering what-if of becoming something more), you’re able to identify as a Sebastian that you would much rather not be dealing with. Particularly because, try as hard as he might, he’s rather prone to saying harsh things and treating you unkindly whenever he gets into one of his moods. The hurt expression on his face is barely concealed by the scowl that mars his otherwise handsome features. 

Don’t think about how handsome he is!

Instead of replying to him, you’re quick to turn your head to the side, trying to focus on the curtain that separates your cot from the others in the infirmary. It’ll do no good to engage with Sebastian right now — not whenever the reason you’ve been compelled to check yourself in to the school nurse is purely because you’re not sure if you have enough self-control to stop yourself from literally ripping his robes off of him.

But it’s not like you can tell him all that. Lying would be preferable, if only Sebastian wasn’t so attuned to you and every single one of your tells. If you attempted lying to him, who knows what more damage you would cause? Then again, blatantly ignoring him also seems equally dangerous, especially with how quick to irritate he’s been lately. Ever since you witnessed him literally murdering his uncle, the relationship between the two of you has grown stronger — being practically partners in crime will do that to a friendship — but also more… volatile. The charming fifth-year you met on your first day of school still remains, but you have long since realized that there’s more to him than meets the eye.

On the surface, he’s nothing but affable. Maybe a bit of a rebellious streak, but it’s all in good nature. In the beginning, it was fun being with him. Exciting, even. Then you started following him on the dark path he paved all by himself, and before you could realize that you were in too deep, it had already been too late to turn around. Now, the seventh-year boy standing by your cot seems so different from the one who lives on only in your memories.

“Don’t ignore me.” He means to make the words come out sharp, irritated. It resembles more of a plea than anything, and you shut your eyes, willing him to leave. It must be all in your head, but you swear you can smell the familiar scent of him: cool mint mixed with the light musk of whatever cologne he’s been favoring since the fifth year. 

“Sebastian, I’m not feeling very well.” You mumble, hoping it’ll be enough to get him to leave you alone. It’s not a lie. You aren’t feeling great whatsoever. Not even the nurse, bless her heart, can figure out what’s become of you. She gave you a pitying look and an almost amused smile as she explained that — in her words — sexual urges are very normal for girls your age. 

If your body wasn’t already overheating, you’re certain your cheeks would have instantly turned hot from sheer embarrassment. 

“Well, why wouldn’t you tell me that instead of abandoning me the whole entire day?” Sebastian is many things with different people. With you, he is both guarded and vulnerable. Some days, when you’re not feeling your best, his emotions versus his actions can give you whiplash. He has the audacity to say something like that all the while, he sounds absolutely tortured over the fact that he had to go eight hours without your presence. 

As if realizing the harshness of his attitude, he softens his tone as he asks, “Are you feeling any better?”

You had gone to the Great Hall before him because you needed to review your History of Magic notes before the test today. All you had was a bit of pumpkin juice and toast, and all had been well until you started feeling warm underneath your robes and sweater. As the heat began to travel through your body, you found it hard to concentrate on your notes. Not because of the heat, but because of the many thoughts swirling around in your head. Flashes of Sebastian that started innocently enough and quickly morphed into daydreams of him without his uniform. Sebastian with his hair messed up from the way your fingers tugged at the strands as he satiated his thirst with the juices flooding between your legs. Sebastian who would prioritize your pleasure over his and could make you cum multiple times before even thinking about getting his dick wet. Sebastian—

—who you share most of your classes with! 

You knew right then and there that something had to be wrong with you. Sure, you’ve thought about him sometimes, but never to that degree. And certainly never at seven in the morning over breakfast and history notes. 

That’s how you ended up lying in a cot in the infirmary, trying your hardest to ignore the intrusive thoughts of Sebastian fucking you ‘til you can’t walk anymore. 

“No.” You practically moan out the word, and you’re hoping to play it off as just you being a baby about being “sick”. 

You don’t expect him to turn your head so that you’re staring up at the ceiling, and you certainly don’t expect him to press the back of his hand against your forehead. His hands are cold, but surprisingly enough, it brings you some sort of relief from the fever that has seemingly overtaken your body. You bite back another moan. 

“You’re burning up.” Gone is his attitude. Instead, it’s been replaced by your favorite Sebastian — the kind, caring one. The one that resembles the boy you first met. Sometimes, his care can be suffocating, but when you find yourself craving nothing but him and his touch, you don’t mind his invasion of your personal space at all. “Are there any other side effects? Does your throat hurt? Stomach? Tell me what’s the matter.” 

You know how Sebastian must feel when it comes to people he cares about falling ill. His sister has only made him more paranoid about the severity of sickness and curses, and the concern and fear etched upon his face makes your hardened resolve of keeping the sordid details of your affliction to yourself melt away.

“Don’t laugh…” You warn him, but your voice seems so small and maybe even a little scared that his expression turns even more serious.

“Never.”

“I think… I think something happened to me. A charm…” You’re careful to dance around the word curse, lest Sebastian accidentally blows up the whole entire infirmary due to his emotional state. “I just feel very hot. And, um, I think the only relief would be to—”

You can’t even say it. You can barely even explain it since you don’t really know what’s happening either. 

“I’mfeelingverysexuallyfrustratedandIhavenomeansofrelief!” 

The two of you know that you’re never going to repeat that phrase ever again, and you’re practically near tears after that little confession. 

“Oh.” He says, as if this is nothing more than a simple, casual conversation and not the most humiliating situation ever. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” 

“Be-because it’s embarrassing!” Has he really no shame? Who would willingly admit that out loud? 

“You know, I’ve heard rumors of some sixth-years trying to pull pranks by spiking the juices with love potions. Just really gimmicky concoctions, truly. Nothing too severe. Hmm… You must have a sensitivity to it, though.” Sebastian’s musings do nothing to bring you reassurance. If anything, it just makes you want to hide. If the universe is truly kind, a sinkhole will emerge from nowhere and swallow you whole. Yes, that sounds lovely right now. 

Instead, the universe is sick, because what else could explain Sebastian telling you, 

“If it’s relief you need, I’d be happy to help.” 

Sebastian is many things to you — a dear friend, a confidant, a literal partner in crime — but none of those things involve him having sex with you, even if the offer only came from some odd sense of duty. 

And that’s what this is, isn’t it? He probably feels indebted to you since the fifth-year. Maybe even anxious, too. You could expose him at any given moment, and maybe that’s why he’s been so keen on attaching himself to your side ever since. This is a humiliating predicament to be in, and Sebastian doesn’t seem like the type to kiss and tell — considering that you don’t even know the names of girls he’s been with before is evidence. 

Besides, you’re only feeling incredibly needy for one person. You can accept his offer, but you’re certainly not going to let him know the truth: that only he is the one who can help you. 

“Don’t be embarrassed.” His cool hand is now cupping your face, thumb brushing against your cheekbone in an almost gentle manner. Sweet Sebastian is making an appearance, perhaps to try to put you at ease. You like this Sebastian. “Just let me take care of you.” 

When the haze of lust clears from your sex-addled mind, the rush of consequences will burden and crush your very conscience. 

Fortunatenly enough, consequences are clearly the last thing on your mind.

It would appear that the only thing you can truly focus on is Sebastian and what his idea of ‘taking care of you’ is. 

The Sebastian staring greedily at you is an unfamiliar Sebastian. You’ve become accustomed to the many variations of himself: Angry Sebastian, who says the most vile things out of spite and usually misguided anger; Remorseful Sebastian, who is quick to grovel (he’s quite good at groveling, really) and wants nothing more than to be back in your good graces; Happy Sebastian, although there are variations upon this very variation — the trick to seeing whether he’s pseudo-happy or not is all in his smile (the fake one is eerily perfect, the real one is crooked and a rarity). This Sebastian, though…

Hungry. 

The word doesn’t quite explain the dark glint in his eyes or the way his hands are almost reverently stroking your body. Your skin felt so, so hot just a few minutes ago — then again, just a few minutes ago, you still had your school jumper and blouse neatly intact. Now, you’re laid practically bare, prey to Sebastian’s more-than predatory gaze. 

If the two of you weren’t such great friends, you might have had enough sense to be scared.

The only articles of clothing left to protect your dignity and shield you from his eyes are your skirt (which is already riding up to expose your thighs due to his wandering hands), your white cotton panties, and the matching bra. 

“How do you feel now?” He asks, and you want to tell him you’re still feeling embarrassed, but his hands feel surprisingly nice on your skin, and you can’t help but hunger for more. Perhaps the look in his eyes, the one you couldn’t quite find a proper name for, is the same look you’re giving him. 

“More.” You whimper out, not caring if you sound selfish or impatient. This is awful. The two of you should put a stop to… To whatever the hell this is! This is a horribly unbecoming, unsavory situation you are in, and if things progress like how you think they are going to (how you want them to), then you’re both dead once all the adults find out. Professor Weasley would probably force the two of you to be wedded within the next day of her finding out, not to mention that the headmaster would probably have the both of your heads on sticks.

But you don’t tell him to stop because your rational thought is slipping, much like your bra. You’re viewing everything almost as if in a trance, almost as if this is happening to someone else and not you. But it is very much you; it’s your nipples hardening after being exposed to the cool air of the infirmary. It’s your bra that Sebastian tosses to the side. He’s licking his lips, eyeing the expanse of skin that has been revealed to him. In ordinary circumstances, you’re certain you would make all attempts to cover yourself up and try to regain some sense of modesty.

In these circumstances, you practically arch your back and mewl out for more, more, more.

More touching. More skin-to-skin contact. More of Sebastian. You want him. All of him. Every part of him. You want his cock ramming into your cunt, you want his hands wrapped around your throat, his mouth spewing out words of filth right into your ear. Most importantly, even though all you can seemingly focus on is having him ravish you, you can’t help but to be greedy and dare to hunger for more. You want his secrets — all of them. You want to know the nightmares that plague him, and whether he’s full of regrets, just like you. You want to have a claim to his soul, just like how he already has a claim to yours. You want to know that when his heart beats, it is calling out for you. 

“I’m going to kiss you now.” He announces, like he’s waiting for you to protest. He’s not directly asking, but the question is still there, as is the warning. Can I kiss you? If you let me, there’s no going back. 

“Please.” You whimper, completely and entirely at his mercy.

“Say it.” Sebastian swallows hard, almost as if he’s also nervous and too charged up with desire. His fingers are loosening his tie. He has already shrugged off his robes. 

He doesn’t tell you want to say, but you already know what he wants to hear. The words have been resting on the tip of your tongue this whole entire time, anyway. 

“I want you to— to kiss me, and more…” You look into his eyes. The lights in the infirmary make them appear a lighter color than usual. “I want more. I want you, Sebastian.”

The moment the last confession slips from your soft lips, Sebastian’s mouth descends upon your own. His body is angled awkwardly, trying not to crush you with his weight, but you can feel the heat emanating from him all the same, even despite the layers of his clothing that separates the two of you. 

You think the world stops spinning when his lips slot against yours. He tastes like the pumpkin juice from this morning, sweet and refreshing. There’s a lingering taste of spearmint toothpaste. You want to keep kissing him forever. You want him to kiss you everywhere else. When breathing becomes a necessary thing, he stops. You frown. You didn’t want him to stop. Oxygen is overrated, anyway. 

He lays a hand against the pillow you’re resting on, staring down at you, want clearly displayed on his visage; desire is etched onto every facial feature, and his eyes are gazing so intently into yours, you wonder if he’s a Legilimens. 

“Promise me you won’t regret this. Swear that you truly do want this.” 

He must not be a Legilimens, then. It’s so clear you’ve been in… It feels odd to admit it. Wrong, even. But it’s the truth—

—you’ve been in love with him since the fifth year.

You don’t keep someone’s secrets, their crimes, to yourself when you don’t love them. You let him perform Cruciatus on you, and you forgave him. No — you didn’t. Because you asked him to. There was nothing to forgive. You would endure it, over and over and over again, just for him, only him. And to think, you’re flooding your panties just at some simple fantasies of him, and he has the nerve to believe you don’t want this? Don’t want him?

“I promise. I swear it to you. I want this entirely.” And maybe liquid courage had been slipped into the juice you’ve consumed as well because you find yourself admitting, “I’ve always wanted to do this with you. If it… If it had to be done the first time around, I would always dream of you doing it to me.” 

He stops breathing, just for a moment. Gapes at you, even. 

“Y-you’re a virgin?” 

You wonder if you’ve gone off and ruined the mood. You wonder if you should take it back, say you were just joking, but before you can, his lips are pressing against yours once again. This kiss is even hungrier than the last, and you’re not quite sure how that’s even possible. It’s almost as if he wants to devour you whole. 

“Thank you.” He gasps out, so close to you that his breath tickles your nose. “Thank you for entrusting me with this, love. I promise I’ll make it good for you, just as you deserve.” 

And suddenly Sebastian is just everywhere. His sweater is discarded on the floor, right next to your bra and his tie. His belt is unclasped; he hasn’t even bothered to remove it entirely, just displaced it enough to where he can unbutton his trousers, and he’s pulling it down — his pants, that is. And the briefs. He hasn’t entirely disposed of everything, just partially. Meticulous Sebastian Sallow who is now so far gone into lust and depravity that he cannot even handle wasting another second by removing himself entirely of his clothes. You have made a man into a beast.

But you see the way he’s eyeing you — all dark hair and sharp teeth. He flips your skirt up, exposing your damp panties to him, and he licks his lips again, and you realize — perhaps too late, or perhaps you’ve known all this time — that Sebastian has always been a bit of a beast. A wolf only coyly imitating domesticity. 

“You’re so wet.” He brushes a finger against your cotton-covered folds, and you shiver. 

Yes! Your body seems to cry out. More, more, more! Your back arches, keening, craving his touch. You’re soaking through the fabric, making it practically translucent. You’ve never been this wet before in your life. You’ve never wanted his touch more badly than you do now. 

“For me.” He mutters, but in the silence of the infirmary, you hear him all too clearly. “Is this all for me, love? Have you been like this all day?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to form coherent sentences. Even if he’s not staring at your head, far too fixated at what’s between your legs, he hums his approval. 

“Don’t worry, my love. I’ll make it all better.” 

He’s kissing you. He’s got your panties only pulled to one side, and you think he’s muttering apologies against your saliva-coated lips. Something that sounds awfully like sorry, so sorry, but I can’t wait, and I don’t think you can, either. You barely catch a glimpse of his cock before you can feel the sharp heat of his length against your inner thigh. You would have thought that there would be some preparation, especially since this will be your first, but you’re thoroughly soaked. You’re aching for a sensation you have never felt before, but the animal inside of your brain is telling you, instinctually, to seek Sebastian out. That Sebastian will make it all better. That’s what he said he’ll do, and he’s kissing you, and he’s apologizing, and—

—and the world stops spinning.

No. There’s some slight resistance at first, your poor cunt protesting at the intrusion. A second later, and he’s slipping in half of his length with considerably more ease. A few inches more, and his hips are pressed against yours, and oh— Oh, it’s like you’re made for him. There is no resistance. There is no pain. There’s just you and him, and your body is welcoming him home. Where has he been? It seems to ask. Please don’t ever leave again. 

“Fuuuuck.” He hisses it out, and his teeth are gritted, and he’s admiring you. His eyes flicker to your face, down to your breasts, down down down right to where the two of you are connected. The word comes out broken, and yet, drawn out. As if he’s struggling to speak. 

Then he starts thrusting, and suddenly you realize that the world hasn’t ceased its spinning. No — now it’s moving entirely too fast. It must be off its axis. You feel otherworldly. You feel like this pleasure, this overwhelming, absolutely delicious pleasure, cannot simply exist on earth. It should be impossible. It should be impossible to find comfort and rapture in the way the tip of his cock seemingly kisses your cervix. You expect pain. 

You only find mindnumbing, earth shattering pleasure.

You feel stretched beyond your limits. You hear his pants and his groans, and you’re moaning, too. Calling out his name, which is so silly, he’s right there, he’s right there. There, at that special spot, at the spot you’ve never been able to discover on your own. You now know why adults advise so heavily against these type of relations — it’s simply addicting. You don’t think you can stop; you don’t think you want to stop.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck, you’re so good f’me. Such a good girl. My good girl, aren’t you?” He’s rambling. His thrusts are considerably sloppier, and you feel his thumb brush against your clit, and you arch your back some more, practically screaming out his name. The stimulation is too much — it’s not enough — and you will always crave him. “Tell me. Tell me that you’re mine.”

There’s something so, so addicting about his possession. About being treated like his possession. 

“Yours. M’yours, Seb. All—” You can’t finish your sentence. The pleasure is becoming too much, and you’re too sensitive, and he’s doing this thing, this absolutely amazing thing, where he rubs circles on your clit in tandem with his harsh thrusts, and you’re cumming. You don’t ever want to come down. 

He feels you cum, sees your juices drench his cock as he pulls out, only to push right back in, relishing in the feeling of your contracting walls. He leans down, biting on your neck, and you take a hand to grip his dark hair, still cumming, and now he is, too. Spurts of his cum are flooding into you, painting your walls, successfully staking his unrivaled claim on you. You have been compromised. If anyone were to find the two of you out, you would have no other choice but to take his hand, his ring, his family name, him. You would have to take it all.

Coming down from his high, he has enough kindness left in him to lick at the wound he’s left on your neck. Your eyes are fluttering close, the intensity of it all thoroughly exhausting you. You don’t know the thoughts swirling in his mind. You don’t sense the longing behind him stroking your stomach, wondering if the Felix Felicis — his bottled Liquid Luck he’s spent forever brewing — has done its job. It would surely be very lucky, indeed, if his seed takes this first time around. 

Your breathing slows, and he feels your heartbeat even out. You’re exhausted, poor thing. Perhaps he had been too rough.

He’ll apologize, he decides, by doing something that’ll benefit the both of you. He ought to clean you up, get you tucked in, and when you wake, he’ll go down on you. He bets you taste so sweet, so innocent. He had known, of course, that he was your first — that he was always going to be your first. Your only. 

He wonders if the effects of the lust potion will still linger in your system even after you wake up. Probably so — he did it brew it quite strongly.

But the adoration, the love, in your eyes is something no amount of skilled potioneering can create. No; your feelings for him are real. You just needed to lower your inhibitions to get to the confessional stage.

And now that you have confessed… 

Sebastian Sallow can rest well after confirming what he’s known ever since he first laid eyes on you:

You’re his.

#sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #smut #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow smut #one shot #lemon

[mondaymelon]

₊˚ෆ 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 | lyney, neuvillette, wriothelsey x gn!reader

( i am fully aware snowfelt is not a word. shhhh just please. ignore it. let's have another silly year together, yeah? )

⤷ they confess to you! reader has liked them for a while beforehand, fluff to start off the year ~ (psps i kn o w its the 23rd but writer's block whammied me against a wall and held me hostage for that time so. its really not my fault /lh)

[ in the dying light of fireglow, hands intertwined below a blanket, they turn to gaze into your eyes, speaking three words... ]

"Cold, are we? Shall I warm you up?"

Ah, but the playful grin tugging at LYNEY's lips already provides you with a sufficient, kindled warmth nestled deep into your chest. The snow cascading beyond the windows, curtains half-drawn over the glass, revealed the picturesque scenery, the land that had grown familiar to you dusted with white… your thoughts were dispersed with a light shake of your head just as the winter breeze swept over the snow. 

The male smiles as you nudge yourself closer to his side, and with a swift snap of his fingers, sparks heat in the fireplace, a blaze whose flames licked the bricks of its ensnarement. Unfair, really, simply unfair, how with such an effortless movement he swept you into your arms, reddened your already flushed, cold-bitten cheeks. “Warm yet?”

“...Too warm,” you manage a complaint, voice barely audible with how tightly you were pressed against him. “You’re suffocating me, Lyney.” At your words, his seemingly unconscious vice-like grip loosened, allowing you a breath. 

“Better?”

“Better.”

The world was quiet. Silent, for not even the wind dared utter a noise. No, that couldn’t be true, for if that were the case, then what were you to make of the persistent flutter of your heart? It was the way his gaze drunk you in that allowed you to dream of such a misunderstanding that he might share the sentiment, with the sight of you cuddled tightly in his arms, your slightly messy hair after he had ruffled it and the rosy cheeks that could possibly bring the most minuscule warmth to his face. 

“Thank you.” Your voice was quiet, it felt small, too small for your liking. Why were you even thanking him? What had he done for you? A lot. Simply too many to count. With his playful demeanor, certainly someone like you wouldn’t be well suited to him. Perhaps it was just a haphazard coincidence that allowed the two of you to meet, or perhaps just a cruel twist of fate that had decided to toy with your heart before discarding it. Either way, these feelings are safeguarded, nestled along with the warmth in your chest… they were quiet.

“For what?” Lyney’s jest of a smile tugged at his lips. “Why, have you finally realized that I’m quite the respectable person after all this time?”

“No,” you playfully hit his chest. Ever since the first encounter, the male had chased after you with reckless abandon, somehow managing to find you in just about any situation you were in. Watering the flowers that lined the streets, discussing work matters with the civilians, he’d appear out of thin air beside you, almost like magic. With a boyish grin on his face and a word or two whispered into your ear, “So this is where you were~” ...You shook your head, ears only growing redder at fortunate past thoughts. “You still remain a stalker, it’d be foolish to hope for anything more.” 

To hope for something more… what a hypocrite, you were. Your own words burned your tongue, the consequence of such a sin.

“Is it wrong to hope?” Lyney’s smile remained, but his tone grew serious. The faint twinkles that shone in his lavender eyes evidently bore his “wrongful” hope. “To wish that perhaps one day, I’ll mean more than just a ‘stalker’ to you?”

Your breath hitched. Say, didn’t these words… sound familiar? Didn’t they resemble lines read from those light novels from Inazuma, covers decorated with roses and sparkles? “Lyney, you-”

“I love you.”

Your words have escaped you. Countless, countless words. Each of them grow wings and flit away. 

“Ah, would it be too cliché to call it a love at first sight?” Lyney let loose a sigh, grinning sheepishly with a shake of his head. “But that was exactly what it was. The second I saw you… my, how generic I sound. Would it be too much to stomach if it was from that moment that I knew?” He paused, pursing his lips. They pressed into a tight line. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “I won’t be hopeful. I know better than that, and you’ve said it yourself. Let’s just… would I go too far if I wished to remain by your side? Not as a lover, surely, but a companion, or a mere acquaintance-”

“Lyney.”

His name is familiar in your mouth. It rests easy on the tongue.

“As a lover. That. That’s what… I want.”

The curve of his lips says well enough before he even opens them.

“Then, as your lover… may I kiss you?” ₊˚ෆ

“Are you feeling alright?”

His words were soft against the cold air, and NEUVILLETTE’s pale-eyed gaze even softer. Fontaine had had its first taste of snow, and with it came its cold finger tips that thoroughly dusted whatever it touched, the streets and tops of buildings painted a brilliant white.

“Yes, it’s just… Aren’t you cold like this?” The male, upon seeing you give the slightest shiver at the sudden drop in temperature, had immediately rushed over and taken off his coat for you to wear instead, where it was now draped comfortably over your shoulders. Warm, and it carried his scent. “I’d feel bad if you were to feel unwell because of me, so please, take it back?”

“Now, that’s something I simply can’t do,” His lips drew the slightest smile, a rare sight you were delighted to witness - the way his eyes crinkled at their corners and twinkled all the more was a pleasant one to experience indeed. “I’ll be fine, I can assure you. It’d take more than just a winter breeze to incapacitate me.”

You furrowed your brows, puffing out your cold-flushed cheeks before making a cross with your arms. “Nope, no can do! We’re heading back to my place, and I’ll brew some hot tea. No complaints, we’re going!” Before the man could utter another word, presumably a word of protest, you took him by his gloved hand and started running forwards. Full well, you knew Neuvillette was certainly at a better physique than you were, but you really just needed an excuse to hold his hand.

Why, exactly? The answer was rather simple.

While you weren’t enamored with him to begin with… after all, how could one be like that towards the respectable iudex of Fontaine, your curiosity got the better of you the moment you realized the stoic man suspiciously resembled one of Fontaine’s many creatures, the otter. The colors, the mannerisms, truly, it all paired up in an uncanny fashion. Somehow, along the line of approaching and getting to know him, you had caught feelings. It was almost funny, how they could sneak up on you like that while your guard was down. Except, now that you had them, what were you supposed to confess? “I started to like you when I realized you were practically an otter, love!”...Ugh, how embarrassing would that be? Imagining his handsome features scrunched with displeasure at your offense is one thing about Neuvillette you wished not to behold.

"...Ahem." Curses, you had been holding his hand for far too long to just laugh it off. You blinked yourself out of your past reminiscence, finding yourself faced with a rather concerned Neuvillette. "Apologies, you weren't responding, so..."

"No matter, are we here already?" You coughed into your first awkwardly, quickly letting go of Neuvillette's hand, however warm his touch may be. Unlocking the door, you swiftly swung it open, letting Neuvillette enter and then shutting it behind you. If you’d known that he’d be coming over - you had unconsciously invited him to your residence - you would’ve cleaned the space up a bit more. Nothing you could do about it now, you supposed. “There’s nothing special, you can make yourself at home while I go fetch some refreshments for us.”

“There’s no need for that.” Neuvillette held up a hand to stop you. “I’m quite alright, and if anything, I’d be delighted if you allowed me to brew your tea for you.”

“What? No, you’re my guest, you shouldn’t possibly-!”

“Ah ah, no complaints. I held mine back, so you should do the same, no?” Great, since when had he started getting clever with his words? “What I need you to do is to go get a blanket and sit at the fireplace. Where do you keep the tea?”

You let out a begrudging sigh. “Fifth cabinet.”

“Thank you.” You did as he asked with less than an enthusiastic self, and managed to light the fireplace before Neuvillette returned from the kitchen, carrying a tray that held two cups and a steaming teapot.

You raised an eyebrow at him as you took your cup, warm to the touch. “My, I didn’t expect you to have any complaints, dear Sir Iudex of Fontaine.”

“...Complaint? Ah,” Neuvillette’s eyes rounded when he realized what conversation you were referring to. “Hm, it’s rather embarrassing to say, however… well, since it was a precious day off, I figured I’d take you somewhere special, to the Opera House or wherever, but instead I’m here interfering in your home… it’s certainly not ideal, is it? My apologies.”

There was a moment of silence, accompanied by the crackle of flames. “Archons, is that what you were thinking with such a downcast expression?” You laughed, seeing his expression brighten. He was perhaps a little too predictable. “I don’t mind, Neuvillette. I was the one who invited you here, so there’s no need for you to feel ashamed that you accepted it. Besides…” you inched closer to him, grinning. “Every moment with you is special enough, it doesn’t take somewhere ‘special’ to make it so, hm?”

The man remained silent. Had you gone too far with your reassurance? His pale cheeks were flushed, had he become so enraged that his face had gone red? Certainly not, for he whispered your words like an echo. “A special moment, you say?” A tilt of your head was enough of a response. “Then…”

“I love you.”

“...Pardon?” The smile on your face slipped, and your ears rung with the gravity of his words. Perhaps you had grown so desperate that the only way to appease that mind of yours was to form auditory hallucinations? You had surely dropped to new, unprecedented lows.

“I love you.”

There’s just something about that gaze of his that makes you want to cry in his arms. Something about it that makes you want to be held by him, to feel the warmth that he holds in the way he simply looks at you, to bask in it like sunlight, to feel loved.

“I love..”

“There’s no need to say it again, Neuvillette.” His face falls, and his beautifully damned eyes grow wide. “I heard it the first time.” You can sense that he’s bracing himself for a response, with the way the smile on his lips draws tight and his stance grows rigid. “To think that you’d be the one confessing to me, why, this was certainly not the vision I had imagined a thousand times over in my head.”

You can see the hope in his eyes. You would never dare crush it, your heart beats for him. “I love you, Neuvillette, so repeat it just one more time, would you?”

And just like that, he melts in your arms.

“Yes, darling. I love you too.” ₊˚ෆ

“My, I didn’t expect to see you here!”

Standing up from his desk, WRIOTHESLEY’s eyes are bright with excitement. 

“So surprised, aren’t you?” You lean on his doorway with a fond smile as he embraces you in a quick hug. You smile as he draws back, “Why, am I not allowed to visit the poor duke, cooped up here with nothing but paperwork to satisfy his boredom?”

Your words were true, and they’d struck a note inside him. The Fortress of Meropide was quiet, almost too quiet these days. Sure, there was the persistent, eternal sound of turning gears and bursts of steam, and the never-ending crinkle of paper under his hands, but with most of the prisoners turning in a little earlier due to the cold, the hallways that were usually filled with chatter that he’d proclaim as “distracting” were no more. Monotonous was the crackle of the flames in the fireplace, but the sound of your eager footsteps rounding the hallways was a welcome sound indeed.

“Certainly not, I wouldn’t lie through my teeth and say that your presence is unwelcome.” His lips were curled upwards in a grin, his husky voice bearing the melody of delight. 

“I’d imagine.” That sneaky smile on your face is almost alluring in the pale light. “Stuck in this office of yours doing tedious tasks for the foreseeable future is not the ideal form of entertainment for most Fontainions.” 

A scoff, a playful one. “Then, have you come to help me with said paperwork?”

The shake of your head was instant, so much so that the man could’ve sworn it came out of instinct. “Most definitely not, Wrio. It’s rather unfortunate to say, however…” You let out a great sigh, one foreboding terrible news. Even your eyes began to tear up at their corners, and your expression became dramatically crestfallen. “I’m afraid this empty head of mine has suddenly become illiterate!” 

Wriothesley swallowed a laugh that almost dared surface and instead feigned a dramatic gasp, a hand over his mouth that had widened with shock. “Oh, dearest me! What a predicament… Then, what have you come to visit me for, pray tell? To sit and stare at me?”

You shrugged your shoulders, expression blank. “To be fair, I don’t exactly know either. I wanted to see you, and my feet just brought me here.” It wasn’t a complete truth, but not exactly a lie either. You had wanted to see him - partially to admire his strikingly handsome features, but also just to, well, exist in his presence. As much as he’d deny it, Wriothesley hated the idea of being apart from you, and his unchanging situation as the duke of the Fortress of Meropide didn’t aid that information. That, and the fact that ever since you had seen him simply strolling through the city, the slightest wind ruffling his dark locks and that sharp gaze of his staring ahead of him, you’d been utterly captured. While clichés weren’t exactly your forte, you had to admit that he was a case of “love at first sight”. And while you had fallen for his looks, his disposition wasn’t something to simply brush aside. Funniest thing? He’d been the one to approach you, striking up a conversation while you were merely having a drink at a nearby cafe, asking if you’d seen a certain wig-wearing dog.

“Excuse me, I’m so sorry to bother you, but have you seen a dog around here? He has a top hat, brightly colored hair, is wearing a suit covered in stickers…”

After joining him on the chase around just about the entirety of Fontaine, the two of you managed to find the missing dog, who was actually a stray being taken care of by a melusine Wriothesley was familiar with, and return it. One thing led to another, and the two of you grew from strangers, acquaintances, and now to friends. Surely, it’d be terrible to wish for something more, wouldn’t it?

“Just tell me you missed me.” Wriothesley’s grin had returned, and he chuckled. “You’re not doing the greatest job of hiding it.”

“So what if I missed you?” You pouted, finally moving past the man and into the office, eyeing the papers on his desk before making yourself comfortable next to the fire. “And who said I was hiding it, dear duke?”

Wriothesley paused for a beat before continuing in his regular fashion. “You’re being rather bold today, aren’t you? Your words… they’re making it easy to misunderstand.”

“Misunderstand all you want, does it matter?”

“Yes, it does.”

“N-”

“Let’s stop speaking in riddles. Make yourself clear, hm? What’re you trying to pull with all these questions?” Wriothesley crossed his arms over his chest, leaning closer. “What, are you trying to be a flirt?”

“Aaaand if I am?” You smiled at his actions, not exactly sure what was spurring you onwards. 

“...Damnit, you… archons, you just won’t listen, will you? No matter, it just makes things easier for me. Hey, flirt, you won’t get all flustered if I say this then, yeah?”

“Say what-”

“I love you.”

That was certainly a way to catch someone off guard. “... the fuck-”

“No need to react that badly, all right?” Wriothesley let out a sigh of defeat, leaning his head against the wall as he sat down next to you. “I didn’t say it for the sake of saying it. It’s true. I’ve been wanting to tell you for some time now, but..” He chuckled, a laugh that was void of what a laugh should have. “I’m rather a coward.”

“I-I didn’t mean to answer like that, you just caught me by surprise-” You shook your head, cursing at yourself for sounding so pathetic, with your trembling voice and words that stuttered every syllable. “...And by your definition…” You drew your knees closer to yourself, hugging them to your body. “I’m a coward as well.”

It takes him the count of three to respond, eyes blown wide. “...Wait, you-” The flush on his face was undeniable.

“I like you too, Wrio.”

“Archons, I… give me a moment. I’ve been wanting to hear that for so long, I think my heart has stopped beating.” ₊˚ෆ

(a/n) greetings my beloved melons. hello. ive risen from my grave to presumably and hopefully be alive for the next couple months. my reqs are all still full so i will be tryna get through em but at the same time i will be doing self indulgent fics. so udhaofjsdlf yeahd ahhahahahaa thats pretty much it on daily melon talk im going to answer my plethora of asks tomorrow because i know your dashboard wont be able to handle it if i post this and then answer 15 miillion asks. you are ever so welcome. also i always hate the way i write wriothelsey and this time was no exception this was so painful blegh ajlfksdmc

໒꒱ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open! send an ask or a comment ♡) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife, @lupicalbestwolf, @justyoureader, @fiannee, @aether-darling 

reblogs are appreciated! line up for a smooch. mwah!!

#★ ˎˊ˗ mondaymelon #astronetwrk #favoniuslibrary #lyney genshin #lyney x reader #lyney #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #neuvillette #neuvillete x reader #genshin impact #genshin fanfic #genshin imagines #genshin headcanons #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin oneshots #genshin fluff #wriothesley genshin #neuvilette genshin #neuvillette x reader #genshin impact x reader #x reader #reader insert #genshin drabbles #x gn reader #genshin x gn reader #genshin fanfiction #lyney x you #wriothesley x you

[simp4konig]

Self-aware König X Gender-neutral Reader

Word count: ~2800

König slowly comes to the realisation that he was in a game, that he was never real, and that he'll never be with reader.

His sense of self deteriorates as all he wishes for is to escape from the boundaries of his code and be real.

In this instance, ignorance really *was* bliss.

*Slow burn

*König has a mental breakdown at one point lmao

Edit on same day: HOLY SHIT thank u for so many notes!!!!!!!!!!! 🥹🥹💞💞💞💞💞 You guys are so nice 🫣🫣

*Self-aware AU belongs to @puff0o0 !!!🥳🥳 (The girl behind the disguise🥸... Was rthis loser all along!!!!! 😈😈imagine giving permission to 👍THIS 👍idiot to write Ur fic idea lol u made a mistake 💀💀💀ok but idid my best not to ruin their awesome au with this pathetic controbution and jope I honoured it well 😭😭 but fr i had been stalking their profile since the begigning of their self aware! au and ivloved their acc 🥺🥺I love their imagines and how they fulfill the request yet leave enoith for imaginstion !! (which, don't mind if I do🤠all of the König scenarios added tovmy incessant daydreamimg hhhhhhhhh oh no),, and when they followed me I was staring at my phone with the BIGGEST goofy grin on my face 🥹🥹Thank YOU sm!!!!! 🫂MUCH LOVE!!!!!!!!!!💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞

*To anyone waiting (I've gotten such lovely messages from people saying they liked my first fic (which made me so happy as it was the first ever fanfiction I published online🥹🥹)), Part TWO of my first fic is on its way !!!,, I didn't want to make u guys all fluffy 🥰🩷💘✨🤗 inside only to tear your hearts 💔🥀🗡️🗡️😭 in two witj this 😿 dw I promise to reward u guys with another fic and cute himbo (and absolute menace while on the battlefield 👹)König <33, with King X König having more wholesome interactions in the near future!!

If you had told König that he wasn't real, he would have looked at you blankly and said nothing, passing off your suggestion as a joke of sorts that he possibly couldn't understand.

Perhaps if he was ever faced with a situation like this he'd question you about it, but nothing more, and drop the subject at hand.

Honestly, the likelihood of him ever thinking over this twice would have been slim, as he would not pay your philosophy much thought shortly afterwards.

In fact, he believed that his life as a Kortac operator was indeed a real one, and he wore his embroided Austrian flag on his shoulder with something next to pride, always praised for his outstanding efforts by his superiors in the same tone of voice. To König, however, it meant nothing, and he'd only nod his head in an attempt at gratitude, turning his back to the commemoration in indifference.

Despite not remembering anything of his childhood, his upbringing — hell, even any of his past prior to becoming a soldier — König didn't ever think over it too deeply. The overwhelming pressure to make sure missions went without a hitch and constant deployments to foreign countries left no time to reminisce, especially not when his work was so demanding, and it only made sense to him that they were the reason for his forgotten memories.

Besides, even if he had time to spare and be inactive, he had to stay focused, as being an operator meant that he couldn't let any nostalgia or softness distract him from his tasks.

On the battlefield, König worked on autopilot, performing finishing kills with efficiency and with machine-like precision. Reacting quickly to enemies ambushing him from behind or an enemy that was laying on the floor behind the corner waiting to shoot him in the head, he'd eliminate the targets with bullets to spare. Really, he was unstoppable, and he was on a killing streak.

Until he was shot in the head one day.

The moment it happened, the shot was like an explosion that almost obliterated his eardrums, outside noise deafened like his head was underwater. All he could hear was the high-pitched ringing, and it held an uncanny resemblance to the beeping of a heart rate monitor machine that he would never lay next to, dying instead on a bed of cold rubble and broken shrapnel.

Somehow conscious enough to look around, his mind was completely empty, eyes attempting to adjust. What he'd assumed would happen in a time like this was his mind flashing with memories like a movie reel in his last moments, his entire life playing out in his final dying seconds.

Yet he remembered nothing. No Mama, no Papa, no childhood or any his life trials, nothing that had changed him and moulded his character, not even his motive for enlisting into the military in the first place.

The part that was most unnerving about all this was his complete apathy to it all.

Did he even care that he was dying? Shouldn't he at least feel regret at having essentially been the one to pull the trigger, cutting his own life short with the lifestyle he had committed himself to? Why wasn't he scared, sad, even bewildered at the very least, shocked that his life would soon end so unceremoniously? Fuck, not even mild disappointment at least at not even had travelled the world, and failing to ever explore any place besides abandoned buildings housing hostages and terrorist bases swarming with foes? Nothing at all?

Unable to process his situation, König just... laid there, unmoving, while his surroundings moved in double speed. Nondescript figures holding rifles wearing camo and balaclavas blurred in his vision, and he couldn't differentiate the enemy from his own.

Slowly losing consciousness, he felt his world darken around him, dulling his senses to the mayhem unfolding in real time. He'd accepted his fate, and could do nothing about it. That was that. And this was it.

It was a shock to his system when a silhouetted hand pulled him up by the arm limp by his side and shouted in his face, "Get up, soldier! This is no place to die!"

König didn't need to be told twice. He nodded his head robotically, his eyes looking ahead of him with a thousand-yard stare, and not even sparing a glance to the anonymous ally that saved him, he picked up the his gun off the floor and loaded another magazine into it with a satisfying click.

In his delirium, he worked on autopilot after that, shooting at anything that shot at him first. Too much in a daze, he was past the point of realising that the gaping bullet wound had suddenly sealed itself, vanishing entirely and leaving no mark that it was ever there.

After that, König didn't realise that he wasn't real when any injuries still didn't affect him. He assumed that his insensitivity to wounds was a result of a high pain tolerance, and his body healing miraculously was his ability to regenerate fast.

Although he would lay on the ground, his arm outstretched while through gritted teeth shouting: "Scheisse! Ich brauche hier Hilfe! I need some help over here!"; truth be told, he'd only do so when he after getting used to seeing so many bodies writhe in pain like so, and something for some reason told him that it was the right thing to do.

Waking up moments after not far from the spot he supposedly died in a daze, all bullet wounds gone, he didn't have time in the moment to think over the specifics of his death. Maybe he was hallucinating, or remembering things incorrectly.

König began to suspect that something was wrong when he'd hear his operators say the same sentence word for word. He rationalised that the constant shooting that never ceased even late into the night and dangerous missions that left him with far too many close calls put pressure on his mind. This mania amongst soldiers in the military was a common phenomenon after all, so it shouldn't have been as much of a surprise for König when he felt waves of déjà vu at hearing statements he could have sworn were related to him before at one point, and going to infiltrate areas that were vaguely familiar.

At some point, he thought something was REALLY wrong when he was storming a military base with... a sniper rifle.

Time stood still as he inspected the weapon in his hands, eyes wide.

That... was impossible. He had never been a sniper. True, he had wanted to be one from the beginning, yet he had adapted to his role as the main means of assault, always on the offensive rather on the defensive. So then... Why?

Adding to that, his appearance would differ. They were subtle changes at first, yet still noticeable: a red helmet instead of his black; an ochre hood instead of his black veil with its signature red streaks; a sniper camoflauge when that disguise had never been in his possession before; and even a gas mask with a hazmat suit when he had been wearing something else altogether on the helicopter heading towards its destination.

Although König hadn't know it yet, his reality was slowly shattering along the cracks, but he stubbornly fought the gnawing feeling that ate him up from the inside. He had to stay focused, he repeated to himself. No time to ponder when a task was at hand.

"All units ready your weapons, and in position immediately." Through his walkie-talkie, a voice began counting down the time left before the mission would begin. "60 seconds."

König checked all of his gear, making sure that everything was in place and he was fully equipped. A rifle, a side-arm, ammo, grenades, a med kit for an emergency and a knife. "40 seconds."

Looking up into the sky and straight into the sun, he didn't need to cover his sight as his eyes weren't affected by it at all. Yet, his eyes squinted in confusion, sensing that he was seeing something that he wasn't meant to see behind the glowing eye. "20 seconds."

He saw more than an eye. An ear, a nose, then a mouth. A face.

He saw you.

You were looking at him through a screen, holding a controller and waiting to start playing your game.

His reality shattered all at once, and he stumbled on his feet, unable to regain his balance, feeling himself go weak in the knees. He tuned out the all-important seconds through the communication device, unable to compose himself as for the first time ever he struggled to breathe.

Suddenly, all of it made sense.

People telling him the same things and never deviating from the topic of the mission, the reawakenings, the pain insensitivity — all of it was because none of it was never real.

People never branched off into other topics of conversation because their sole existence was limited to a few hand-selected voiceliness and idle animations. With each upgrade and level up, König had gotten praise from from him superiors, which explained how emotionless their announcements always sounded and why they were so constant.

The frequent brushes with death weren't a matter of luck, and instead it was just his entity respawning until a certain condition was met, until either Kortac or Specgru came out victorious — otherwise, he could "die" as many times as it took until the time ran out.

He was unfazed by bullets that grazed him and knives that tore though his flesh as he could physically feel no pain, his very existence artificial, his skin composed of pixels with no human matter hidden beneath them.

And, his inability to trace back to before he was transferred to Kortac was all because it was all he was programmed to know. There was no childhood. There was no Mama or Papa. It was just him in this world, and he had been manufactured, his thoughts and behaviours fabricated.

For a moment, he considered you the creator of his word, his God, and felt forsaken. He wanted to curse you, to snap your neck in his hands and watch your head drop lifelessly in his hold.

Yet it became apparent that you weren't the one behind this realm. Seeing the headphones strapped to your head and the controller held in anticipation in your hands, you were simply indulging in a past time, and weren't to blame for his state in any way. It wasn't your fault that you were unknowingly playing as a König trapped in the game.

You let out a groan of frustration, mashing buttons on your controller in an attempt to get König to move.

"What the fuck is going on?!" You hissed, trying in any way you could to start playing. Checking your router and the game's ping, you saw that your connection was secure, and that there was no reason for König to be frozen in place. "Fucking piece of shit console."

König shook his head, still disbelieving and unable to accept his fictional reality, yet hearing the sound of your voice made everything an even tougher pill to swallow. He had to stay in character. For you; it was the least that he could do.

After the initial lag at the beginning of the match, the game went smoothly and you couldn't find any faults. However, you suddenly noticed that your movements over König improved, moving with more fluidity and suddenly taking less damage than what you would normally use to. Headshot after headshot and kills all of the time poured onto on your screen until you'd find yourself being ganged up by bitter players wanting to ruin your streak as revenge.

Still, you topped the leaderboards with a new personal record that night. 97 kills to 0 deaths flashed on your screen, and you jumped up from your gaming chair, ecstatic, almost knocking it over in the process.

König felt butterflies in his stomach seeing you smile and jump around excitedly, and that's when he had found his purpose.

From that moment on, you became his lifeline. You gave the unfeeling König something to live for, a motive to keep fighting that he hadn't been given when being created in the game — for you and your greater good.

Really, you made him feel things: made him feel alive; made him fight with more passion and determination when your happiness was on the line.

He fell... In love.

The feelings and emotions he felt in his chest chest were genuine, and weren't pre-written in a script or manipulated by a third-party. Even the bullets that would pierce through his gear and leave him on the ground withering in agony was worth it, and he'd exchange his invincibility any day to feel what he felt when he saw your face, and the smile that tugged at your lips when you were revived or got a difficult kill.

His love for you was immortal, and it would persist through generations and could last for a lifetime, and König was almost certain that you could feel all of his energy channelling through your TV.

He found himself lovingly staring at you through the screen, admiring you as if you were an ephemeral being, a beautiful angel, even when your hair was greasy, your old tee had armpit stains and your eyes were bloodshot from how long you had been playing. Really, none of that put König off — if anything, all of those made you so distinctly you, so human.

Yet, König was in love with someone that was practically in another dimension and he would never speak to them, never touch them, never share thoughts and pass the time doing everything and nothing with them. None of that, because he wasn't real.

Had his life improved now they he had grown self-awareness? Had his ignorance really been bliss before his revelation? Perhaps if he had been another NPC that only gained manipulated consciousness whenever the player spawned in the map he wouldn't be so stricken with grief and crouched over in agony, the knuckles on his hands turning white from how fervently he was gripping his mask. He'd hyperventilate off-screen, sometimes the torment being too much.

Being so close to you yet being restricted to his three-dimensional world was bittersweet at the least, and internal suffering at most. His insatiable craving to be with you, and you with him only, fuelled his desperation, and he tried to keep you with him for as long as possible through any means necessary.

When you selected an operator that wasn't König, your game glitched heavily and would even crash whenever you made the mistake of even complimenting their design, and God forbid whenever you tried to play as someone other than him, as your console would near explode.

When you'd boot up a different game on your PlayStation, your loading screen would suddenly transport you back to the one of MW2, König greeting you with a voiceline that he reserved and perfected just for you:

"Welcome back, schatz. I have been waiting for you." Because he treasured you, and you were the only person that he could ever have feelings for.

Perhaps a recent update was fucking up your console, or it was just malfunctiong due to age. Either way, playing on an eight year old PS4 meant it could only run for so long and glitches like this were inevitable, yet you persisted in keeping the console running, not in your budget to afford to upgrade.

You'd search frantically on the internet for any information about the new König voicelines and whether there was any resolution for your problem when playing CoD, something telling you that your game was not functioning in the way that it should.

A thought crossed your mind that König had gone rogue, and you tried to laugh it off. Swallowing thickly, that still didn't relieve the deep pit in your stomach. If anything, the mere idea made it worse for you, and you'd get an intense gut feeling that would make you feel dizzy whenever König would make eyes contact with you and stand there, making you question whether he was acting out of character or not.

His attempts to keep you with him were commendable, yet none of it could change the fact that it would never be anything more than one-sided pining, a deep longing for a person whose world kept spinning while his stopped once you logged off the game, his day ending abruptly and being consumed by darkness.

For now, König had to content himself with being stuck behind a screen. He wished so desperately to be able to touch you, to escape this human generated world that trapped him in these bounds, and to find who he really is when with you. Shrouded in this deep black void, all he could do was wait patiently until you'd boot up the game again.

A hand was placed on his side of the screen longingly, resting it gently on the face on the other side.

Note: this wasn't meant to be so sad ,how did an idea of König popping out from the screen turnvto this 😭😭

#aking10592_ ≛彡 #self aware au #self aware au cod #könig #könig cod #könig call of duty #könig modern warfare #könig mw2 #konig #konig cod #konig call of duty #konig modern warfare #konig mw2 #könig mwii #konig mwii #könig x reader #konig x reader #könig x fem reader #konig x female reader #könig x male reader #konig x male reader #könig x gender neutral reader #konig x gn!reader #könig fanfiction #konig fanfiction

[strangersmunsons]

Eddie, My Love! eddie munson x reader // valentine's day special series Day 5 Prompt: Love Notes 💌 ~ 2,300 words Eddie writes you an anonymous love note. it doesn't go according to plan.

Dear ____

I hope you’re not too weirded out by this. To be perfectly honest with you, it seemed like a really good idea when I saw this pink paper in the art room and swiped it, but now I’m not so sure…

Ah, fuck it. We’ve made it this far, haven’t we? The pen has been put to paper — I might as well nut up and finish the job.

I really like you. I think about you all the time.

You don’t know me, but we had a class together two years ago. And on the first day, when I was still fresh off a jilt by a different girl, you came in and sat down. I didn’t think much of anything at first; you were just another body in the classroom, and I was wallowing in self-pity, nursing my metaphorical wounds. But as the minutes passed, I found myself glancing over at you — at first just once, then again, and then again, and then I was staring, and all I could think was: she’s really beautiful. And then I couldn’t stop looking.

Day after day I’d watch you in class and in the hallways and anywhere else you and I happened to be occupying the same space. I still do. There’s just something about you that keeps drawing me in. You seem so genuinely good and kind, like you would never hurt anybody, not even a guy like me. But I still can’t bring myself to approach you, because I look at you, and then I look at myself, and I feel like I don’t deserve to be loved that way, by someone as perfect as you. I can’t take the leap no matter how badly I want it.

I have dreams about you. I dream about what it would feel like to hold your hand, to put my arms around you, and to feel yours around me. If my subconscious is feeling particularly indulgent, I might get a kiss. But mostly in these dreams we just exist together, which feels like the most unattainable fantasy of them all. They’re the sweetest dreams to have but the worst to wake up from. 

I’m not sure why I’m confessing this all to you now. Everyone else is sending each other candy grams and roses; I suppose it means I’m not as immune to this Hallmark-conspired holiday as I thought. If nothing else, I hope this gives you at least an inkling of how wonderful you are, in case you ever had any doubts. You’re a sweet girl. Anybody would be really lucky to be with you. Especially me.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

Deliberately omitting his signature, Eddie sets his pen down and stares at the paper in front of him, rereading the fucking novel he just wrote you.

See, now this is far too much. 

Cheeks violently red, he slumps over the table in embarrassment. God, he sounds like such a serial killer! He can’t give this to you, no way. Even if it is anonymous.

…can he?

On one hand, you might find it touching. On the other hand, you might find it both disturbing and grossly predative. 

If it’s truly any one thing, it’s honest — Eddie has spent the past two and half years being completely and utterly infatuated with you. He’d call it love, if he’d ever said a single word to you. But instead he’s camped out here in the library during his lunch period, spilling his guts out all over this cotton-candy pink paper, with no intention of revealing his identity. 

He sighs, and with nimble fingers, folds the paper into a shape that resembles a heart. Tucking the love note into the pocket of his vest, he wrenches himself away from the table and stalks out of the library. His expression is sour; to the outward observer, he looks mightily pissed off, although what he’s really  experiencing is a fierce combination of ambivalence and humiliation towards his own actions. You’d never guess that his heart is thumping wildly against his chest as he speeds through the empty hallways, getting closer and closer to your locker, still uncertain of what he’s going to do when he actually gets there.

But he knows that if he’s going to do something, he needs to do it now, because lunch will be over in mere minutes, and then everyone will start pouring out of the cafeteria.

133…134…135…there it is.

Eddie stares at your locker as though in a trance. He fishes the note from his pocket and simply clutches it in his fist, mind racing.

Can I? Should I? If she’s disgusted she won’t know it’s me. No. No. Maybe I shouldn’t. Bad idea. BAD. Or maybe…I should…

“Whatcha got there, freak?”

A beefy arm shoves him violently from behind, knocking him to the ground. His fingers automatically close around the note, instant panic setting all his nerve endings on fire.

No. Oh God, no. 

He quickly tries to haul himself back to his feet, but he’s outnumbered. Two jocks pin him to the ground by his arms, thwarting any desperate punches he might have swung. A third yanks the note from his hand, smoothing out the meticulously-folded paper he’d poured his soul onto. 

There’s a roaring in his ears, but it’s not enough to completely drown out the bell ringing in the distance. Then the student voices start floating down the hallway, alerting Eddie to the fact that, not only is he about to suffer greatly at the hands of these meatheads, but he’s unfortunately also going to have an audience when it happens.

The third jock holding the note reads it silently, a slow, evil grin splitting across his face. He starts howling with laughter. “Shit, Munson! I mean, I figured you’d be desperate for pussy, but this? This is a whole new level of pathetic.”

“Give it back!” Eddie snarls, desperately trying to free himself. 

The third jock doubles over, cackling, then reads aloud in a nasally, mocking voice, “I have dreams about you…”

One of the goons pinning Eddie down snorts, and loosens his grip. “Hold up, I wanna read it —” 

Eddie, sensing his chance, breaks out of their grasp, and makes a move to snatch his note back. Before he can, the third jock crumples it into a ball and tosses it over his head to one of his friends; Eddie makes a wild grab for it, and misses.

High school students start to trickle in, drawn to a fight like flies to honey, crowding at the edges of the scene. 

The four boys play a game of Eddie-in-the-middle, the onlookers puzzled but intrigued, watching the mysterious paper whiz back and forth through the air. Growing angrier by the second, fed up with the childish antics, Eddie finally stops trying to catch the note. Instead, he cocks his fist back and lets it smash into the third jock’s nose.

There’s a collective “oooh!” from the mass of students. Eddie and the jock scuffle, both now determined to fuck the other one up as badly as possible. One goon steps in to help his friend, while the other scoops the wadded-up paper off the floor, so he can finally skim the content of Eddie’s heart for himself.

And then suddenly, the most devastating thing of all: the asshole is hollering your name over the din.

For the first time ever, Eddie finds himself hoping that the bully he’s fighting actually kills him. Because death would be better than this.

“Where’s she at? She’s gotta hear this — hey, guess what! The freak is in love with you!”

Eddie wheels around in horror. The other goon grabs him from behind, rendering him motionless again, but it barely registers. The crowd has parted like the Red Sea, everyone stepping aside to make a clear path for you to walk through. You approach nervously, looking completely bewildered as to why you’re being summoned. Eddie wishes that the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

The goon thrusts the paper out to you. “Looks like you’ve got a secret admirer,” he sneers.

“More like a stalker,” the third jock interjects, voice thick from his swollen nose. He steps in front of Eddie and gives him a bloody smile, flexing his hand menacingly. “Hold his face steady for me, would ya?”

“Stop it!” you shriek suddenly, snatching the paper without bothering to look at it. “You’re such assholes!”

“That’s ENOUGH!”

Principal Higgins has finally decided to do his job, it seems. He marches through the crowd — “Get to class, all of you!” — and pulls the two boys apart. 

“My office. Now.”

He corrals the four boys down the hallway, towards the office, as the other students scatter about, flushed with excitement. None of them cast a backwards glance at you, head bent, reading the crumpled note with a furrowed brow.

~

An hour later and Eddie’s finally trudging his way through the parking lot.

He’s been sentenced to three days’ suspension. The guy he clocked made it out with one after-school detention, which he’ll most likely get out of due to basketball obligations, and the other two got off scot-free. Principal Higgins’s reasoning was that Eddie, because he’s the only one who did any ‘real’ damage, should get the worst punishment.

Sure, he threw the hardest punch. But the idea that any of those three are suffering worse than he is right now is downright laughable.

The hot, bitter embarrassment of it all is making his skin itch. There’s a lump in his throat; he can feel the start of angry tears prickling in his eyes. He sucks in a deep breath, trying to calm himself down before he starts driving — the last thing he needs right now is an excuse for one of Hawkins’ finest to pull him over. God knows how much they love doing that.

“Eddie!”

He doesn’t turn around, rage and shame making him want to disappear. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone right now, or ever again, probably.

“Eddie! Wait!” 

A light hand caresses his back, then curls around his bicep. He whips around, already on the defensive; you flinch backwards at his aggressive stance.

As soon as he sees that it’s you, all the tension in his body dissipates. His eyes widen and his lips part in shock; his skin becomes dead-white, then bright red in the span of about four seconds.

“I’m sorry,” the words tumble out of his mouth. “For the note — for everything. You weren’t supposed to know it was me.” He stares down at his feet, unable to look at you. 

“Did you really mean it? All that stuff you said?”

Eddie shifts his weight from foot to foot uncomfortably. “Well…yeah.” He rubs his clammy forehead with his hand in distress, heart rate spiking again. “I’m sorry, you probably think I’m the biggest fucking creep, I wasn’t even sure if I was going to give it to you —”

“I don’t think you’re a creep.”

Eddie falls silent. His eyes finally flit up to meet yours, and he’s surprised to find that you don’t look…angry. Or repulsed, or even annoyed. Your gaze is soft, the corners of your mouth pulled slightly down in a worried frown. You look concerned. 

Is that for him?

“You swear you weren’t playing a joke on me?” you ask.

Eddie starts, taken aback. “Of course not. I wouldn’t do something like that to you, ever. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

You nod slowly, seeming to believe him. You swing your backpack off your shoulder so you can unzip the front pocket, and pull the dreaded love note from inside. Eyes roaming the paper once more, a small smile appears on your lips. “This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about me.” Then your expression turns more serious, and there’s a slight tremble in your voice. “And I’m so sorry that those jerks did that to you. That was terrible. But you don’t have to be embarrassed about me reading it. I love the note. Thank you for writing it.”

He can scarcely believe this conversation is happening. He’s thought about you standing in front of him like this for years — imagined what it would be like to have you look at him and really see him, the way you do right now. Now that he’s living it, it’s almost too much for him to handle.

You hesitate, like you’re unsure of what to say next. “Um, to be honest, I didn’t think you even knew who I was.”

“How could I not?” he says dazedly. The notion that he might not know who you are is absurd to him.

You shyly avert your eyes, like you’re overwhelmed by the praise. Pressing on, you tell him, “You did get one thing wrong, though.”

Eddie cocks his head to the side, waiting for you to elaborate.

“I’m not perfect — certainly not too perfect for you to come and talk to, or — or ask out. I think you’re a good guy.”

Is there air left in his lungs? It doesn’t feel like it. “Oh,” he manages faintly. He’s too scared to say anything else, that a single incorrect word will break this spell.

You give him a gentle smile. “So…are you busy right now?”

Eddie hides his shaking hand behind his back, blushing furiously. “No, I’m not busy right now. Actually, um, I’m not even allowed back here for the next three days, so…yeah, I’m — I’m pretty open.”

You nudge his arm playfully. “Do you wanna go do something?”

Even through his leather jacket the contact makes his skin tingle. “Yes!” he practically shouts, then lowers his volume. “Sorry. I mean, you read my note. So you understand that this is kind of a big deal for me.”

You laugh, and not unkindly. 

“Well, let’s get going then. We have a lot of time to make up for.”

thank you for reading!! xoxo Valentine's Day Special Masterlist

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson reader insert #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson comfort #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #we're an hour late! sorry bout that

[heich0e]

it takes touya three days to finally hold the baby.

your baby. his baby.

he waits until you're asleep to consider it--one of the rare bouts of slumber you've been able to get since you returned home from the hospital three days prior. he hadn't been able to be there with you, for reasons that are obvious, and he'd spent the entire time you were gone pacing the floors of your apartment as he awaited your return.

he's so small.

that's all touya can think as he stares down at the little swaddle of blankets and a button nose. impossibly tiny. fragile in every way.

the baby has been sleeping soundly for a while, but he's beginning to stir, little coos and unhappy gurgles that touya's come to learn always shortly precede a shrill cry. he doesn't want you to wake up, but knows that his only other option is to intervene.

so he does.

he reaches into the bassinet slowly, hesitantly.

but he pulls back, just shy of contact.

what if his hands are too hot? what if the baby feels his staples and doesn't like it? what if just by touch alone his son knows the things he's done?

the baby lets out a high pitched whine--the one he's come to know in the past 72 hours is the harbinger of a fit--and it leaves him with no choice but to act.

his two hands move with purpose--one behind the head, and the other slipped beneath his back--lifting him gently from his bed.

he carries him out of your bedroom and into the living room a few paces away, held before him and just slightly away from his frame. every step he takes is slow, measured, and cautious.

he sits on the edge of the sofa, staring down at the little bundle in his arms.

he sighs.

"'ya can't scream right now kid, you've already put her through enough."

the baby's eyes open, but only barely. they don't really do that much until they're older, or so you'd told him when he asked. they can't even really see anything right now, apparently.

touya can't help but take comfort from that fact.

he stares down at the baby in his hands, a foreign choking feeling in his chest that threatens to swallow him whole. the same one he feels sometimes when he looks at you.

he rocks the baby gently, and that seems to soothe him--his little sounds trailing off and his eyes fluttering shut again.

"tou?"

touya's head snaps up towards the door.

you stand there, rubbing at your bleary eyes, watching him. he feels a wave of relief to see you there, even if he'd been hoping you would stay asleep.

"is everything okay?" you ask.

touya hums, clearing his throat a little. "he was making noises, didn't want him to wake you up so i carted him out here."

you shuffle over to him, your hand resting on his shoulder as you peer down at your son.

"he seems happy now," you say softly, your fingers brushing through the hairs at the nape of touya's neck, though your eyes are still on the baby. "i think he likes being held by you."

he swallows thickly, and it's quiet for a moment.

"he looks like my little brother."

your fingers pause in their gentle ministrations.

shouto was the last baby touya ever held, and that was years ago. decades even. but staring down at the little person in his hands, he remembers what it was like to hold his youngest sibling for the first time as vividly as if it were yesterday. how happy he was to do it.

"did you ever think that maybe that's because your little brother looks like you?"

touya freezes.

he doesn't see the resemblance between himself and his family anymore. he hasn't for years. not as his scars grew, his hair was dyed, and his heart hardened. the last reminder that he couldn't quite seem to shake, the final tie he could never sever, was his eyes.

there's a pricking behind them as he thinks of it, as he considers your words. maybe, were he able, he might even be crying. but instead he just stares at the little bundle in his hands. at the nose he thinks might be like his. the shut eyes that he suspects may have come from him too.

and he wonders if maybe you're right.

and if maybe he's grateful for it.

#touya x you #touya x reader #dabi x you #dabi x reader #touya todoroki #todoroki touya #dabi #bnha drabble #bhna writing #writing

[cacoetheswriting]

honesty: the music video

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x popstar!fem!reader word count: 2.3k summary: after a long day on set, you can't wait to get it on with your costar.

content warnings: 18+, minors dni: mature themes, literally smut with a minor plot, established relationship, unprotected p in v, overstimulation, praise kink, dom-ish eddie, adult language, heavy use of pet names, mentions of aftercare — if i missed anything in this chapter, pls let me know!

celebrity skin. masterlist <- part of this lil' universe, but can totally be read as a stand-alone. timeline wise, this takes place somewhere after part 3 and before end part 5.

“We want it to be sexy.”

“But not too sexy.”

“Revealing.”

“But not too revealing.”

“Sounds like you guys don’t know what you want,” Eddie chimes in, interrupting the back and forth of your respective teams.

You stifle a giggle.

“That’s ‘cause of the two distinct styles,” someone from your team clarifies, “We wanna be respectful.”

“For sure,” one of the creatives on the Corroded Coffin side agrees. There’s a short pause. “We will have you two kiss at the end, though.”

At that, Eddie smirks. He looks at you from across the table and you could just about melt right there, blood rushing to your face, warming your cheeks.

“That won’t be a problem,” he says confidently and winks.

-

Honesty was a guaranteed hit. Top of the charts. Everybody that’s been so far involved in the project said it. They praised it. From the bass, drums, to the guitar and vocals. The production value was off the scale. A dream arrangement that would stand the test of time.

All the song needed was a music video equally as captivating.

A back and forth discourse began shortly after you first started recording with the band: whose style should the clip resemble more?

Corroded Coffin screamed all things dark, maybe a little gory. Their usual expression featured slightly melancholy undertones and a lot of references to all things Dungeons & Dragons. Imaginative, for sure. An artistry that had rarely been seen in the genre. 

Although it’s been an artistry vastly different from yours. 

The glitter hadn’t necessarily been your idea, but it certainly became a signature of sorts. Anything sparkly, always. And music videos that told a story. Most often one of love since that’s what you idolised ever since you were a kid — it obviously helped that love also sold millions of copies.

Eddie’s team argued that it’s the band’s song and you’re just a feature, therefore the accompanying video should lean into their style. Your management team was hesitant to agree. Calculating risk in case the lines get blurred a little too much and your pristine image shifts to the opposite end of the spectrum. Hours of arguments. Hours of negotiations. None of which you, or the rockstar were even mildly aware of. Too lost in each other's eyes and soft cotton sheets. 

Eventually, a compromise, of sorts, was found.

Ernest Hemingway’s The Killers influenced, in part, a 1946 film noir of the same title, with Ava Gardner and Burt Lancaster taking the lead. The movie, in turn, inspired the black and white music video.

Done up in flair of the characters, Kitty Collins and Ole Anderson (aka Swede), you recreated iconic scenes alongside the brown-eyed rockstar. The rest of the band was also dressed to the nines. Side characters that played their instruments in the background of main shots. They blended in well, while adding a unique spin to the known story. 

Overall, the Honesty shoot quickly became a big spectacle. Bigger than anything Eddie Munson and his band of closest friends has ever been lucky enough to be a part of.

Intricate sets. Glamourous. In front of cameras and bright lights, you and your scene partner, Eddie, mouthed along the lyrics to the song as if they were a script. And with every scene, as if the two of you were the only people actually there, no equipment and no crew, you got lost a tiny bit. Lost in the chocolate of the rockstar’s wide gaze. In the way he smelled. The style of that decade suited the brunette greatly, so you became lost in how he looked in this character. Dapper. Unlike you’ve ever witnessed him before. He committed to the role too. A certain swag in his movements. How he touched you so hesitantly, delicately because that’s what the video required.

By the end of the night, after the director yells, “Cut!” to signalise a wrap, a round of applause for all involved in this project, you’re feeling hot and bothered. Sweaty, though not because you just completed a full day’s work. No. Somehow, you found the Corroded Coffin frontman even more attractive than at the start of that day — something you didn’t think was possible. When you glance in his direction, he’s already staring you down, and you know he feels the same way.

Backstage, inside your trailer, you’re sitting cross-legged on the couch. Fingertips at your lips as you wait for that inevitable knock on your door. You know it’s only a matter of time considering the build up of tension throughout the shoot. From the lingering touches and that kiss the director had you two repeat over and over and over…

Logically, you could wait until the two of you were home. Back at Eddie’s Hidden Hills mansion, away from prying eyes and ears. In a bed that’s become all too familiar. Far from possible interruptions. Logic however, well, right now, logic was taking a back burner ‘cause you needed him now. Desperately. And without a doubt, Eddie needed you too.

A knock. Then again. But the rockstar doesn’t wait for you to answer. He lets himself in. 

“What happened to the wig?” You ask, raising a brow.

“It was itchy,” he replies with a slight laugh, then shakes his head. “I much prefer my natural locks.” 

“That’s too bad,” you say with a slight shrug, “You looked quite smart with that short hair.”

Eddie hangs his head with a smile, though his eyes don’t leave yours. Not even for a second. That’s when you notice the glimmer. That look, the reason he’s here, just like you predicted. So you return the expression. Only yours is a little more sly. Tempting him. Teasing. 

“I had fun today.”.

“Me too.”

There’s a lot that happens in the seconds after you stand up. A lot that happens quickly. 

Eddie reaches for your wrist, pulling you closer before wrapping his, for once, ringless hand around yours completely. He presses it to the middle of his chest, holding it against his heart. You can feel it beating and that’s enough to make you melt ‘cause it’s strong and you swear it skips at the contact. His other hand reaches for the base of your throat. He holds it gently, caressing upwards until he’s gripping your jaw. 

“Kissing you in front of all those other people kinda got me going,” he admits in a low tone.

Naughty, that’s what you want to say, but you don’t get the chance ‘cause his lips crash into yours. Hungry. Desperate. Rough. Heat rushes through your body at the sudden contact, no different than any other time his mouth found yours. You’re at his mercy, always, and he knows it well. 

His tongue glides along your top lip and you part your lips to accept him without hesitation. He wastes no time sliding into your mouth, letting this tongue work in tandem with yours as he tilts his head to further deepen the kiss. The hand holding yours lets go, instead finding home on the small of your back, pushing you as close to him as humanly possible. His other hand lets go of your jaw, albeit not completely. Ghosting along the side of your neck before you feel him wrap it around your throat, squeezing lightly. It’s nothing new for Eddie to be a little rougher with you, but there’s something about this moment, after a full day of moderate teasing and borderline foreplay, that causes a moan to burst through you when he squeezes again, only harder.

The rockstar pulls back, sporting a devilish grin. “Making such pretty noises for me and we haven’t even gotten to the best part.”

“Do your worst, Eds.” It’s a dare. Nothing sweet about it.

He smirks at the challenge and before you can register what exactly is happening, Eddie is lifting you up swiftly, hiking up your dress in the process, only to drop you down onto the sofa with a gentle thud. You’re wide-eyed as he unbuckles his belt with one hand, the other tugging at the pantyhose the wardrobe lady had you wear for the last scene of the video. He partially rips them off of you, then he hikes his index finger along the band of your underwear, eagerly pulling them down your legs until they’re wrapped around your ankles, with the reminisce of your stockings.

“The heels stay on,” the rockstar instructs, pushing your legs apart with force and positioning himself in between. All you can do is nod. Half-naked, half in costume. Same as him.

In the space of a heartbeat, his lips are on yours again. This time they don’t stay for long, instead moving downwards towards your chest. When he squeezes your breast through the silk material of your dress, he compliments how fucking good you looked, “I wanted to ravish you the second I saw you, baby.”

You whimper at his words, and at the fact that his now freed cock is gently brushing against your wet folds. Not quite breaching, just teasing you further. Only adding to the overall stimulation. 

“God, you’re so fucking hot. So fucking pretty. And all mine.” Eddie’s breathing into your bare chest ‘cause somehow in the moment your dress has slipped down ever so slightly and your tits made an appearance. Fingers from one hand are digging into your hip, holding you in place, while the other has you by the ribs. Thumb brushing your soft skin while his hot mouth is sucking on your hardened nipple.

Your eyes are closed. You’re not sure when you closed them. He’s invading your senses all at once. Just when you feel like you can’t take it anymore, when you want to whither and plead for him to touch you where you need him most, Eddie plunges himself into you without warning and your eyes snap open. 

“Oh God…” he groans, drawing his hips back only to slam them in again, making your body bounce against him. “Fuck, baby. Jesus.”

You sob in pleasure as Eddie knocks the wind out of you with each relentless thrust, still increasing his speed. Heavy panting and grunting fills the trailer, along with the sounds of where his cock slams against your sweet juices. He’s sitting straight now. Eyes are fixated on the mess you’re both making, where his length disappears in and out of you, while you admire the way his locks fall naturally in place. Although briefly, ‘cause you’re arching your back the next second, rolling your eyes to the back of your head when he hits that sweet spot.

“So. Fucking. Pretty.” He growls. “You’re so fucking pretty when you’re all stretched open like this, sweetheart. Your pussy was made for my cock, baby. You take it so well. You take this big dick so well, my good girl. Fucking made for me. Ain’t that right, dollface?”

“Made for you, Eds.” You just about whisper back, nodding your head feverishly.

Slap. His hand makes contact with your thigh and you practically wail. “That’s right,” he praises, “Made for me. So fucking tight for me.” Slap. Slap. Slap. 

Eddie’s cock starts to swell. You can feel it expand inside of you, then again when he thrusts back in. It has you heaving. The speed he’s established is close to becoming a little too much for the two of you and he drops his weight slightly, allowing you to wrap your arms around him, nails digging into his bare back. He can sense that you too are close and he’s trying hard to hold back, make this moment last longer, but his body refuses to slow down. Chasing the way your glistening pussy chokes his length. 

“Where do you want me baby?”

“Inside,” you croak out. “Cum in me, Eddie. Please. I need you to fill me up.”

“M’mph—” He chokes out, movements growing more and more erratic. The whole trailer is shaking at this point, that’s what it feels like to the two of you anyway. “Everybody out there will know what a good little slut you are. Not that innocent. Wanting me to fill you full of my cum, fuck.” 

Slap. Slap. Against your thigh. 

“Please, Eddie.” 

Slap.

“Shh… I’ll give you what you want, sweetheart.” He coos, “Gonna pump you full. Gonna make you see stars while my cum drips out of you.”

That’s when you shatter around him, uncontrollable desperate squeals making him groan louder as he continues. It’s sloppy, messy, and once you’ve completely unravelled underneath him, the rockstar can’t contain himself any longer. He lets out a broken moan as ropes and ropes of his warm spend start to throb into your hole.

His body gives up at the last spur and he drops flat on top of you, although not without a loose kiss placed to your jaw. His cock remains inside of your pussy. You can feel it pulsing until, after a few minutes, it no longer matches the beat of your heart.

Eddie lifts himself then. He kisses you softly and you smile against his mouth. When he eventually slips out and stands, he tells you not to move, that he’ll grab a towel from the small trailer bathroom and will help you get cleaned up.

“Wardrobe is going to kill us,” you call after him, balancing on your elbows as you sit up slowly. “Pretty sure these clothes can never be worn again. Purely for the fact that they reek of sex.”

“At least your wig stayed in place,” Eddie points out lightheartedly when he returns, his pants once again buckled, a towel in his hand. “That’s something the hair and makeup team should be proud of.”

“I’ll be sure to tell them,” you say, meaning it as a joke ‘cause there’s no way you would ever admit to what sins the two of you just committed.

Eddie smirks. “Pretty sure they already know,” he says as if it’s no big deal, “We weren’t exactly quiet, sweetheart.”

as always, thank you for reading! pls comment, reblog & support your creators.

celebrity skin. masterlist | the killers (1946) reference

& the celebrity skin. taglist: @eviethetheatrefreak , @thirddeadlysin , @haylaansmi , @nope-thanks , @tlclick73 , @vintagehellfire , @ashlynnkennedy , @avalon-wolf , @sidthedollface2 , @astheni-a , @bebe07011 , @aysheashea , @papillonoirsworld , @vol2eddie , @spideyanakin-interacts , @rogers-sweatbands , @mimsie95 , @mmunson86 , @eddiesguitarskills - (if your user is crossed out, it means the tag isn’t working. pls check you’ve enabled tagging in your settings)

#this one is a little self indulgent ngl #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson filth #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie x reader #rockstar!eddie smut #stranger things #stranger things smut #celebrity skin.

[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 25. messed up

chapter tags/warnings: naoya fucks toji's ex-wife again. aggressive sex. creampie-ing. misogynistic! naoya. hurt/comfort. naoya views women as nothing but a hole. broken marriage. heavy angst. infidelity/adultery. family drama. strong language. manipulation undertones. corruption. 

word count: 4.1k

notes: thank you always for all the support! on to the plot for our final arc! this beginning excerpt is a rewording from a line in “spy x family” (any fans out there?) that i believe captures the dynamics in our characters as well. enjoy! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

❝ Every person has a self that one conceals, a side not shown to anyone else. Not to friends. Not to lovers. Not even to family. Behind lies and painted smiles, individuals shield their true natures and desires…and, in doing so, the world thus maintains its thin veneer of peace. ❞

Who in the world was Toji Zenin?

The Toji that you had always known was Toji Fushiguro, so what was your husband’s cognomen doing besides your sex therapist’s first name on the latter's university diploma?

Even Google seemed to deny that Toji Zenin existed.

Showing results instead for ‘Toji Fushiguro.’

No, that was not what you wanted! 

One step forward in understanding this enigmatic man might as well be three steps backward because, each time you thought you had learned something about him, you only come to the realization that nothing much had been discovered at all.

But as investigations via search engines, social media sites, and Wikipedia pages proved futile, sources that could quell your curiosity dwindled.

So, you turned to your last resort.

“Who’s Toji Zenin?”

“What—”

Across from you, the raspberry macaron in Mai’s hand stopped by her lips as the girl snapped her focus from the pastry to your unanticipated question, with Maki visibly turning stiff in the adjacent chair. The three of you sat surrounding a small table in the twin’s private lounge, located in the northern wing within the Zenin residence. 

Visiting the central family property was not uncommon ever since your engagement and wedding earlier this year, but the architecture would never fail to impress you. The mansion itself resembled the Imperial Palace more than anything—an edificial centerpiece defined by the elegance and simplicity inherent in traditional Japanese design, with latticework embellishing the wooden exterior and, inside, carefully painted doors opening into tatami rooms.

Given that Mai and Maki were back in Tokyo for their summer breaks from universities abroad, the sisters established themselves as your close friends and had brought you into their tea room, adorned with European furnishings that would come off as atypical compared to the Japanese heirlooms elsewhere in the residence. On the table sat an imported tea set from England, at the center a French-inspired pastry tower prepared with caramel-topped croquembouches, chocolate-covered profiteroles, and the like. 

In great admiration, the sisters had been barraging you with inquiries about your life back in your bachelorette days, asking about your volunteering trip to the Philippines or the charity auctions in Dubai.

Now, with the shift in discussion, the sisters exchanged an uneasy look.

An entire conversation appeared to be held in the way they traded glances. The usual sparkle in their eyes faded, which must mean the girls were remarkably uncomfortable, but Mai forced a polite smile as she placed down her macaron. 

“Y/N,” she began carefully, “May we ask how you know Toji?”

Even though she tried to spin the question as casual curiosity, her apprehension could not be more obvious. 

“I don’t know him, really,” you lied. While dishonesty went against your morals, watching the twins’ shoulders fall with relief was enough to assuage the guilt. “He’s just…” My friend, to put things in the mildest terms. “He’s just a name I have heard. That’s all.”

Maki dabbed at her mouth with a lace handkerchief, not making a big deal as she added, “Toji’s a cousin.”

So, the Zenin last name on his diploma was not a coincidence at all. 

Such a groundbreaking discovery should have thrown you into a whole whirlwind but, to be frank, the realization did not come off as too surprising at all. If anything, Toji as a member of the Zenin family was the perfect explanation to why Toji seemed so astute, why he would talk like he knew more about Naoya than you, and—as Geto had once said—why Toji was ‘not where he could possibly be.’ 

While Toji’s reason for opting for the Fushiguro name remained a mystery, what you did know now was that he was indeed affiliated with the twins before you by blood, which—by extension—must mean that Toji would also be a cousin to…

…your husband. 

Wait.

An unsettling chill ran down your spine.

“Cousins, as in,” part of you didn’t want to know the answer, “distant cousins? Or…?”

“No,” the older twin interjected matter-of-factly, not knowing the full background behind your seemingly innocuous question. “First cousins.” 

Ah, so the closest type of cousins possible, which was exactly what you had hoped not to hear. With this additional information, you tried to hide the clamminess in your palms. What would be the best word to describe this void now? Did you feel disappointed? Misled? Betrayed? Toji certainly had known that you were wed to his younger cousin, yet he willingly chose to hide his background as he kissed you, touched you, and fucked you.

A reversal from your sentiments before, you currently felt both disgusted and hurt.

Why did Toji keep this information from you? What sick person derived satisfaction from having sex with his first cousin’s wife? You were so damn stupid for placing all your trust in him. Looking at the situation now, he was just another iteration of the same manipulative and disrespectful man you had been trying so hard to avoid. 

“Are you close with Toji?” 

Mai shook her head. “No. We don’t talk to him anymore.” Her comment struck as odd. Anymore? Had they once been, then? Before you could ask, her gaze darted around in caution before she leaned forward and said lowly, “For your information, Naoya got into a huge dispute with him earlier this year.”

That’s quite recent. 

You understood that Mai and Maki had been uncharacteristically tight-lipped as they did not want to slander the family heir in front of his wife. Blissful ignorance was what the twins must be thinking, hoping to preserve the peace between you and your husband. However, what you had yet to reveal was the broken marriage that had been masked for everyone’s sake, disguised by a pretense that all was well.

Which was why, on that note, the timing could not have been more perfect as a tall young man with ombre hair and hazel eyes flung open the door in one unforgiving slam, rattling the fine china and startling the seated individuals inside.

“There you are, you whore!” 

Your eyes widened with shock upon seeing Naoya Zenin in the entryway, your husband’s scowl icy and malicious. He came stomping toward you as his eyes held a dangerous hostility that was impossible to ignore, and you could oddly sense an impending doom when he stormed with zero regard for anything in his path, kicking aside a potted plant and toppling over a ceramic vase.

Standing up, you tried to hide the confusion that befuddled your already mish-mashed brain. 

Today was Tuesday.

Was he not supposed to be at work?

“Naoya,” you began calmly, cognizant of the onlooking sisters behind you, “this is not the right place to—”

“You’re such a fucking desperate bitch, aren’t you?” His words were sharp and bitter, his glare filled with hatred like a fire doused with gasoline. Before you could request clarification, he stopped steps away and swung his right hand up, pressing a black business card to your stunned face, the paper crinkled from his intense grip and rendering you petrified in your stance. 

No, this couldn’t be…

From your peripheral view, you watched Mai and Maki place their hands over their open mouths as they read Toji Fushiguro’s calligraphed name on the business card that also had in obvious words: 'sex therapist.' Shame racked your stomach. Merely minutes ago, you convinced the twins that Toji was to you nothing more than a name, and now, karma bit you back like a bitch. 

With your voice evaporated, you croaked.

“Where did you find that?” You had been sure that you placed the badge away.

Naoya used his anger to crumple the card and tossed the now useless paper ball to the side. “In your purse,” he gritted, “How long were you planning to hide this from me?”

The ensuing guilt suffocated you. “I—” I don’t know.

Sensing the weakness in your will, Naoya burst into a maniacal laughter that cracked through the air, creating a disconcerting symphony. He bent forward, shoulders convulsing with every diabolic and mirthful guffaw. 

“You’re so god fucking pathetic, woman. Do you have any idea who Toji Fushiguro is? That bastard is Toji Zenin, you ignorant slut—he is my cousin. Well, I guess I never told you about him, though, because he doesn’t fucking matter anymore anyway. I don’t know how you ended up crossing paths with him, but this is hilarious!” The man kept cackling and roaring like he had gone insane. “Were you two brewing shit about me? Actually, let me guess since you’d gotten hold of this business card: did you have sex with him? Did you have sex with Toji? Going around fucking your husband and then your husband’s cousin is nothing to be proud of. Tell me, did you meet the other sex therapists as well? Did you get stretched out by them, too? Whose dick did you like best? Whose? Whose? Is that what you like, being passed around and used like some sick trophy? What a fucking animal! How dare you disrespect our marriage. How dare you disrespect your own hus—”

Your hand lashed out before you could suppress the impulse and delivered one resounding slap across Naoya’s face. You watched him shut up and stumble backward, clutching his cheek. 

"Ow!"

For a moment, the world seemed frozen still: the sisters gaping in complete stupefaction, your husband staring at the ground wide-eyed, and you heaving from the incoming emotional onslaught.

”How dare you…How fucking dare you disrespect me!” The coalescence of anger, agony, and resentment—bottled up in your heart for months upon months—was now being released as you dissolved into tears. “What the hell is wrong with you?! How could you say such messed up things? You are sick in the head, Naoya, you know that? Out of respect for myself, how could I possibly respect you?!” The only sound echoing in the room became your uncontrollable cries, sobs that escaped past your lips in raw and muffled bursts. Torn apart by sorrow, you could hardly breathe from how constricted your throat had become, your knees wobbling and weak. “Y-You have no idea how lonely and miserable I have been since I walked down that aisle. For the past six months, you—as my husband—have done absolutely nothing but make me feel like a rat in my own home, a mistress in my own marriage!” 

“Fantastic! Exactly what I wanted to hear, I am glad I have made your life horrible!” Naoya snarled, not caring for how everyone else’s eyes widened at the scathing statement. Unbelievable. Truly, painfully unbelievable. Did your husband really just say that to your face? He could not give a shit that you wept pitifully, instead catching your shaky wrist in the tightest grasp possible as he added on, “My only regret is that I had not made your life even worse.” 

“What the fuck!” you heard Mai gasp as a gut reaction.

What the fucking fuck, indeed.

While you had been subject to Naoya’s verbal harassment during these many weeks, for him to tell you that he wished he had tortured you further was beyond heartless. The searing ache that burned your skin might as well be fatal because your respiration turned erratic like someone had trapped you inside a bubble.

Hyperventilating, you subsisted on shallow gasps.

“Don’t go around thinking that you’re any better, alright? You’re calling me pathetic for sleeping with your cousin, but have you considered that I had been placed in that position because, since the start, you’ve been cheating on your wife?” 

Yelling at his face allowed you to release more tears from your lachrymose eyes. Now, Mai and Maki must truly be appalled at all these revelations. What happened to the fairy-tale marriage you had told them about? Well, that never existed to begin with, and with these thoughts in mind, you found a sadistic satisfaction in watching your lawful spouse fume with deep-seated rage. 

“That’s right,” you mused with derision, “we’ve been two sides of the same coin all along.”

Naoya clenched his hands at his sides, disgusted to have been compared to you. “Do not put me on the same level as—”

“No. No, you don't get to talk! All you have done since we have been married is for you to talk and complain and bitch about everything, but now, this is my turn,” you screamed in return. “I…I hate you!” and you pointed right at him, “In fact, I despise you. You never tried to see what I had to tolerate to stay with an asshole like yourself because you had been too busy sticking your dick into another woman while you could hardly look at me! No wonder your cousins worried about me. No wonder Toji told me to file for a divorce. Because you, Naoya Zenin, are a total piece of shit!”

His momentary pause hinted at the tiniest self-actualization that flickered within him. Perhaps he finally realized how you had been feeling now that you freely spat out all the turmoil that had been chaining your soul. He took one additional step toward you, torn between whether he should keep up with his anger or succumb to remorse for hurting you.

But, knowing this man, he—of course—opted for the former. 

“I never,” he seethed lowly, “wanted this marriage.” 

Maybe you truly have become deranged or maybe you genuinely found his statement funny, for you began to emit tearful cackles in your laughter.

“Now, that is one big fucking lie.” Since your earliest encounter, Toji had suggested that Naoya solely regarded you as nothing more than ‘a sweet, innocent fuck,’ and the longer you had stayed with your husband, the more you began to acknowledge how these accusations were all true. “We all know that you’re going to be nothing without me. A CEO who could hardly keep his wife for half a year? What a loser. What makes you believe that I wanted to be married to you? Who do you even think would want to do business with you after this? You never had respect in the real world because all that respect rests upon me.”

While you never fully understood Naoya, your words must have snapped a particular chord in him because he suddenly lunged forward.

“Fucking cunt—” 

But before he could get too close, you darted away from him. “Don’t touch me!” you shrieked, voice shrill from the top of your lungs. “Do not ever touch me again. If you want to lay your dirty hands on someone, go touch your girlfriend instead!”

That’s right, he had another woman who he doted on far more than he could appreciate you. This wedding band, this engagement ring on your left hand meant absolutely nothing. Toji had been spot on—why the hell did you cling onto stupid shit like this, twisting the jewelry as if that would save your messed-up union? Without further empathy, you slid off the two rings and hurled them toward your husband’s chest before the circlets clinked upon hitting the ground.

At first, Naoya scoffed. He watched the ludicrous scene with a comical gaze, and when his brain processed what he just saw, he quickly fell onto his knees. All at once, he tossed his head back and let out a chortle—a full-bodied cachinnation that took the room completely aback—as his hysteria mounted.

“Good, good, good!” His screeches were like those of a maniac, his chuckles haunting, throaty, and lacking in sanity. “I’m glad that you’ve come to show the witch that you have been all along! Look at yourself! No wonder no one wanted you!”

Unable to be a bystander any longer, Mai stood up and hurled toward her cousin. “Shut the hell up, Naoya!” 

But the said man was quick, using one powerful movement to punch the older twin first. “You shut the hell up, scum. Unless you want to be pummeled to the point where people will feel sorry to look in your direction.”

“Watch what you say!” and when Naoya turned to the new voice, the evil glint gleaming from his brown eyes appeared ablaze.

“Oh? Someone’s bold, too. Shall I bully you first then, Maki?” the timbre in his disdainful laugh crescendoed into unhinged amusement. “Say one more word, little girl,” he taunted, his imp-like face riddled with mockery. “C’mon. I dare you. I will throw you into the courtyard and beat your ugly face up. That’ll bring back warm memories from the good old days, huh?”

The younger twin gritted her teeth, her sister reaching for her arm as a signal to back down and stay levelheaded.

Meanwhile, once Naoya rose from the floor, he nonchalantly kicked at the rings because those emblems of your union had always been meaningless garbage anyway.

“If wanted to leave this badly, then fucking leave,” he deadpanned, his tone the calmest he had been this whole time. “I don’t give a fuck anymore.” 

Those were your husband’s last words as he walked away, leaving you sobbing and shuddering with a lost soul and sore heart. While weeping and gasping, you had to endure watching his figure fade from view, all while wanting to stop the uncomfortable distress that heightened with his departure. You were huffing, panting, trying to stop your trembling.

The second Naoya slammed the door behind him, Maki ran up to your side and embraced your shaking form, all while you bawled and clutched at yourself. Her expression remained strong, but her palms were damp as they pressed onto your back, her arms quavering slightly as she soothed your cries.

“Sh, don’t cry. My sister and I are here, okay? Mai and I will protect you. Everything will be alright.”

Despite her reassurances, she sounded nearly as broken as you appeared, especially when your hand violently trembled because nothing could save you from the agony that drowned your tattered soul. You felt the disgusting urge to throw up—you were completely broken inside. In a futile attempt, you sought to regulate your breaths with one deep inhale.

Yet, at some point, Maki peeled back and she mouthed something.

Was she talking to you? 

Why…why could you not hear her?

She sounded so muffled, as though you were underwater.

Why did everything sound so far away?

With your throat constricted, you could not breathe. Gagging. Gasping. Big, huge gulps of air, but the oxygen failed to enter your lungs. You couldn’t breathe. You could not fucking breathe. 

You gripped the fabric by your chest and your other hand sought for something else to hold, but you ended up on the ground anyway. Choking. Coughing. Was something foaming at your mouth? Something warm and wet spilled from your orifices. Were you vomiting? Why were you vomiting?

Holding your body upright, Maki was the only reason that you had not remained on the floor like a fool, but even she stared at you with concern and…horror? Why did she look so scared? Was she screaming? She looked like she was screaming, but her face appeared all contorted like you were looking at her through a fish-eye lens. 

After a while, you could not even see her or her sister anymore because your vision turned spotty and then black. 

See! 

Open your eyes, and see! 

Why could you not see?

When your hearing returned to some degree, the sounds that filled your ears were frantic shouts and endless clamor.

“Call Toji! He’ll know what to do. Hurry, where is your phone?” It was Mai. Scrambling. Bags were being opened. Items being tossed. “Call Toji, now!”

A phone started to ring.

Buzzes and buzzes and more buzzes as the waiting intensified.

Then voicemail. 

Hello, this is Toji Fushiguro.  

“He is not picking up!” 

Unfortunately, I am unable to pick up the phone right now. 

“Get…”

But please leave your name and number—

“Get Megumi.” 

—and I will return your call as soon as possible.

“What about Tusmiki?”

“Tsumiki is still in London at university, idiot! Call…Call Megumi!”

“Okay. I know, I know! I’m calling him already!” someone screamed back. Was this Mai? Was this Maki? You could no longer tell, but the same person shouted, “Wait, wait. He is calling back. Toji is calling me back.”

“Then pick up the phone!”

“Toji…” one of the twins started, the cracks in her tone making her sound like she was weeping too, and her words composed your last bits of memory before the world dissolved completely. “Please…help us.”

Even labeling Naoya Zenin as ballistic would be far too much of an understatement.

The rage, wrath, and sheer indignation that swelled in his every capillary surpassed the twenty-five years' worth of virulent rancor that he had for his fucked-up family.

Since when did you get so goddamn arrogant? Naoya wanted to hurt you, ruin you, and do everything in his power to sabotage you. 

Not just you, though. Because that would be too easy.

But also his father, his cousins, his ex-coworkers, and—most importantly—Toji. 

Such ill feelings were what led the Zenin CEO to practically leap into the Mercedes-Benz that awaited him at the entrance to his family home, and he immediately ordered his chauffeur to press on the pedal toward a very certain condominium several kilometers away.

Fifteen minutes later, a very surprised Mari opened her door and an enraged Naoya greeted her, shoving her against the wall and colliding his lips into hers for a fierce kiss. His actions lacked passion, only charged with aggression as he stripped her and threw her onto the living room sofa. He could hardly care that he treated the woman as though she was nothing more than a prostitute, while the latter mistook her boyfriend’s rage for desperation, and she begged for him to pull at her hair and force his tongue down her mouth. 

At some point, Naoya drove his mistress’s face into the couch cushion and dragged her hips to have her ass raised high. He was too clouded by fury and too blinded by anger to think twice before he forcefully penetrated the woman. He fucked her raw and held her close, jostling her body as though she was a ragdoll, eliciting her loudest mewls that cried for his name. 

“J-Just like that!” she whimpered, eyes rolling to the back of her head as he pummeled into her dripping hole, paying no mercy for destroying her with his ruthless pace. Her knees gave out from under her, and she crumbled from the sofa and into the carpet, only for him to tumble too to follow the socket he needed to keep his dick soaked. 

“I need to break you,” he hissed.

Fuck, he was going to come soon. 

His nails left crescent marks on her flesh, his hands burning her scalp as he tugged her strands and met her buttocks with hard thrusts, and he knew he was going to come. 

Feeling the first of his seed trick into his mistress’s life-giving cavern, he toyed with the idea of giving Tsumiki and Megumi a baby sibling. That would be fun. He could then imagine the subsequent mortified reactions from his deplorable cousin and from his wretched wife (whom he would hardly call himself married to anymore, anyway). The fantasies, everything that he would do to spite those who had wronged him, had Naoya cackling as his viscous cum spurted from his tip and deep into his mistress’s womb.

He pulled out once he made sure that every single drop had been milked from him, his ejaculate dribbling from her pussy like someone had taken a bite from a cream-filled donut.

Rolling into the carpet and onto her back, a panting Mari took two fingers and pressed his precious seed back into her cunt. “That was so hot.” A lazy smile pulled across her face. “Thank you for the unexpected visit.”

Naoya completely dismissed her comments as he tucked himself back into his pants, not in the right mood to respond. 

“Cool. Clean this mess up,” he demanded instead, “I’m leaving for work.” 

He ignored the woman’s ensuing pleas to stay at least five minutes longer. Unlike her, he had better things to do, and he rushed out as he fetched his phone from his back pocket and surveyed for any messages he might have missed while he had been away. 

But when he turned on his screen, his most recent notification had his blood turn cold.

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: The absolute fury in the argument, the complete panic between the twins, and the maniacal temperament in our husband…so much packed in this chapter! If you can’t tell already, my favorite POV to write from is Naoya’s, ha. Also, I took some creative liberty here to convey the intense emotions, so let me know what you think! Hugs to all.

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @puffaloxx @sakanoshitaa @arizzu @kissditrio @lewd-bunny14 @mistyheart @szired @supsii @yvy1s @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk season 2 #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #toji x reader #toji x you #toji x y/n #naoya x reader #naoya x you #naoya x y/n #geto x reader #chose x reader #sukuna x reader #toji #toji fushiguro #mai zenin #maki zenin #naoya #naoya zenin #anime smut #anime angst #anime fluff #fanfic #fanfiction #jamms.sextherapy

[reveluving]

Hii!

I was just thinking Price with a wife who is insecure about her body because of things like stretch marks or chub finally working up the courage to do something like lingerie or naughty photos as a surprise for him ;D

Hi!! OMG. SWEATING. As someone who has stretch marks and a little 'cushion' here and there, plus is also a big fan of this trope(?), this thot is CALLING me! 😩🤌🏻

Includes: soft dom!price, unprotected sex (p in v), finger-sucking, size difference, petnames ('pretty girl', 'sweetheart'), mentions of lap dance/strip tease

COD x shy!wife thots closed! Thank you, everyone, for your time & amazing minds! I sincerely hope I can do this again with y'all soon! 💌

Come & check out my COD m.list!

No matter which lingerie suits your fancy, just know it will give your husband a heart attack. 

Why wouldn’t it? He already loves you for who you are—you can do the most mundane things and he’ll stare. A lot. You could be wearing anything, even if you think it doesn’t suit you, and he’d have to fight the urge to just have you for himself, be it at home or in public.

So, you want to thank your husband for being the hunky sweetheart that he is. 

He wouldn’t be home until a few hours, giving you enough time to execute your plan.

Hiding the lingerie you bought days prior is one thing, posing for the camera is another. The thought of having your ass up, face down or the strap of your bra or babydoll fall off your shoulders in front of the lens just causes your body to heat up immensely, even if it's just you. Possibly because it’s your first time taking photos of yourself in such a deliciously scandalous manner, but it also could’ve been due to the fact that you know exactly how John is going to react to them.

Especially since you’re planning to gift these polaroids for when he needs to leave for work—with no way to have you with him except for these priceless photos, specifically made for his eyes and use only.

But three polaroids aren’t enough for him to survive the field without you. 

Because as soon as he comes home to find these photos on the table, placed under his hat for his next deployment in the near future, expect to hear heavy footsteps approaching the bedroom, where you’re likely waiting for him—being struck dumb to find you sitting prettily on the bed in your new piece. 

His eyes are blown out, and you can’t help but gulp when he closes the door behind him too calmly before walking over to you. The way he stalks over to you ever so slowly prompts you to crawl back. Not because you’re scared, but you had to admit, your heart’s beating wildly, even more so when he begins taking off his clothes without uttering a word.

Your nails dig into the sheets when you have nowhere to go, feeling the headboard against your back as he traps you from the front—resembling a predator hunting its prey. 

“John…” You mutter, letting out a shaky sigh as he slides his hand up your leg, biting his lip at the sight; the stockings/garter belt squeezing the plush of your thighs just enough to drive him wild. He doesn’t even give you a second to utter his name once again when he yanks you forward, with John on his knees as he holds you to sit on his thighs, forcing you to look down at him.

“S’a really nice piece, sweetheart,” He purrs, his voice telling you that he’s holding himself back from just fucking you. He licks on the deep cleavage, the small, thin material leaving little to his imagination as it barely covers your tits, all while maintaining eye contact as a guttural groan leaves his lips. One of his hands moves to your front, playing with the hem of your stocking/garter belt, pulling it back before releasing it. His lips part in delight, almost mirroring the way you gasp as the tight material slaps against you with a light smack, “Is this all f’me?”

You nodded with the tiniest whine, holding onto him like he was your lifeline. 

Ignoring the dampness of your panties was useless since you knew he could feel it against his thigh. His stare becomes too much for you, and you can’t do anything else other than rest your forehead against his, feeling his warm breath against you just as he feels yours and begging him to have you. 

And how can he say no to you?

Especially since you’ve been a good girl at posing for him as he takes countless photos of you on the polaroids—from the more ‘innocent ones’ like having you drool on his fingers (“Suck on them real good. That’s it, my pretty girl”) to the lewder displays, where he has you on your side, taking you from behind before taking a picture or two your pussy tightly gripping and leaking around the base of his cock.

Now he knows he won’t be alone in his next deployment.

Bonus: Him asking you for a lap dance or a strip tease for him as he sits all smug at the edge of the bed or the bedroom chair. He does this thing where he throws his head back and bucks his hips when you rub yourself against him. Yes.

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

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[kanekisfavoritegf]

Paranoia

Click here! For Pt. 1 : SHAMELESS

This actually took forever cause of my hiatus and severe writers block so I'm super sorry :((

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI you will be blocked!🩷

Warnings: Smut, BJ, face fucking Cucking, rough sex, kinda deranged Sukuna, breading, hate sex, voyeurism, exhibitionist, mentions of prior infidelity. Sukuna x reader x toji??? (more in the first part)

Sukuna had been living in a state of paranoia.

Ever since your son had been born, he’d been taking notice of how different they looked.

He wouldn’t say anything to you. Not until three months in when one day at work…

He was in Toji’s office going over some business plans for a big upcoming merger. He was about to leave when his eyes flicked to a framed photo on his desk. His heart dropped for a second before rising once again to its rightful place when he realised it was a baby photo of Megumi, circa 2003.

“Your son?” He nodded to the image.

Toji smirked a little before nodding, “Yeah, he is now four, about to be five in a few weeks. Time really goes by fast.”

“He looks exactly like you.”

“Yeah, he always has, even when he was a newborn.” Toji fought off the incoming smirk.

Sukuna’s brain clogs were slowly turning as he pierced everything together. Anger simmered in his blood.

“Cute runt.”

“How old’s your kid now anyway, Ryo? Like two months?”

“Three.”

“Cute.” Tojis said not really caring to look up from his screen.

Half an hour after Sukuna left his office, he felt his eye twitch every other minute. It was like there was a devil on both his shoulders. One telling him to get a paternity test and kick you to the curb, the other telling him to call you to his office and make you suck his dick until he wasn't angry at you anymore.

Option one would definitely solve his paranoia, but he would lose you. And Sukuna refuses to give up his favourite treasures, especially not to Toji of all people. He’d rather kill you than have him call you his wife.

Totally very sane.

So option two it is.

When Sukuna’s assistant called telling you to come, with no explanation. You honestly felt the air leave your lungs. You knew he knew, and he knew that you knew that he knew. But none of you acknowledged it. You don’t know why.

You had a plan the day Toji left your house the morning after you two defiled every single wall in yours and Sukuna’s shared home. You planned to leave your husband and start a new life. But then it hit you. Guilt like no other. A guilt that had left you crying for half the week and drinking for the rest.

Upon your husband's arrival, he pulled you into his embrace, covering your face with kisses and shoving an expensive bouquet your way and a diamond necklace in his briefcase. His form of apologising was gift-giving. Along with eating you out right there on the floor, until, you had made a mess of his face.

How could you leave him after one measly fight? How could you cheat on him after a small hiccup in the relationship? This was your marriage and you acted like a complete whore. You let temporary emotions and anxiety take control of your vagina and like a shark smelling blood you raced your way to the closest dick you could find.

And everything just went down hill after you found out you were pregnant. The anxiety of finding out who was the father killed you. You spent many tearful nights hoping your child’s face would grow to resemble your husband more. But that wasn't the case. So you did your best to be the perfect wife and stay in his good graces, for how could you lose the love of your life?

So there you stood, at the door of the meeting room knocking softly at its smooth wood. You fiddled with your hair and straightened out your dress as you waited for your husband's response.

“Come in.” The voice was deep, like your husband's but its specific rasp had you hesitating as you turned the door knob.

“Hi, sweetheart.” The scar on his mouth twisted with his smile. He looked overjoyed to be here. And you couldn’t be any more annoyed at him.

“Why are you here?” Your voice was laced with annoyance.

“Baby, that’s not how you greet people.”

“Don’t call me baby Toji.”

“You’ve been avoiding me.” He stated, eyes piercing yours.

“So?”

“So, you have my kid-”

“Could you keep it down!” You slammed the door shut behind you, hoping no one overheard. “Sukuna is the father, not you.”

“You have MY kid, Y/N, my kid, and you don’t talk to me. You barely even look at me.”

“Because I have a HUSBAND and a life I want.” You shook your head at him.

“That’s not what you said last year.”

“Is that why you called me here? To try and convince me to leave my husband?”

“He is here because I invited him.” You jumped from your position. Turning to face your husband with a shocked face.

“Ryomen.” You put on your best smile, trying to keep it together as you stare at him; paying no mind to the growing grim expression of your past lover, or for better words, past mistake.

“My love.” He smiled with a twinkle of something dangerous in his eyes.

“Why did you invite him here?” You watched as he locked the door behind him, closing all the curtains and stalking down the long table passed all the empty chairs. Until he reached the end. The CEO’s chair.

He sat himself down and looked at you, raising his eyebrow until you got the hint, and hurried your cute self onto his lap.

“Hello, my wife.” His head pressed into your neck roughly, taking in the scent of you. “God, you smell amazing.”

“Sukuna, Toji is here.” You sighed out dreamily as Sukuna busied himself with kissing your neck.

“You are truly a shameless slut.” You froze in your movements.

“What?” Your voice shook.

“Oh, I was talking to Toji, but I guess it can apply to you too.” Your heart had now dropped to the pits of your stomach. Was this it? Was this the end of your marriage?

“Sukuna wai-”

“Shut up.”

“Ryomen, please.” His hands grasped your hair tightly, moving you off of his lap and onto the floor. All the while, Toji watched with a smile on his face. This was it for him. The moment in which Sukuna would kick you to the curb and let him have you. At least, that’s what he thought.

“Suck my dick.” Sukuna didn’t even give you time to process what he demanded, because as soon as your mouth was open he plunged his length down your throat. Groaning at the feeling of your immediate gags. You begged him to kick Toji out with your eyes, pleading for privacy as he used you.

“You know, I watched the clips of you screwing my wife over and over.” Your husband's attention was fully on Toji now, as held on to your hair. Staring him down as Toji watched on, not giving a response to Sukuna’s obvious attempt to get to him.

“You made it seem like they were erased, but I only had to put in a little effort to find the security camera's videos on your hard drive.”

His hand guided the movements of your head so roughly, tears already streamed down your face.

“If I didn’t want you to find them, Sukuna, I wouldn’t have let you.” Toji finally gave a response back.

“Now, now. Is that any way to talk to your boss?” He tutted at him. Smiling at the growing annoyance on Toji’s face.

“The one mistake you made wasn’t fucking my wife, or trying to take my child.” He scoffed at him. “It was thinking I’d ever let my wife go.” Sukuna had pulled his now fully erect cock out of your mouth and slapped it against your tear-stained cheeks. You used this time to breathe and rest as he assaulted your face with more slaps. But this reprieve didn't last long, as he was plunging back into your mouth as he continued talking to Toji.

“You what? Thought I didn’t know she was a whore the day I married her?” You couldn't help but moan at your husband's words, rubbing yourself down onto his shining shoe. “I mean just look at her, humping my leg like a bitch in heat.”

And as you completely ignored the attention of your past love, Sukuna came to the resolution that he’d never leave you. Not ever. He would punish you for all your worth. But leave you? Never. You were like a drug to him, an incubus who had her fangs lodged deep into his soul. So, while yes, he was angry at you for sleeping with another man, he realised he just needed to fuck the much-needed sense back into you.

And that's when Sukuna decided to fuck you until the very idea of Toji had been completely erased. Again and again.

Sitting prettily on the table, Toji was forced to watch Sukuna take you over and over just like he did all those months ago.

You made no attempt to be quiet because you knew you would be met with Sukuna’s hand squeezing your cheeks, forcing them open as he plowed into you. Every moan and every whine was one pulled from your husband, as he took you, sitting on the table.

Toji’s eyes were kept to the ground until Sukuna noticed his aversion to the scene.

“Look at my wife while I fuck her, Toji. You know what you put me through this year? You should be beaten bloody and fired. You have it easy. Now, watch her face as I make her cum.”

Even with his eyes pressed on yours as they rolled back in pleasure, Sukuna didn't stop his verbal attacks at the man. Continuing to talk as he fucked through another orgasm.

“I’d fuck your wife to prove a point, but she’s dead already, isn’t she?”

“She’s always been a screamer but listen to her now. Any louder and someone might hear through the soundproof walls.”

“Do you miss fucking her?”

“God she's always so tight and wet.”

“Look at how lovely my wife squeezes around me.”

Wanting a change of position, Sukuna thought it best to throw you over Toji’s lap as he took you from behind.

“Don’t touch what isn't yours.” Your husband warned as Toji went to pat your head as you drooled over his lap and his very prominent hard-on.

“Ryo—fuck. Break. Plea-Oh fuck.” You tried pleading for a break.

“Nuh-uh, baby. We are gonna keep going until I say so.

Pressing your nails into Toji's thighs for stability only caused him to groan out in pleasure.

“Oh. You like watching me fuck my belongings?” Sukuna laughed at Toji’s glare. Knowing that if he tried to leave, it would be over for him, he'd lose his job, along with you.

Slowing his movements down a little, Sukuna reveled at the way you shuddered over his cock. He was getting close and could feel it.”

“Should we give our baby boy a sibling? Hm? A girl or a boy? I think I want another boy. What do you think, baby?”

You gave no response, only the moan of a cock drunk whore.

“Since my wife can’t answer. Toji, tell me. Should I give my son a sibling?”

After being met with silence again. Your husband took it upon himself, cumming in you, triggering your climax immediately after.

You fell to the ground, your weak legs giving in after The hard fucking they withstood. Cum seeped out of you and onto the floor. “What are you doing? Get up. How many times did it take for it to stick in the security footage?” He asked you, keeping eye contact with the other man as he spoke. “I want to make sure you leave full.”

Taglist: @mcnooberton @watyousayin @lazullywinter @llovergirlll @sanrioglocks @ramonathinks

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