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plasticfangtastic · 3 days

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A Garden Without Impurity

A Homelander x GN Reader fic one-shot

A/N: Should be working on my other fics but i needed to get this out me system, inspired by a conversation I had in this site and watching the apothecary diaries, not an expert on chinese harem systems but i based this sort of on the Qin Dynasty system bcuz it was like the simpliest, like those emperors got around a lot… this is more drabble than fic-fic but i hope y’all enjoy.

Tags: light smut, 3-some, bilander, dark topics, not proofread I die here, non-canon complaint/canon-divergent, takes place in who knows, traditional polygamy, no dialogue here btw, Homelander being himself, light gore.

Word Count: 5K

Synopsis: You’re a member of Homelander harem, this is but a documentation of that.

Homelander was always a lonely man perpetually hunting after love, for anybody who could give him attention, who would want him. He clung easily to lovers, too young at first to notice how easily he could be tricked into becoming nothing but a trophy fuck, too inmature to notice how his behaviour frightened them in the long run, and the more and more he was hurt the worse he became, all he’d learned was how to hide his anguish– turning him dangerously bitter.

Lovers came easy but just as easily they left– either scared straight by an army of lawyers, handsomely compensated or increasingly more often in pine boxes… crisis management meetings became so commonplace they began to be run on emails.

He was a man desperate for love– so much love to give but nobody could ever give him an ounce of what he needed, an ounce of what he gave, he was hungry for intimate devotion and adoration, the public could only give him bites sizes but it was fading and quick, and his mind steadily warping from this unfulfilled primal need.

Lovers couldn’t handle how pushy he became, how possessive and controlling he could become, how he wished to monopolize everything– so it was a problem, his sickly nature only wisthand by those contractually obligated to tolerate him, Maeve who had been so perfect until the downstairs neighbors logged less and less noise complaints as their passion cool and soured and Madelyn whose allure came in how untouchable she was, how forbidden she was, how much of a special occasion she had to be, and well rumors circulated involving Mr. Edgar but nobody ever dared to discuss it much.

Porn seem to alleviate some issues but the poor team in-charge of monitoring his online usage had filed formal complaint about having to be subjected to so much ‘stepmom porn’ and increasingly bizarre fetishes, whether he watched them to get off or not was unknown but once he switched the porn to browsing r/watchpeopledie– a meeting had to be made and this time it was in person.

It was hard to pin-point the exact moment a suit suggested this solution– it was merely a joke but no matter how thick these walls were it would never be missed by Homelander, who indulge them.

And the project began to take place, with the end goal to provide him with company, and a controlled environment for Vought overseeing… a facility where the damage would be limited to seven floors and 30 large and luxurious condos.

Legally this building was just one of the many owned by Vought– like many other megacorps it was no surprise Vought dab in real estate, owning a couple buildings around the city to provide employee accommodation much like their Silicon Valley competition. After selecting the small building that once simply served as their own service apartments to accommodate shareholders, the project began to take place.

Homelander found it amusing, interested as to what things were going… surprised about how much he was looking forward to this, much to his chagrin– Homelander was very much a man and at the thought of being supplied with sex on tap he was quite happy to play along giving it a fair-go for a few weeks then forget about it after the novelty faded.

The first iteration was an utter failure, simply nothing but a duped “Playboy” Mansion, women who were paid to seduce him and become available whenever he desired– they were boring, they weren’t there for him, they were there for the paycheck and presents, for the free rent and the possibility of becoming his favorite perhaps.

It was dull.

Painfully dull, nothing different from what he was doing, only it was kept behind closely guarded doors and managed by the company that micromanaged everything else in his life.

Dull Lovers who barely pretended to care, who rolled their eyes when he wanted to talk about his interest, who looked at their phones during the good scenes of his favorite films, who signed when he wished to be held, who gave no enthusiastic response at anything but Versace and Jimmy Choo’s.

He felt the ever growing emptiness spread further like a cancerous mass.

As he sat alone sinking on his couch flipping channels in the dark and his eyes finally grew heavy for the night– his fingers stopped in some show about a man trying to balance having four wives, the scenario intrigued him… a man married to several women who seemed enamored with him despite all the drama in the background… These women on his screen weren’t like the ones provided… they weren’t his… They didn’t love him nor wanted to devote themselves to him, they were just high paid prostitutes– even the women at the Playboy Mansion he had met seemed to have a better relationship to the old creep than his own had to him– he wasn’t special or interesting to them.

It was transactional and the affection unconvincing, unlike this man’s wives who seemed to care about him, who didn’t look forward to meeting other men or keep in touch with old John’s and sold their feet pics online to just any guy.

Vought or the public would never allow him to have a dozen wives, he wasn’t even a Mormon, officially he was an Evangelical just in name not in practice so he couldn’t simply adopt the church's views nor was he interested in even more rigid rules… I mean he did enjoy a cup of coffee every once in a blue moon and he certainly had a spicy tongue.

It took a lot of trial and error and plenty of lawyers too.

But a single joke turned into this…

You had been there for quite a long time, you seen plenty of pretty faces come and go, most left because they disliked the system in place– had they simply bothered to glance the wikipedia article on Chinese harem practices before signing the dotted line their grievances would have been lessened… altho calling yourself a polygamist might not even been an applicable label– after all his rules made it difficult to do so.

You had simply been a low-level intern when Homelander first laid eyes on you all those years ago.

He watched you for a long time and you watched him with the same intensity, he was a pretty thing, he had a quirky laugh that veer into cackle territory, his hands were as soft as the rest of him and above all you could tell pretty early on that there was a hunger inside him unmatched by anything else.

No lover before had ever made you feel so wanted, he made you feel as if he was born for you, no lover ever devoured you with a single look… it was desperate.

When have you ever felt this desire before? You asked yourself the more intense this became.

You never experience the titillation and the fear that his hunger inspired in you, the way he touched and explored every inch of your skin inside that broom closet made you fear for your life, as if he would feast on you and gnaw at your bones like a dog with a fresh treat, that one spicy rendezvous after office hours quickly became a regular occurrence and he never had enough.

Neither did you.

His gentleness hid praise worthy self-control, he molded his performance after what made you feel best but you would soon learn it was performance– you were puddy in his hands as he trapped you with this pleasure.

To be yearned for was different, he wanted all your free time to be for him, to ignore all the pretty faces and nameless ass that crossed your sight and devote yourself to him, he was honest about wanting you, about wanting you to love him just as much as he could love you.

Made worse by the fact that you had no qualms with the worst of his personality your fights and arguments as unhealthy as anybody else but always over petty things, never about the nights he soaked the carpet with some miscreant chunky remains, after all you had to be a bit loopy and unhinge to look at him as if he was the only source of light in the cave that was your life.

It was a long courtship before he told you about ‘The Gardens’. At first you simply thought it was another luxury building stuck in Manhattan but behind the doorman and reception clerk was a building only inhabited by lovers.

It wasn’t easy to digest– but floor to ceiling windows, private drivers and Hermes boxes demonstrate to your ego that you might have a price… The 6 figure allowance certainly made your stomach drop as you accepted new found facts about yourself… this was not counting any extra presents– after all your job would be to stay pretty and interesting for him.

You certainly had your suspicions but you had been quite enamored with the Supe, unable to look away from those cornflower blues and the sad expression painting his face as he began to suspect your rejection, the palpable anguish he was trying so hard to contain. Accepting simply to do a few excessive sessions of retail therapy on his dime to recover from the shock, coming in thinking he will grow bored of you soon enough and you could commence the healing process afterwards.

But you never left ‘The Gardens’, the people who ran the building would refer to you as the Noble Consort with the Empress or Imperial Noble Consort reserved for whoever Homelander was dating for the papers (altho you would have given the title of Stillwell for the longest time), to your disbelief you found enjoyment in this arrangement, your were free to pursue whatever you wanted for money was now not a problem– all those hobbies you had abandoned, halted and wished to explore were now back on the table, a new career change or education now a possibility, even pursuing a lifelong passion or dream was available, as long as you kept pretty and keep his favor.

There were other rules of course… Nobody besides Homelander could be in your life. Sex-work was out of the question once somebody took residency in one of the handful of luxury condos. Not involving oneself romantically with any of the other concubines or anybody was also a major rule. He demanded a vow of secrecy as well obviously– telling anybody about the arrangement specially online or the media, and you would have a head on your front door… you would have prefered a finger, a tooth or a kidney like the others on your floor but he left the brainless severed head on yours.

You were certain that Vought kept a dystopian level of watch over your digital footprint while you no longer worked with Vought and did your thing… you heard the rumor of a shadow department whose whole job was to watch this place– it wasn’t really out of the realm of possibility after all Homelander was worth billions to them… and if not Homelander was there watching somehow.

Which is how you end up with having to call somebody to pick up and puzzle the old concubine back together.

He was The Emperor and thus you had to act like a noble, anybody caught breaking his rules would be in more than a little trouble– Homelander was quite cruel once a lover lost his fancy.

But not as cruel as the other residents when they sensed somebody trying to plant the seeds of discourse, threats to the system were ever present whenever he brought a new concubine, those who survived the longer kept the peace.

A mixture of jealousy and self-preservation feed the cruelty… after all these years you liked your comfortable life and so did the others– those with more expensive taste to your own, those whose families were partially supported by Homelander (if he was aware or not was not yours or his problem) those who loved him and didn’t wish to part, and those who needed his support to make sure even if he grew bored with them they had a back-up to their back-up, none who would risk losing it all just because some new lover wanted him all for himself– they had no grace about it and would soon realize that tribalistic nature of humans… unless somebody whispered sweetly in John’s ear and prevented the carnage.

Unsure as to why anybody would want to monopolize him as if this entire building wasn’t a red flag about how pointless that was, you discussed with the others.

He was more than an armful, he was too much even for you who obsessed so easily with him, who demanded his attention and affection but ultimately unable to match just how much he needed in return, you stopped disliking this new life because Homelander would never be satiated, because he would wear you down to a stub, because he would scare you away if you didn’t find a way to get breathing room, more for his sake than your own. You loved him, you wanted to hold tight but if he kept going you would let go of his hand mid-flight and the thought of hating him or falling out of love with him filled you with dread.

You needed him on a cellular level, you joked in the past as you talked to a neighbor, who understood you as he laughed.

It stung for a long time to live this way– You just made it look easy.

But you made it, and it earned you some perks.

You checked your agenda to make sure that time had come around, you weren’t called the Noble Consort for nothing– he would reserve you even outside your birthday week.

8.3 million people in this city and he could make sure you felt like the only one in this town.

Perpetually charming you thought as he landed inthe balcony with your favorite chocolate and flowers.

If Homelander had to explain why he kept you the longest it was how you talked to him earnestly, you treated him as if he was not just a celeb but a husband, how happy you always were too see him, how you always clung to his shoulders even before his boots touched the ground and how quickly you always dragged him inside worried he would get sick from the cold winds, even if he went weeks without seeing you in person you never let him see it, it was as if no matter how long it had pass you couldn’t care less, only the now you experienced together mattered.

He wondered if this was how sailors felt when they came back home after a lengthy tour, if it was warm like this.

No matter how long this had been going on for– your love was genuine, he even thought of you as a weekend masochist for putting up with his whims, but you took him as he was and that was something special… something worth keeping… worth protecting.

He could snuggle in your chest all he wanted, he knew your fingers would scratch his scalp without command, he would find your warmth either gifted by your words or your core.

A perfect spouse to him, he would whisper to himself when you slept or when he missed you, in this intimacy he knew he would stay with you, the only one who understood what this place was all about, who was this emperor’s favorite.

Now when it came to sex–the life of his concubine wasn’t sexless… you doubted the man actually lived in his actual penthouse all the way up in Vought Tower, he might use it to change suits or pick up his mail, for he would share somebody else’s bed every night, if he didn’t you would find out at the lobby, perks of knowing everybody in the building was that rumors traveled quickly and plans of actions would be organized in elevators… so your bed was not infrequent and during your weeks he would always sleep there.

You keep a spare pair of his boots and gloves that didn’t came with the apartment, which said a lot about how infrequently did he slept at his legal address and your longevity in this palace– what did came was a toothbrush, comb, some of his skincare products and extra-creamy milk restocked frequently more so these days.

These private weeks were both sugary and bitter, date nights and cuddling lazily on the couch as he spoke of his day and listened to yours, you spoke a lot catching up with lost time while he washed your back and you washed his hair, knowing he would leave soon enough and return to some girl back in the tower or go downstairs.

And as your week ended he would treat you to something adventurous.

You kissed him in the upper courtyard by the warm dim lights surrounded by whistling shrubs, the night was starting to grow cold, draping his cape around you for your comfort, he moaned as your lips suckled on his neck savoring the feel of your tongue as you drew lines on chin, slowly melting on your sweltering heat, your hand taking his thigh with a firm squeeze teasing him as they came close to his member, kissing until lips bruised and blood inked his tongue, you kissed until his jaw started to numb and his cock leaked with anticipation, being uphere where somebody might see always excited him, he had already baptized every bench in this courtyard but it didn’t lose his splendor just yet.

His hips buckle as your hand finally gave him much needed affection, hearing your muscles push as hard as they could against him, mewling as you chuckled with delight at his reactions, his eyes so hazy.

Trembling as your hand left him, you pulled at his belt watching him blush as he remembered that the one thing you lacked was super strength, you leaned back as he swiftly began to lower his tights, throwing his belt to the ground so the cold steel wouldn’t make you shudder.

His cock was hard, crying rivers into the cold wind until your lips kissed it better.

He made no attempt to conceal his moaning, growling as your teeth grazed the sensitive head, he was unapologetically loud, this was the one place where he forgo all his acting lessons, nor did you want him to be quiet it made you excited to hear him moan, he just sounded so needy– cute too… and tonite he was obscenely loud, animalistic even, grunting and growling as your drooled unto your chin and made his thigh slippery, as you took his cock down to the base, licking down his taint, he lifted his legs adjusting his position to follow your tongue, whining and panting as you pleasured him, aggressively pumping at his cock as you suck gently on his balls.

You look up from half-lid eyes drowning on your own pleasure, he came with ease coating your throat with his thick salty cum but just as quickly as he came he would come back up and just as hard as a minute ago– you made it into a game to see how many times you could make him cum before he begged you to let him do it inside you for that was the only way to kill his battery. Pumping his shaft with short and quick pump focusing on the mid-length as to deprive his crying tip taking sadistic delight in knowing that he wanted you to touch the tip immediately but being too far gone to asks for it clearly as he mumbled incoherently behind his breathy wanton, his hips following the rhythm of your hands and tongue.

A shaky smile crossed his lips as the consort took pity on him, you chuckled knowing you won an unspoken bet with your downstairs neighbor, pulling their hair out of the way as their head went up and down and lips grazed your fingers.

You climbed up letting your fellow concubine enjoy themselves in this debauchery.

Biting on his ears as you whispered what you wished to do with him, calling him by his name with a sweetness that tingled something scary inside him.

Homelander laughed weakly against you, his hand pulling on the other’s hair gently, he spouts his orders, throwing the cushions unto the ground you both give each other giddy looks as the man pulls you down with him with the last bit of composure he had before burying his face with your crotch, one hand kept your hips in place and the other held his other concubine hand, gasping against you as the other took him, you saw red– it was not a competition but you did not want him to only focus on the warm enveloping his cock.

All that filled the air were your choir of moans above his muffled coos and whines as you fucked his mouth, his tongue doing his best to keep up, eyes rolling back as you took fistfuls of his hair pulling harshly distracting him so much that he had begun to run of breath, as he ate everything and swallowed desperately, trying to concentrate on the feeling developing his tongue and lips and the sweet musky scent drowing him, fading with a twsited smile as you fucked him earnestly and harshly, he loved it when he was made into a bitch, he would never say it outloud of course– like many things in this building it went unspoken, but you could tell that all the old residents shared a certain quality to them.

Men and women who provided something everybody was afraid of giving to him before.

You’d seen him cling to men and women who wished to mark him, who told him that he was as much their property as they were his.

That proved their love was not superficial… It was genuine.

Or genuine enough for him.

He moaned and bucked his hips pathetically, yearning to reach the furthest parts of you, filling you, to feel his own cum foaming within you as he fucked you.

Moving you quickly, glad that this time he had thought ahead with these cushions for your knees would be bleeding and burning otherwise– it was all hazy at this point, all you knew was his name, the cold wind hardening your nipples, and the sound of his hips slapping into you as he whimpered with a mixture of desperation and pleasure, he finger fucked your companion, hands fucking his lover just as fast and hard to have the concubine running out of breath begging Homelander to not dare stop, making a mess of themselves on his fingers, coating them as their hole squelched and sucked him right back in, as the man grew pleased with the sight, your hands interlocked squeezing hard as they rode their orgasm to a happy end.

You caught a ruby glimpse reflecting in a metal bench nearby, you gulped knowing you had to think quickly.

Turning your face and arching your back as you begged him to hold you.

Coming loudly letting your knees and elbows give up, letting him push you down with his weight, always surprised how heavy those silly golden eagles are, you couldn’t believe his shoulders weren’t stiff 24/7, with a satisfied chuckle he waits for you both to snuggle with him.

The other urges him to take it into their apartment for it was getting cold and they sure didn’t want to catch a cold.

He half-begrudgingly agreed, wishing deep down to go a few more rounds outside but as he felt your goosebumps he took you both inside urgently.

Your hands never touched after that, Homelander ever so vigilant of both your movements, all you could do was hope the concubine would learn just how stringent and absurd John could be, fearful that anybody would dare hold affections to anybody but him.

You kissed his neck, nuzzling against him as he watched the sleeping concubine coldly, arguing with himself if they had meant to break the rules.

Whispering his name as he squeezed your stomach, soothing his unspoken anxiety he let go of those thoughts.

He returned your affections, easing into him as you fed off his warmth.

You whispered quietly, enjoying each other, easing his worries.

This was a peculiar life but in these quiet moments it was like any other.

In these moments it all felt perfectly normal, the world might never get it entirely and you yourself struggled with it at times but when you woke up to his kisses on your chest as he found a way to turn into the little spoon while the other sneaked to the toilet, you certainly didn’t want to change things.

Not one bit.

#homelander #homelander x reader #the boys fanfic #homelander fanfiction #personal #my fic tag #homelander x you #tempted to write a little series on these but if anybody wants to write about concubines feel free #on my behalf #might come back and re-edit this

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write-it-motherfuckers · 2 years

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Person A: “Uh.... Your cat is on fire.”

Person B: “Yeah, it does that.”

Person A: “Like.... Regularly?”

Person B: “Well, mostly on Fridays, but today’s the day that my dad’s coming to visit, so they’re a little excited.”

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pathos-logical · 8 months

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Do you know of any resources or posts specifically about captioning comics? I am very new to this, but I love comics and I make comics so I want to learn how to caption them properly. Thank you for your blog and all you do!

Delighted you asked this, since it gives me the excuse to share one of my top favorite posts about exactly that!!! I used @/TheQueerWithoutFear's addition in this post as a personal bible when starting out with art IDs! I think this post also has advice which is generally applicable to lots of comic IDs, since people can get bogged down writing every single detail of a piece when the broad strokes would do and thus detract from the overall comprehensibility of an ID. I also really appreciate this site as a great resource for examples on how to write concisely and with an audience in mind, and this post also lays out a lot of good tips! I'll round out this post with some general advice/guidelines:

Neither alt text nor caption IDs are better or even necessarily more accessible than the other; what matters is good formatting (so please don't put IDs below a readmore or use anything but plain text, use sentence case and primarily formal language, use brackets and "ID/End ID" formatting for caption IDs but omit them from alt, etc!)

For comics, especially long ones, I personally favor conciseness over strict fidelity to art, though this is highly subjective and depends on the piece and sometimes my mood. What I would boil this down to is that you don't need to include every detail in a piece to write a good ID, and using narration/prose is often more understandable than transcribing visual techniques (Ex: "She notices something to the side" is clearer and more succinct than "Action lines next to her face indicate she saw something to the side")

Organizing an ID's information in a top-down format is best for comprehensibility: start with who/what is featured (and where they're from, if applicable) and what they're doing, and then move on to background, style, and details

Last, you're welcome, and thank YOU so much for reaching out!! Artists like you make the world go round!! Please feel free to reach out if you ever have more questions, and have a wonderful day!!!

#i really hope this helps anon!! godspeed with all your future projects!!! :DDD #i wish this could've been a bit more in-depth and included a tldr but truthfully i am sick and quite tired 😔#that said if you ever have further questions not only my askbox but my dms are open! i'm always happy to answer!#shoutout also to nik peachygos for suggestions on what to say here :)))) ily king #asks #anonymous #accessibility #kay talks #also anon consider checking out my personal id tag on my fandom blog (linked in my bio) for examples of how i personally write comic ids!#ALSO!! the doc in my pinned post has a section dedicated just to resources!! not all will apply but sone surely will!!

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candlecanoe · 1 year

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#gordon freemind #freemind #felix freemind #eddie freeman’s mind #eddie freemans mind #cicero fryman #freeman’s mind #freemans mind #freemans mind freeman's mind why do they have to be 2 completely separate tags @_@#anyway haii hey :3 #doodles n stuff from all over the place enjoy #i forgot i can post anything i want on this account #i always wanna post really finished stuff #i guess im used to insta where everyone is rabid animals #kat art #blasting pierce the veil drawing freemind is the best experience ever i suggest it #and also a little bit of sws but only Who are you now #cause i like the yeah yeah part💜#also #i used to hate bulletproof love but idk its kinda freecrime #MY LOVE FOR YOUUUU WAS BULLETPROOOF BUT UR THE ONE WHO SHOT ME #ILL SING ALONGGGGGG CAUSE I DONT KNOW AND OTHER SOOOOOOOONG WOAH OH #sorry im silly #doaasuuu :3

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elegyofthemoon · 2 months

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🥺

#i love my friends my friends are so cute #im not gonna sit here wailing about how much i love my friends but i sure do love my friends #i was suggesting one friend that i could play genshin w her if she ever needed help w leveling #(even despite never playing the game myself anymore)#so we were making plans to play tonight ^7^ so im excited...#but then i realized 'wait a second can genshin still run on my computer...'#so i decided to try #only to see aNOTHER FRIEND left a message for me there EVEN DESPITE NOT PLAYING IN A MONTH #😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭man i love my friends all of yall are very cute and very sweet and i always turn into a giant crypuddle when i think of you #siiiiiighs #friends tag #i will be normal now. and go see if genshin can still run or is this temporary and its gonna die on me soon #hrmmm #avil speaks #im gonna try using that for now !

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shed0kryptz · 5 months

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where have bôa, mr. scruff, squid, yves tumor, thievery corporation, björk, masakatsu takagi, and cocteau twins BEEN ALL MY LIFEEE WTFFF !!!?!! goddamb ive been missing out all of these years ouuugh (theres also so much more ive discovered too. but these are the ones that came to mind)

#ren rambling #yes im making a tag for this now #some of these artists ive known about but i only started listening to them now #like björk. my parents always said she was weird so i didnt pay much attention to her #but THEYRE WRON G i lov her music #if anyone ever needs music suggestions i am here :3 #pls i lov talking about this stuff pLS-#:]

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buckets-of-dirt · 1 year

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What is the point of a very specialized "watch" that costs the same amount as an actual smart watch (which have apps that theoretically do the same thing) but has fewer functions and isn't even very good at the one thing it's supposed to do?

#IT'S ALWAYS DISCONNECTING AT THE LEAST HELPFUL TIMES #my doctor recommended it because it's the only fda approved seizure detection device and the smartwatch apps aren't fda approved #even though they do the same thing and are in the same price range #this stupid fucking thing barely even tells time #the only times it's ever alerted were false alarms (petting a dog and shoveling the driveway)#the website warns that if theres 'thick fabric' between the device and your phone it might disconnect #which apparently translates to it refusing to connect if my phone is in my pants pocket or Im sleeping under a blanket #this thing has one job and it is terrible at it #I emailed the customer service people to ask for help and they were basically useless #I found a reddit page from FOUR YEARS AGO discussing my exact problem and it looks like nothing's changed #one of the commenters suggested the op just get a service dog instead which misses the point entirely #anyway unless anyone made it through this whole tag rant and has helpful suggestions I'll probably talk to my parents about switching #at least a smartwatch would function as a watch and count my steps or whatever #not that Im super thrilled about the concept of smartwatches overall but in this case it might be better than nothing #epilepsy

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prehistorictriforce · 2 years

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sometimes i’m like “yeah i’m super chill around celebrities, i don’t really clam up or anything, i’m super normal” and then i remember when i “met” frank iero and im like hmmmm maybe i’m wrong.

#it was a few years ago but like. a friend and i got to a venue i think… like a little over 12 hours early for the show???#so we were obviously there before the band. but when frank got there it was still only like. my friend and a couple other ppl #(we became good friends w the group we waited with btw!!! we all have a gc on insta and stuff they’re rad!!!!)#(we’re trying to get together to see mcr together!!)#but frank like. comes by and starts asking us how we’re doing and is like hey do y’all need anything and whatever #we said we were fine bc evan had gotten us water n shit #and i was standing next to frank and we were all talking and he was like idk we were looking for food where should we go #and we’re in a totally different state from where i’m from so i’m like??? i don’t fuckin know????#but this was frank fucking iero i wasn’t gonna admit i didn’t know smthn so i’m like I THINK THERES A GELATO PLACE AROUND HERE #so i just sit there like a god damn buffoon nodding and going yeah yeah yeah absolutely sure yeah!!! to every suggestion #and he kinda looks at me as if i’m gonna say smthn and i just smile all ridiculous and shrug and go ‘sounds good to me’#there was much more to the conversation but the general gist was everyone else being normal and me being doe eyed dumbass #he was very nice abt it all bless him he was super busy but he came out to check on us a couple more times before it got busy #he was always smiley and happy and giggly abt it and i miss him 💔💔 frank i’m so sorry i was useless i swear i can be better #at least i went HARD during the show. we were all right in front since we were literally first in line lol #anyways. still absolutely one of if not my ultimate fave concert i’ve ever been to #these tags have been long as fuck but this memory plagues me at night

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truethes · 2 years

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anyway in a more comprehensive post i have to admit that this chapter absolutely has made my muse peek even higher.

#❛ ♡ › jupiter : 𝐨𝐨𝐜.#spoilers in tags warning!#every day i stray closer to just a sv based mumu but i just love my other muses too much to commit to that </3 #im glad we finally have the confirmation from tana.ka that mikun.is theme in mis.onos ali.ce in wonderland is in fact the queen of hearts.#but there is so. so much to theorise with this #ofc gears already mentioned that werewolves cannot be killed unless you aim straight for the heart #but tou.ma coming back suggests theres also something else under his sleeve. theres an extreme possibility hes going to be okay too #lily being a traitor was honestly? the least surprising bit of info about the chapter bc ive always felt like theres been a possibility ever #since it was revealed he knew what would happen to kur.o when ku.ro made that choice #lilys are in fact poisonous to #both cats and dogs though. so theres something very fascinating going on with that one #i like the fact tanak.a has gone down the path of #yes kur.o and mahi.ru arent here so everything now goes from bad or worse but #there is so much that could happen. theres no one whom i believe is. completely dead yet.#itll be what ends up happening to jej.e and mikun.i that concerns me.#mis.ono you shouldve stayed home!!!!#my mik.uni muse peeked #all my muses ended up nearly dying in the last 10 chapters what does that say about me???????#UFYVGUFYGVGFY ONLY TSUB.AKI SEEMS OK

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angelltheninth · 2 months

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Weak Spots for Alastor, Lucifer, Angel Dust, Husk, Sir Pentious, Vox and Valentino

Pairing: Alastor, Lucifer, Angel Dust, Husk, Sir Pentious, Vox, Valentino x Reader

Tags: fluff, established relationship, weak spot, teasing, kissing, wings, blushing, suggestive

A/N: I think some would be pretty obvious but still fun to think about.

Alastor keep his tail hidden for a good reason. The moment you find out about it you want to touch it. His smile snakes when you do, the static audio increasing and his hands pulling you close and whispering that there will be consequences if you ever do that without his permission. Good consequences.

Lucifer only reveals his wings when it's needed. Despite him being an ex arch-angel he still has sensitive wings, all angels do, so it's best to keep them folded on when he doesn't need them. They fan out and bristle when you run your fingers across them, his apple cheeks flaming red because he's trying his best to calm them down.

Angel Dust doesn't et you hold his hips often when you're being intimate. For him something like that feels a bit too intimate, you can pin him down, move him any way you like, but when you touch his hips he gets really ticklish. Not very attractive during sex now is it? Except to you it is, because his laughter is attractive too.

Husk would push you away when your hand gets close to his ears while you're cuddling. He's already purring for you, what more do you want from the grumpy cat? Very reluctant to let you scratch behind them because not only does it make him purr but also makes his wings twitch.

Sir Pentious has weak spots all over him if he's fully honest. His many snake eyes. Which are also his strength in battle so it's kind of like a double edged-sword and he does his best to keep his eyes from wondering to you in an inappropriate way when you're together. After all they're quite easy to poke.

Vox turns from blue to red when you touch the back of his screen. There are a lot of holes and ports back there and all of them are sensitive to the touch. Some in more ways then others so don't be surprised if you touch one and it ends with his tongue down your throat and clothes being torn off your body.

Valentino will never admit this to you but his weak spot is his back. His entire back is very sensitive, especially around his wings so he always keeps your hands pinned or to other parts of him when you're having sex. The moment you run your hand gently down his back he combusts on the spot, which is not good for his stamina.

#hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #lucifer x reader #angel dust x reader #husk x reader #sir pentious x reader #vox x reader #valentino x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel fluff #x reader

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slytherinslut0 · 5 months

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Theodore Nott. | that’s what i said.

info: your boyfriend was telling you about his day, when he began speaking fluent Italian, knowing damn well you only knew select words. when you asked him to repeat it, he had you come sit on his lap and ended up doing a little more than just repeating it.

word count: 3k

tags: 18+, literally pure smut. pure lorenzo italian daddy type smut. lots of italian translation (apologies to all my italians out there if they’re a little off) lots of praise, riding, piv, dirty talk.

Reclining across from you, Theodore Nott your lovely boyfriend, exuded an air of relaxed confidence while seated comfortably on the expansive leather couch in his dorm room. His legs were stretched wide, one arm casually draped over the armrest--each of his current mannerisms acting as physical testaments to the ease with which he inhabited the space.

As he delved into the narrative of his day, you, nestled in the love seat opposite him, eagerly absorbed the symphony of his voice. It was a melody that effortlessly traversed between English and Italian, a linguistic dance that had always held a special place in your heart.

His words held an irresistible charm, each syllable cascading like liquid honey off his tongue. The profound rasp of his voice, entwined with his seductive Italian accent stirred something indescribable within your body. The prospect of listening to him like this every day for the rest of your life fueled your anticipation, a certainty that the allure would never lose its magic. It was a sensation you eagerly anticipated, knowing that the richness of his voice would forever remain a timeless delight.

Yet, within the fluidity of his storytelling, Theodore suddenly shifted into Italian, weaving complete sentences with a gaze that lingered through half-lidded eyes, as if this linguistic transformation were the most natural thing in the world. Ordinarily, you might have interrupted him, gently reminding him of your language limitations, but today, well, you just couldn't bring yourself to do so.

You were almost in awe, unable to deny that there was an enchanting quality to the way the words curled off his tongue. That, coupled with the intensity of his stare, seemingly compelled you to stay silent, as if under a trance. You found yourself captivated, clinging to every indecipherable syllable, a familiar heat beginning to kindle between your thighs.

It was as if he momentarily lost himself in the labyrinth of his thoughts, forgetting, if only for an instant, that your understanding of the language was confined solely to select phrases and words. This linguistic detour left you with a quizzical frown, a silent plea for translation in the midst of his enchanting monologue, and finally, noting your confusion after what felt like ages, he paused, cocking a charming eyebrow at you.

"Something on your mind, Bella?" he teased, leisurely spreading his legs further as his gaze meandered from your eyes to your lips, only to return, locking onto your gaze once more. "You appear a touch...lost."

"Theo, I must confess--I haven't the slightest idea what you just said," you admitted, a playful pout gracing your lips. Your eyes sparkled with a blend of curiosity and mischief. "And I know you're well aware that was far beyond my linguistic expertise."

"All this time, and you still haven't mastered my language, Bella Mia..." Theo, with a dramatic flair, feigned a hurt expression, his stormy eyes widening ever so slightly. "You're truly breaking my heart."

Smirking, you teased, "forgive me, amore..." your fingers traced an absent pattern on the armrest, a subtle invitation. "Please, feel free to repeat it--I love the way it sounds..."

A mischievous glint sparked behind his irises, a playful confidence dancing in their depths. With a self-assured grin, he patted his lap invitingly, his messy brown locks falling effortlessly over his forehead.

"Why don't you come over here," he suggested, his tone velvety, "and I'll gladly repeat it for you?"

Your grin widened, a flicker of anticipation igniting within you as you slowly rose from the chair, not needing a second thought. His burning stare followed your every move as you veered closer to him, an intensity in his eyes that set your senses ablaze without effort. As you approached, a slow, deliberate stride, the air thickened with a tangible tension, your pulse thumping in your throat.

No matter the duration of your relationship with Theo, each touch remained an electric encounter, perpetually reminiscent of the initial spark. His reverence for your body endured, a devotion that unfolded afresh with every caress, as if every moment were a new discovery for his hands and eyes.

Stalling in front of him, you giddily pulled your lip between your teeth as his hands found yours, guiding them to his shoulders as he pulled you down to straddle his lap. The warmth of his embrace enveloped you, his hands finding a natural place on your hips.

"Mm," he purred, burying his head in the crook of your neck, inhaling a sharp breath as his fingers dug into your skin. "So beautiful, Bella..."

You stifled a mewl as he pressed careless kisses along your neck, the playful banter giving way to a charged silence as his teeth softly grazed your pulse--the unspoken language between you both pulsating with desire and connection. The messy brown waves of his hair framed a face now tinged with a sultry charm, and the mischievous glint in his eyes promised a shared secret in the language only you two understood.

As if completely instinctively, you rolled your hips against his crotch, head falling back as his hands slid around to your ass, groaning against your neck as he aided your movements, guiding you back and forth against his growing bulge. You could already feel him throbbing beneath you, your cunt clenching in need for his touch as the only thing separating your heat from his groin was your thin layer of underwear, rubbing against his trousers.

"Ho voluto scoparti tutto il giorno..." he murmured, the same phrase he'd said earlier, the one in which you didn't understand. "...sei tutto ciò a cui riesco a pensare."

Your brows furrowed, about to question him, but exasperation quickly took over as he sank his teeth into your neck. He left vivid, possessive marks on your skin, his hands sliding up and under your skirt, tracing the supple contours of your ass. As you continued to move against him, a whirlwind of desire engulfed you, and you quickly lost yourself in the intoxicating rush.

"You're so fucking sexy," he breathed, his voice a low, deep murmur, reverberating a shudder of desire down your spine, his tongue trailing a flat stripe up the side of your throat. "Ho bisogno di te, mia bellissima piccola troia." (I need you, my beautiful little slut.)

"Theo..." you whimpered, your hands entwining in his hair, fingers weaving through his tousled auburn locks. His mouth ascended, planting tender, moist kisses along the ridge of your jawline. "Please-please-"

"Mm, you like that don't you, principessa?" His voice was a seductive purr, the words wrapping around you like silk as he pulled back a hand and gave you a sharp smack on your ass, eliciting an immediate squeal from your throat. "Tu ami grinding that dolce piccola figa on me like this, hm?..." (you love)(sweet little pussy)

In response to his words, an unabashed moan escaped your lips, louder than you had initially intended. Theo responded with a low growl, his free hand moving to your jaw, cradling it delicately as he guided your lips to his. The ensuing kiss spoke a language of its own--one of desire, need, and an unfiltered passion that surpassed any linguistic expression.

Your hold on his hair intensified as you pressed against him more urgently, the rhythm quickening. His tongue boldly slipped past your teeth, exploring your mouth with fervor. Simultaneously, his hands glided to the hem of your blouse, lifting it along your stomach. The kiss briefly broke as he encouraged your arms upward, swiftly pulling your shirt over your head and discarding it on the floor.

"Così bella..." he praised, his eyes fixated on your chest adorned by the delicate, lacy fabric of your white bralette. The intensity in his gaze felt scorching, as if it could sear your skin to ash. "Così, così bella, amore mio..." (So beautiful)(so, so beautiful, my love...)

His words took your breath away, slamming your chest like a fifty pound brick, the worship in his tone enough to render you speechless. You writhed in his lap, seeking friction, more friction that what you were currently experiencing--wanting him; needing him in every possible way. You captured his lips again, rolling your hips harder, the deep moan that escaped him found itself muffled by your mouth as you worked at the buttons on his shirt, fervently popping them free as quickly as you could.

The second his chest was exposed, you scoured it like a starved animal, the skin-on-skin contact sending a desperate clench to your cunt. You mapped his muscles to your memory as though it was the first time you'd ever seen them--the strength of his biceps, his strong, powerful abdomen, all of it hot and vibrating with need--you were breathless at the sight of his beauty under your palms, a feeling that had never once even partially faltered, no matter how many times you fucked him.

"Are you going to tell me what you said, Teddy..." you murmured, a playful smile dancing on your lips as your fingers skillfully moved to his belt, assisting in its release. "That was the whole reason I came over here, was it not?"

"Words can wait, amore," Theo muttered, his voice husky with desire, his gaze locked onto yours as he undid the zipper on your skirt, watching with blaring eyes as you tugged it off, along with your panties and tossed them to the floor. "Actions speak louder, don't they?"

"Mmfh," you moaned as he pulled you back against his mouth, his tongue running along your teeth as your bodies rocked together, his fingers gripping and caressing and squeezing every bit of your body that they could.

Pulling away, he met your eyes, heavily panting for breath as he gazed at you with a hunger that matched your own. His hands shifted, urging you to back up for a moment as he pulled his pants and boxers midway down his thighs--growling low in his chest as his thick, throbbing length sprung free, glistening with precum as it smacked against his chiseled stomach. You clenched.

He pulled you back against him, gliding you in slicking your soaked cunt along the length of his cock, his eyes burning wounds into your flesh as he watched you, lost in pleasure, lost in your need for him.

"Lo vuoi, amore mio?" (You want it, my love?) His voice barely rose above a whisper as he posed the question to which he damn well knew the answer. "You want this fucking cock inside that pretty little cunt?"

You shuddered, clenching hard in anticipation, nodding as you leaned closer, grazing your lips against his, panting heavily into his mouth.

"I want to hear you say it," he growled, one hand sliding up beyond your shoulders to grip the back of your neck, locking your gaze onto his. "Beg me to fuck you."

Your nails dug into his shoulders, entire body vibrating. "Please-Theo, please fuck me..."

"No, no," he playfully clucked his tongue, delivering a sharp smack to your ass with his free hand. You instinctively clenched again, the sensation electrifying. "In Italian."

"Gods," you groaned, his ceaseless teasing consistently pushing you to the brink of physical exhilaration in all the most delightful ways. Fortunately, this was a phrase he had taught you from the very beginning, a linguistic lesson that lingered since day one. "Per favore-per favore...ho bisogno di te..." (please-please…I need you.)

He exhaled, grunting. "Good girl."

It was a combined effort--he fisted his length, angling it at your core, your hands clutching his shoulders as you sank onto him, his thick girth stretching you wide with ease. You both collectively groaned, your walls pulsing and clenching around him as you took a second to adjust to his length, before rocking your hips in a slow, erotic rhythm; working yourself open on his cock.

Theo's eyes were glued to yours, watching your every movement as though he was afraid he'd miss something if he looked away. With a grunt, his big hands found your tits, palming and groping at the soft flesh with primal urgency, brushing his thumbs against your nipples, teasing them with soft circles. Your eyes rolled, your head falling back on your shoulders as you increased your pace, soft moans slipping past your lips.

"Esatto, piccola angioletta...così perfetta..." (That's right, little angel... so perfect) he murmured, his voice low, torn with husk. "You're so goddamn tight...squeezing me so good...così buono."

"Gods, Theo..." you whimpered, relishing in how deep he was, how big. "You're so fucking big."

Your boyfriend's hands shifted again, finding your hips, sharp fingernails digging into your skin as he thrust upward to match your movements, his cock hitting all the right spots. Your own fingers burrowed into his shoulders while you throbbed around him, lungs desperate for air, and he snarled, increasing his movements, setting a brutal pace that you couldn't match.

Cries fled you, pushed from your lungs by the carnal force of his hips, and Theodore consumed you--lips sucking at your neck, hands bearing bruises into your ass. His dick stretched you wide, fucked you deep, wracking your body with its punishment, breasts bouncing, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your skin.

You tilted your head back, his fervent mouth tracing down to your collarbone, claiming his territory across as much of your skin as possible. His cock pumped into you, beckoning an orgasm from the bottom of your brain--and as if sensing your clit screaming for attention, his hand snaked between your legs, fingers smoothly gliding over it. In response, you squealed, digging your nails into his shoulders with enough force to shatter the skin, body awash with pleasure.

"That's it, amore..." he groaned, breathless, teeth nipping at your earlobe, free hand gripping your ass with enough force to batter the skin. "Ride me like the good little whore you are."

"Fuck-fuck yes," you cried, your hips moving faster, chasing your orgasm as Theo's fingers rubbed tighter circles against your clit, increasing their relentless pursuit in bringing you over the edge. "Don't stop, Theo-fuck, please don't stop..."

"I won't, my love," he murmured, lips pressed against your ear, breathing the words into your eardrums. "Wouldn't fucking dream of it."

Theo's fingers worked magic on your clit as he thrust up into your cunt faster, harder--his cock hitting your g-spot with each aggressive movement. You could feel the pressure building inside your core, your body coiling like a tightly wound spring as he worked you closer and closer to the edge.

"Theo-" you gasped, your voice practically a scream. "I'm going to-I'm going-"

"Going to what, principessa...hm?" He implored, his voice a low, husky whisper escaping through his teeth; your entire essence pulsating, trembling amid his passionate pursuit. "Verrai per me? That tight little pussy going to cum on my cock?"

You wailed, head falling back, chest swelling for air. "Yes!...Theo-please!"

"Fallo. Cum for me." He graced your ass with another harsh smack, placing wet, sloppy kisses against your jawline. "Let me feel you."

With only a few more strokes, you came undone, cunt clamping around his cock, your whole body shaking as your orgasm washed over your entirety, blazing through every nerve ending and every fucking cell. Theo's fingers continued to rub you through it, prolonging the pleasure until you were left gasping for breath, nothing more than babbling nonsensical moans and pleas leaving your lips in the aftermath of his wrath.

Theo grunted, finally peeling his hand off your clit once you were whimpering and squirming against him, gripping the back of your head and drawing your mouth to his, meeting your lips in a sloppy wet kiss, each of you sucking in sharp breaths through your nostrils as you continued to ride him, your walls tingling in post orgasmic rapture.

"Brava ragazza," he moaned into your mouth, his body shaking with the force of his impending release. "So fucking good, bambina."

His movements grew erratic, hips bucking hard as he struggled to hold off his own orgasm, the force of his pace bordering on violent. You gasped, squealed, held onto him for dear life as you rode him, attempting to match his pace, but he was possessed, starved, breaking the kiss to lean back, both hands gripping your hips, holding you steady.

"You want my cum, little slut? Hm?" He gritted out, forehead glistening with sweat, his pupils blown wide with lust. "You want me to fill up this tight little cunt?"

You gasped, nodding frantically. "Yes! Please-please!"

"fuck...I'm gonna cum..." his lids fluttered, dark eyebrows pinching in concentration, his face contorting into a scowl of effort. "Cristo-you feel così buono-shit.."

With a final thrust, he growled, groaned--his movements slowing, breath sputtering from his lungs as he exploded, pumping once, twice, three times--all before coming to a halt, cock twitching inside you as he drained his hot cum deep into your pussy. Sweat beaded each of your foreheads, bliss buzzing between your bodies as you kissed him softly, panting into his mouth as you each worked silently to come back down to earth, pulses pounding in ruthless rhythm.

Spent and fully sated, Theo cradled the back of your head, pulling you into him, his free arm snaking around your back. You wrapped your arms around his neck, keeping him inside you as you two stayed like that for a moment, relishing in the intimacy between your bodies as he softened, his lips placing tender kisses on your shoulder.

"Ho voluto scoparti tutto il giorno..." he murmured softly, a hint of amusement in his tone as he repeated the words he knew you had no idea of their meaning. "sei tutto ciò a cui riesco a pensare."

"Stop teasing me." You huffed, burying your face into the crook of his neck. "It's not very nice of you, Theo..."

He chuckled, a low hum from deep in his chest, smirking against your skin as he tightened his grip around you, brushing loose strands of hair behind your ear.

“I wanted to fuck you all day...” he murmured, lips brushing your temple. “You’re all I can think about..."

You pulled back, meeting his stormy eyes. "Is that-"

"Yes." He interrupted you with a gentle kiss, smiling against your lips. "That's what I said."

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okay-babe · 2 months

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Mothering

tags: alastor x fem! reader, suggestive themes, allusions to sex, alastor and reader are married, domestic bliss, Husk and Angel are tortured by your love for each other.

It was a rather quiet morning, one that had become almost typical of the hotel in the quickly passing months, and Angel watched as, like usual, the Radio Demon began to walk swiftly from the stairwell to the front doors.

Although, this time, there was a notable interruption to the sinner's routine.

"Al, wait!"

You called in an almost panicked sounding tone, bounding down the stairs in only your night gown, an object that Angel couldn't quite make out in hand.

Immediately, Alastor halted where he stood, his neck turning before the rest of his body to watch as you rushed over to him, cheeks flushed from your run down to the lobby.

The demon raised a brow at you curiously, but with a marked lack of exasperation that must have come from that store of patience he reserved just for you, and you smiled sheepishly as you held up a small shimmering band.

"You forgot this."

You said, tone almost nervous sounding as you continued your approach in spite of the painfully obvious adoration written all over the Radio Demon's face.

Immediately, Alastor looked down toward his left hand in surprise, his eyes widening ever so slightly at the sight of his barren ring finger before he looked back to you and smiled one of those gentle soft things he once again only seemed to reserve for you.

"Ah, why thank you, my dear."

He all but purred, eyes lighting up as you grew ever closer until he could finally offer his hand to you in the way you so clearly desired.

You grinned happily at the gesture and reached forward with the ring in hand as the sinner spoke up again,

"I couldn't fathom going a day without it."

You blushed at that, eyes diverting swiftly for a moment before they moved almost instinctively back to Alastor, watching his pleased expression as you slid his wedding ring back onto his waiting finger.

You stared at him for a few seconds, as if enthralled by the very vision of him in spite of the fact that you quite literally woke up to the man every morning, until finally you snapped yourself out of it with a slightly embarrassed clearing of your throat.

"Well, I'm quite sure you could manage if you had to."

You said softly, voice slightly higher in pitch than usual as your husband bent down, the already raised left side of his mouth curling upward further in an amused smirk at the sight of your pink cheeks and slightly nervous body language.

He'd had this effect on you in life as well, but it seemed he'd never tire of seeing it, even after so very long.

"Manage, certainly, but I'm not sure I would want to without the reminder of my darling wife back home."

He drawled, his now decorated left hand reaching up to palm your cheek and his eyes scanning you with a chuckle as you all but melted into his touch, always so very receptive to his affections whenever he was willing to offer them.

Suddenly though, your eyes widened, and you broke away with a gasp, your gaze shifting down to Alastor's hands only to find them empty.

"Al, did you remember to grab the organs I prepared for Rosie yesterday evening?"

You asked, immediately causing Angel and Husk over by the bar to flinch in response.

Had it been a surprise that the Radio Demon's wife was a little bit too comfortable with cannibalism? Not nearly as surprising as it was that the overlord had a wife in the first place, but still, it certainly hadn't been anticipated that you would be so handy with a boning knife.

The deer demon standing in front of you let out a soft hum of surprise before he shook his head, straightening back out to his full height with one arm crossed over the other.

"Silly me, it appears I'd nearly forgotten."

He replied, tone colored with amusement as you immediately set off toward the kitchen before the man could even finished, returning shortly thereafter with a rather large container of something your observers would rather not think too hard about.

"Well count yourself lucky I felt up to the chase this morning, beau."

You teased as you set the tub down on an end table nearby so you could approach your husband once more, straightening out his tie and fussing over his hair for a few moments as the demon simply stood still beneath your attentions, smile both amused and contented all at once.

You looked up at him after a few moments, eyes softening slightly at the sight of his expression as your hands moved to brush some invisible lint off his chest.

"You know, it isn't like you to be so forgetful, Al."

You began gently, hands working to smooth out a few barely there wrinkles in the demon's shirt.

"I'm beginning to worry that your age is getting to you."

Your tone was far too teasing to ever be misconstrued as serious as you spoke, stepping away slightly to admire your handiwork only to be stopped by a tug at your wrist as Alastor moved to pull you close once more.

"Is that so?"

He purred, tone still just as amused as before as he flipped your teasing back on you tenfold,

"Well then darling, I suppose I'll have to remind you of just how spry I can be upon my return."

His voice lowered slightly as he said this, and instantly your cheeks felt hot and your eyes widened slightly beneath your husband's heavy gaze.

Desperate to change the subject before your (rather unwelcome) background audience caught on or made any commentary, you quickly cleared your throat again before giving a nervous laugh.

"Sure thing old man, whatever you say."

You said halfheartedly, watching as the Radio Demon's eyes grew darker at your unintentional challenge.

And at that, you were quick to switch topics.

"O-oh!"

You began, eyes roving aimlessly for something else to talk about before they finally fell to the unused coat rack in the corner of the room.

"Are you sure you won't be needing a coat, Al? I'd hate for you to catch a cold..."

You said nervously, hands wringing together as your husband watched you with sheer amusement and something slightly heavier behind his eyes, his mouth opening as if to reply only for him to be cut off by a voice from another part of the room.

"Babe, I love ya and all, but this is gettin' ridiculous!"

Angel cried out in exasperation,

"We're in hell, for cryin' out loud! Yer husband is a demon overlord who owns enough souls to be considered a large business owner! He's not gonna get cold out there!"

You gave another nervous laugh in response to Angel's rambling,

"But-"

"Nu uh, no buts Toots, now say goodbye to ol' tall, dark, and creepy before you start actin' like his motha' again."

Angel interrupted, immediately causing you to let out a huff of indignation, turning around to face your friend where he sat at the bar,

"I am NOT acting like his mother."

You insisted, attitude faltering a bit when you noted the rather amused expression that your comrades were wearing, informing you that you were likely making a slight fool of yourself.

"I-I'm not..."

You trailed off quietly, cheeks warm with embarrassment even as you felt a familiar clawed hand drop down upon your shoulder in a manner that was no doubt meant to be soothing.

Though, the next words out of your husband's mouth, in spite of his actions, most certainly were not.

"Not to worry, cher."

He purred, pulling you back against him gently so you could feel the warmth of his chest upon your back and the curl of his smile against your helix, a sensation which immediately caused you to shiver.

"If they wish to see you as a mother, I will happily oblige."

Your blush deepened at that, eyes widening as you desperately tried to ignore the shocked looks of your peers in favor of trying to focus on keeping your head straight instead as Alastor stepped away once more, the casualness of his attitude a stark contrast to his previous words.

"Oh dear, would you look at the time. I really must be going."

He said, a teasing lilt to his voice that was all too easy to hear coming through as he checked his wrist for a watch he wasn't actually wearing before leaning forward to press an exaggerated kiss to your forehead.

"I'll be seeing you later, darling." He drawled with that trademark grin of his as he approached the door, one clawed hand reaching to pull it open before he finally stepped out.

That is, until a few seconds later, when his head popped back in again.

"Oh, and do keep well hydrated, dear heart! I would hate to endure a repeat of the last time you called my spryness into question."

Alastor looked far too pleased with himself as he spoke for you to even bother attempting to rebuke him, and but a moment later he was gone, off to see Rosie with a well adorned ring finger and a large container of organs in hand.

"WHAT DID HE SAY?!"

Angel cried, still clearly stuck on your husband's mothering comment from earlier as you sighed and approached the bar, an apologetic look on your face as you glanced toward Husk.

"Can I just get a water please?"

You muttered sheepishly, immediately causing the bartender to groan and bury his face in his hand, his disappointment in your immense lack of shame obvious, but truly, what else had he expected?

Had he met your husband?

#alastor x reader #alastor imagine #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x you #hazbin x you #hazbin imagine #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel #.writes

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write-it-motherfuckers · 2 years

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Person A: “I never took you as the type to be involved with this sort of thing.”

Person B: “Good, it would have defeated the purpose if you did.”

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kneelingshadowsalome · 3 months

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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.

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