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comfortless · 2 days

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Offering you a prompt because I know you could make it perfect! ( ๑‾̀◡‾́)✨ You know about Minoan Bull Leaping? What about that with a hybrid Köni?

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. König is a man here!!: ears and a tail and a set of horns but that’s it!, fem (afab) reader, nondescript animal death, codependency and a little possessive behavior, reader gets injured, historical inaccuracies, one-sided worship, mentions of violence, reader is a virgin for three seconds, cunnilingus, smut.

word count: 11.5k.

You’ve practiced this, and still the tension and nervousness bleeds through you, courses like a steady river under skin and curves around bone. The bulls are so much larger than the fallen trees and heavy stones you’ve danced around and over for practice, and the nights spent tempting them with treats had never been enough to prepare. Twigs and jagged edges are nothing in comparison to the horns of very alive and breathing beasts; petting their heads is far simpler than prancing over their horns.

The bulls wait in the field, grazing, sturdy monoliths amidst a sea of green below the warm light of the sun. It kisses every inch of skin, highlights the determination and giddiness on the faces of others and lines your frown in shadow. Three feral bulls for two men and a woman far more practiced than you; a rugged, adolescent thing with his horns barely poking through waits just for you, misplaced from the herd and huffing indignantly some distance from the rest.

You watch the others go, one by one, as they skip and somersault toward their gruffer partners. Your hand rises up the expanse of your robe to brush over the jewels layered along your throat. Their movements are rushing water, fluid and perfect, so elaborate and pretty that you fear even blinking will cause you to miss the most important details.

And then they reach their bulls.

Some huff, one tilts his head in curiosity. An attempt to gore, perhaps, except… these things are not vicious, only happy creatures. They know the importance of the dance just as you do. When the curious one does accept the grasp of a man’s hands over his horns, you feel yourself beginning to walk, possessed by the need to claim your own bull and perform just as they do.

The show that you put on is less graceful, but does not lack heart. A trip on your first somersault that sends you into the grass, righted immediately when you hear your bull huff only paces away. You laugh, coo, and chirp as you approach with more balance. The sparkling jewels dance over your skin just as the others dance over their bulls, leap after leap, and the animals remain calm.

Yours is no different. He allows you to graze your fingertips over the soft fur of his back, does not so much as flinch when your press your palms flat over the sides of his face. The horns poking out of his skull are rounded at their tips, not yet properly grown in. You kiss the dip between his eyes and tell him how special this performance must be. To tame a wild animal is something divine in itself, but to tame a bull takes someone truly virtuous.

The grass tickles along your calves, the sun feels so warm and lovely against your face. You sigh in contentment as your steps lead you back, arms raised in preparation to jump. The others cheer you on, guide you with their voices as they wait next to their animals. The scent of nectar and pine lulls you to comfort, allows you the courage that you lacked initially; knees bend and arms raise, your eyes locked on the sprouting horns.

With your posture immaculate, you take your first leap.

The sun catches on something tar black and glimmering waiting in the trees just out past the pasture. Two tall horns springing from either side of a head, the stature of a man, just as your fingers curl over the calf before you’s much smaller horns.

The heart in your chest ceases its pounding for a moment, and your eyes must have widened the very same as a child’s would when encountering something sweet or shiny to treasure.

There’s a man attached to those horns in the tree line. Though you could not make out his face beneath all of the shade and foliage, you were so certain that it must have been a man.

A man larger than any man in Crete. Impossible and imposing.

The tumble that follows this reverie is what breaks away any hope of this being a lovely day.

Your concentration was broken the very second that the creature showed itself, and it was far too late to stop even when you were no longer a part of what was occurring between you and your sable-furred calf. The animal senses the not-right about the situation, takes it as a cue to move just as you were lifted over him and sends you sprawled out into the blooming wildflowers. The earth at your back, the sky to your front, and the pain takes its time to trickle in like winter chill and crawl up from your soles to the base of your neck.

The thin gold of your necklace must have snapped, because one of the jewels lies over your middle now, and several others have been left for dirt and birds to claim in the grass.

It’s your bull that comes to worry over you first, his wet nose nudges at your cheek when the scent of blood from broken skin taints the air with iron. It’s just a scrape along your palm, sullied by the peak of a jagged rock lying buried just below the soft soil of the pasture. The blood runs in small streams when you marvel at the wound, held up keeping sun from your eyes.

His coarse tongue finds its way to your hair, retrieves the flowers from it as if his stomachs could not wait for the consoling to be done to be fed. In your stupor, you almost want to call the poor thing stupid, but you only tell him that he’s done as well as you hoped.

You’ll dance with him again, you promise.

The injury takes time to recover from, even with the most patient of healers seated at your bedside. He reminds you that a woman of your standing is something special in herself. Proud, noble, and meant to be wed in the coming months each time he layers salve over the scrapes and the expanse of bruising along your back. Your linens are changed by the slaves of your household, new jewels provided in abundance and placed around your neck as though you even need to look presentable now, bruised and stuck in your bed.

No one knows what you saw, not really. You aren’t even certain what that vision was. They whisper of madness when you bring it up. The Minotaur remains in the labyrinth, far away from here and bedded down in the dark. Men don’t possess the horns of bulls, and you must have damaged your head too, because no one believes a word you speak about it, about him.

Your mistake, you learned, was probably what spurred your poor calf to be chosen for sacrifice. A bad omen forfeit, maybe. So young and gentle, and now gone. The soft fur off his ears and the quivering of his nose wouldn’t be felt again, and worse still…What if you were not meant to leap with them at all?

There is fruit and barley served up onto a plate made of bone as you’re ordered to eat by your healer. People can be crueler than bulls, you think to yourself; you haven’t even got the desire to eat after hearing such a thing. You’re bleeding from the heart when the first bite is forced into your mouth, gut twisting and fingernails digging into soft linen.

“I promised…” Your voice is muffled by a particularly fat portion of plum. It goes ignored by the withering old healer that tilts your head back and strokes your jaw with a soft palm to encourage you to swallow.

“Eat.”

And when you don’t, when you spit it back onto the plate, you’re rewarded with another bite and further encouragement as your sobs fill the room. It should be expected, not as hard as bone or as tough as the skin of the fruit when you’re finally offered sweet wine to swallow it down. You shouldn’t be a mess over an animal who served his purpose well and would be heralded as some savior for giving some clumsy woman trust and a chance.

It’s just that there’s so much more to it, for you. Patches of purple and swelling are much easier to spot than guilt and other turmoils.

Your first should have been beautiful, should have left those watching with stars dancing in their irises. You couldn’t even handle a calf, and you feel more pitiful and helpless the longer that you harp on those thoughts.

You rest and have dreamless bouts of slumber. You walk alongside the healer, leaning against the old man for support when you find the pain is still very much there, stinging and vile. The people about the city always smile to you, offer you flowers and sweet fruit and ask when you’ll be well enough to dance again.

Often, it even soothes the ache that they can’t see well enough. Provides some hope that, yes, you can return to what you’ve always hoped to do, display your grace and strength and find some place in a flowery pasture before the day of your wedding. You’ve heard of women tearing a place that makes them bleed on horseback, how getting the pain over and done with then has made consummation far easier when that day comes for them. Maybe that could happen for you too.

You ask to hear the story of the Minotaur more times than should be appropriate from the slaves of your household. Some of them are foreign, not entirely sure of just how it should be told. You find yourself especially fond of one of them who twists her words to make everything seem honey.

“…I like to think that he wasn’t alone down there,” she finishes on her second retelling of the night. The first had ended with a separate possibility altogether, one that saddened you to the core.

“Do you?”

“Yes,” she laughs, taking the comb of carved bone to your hair, gently running it through each tangle provided by your pillow from lying in bed for the entire day. “Maybe he had friends or…”

“A wife?,” you question in amusement. Bulls didn’t take wives, even if they were part manâ€¦

“He is a man. Surely he had a woman,” she laughs again, bright and giddy, and follows it with a shrug. “You said that you saw him. Maybe it’s a sign.”

“I didn’t say it was him,” you almost wail in embarrassment. It was true that you had endlessly questioned and pondered for the past few weeks, speculated on what may or may not have been there, beneath the trees when you took your fall. For some odd reason, your fascination with that creature had ignited a flame someplace in your chest, growing ever brighter with each day that passed. “He didn’t have a bull’s head. Only the horns.”

She plucks at your hair with the comb a little longer in silence before setting it aside and casting you an almost fretful glance. “That sounds scary…”

“Oh,” you sigh. She’s right, of course. There were plenty of terrible things described with those attributes. But… if bulls didn’t scare you, then surely bullmen could not be any worse. “He didn’t hurt anyone though.”

“But you did get hurt,” the girl reminds you sympathetically.

You swallow dryly, and at last decide to put these fantasies aside. Your injuries were almost healed in full, and the last thing that you needed was for everyone to think that you were not simply wounded, but crazy too. A mad woman wouldn’t find a husband, and you were not a cow meant to be fantasizing over bullmen. The place you were given since birth was that of noble standing, a woman worth her weight in pearls and gold, not meant for fields and horns.

When morning rises and the yellow-red glow of the sun pokes its way through your window, you find you’re able to stand properly without the old man’s help to keep you upright.

You wash your face with the water from the clay pot in the corner, smile to yourself when you dab carmine onto your cheeks and smear it with the palm of your hand to look the part of some blushing dove.

Your robe is clean and soft when its pulled over you and fastened, delightfully comfortable when there’s no more bruising to irritate. Incense is lit, and you immerse yourself in what is before you rather than in shadow.

There’s a clamoring in the street below your window as you finish preparing for the day, both cheers and shouts of fear that stir both confusion and trepidation in your belly. It takes some time before you can coax yourself into taking a peek, find the strength in your trembling legs to look upon what may very well be the final march for a man deemed worthy of execution or perhaps some other misfortune.

Everything is painted honey and gold over the chalked clay of the buildings and the smooth stones layered over the streets.

There are women fleeing, a few cowardly men accompanying them. Children walk backwards or affix themselves to high walls to stare back at what’s being led by soldiers clutching thick lines of woven rope.

The thing that follows behind them leaves your heart in your throat, because it… he, is no prisoner or omen.

The bullman from your endless daydreaming walks with his arms fastened behind him, thick tail flicking in irritation at his backside, soft auburn ears fold back against his head.

The face, closer now, intrigues you the most, because as you’ve claimed endlessly: he only looks the part of a man. Some rugged barbarian, for certain, but still he does not bare any resemblance to the Minotaur or any other beast from the tales and songs. Though his nose is crooked, and pale scarring layers in abundance over tanned flesh, he looks almost sweet. There’s a gentleness about him that betrays the strangeness of his silhouette from before.

And he bleeds crimson like any other man, from a wound dug out in his shoulder where a spear must have pierced him. The blood along his chest has not even had the time to dry.

The poor man is bleeding and naked, not a scrap of cloth to conceal him any place, not even where his hair curls above his loins.

You imagine what the healer and slave girl must think now, when the subject of your endless ramblings is out on display for the entire city. Whether monster or forgotten god, the bullman is here, and in your haze of thought you will yourself to storm out into the street. There are hisses of confusion and fear all filtered and feathering on the air, many voices, but what is worse are the screams.

He doesn’t even possess it within him to look afraid, only terribly annoyed or maybe even somber. It was difficult to tell by the lack of expression on his face. His eyes are sad, but his lips are pressed into the barest line. The only indication that he feels anything at all is the swishing of his tail, a tell of anger in bulls. Maybe in men baring their resemblance, too.

“Where are you taking him?,” you demand, a shrill cry from your doorstep.

No answer comes your way from the soldiers at his side.

“Please…”

The words fail you as you find yourself stepping in front of this march. Ten soldiers to keep one man in a hold, it was ridiculous. Though he towered over them and possessed horns sharp enough to gore, to see him like this… It all stirred so much emotion within you that you almost think you must have really injured something in your skull, because the city spins around you and your eyes sting fiercely.

Every step halts when you begin to sob right there in the street like a bereaved wife finding out her husband has been tortured or killed in some distant land. Even the bullman seems intrigued by your tears. The quiet blue of his eyes flits from what stands beyond you to your face, puffed and slick with tears. Why cry for a man you do not know?, he seems to ask wordlessly. Why throw yourself out in the midst of danger?

“… my bull is dead, so I would like to…” To dance with this one. To see past the abomination of what he was and maybe cherish him in the way he deserved without deserving.

His ears prick forward, and he huffs something whispering and foreign in his tongue. Just one word that you’re uncertain of the meaning of, probably demeaning considering that you had called him an animal, not man. But he speaks. He speaks and that is enough for the soldiers to exchange cautious glances from the titan they lead to the curious display of the crying woman in front of them.

“You want to dance with this bull?,” one asks, both amusement and disbelief painting each syllable.

You nod your head, weak but fiercely resolute in your wish.

Not “this bull”, but perhaps “this god”.

You’re both stripped bare of any defenses, fates left in the hands of men who only know to kill and fuck. Somehow luck shimmers through, because you’re presented with one of the ropes a soldier carries. It’s offered to you with a stiff, callused hand, dropped unceremoniously into the palm that rises up to wait.

You walk beside your bull, not where you would rather lead him but where the other men urge for you to go. People watch on with curious stares, and you know most assuredly that when your healer hears of this new derangement, you will suffer another fortnight in bed with herbs and prayers over your head.

The bull watches you the entire time with a stare that lacks any emotion. The beast could be grateful, humiliated, or considering ripping you apart the moment his binds were undone and you wouldn’t have the slightest idea of it until he was upon you. What’s stranger still is that you don’t fear him. He looks to you the entire time and your hand clutching the rope does not tremble. Your pulse races, but only with something beyond fear, something an ordinary man has never gifted to you.

The gated pasture is bears a cool breeze when you enter, you watch as one of the men ties your new bull to a post and tells you that he is wicked, but the only crime he’s being accused of is being what he is.

“You’re hurt,” you assess a little dumbly when everyone has paraded away. The grass stains the white linen you wear as you sink to your knees at the titan’s side.

You’ve nothing to tend to his wound with. Dirt is smudged into the divide in his flesh with gentle swipes of your thumb, a strip ripped from your robe when you try to stop the bleeding further. He hisses when you fasten it tight, shoots you a glare that both makes stars fall in your eyes and sets a stampede to rush in your heart. Your heart, you think, but really it’s something else. You feel hot all over and it’s the stupidest thing.

“I know, I know..,” you mumble as you tie the cloth, straighten yourself out and cover the expanse of your thigh that’s been revealed as you settle back into place. “Can you move it?”

“Yes.”

It hardly registers that he’s freed himself somewhat until a massive hand curls tightly around your wrist. The touch is not at all gentle, it’s probing, the tip of each digit leaving small curved indentations in your flesh, intent on keeping you thoroughly in place.

“Why aren’t you afraid?” His voice comes as an odd grumbling, seemingly unused for some time. It isn’t deep, either, which comes as the most jarring thing about all of this. It’s so pleasant, that even with his iron hold you find yourself smiling as a flurry of affection stirs between your breasts.

Because I was right, you yearn to say, but hold your tongue for fear of seeming too brazen and less subservient than you should be, catering to a god you’ve never even heard of. Both man and bull, something divine and strikingly handsome even with his soft features.

“Should I be? Will you curse me..?,” you ask, softening your grin to glance up at him through your lashes. Demure and flirtatious before you even think to catch yourself. A maiden should be more cautious dealing with ordinary men or things not yet known, but even when your expression reverts to one of mere curiosity, it seems too late.

His nostrils flare as he regards you; then, his hand shifts upward to stroke at your bare shoulder, fingertips move to dance over your clavicle. The hand comes to rest beneath your jaw, a thumb carefully brushing over your chin. Then, he withdraws all at once, turns his head with a huff of breath. He doesn’t bellow as the other males in the pasture, does little to seem more cow than man in your presence. Perhaps it’s a practiced courtesy: to appear more human than the additions crowning his head suggest.

“Dummes mädchen.” He doesn’t tell you what that means, and his voice canters off to silence when you push and prod to ask.

He doesn’t budge when you ask where he’s come from, some distant land across the sea you even speculate. You ask him what he is in name, and in turn his ears seem to lower, flatten further, as though he were trying to hide them altogether. There wasn’t much he could do about the horns, though.

The bull barely even returns your shy glances, the only indication that he knows and rather likes that you’re still seated at his side is the flare of pink that rises from his throat to settle upon his cheeks, the way his jaw tightens and loosens when you speak.

“What is your name?,” you ask him when the silence grows too much. You’re starting to feel beads of sweat prick at your skin from the glow of the summer sun above, and more than anything you want some closeness, some proof that maybe your listless life is not a total loss. Earning a god’s favor would only be too lovely, the perfect cure for the unnamed thing that ails you. “So that I might worship you properly?”

That prompts a response.

He turns to you with a forced stoicism, one that does little to subdue the way his eyes widen and his face burns. Being jabbed at and held captive like an animal would make any man more than a little unhappy or wary, but your words dissolve that into smoke in an instant. He tells you his name in a keening sort of voice, one reserved for wolves or agitated horses.

“König.”

You repeat it, once, twice.

It sounds funny and foreign, too simple for what he appears to be. You tell him your own when he doesn’t ask, repeat it just the same so he remembers his only acolyte. Someone so cute for a god of beasts or maybe even good harvests.

You wanted to pry further, have every secret expelled from his tongue, unite in words and quell that horrid, demanding passion. It’s why men run way to brothels, you supposed. Excitement and the allure of something pretty to stake a claim into… but you’re a maiden rather than some feather-headed soldier.

“When you’re better, we will dance,” you declare with a hope that he might understand. “My first offering to you.”

König stirs, rumbles someplace in the expanse of chest. His hair curls there in the widest patch, you note, trails down right to thighs that make brick resemble only soft clay. You’ve never openly ogled a man like this, and it doesn’t feel shameful, not when you’re convinced you already have an understanding here.

You couldn’t imagine he would crawl on his knees for you to prance over him like a yearling deer, bellow like a proper animal when you took his horns in hand. The ugly, ivory prongs about his head looked too dangerous anyhow. One slip… you didn’t want to imagine what would happen then.

“… Richtig.” Then, “What do I give to you?”

His question confuses you fully, because the way he speaks it does not seem curious at all. As if there’s already a resolution in the words. No clothing, no weapons, not even a coin. The only thing present and available is what sits between his thighs, a daunting pillar. He asks only for a consent to what he does not bring out in words, only hinted at from the way his gaze drags up from your throat to your eyes.

The strangest mating rite from the strangest man of all…

You don’t ask him about that.

You let the words hang in the air for a stretch of time. Then, you fetch him some water from the creek just past the field. You untie the binds still shackling him to the fence post as he drinks from the shallow bowl. He laps at it like a dog, furrows his brow a little when you’re caught staring again.

There’s too much to look at to entirely separate yourself from him. And he speaks so oddly it’s difficult to distract him with conversation. So you settle to admire, and he does so in turn. When you find yourself watching the way his chest puffs with each intake of breath, his stare only maps you the same, mimicking or appraising.

He grunts, too; flicks an ear when he stares down at your lap and embarrassment immediately floods you when you realize that his senses are not entirely human, either.

You fold your hands into your lap and part your lips to speak again, to maybe ask him why he came here at all to serve as some distraction from the way he appraised your hips with that dreadful stare.

“When?,” he interrupts immediately, casting his dish aside and straightening up to look down upon you. Exacting some misplaced wrath, you assume. Let a woman leap over him and maybe have his freedom after. He just wants it over with, and you can’t blame him at all.

“I told you… when you’re better.”

That must not have been the right thing to say, because his injured arm is the one he gathers you with, brings you up and over him to press your chest to his and glare down at you. The glow of the setting sun seems dull by comparison to the ember in his eyes.

“I am fine.”

The calendars have been a blur since you fell. You huff and pout in thought, trying to think in spite of the way the closeness has you feeling dumb and dizzy.

“A few days..,” comes your answer, quiet and apologetic. “I’m nearly certain.”

König sighs and you feel it flutter your hair, the warmth on your neck. His arm drifts from around you, as if to signal that you could depart at any moment. Whatever had possessed you now leaves you in place, flustered and miserably infatuated. It pains you that he only seems exasperated by this entire ordeal rather than enthused, but he seems to soften somewhat when you don’t bolt away immediately. The tension leaves his shoulders slowly, and the summer sky of his eyes is placid instead of burning.

He could strike you down at any moment, leave you gored out here in the grass with common bulls, destroy the fence and maybe all of the people in the city too… but he seems intent on just keeping this silly oath and having you seated here.

“They caught me when I came to find you,” he says, blunt and careless, as if seeking out a woman he saw once from across a field is just a common thing to do. The very same as worshiping some creature driven out from the forest. “I saw you. Then you fell.”

“You were looking for me?” Your words are expressed with shaky intakes of breath, nerves alight with both love and caution. Led toward you by want, a thing you both seemed to feel.

He goes utterly stiff at that, but grits his teeth softly as his gaze casts down to where you’re seated in his lap.

A chance meeting… or maybe it was something as wonderful as fate after all.

You looked the part of lovers already, and perhaps that’s made him shy… but bulls don’t get shy, and König is no exception here, because his hand immediately rises to lift the robe covering you, drifts the linen up to reveal the soft fabric of your loincloth.

“Yes,” he grunts, staring down at the prize between your legs. A reward he’s already promised to himself, one you freely give when you don’t give him a smack or shove his hands away.

He smells of the forest: of wispy pine nettles, water from a spring, juniper. Of a man, whose closeness you had yet to have entirely. No bristling comes; you don’t close yourself off. He’s the loveliest thing you’ve ever seen— sad cow eyes and the bulk that only comes from a life rich with work and fighting, survival and instinct.

Had he ever even had a woman?, you wonder. Did he find you lovely, too?

König huffs appreciatively, lowers his head to your chest to bump his nose against your breasts. You release the breath that was caged unbeknownst to yourself, and your arms come around him naturally, cradle him there. Maybe he had never even been held… So, you pet him, trail your hand along the nape of his neck, up and through the messy strands of hair atop his head.

“You are injured too,” he hums into plushness, breath washing over thin fabric and causing your nipples to rise in answer. He must have felt the scab on your palm, healing, but still coarse and stiff. Even in what you perceive must be some sort of courtesy, worrying over your scrape, he doesn’t peel himself away from what entices him most here. His hands descend to stroke at your sides, trail down lower until both palms are fitted against your backside.

He squeezes, slow and intentional, weighs your flesh in hand. Explorative and further appreciative when another hiss leaves his lips to filter out along your clothed sternum. If he were not seated on his tail, you imagine it would have swayed fiercely, excited by the earlier fight and now the prospect of breeding some silly woman. You don’t have that indicator to read his thoughts, but the throb of the mighty weapon between his legs is enough to know. It’s warm and hard beneath you, gives a slight jump when your fingers dance over the base of his horns.

“I got hurt because of you.”

“Little maiden… I would never hurt you. Only please you,” he declares, sounding prideful. Just as a bull should, even in such a predicament. Like a god, proper and true. Surely this city would be cursed for what they’ve done to him. He will fuck their virgins and leave everything else scorched and ruined. And a part of you is almost giddy to know the very first would be you.

You’ve yet to touch men, but you knew well enough what the wetness down there meant, what his erection meant. Why men grope and fondle just as he does to you now, when a hand rises to tug down the top of your thin dress, when his head lifts just enough to lick at the side of your tit.

The air around you both thrums, pulses as though there are thunder strikes surrounding. And the sky is still clear when your head lolls back to face it in full as a nipple is enveloped by a hungry maw. He suckles at you, pushes his hips upward and strokes at your ass when you whine and pant. The cover of nightfall grants you some mercy, because no one is around to hear those cries or the way he grunts into your flesh, greed pouring from the both of you. No gods or stable hands, only a glassy moon and a blanket of star shine amidst murky sable like sea water.

When he lies you back, viciously lapping at your breasts, sucking your skin to grind between his blunt teeth, you take the horns into your hands again to tug him close. He groans, bellows like a man starved into your chest, drool and bruises layered over your skin. You should be in bed, waiting for some droning dullard to wed you first… not allowing a beast of a man to lower you into grass and dine upon you like this.

The gods would probably find this humorous… even if he might very well be one of them. How easily mortals could be swayed, even virtuous women, at the appeal of some miserable thing to save with an ugly, big cock.

But one or two bullmen was more than enough for this world, surely. No spawn of yours would be sent to a labyrinth deep below the earth, dark and desolate, and you’ve already bled this moon…

It pains you to push back against the face that sends pure fire through your belly with each swipe of his tongue, but you do. König seems both dumbfounded and frustrated when he separates from your flesh, the moon in his eyes eclipsed in full.

“I can’t..,” you try to explain, to tell without telling that you don’t want to push some horned infant from your cunt just because you like him a little. You wet your lips and stare up at him, hopeless and lost here.

“Why?” Your bull doesn’t understand, because of course he doesn’t. He’s trying to give you the only thing that he has to offer. Maybe he’s fucked other women before, women who took him gleefully and sang pretty beneath him, coated that raging thing between his muscular thighs in their essence and left lovely pictures in his memory. You don’t know why that thought alone is enough to make your head feel cloudy with wrath.

He asks again when you tug your bottom lip between your teeth. Bulls may be sacred, but no one’s ever said that they were not stupid.

König only pulls away enough to hover over your sex instead, panting gruffly like something starved and prepared to plunder an unsuspecting hen. Still, he waits for an answer, and you don’t think to spare yourself enough to close your parted thighs.

“I thought we would… after we danced,” you try, and maybe that would have worked if you didn’t have your softness and every treasure laid bare to him like a submissive vixen.

The beast only shakes his head and raises your legs to rest over each of his bare shoulders, corded in muscle and heat. He doesn’t nick you with his horns, careful even as he pushes his face right to your womanhood. The loincloth remains in place, but it’s the most fragile barrier. His breath makes your toes curl as it hits your sex, sends a wave of pure want swooping from your chest right to your cunt.

“You smell..,” he muses quietly, trails off as though drunk on just a whiff of you. When a thick finger tugs the cloth aside, you squirm from panting breath arcing over sensitive flesh. It’s the wettest you’ve ever been: little fantasies did nothing by comparison to the real thing, presented right before you and inspecting you down there.

He flattens his tongue over your entrance and relishes in the way that makes you squeal, draws back just to repeat the motion and watch you with pupils blown when your chest begins to rise and fall rapidly.

“You have not been touched.” His ears flick as he speaks, gaze dragging down, back to the pussy that calls for him.

“No… that’s why- ah-“

The ideas of children and expectations are long forgotten when his tongue presses to a spot that sends you shivering. It circles over it, too warm and heavy to bear. Your back arches, breasts heave, and he laughs into your cunt knowing he’s found the very spot that would make you forsake all but him.

The torture grows delicious and lovely, what he had done to your breasts is exactly what he does there. He suckles at the bud, scrawls his name over it with a wet, lapping tongue. You feel as though you truly have gone mad, fingers curling into the earth to keep you in place, because not even the gods could tear you away from this moment, not now…

It’s when your trembling thighs begin to tense and your voice grows further pitched that König decides to probe at you with a finger, too. It slips in with resistance, and the intrusion is strange… both horrible and ethereal at once. The titan finds a space inside of you, one to curl his finger against. It’s clumsy, uncertain until he finds that that is what makes you cry the loudest.

There’s a blinding white as though the sun has seared its way into your skull, sent the rays of its warmth into your very veins. It brings about a haze, leaves you quivering and panting as bliss rolls over you in steady waves. He gives you another lick, from your slit down to your ass before sitting up. Not an ounce of hesitation is weighed in his stare or his actions when he brushes the thick cockhead through your labia.

“I am going to fuck you,” he declares in a groan, already feeding you a fat inch of him. There’s still lingering resistance, but the honey that drips there now is in abundance, coats him with each shallow thrust.

You choke on the pain of such a sudden stretch, but find yourself only leaking more at the sight of him: a god laying claim to some mortal girl, you, above you, in you. The sounds he makes only ripen the elation. There’s desperation in each grunt, and his eyelids flutter as though he’s found something truly holy.

He drops over you, an arm to either side of your head when he sinks in fully. As if to dull the ache of your womanhood, at the loss of your title of maiden, he licks your cheek, the corner of your mouth, any place to soothe. When you capture him in a real kiss, your taste still lingers there upon his lips.

He seems even more delighted that you would show him affection than what’s occurring between you. The press of his hips comes to a halt, because he savors that display of what is or isn’t love. It’s almost shy, the way his mouth molds over yours, the way a hand drifts to your hair to pet at you. The other lowers to take your thigh and draw it up and keep you pinned in place.

You think to hold him now, too, when he breaks away from the kiss to gaze down at you with a shimmering stare, one that speaks more substance than anything he’s given you in your entire conversation. Your nails stay bedded down with the dirt, though, knowing with a fierce certainty that once he moved again it would be the only tether to dull the ache of a vicious fucking.

Except, he’s only gentle.

The cock inside of you takes a slow drag out, teasing and tentative as though trying to memorize every ridge inside.

It’s agony, because it feels like lovemaking.

Beasts don’t make love, they only have violent ruts and part ways entirely. König fucks like a man devoted. His eyes never stray from your face when he pushes back inside, all too careful. It must feel better than the being amongst his kind in the mountain he descended from, because the sounds he makes are fragile, barely contained whines that seem foreign from a man of his stature.

“I have been… watching you for so long, little..,” he huffs, burying his hand into your hair and dropping his head to press his forehead to your own. The words barely register, hardly make sense when the thick tip of him pushes right into the softest part of you again. It’s better than a finger… better than anything you’ve ever felt, and with everything so doughy and hot what you want to say only comes in a keening whine.

“Gods,” he continues when your sounds are smothered and blanketed by the filthy, sloppy sounds of your own wetness. You must be soaking the very earth you lie upon, dewy and warm. “Better than I dreamed.”

The slowness paves way for a heady, brutal thrust when he realizes that he isn’t hurting you. It only feels better the more that he moves, with each thick vein along his cock felt, with how he repeatedly spears against that spot that brings tears of rapture to the corners of your eyes. That new pace does not relent. You squeeze him the most like this, savoring in how he carves his way inside, molds you to take shape for him in what looks like pure violence but feels like love.

The sounds of impact and the scent of sweat and arousal surround you, the moon above and everything beneath it seem of so little importance now.

König does not silence himself even though you wished that he would. He pants against your face in his mother tongue, babbling endlessly as pleasure spikes for him. It wouldn’t be long until he filled you to the brim with thick spurts of seed, you could feel it in the way he throbbed against your walls, how each thrust was more prolonged and deep. Your mind swims, pleasure so intense its as if you’re drowning in the deepest depths of the sea itself.

“I came from the valley..,” he tells you in a feverish whisper, only now recalling that you didn’t know a thing about him before offering your cunt, maybe even your heart…

“Not a god… not anyone…”

It’s too much when his hips press in faster, when his cock reaches the end of you, over and over in frenzied repetition. Overwhelmed and stuffed to capacity, you sob and quiver, taking him into your arms and clawing at his broad back. The pain only seems to make him more feral, because his hands leave your thigh and your hair to grasp at your face instead, thumbs brushing your cheeks as he bares his teeth and spears into you relentlessly.

“Little one… I want this for the rest of my life,” he growls. “Promise me…”

The words sit on your tongue, fully prepared to surrender yourself to some beast of a faraway valley, chased and poked with spears or fire… Any hope of a cozy life would be forfeit here, already has been the moment you allowed him between your legs. It’s a horrible secret, one surely only Pasiphaë must have known of… how wonderful it felt to be bedded by a man like this. Not old enough to have fathered the Minotaur, but surely bred to be something akin to him.

“…I promise,” you whisper, perhaps desperate for this torturous copulation to end… or continue. Feeling so whole, full, right. Your offering is beating warm and overflowing in your chest, and König only looks as though he’s about to break at your words. The blue of his eyes grows glassy, translucent waves painting over each iris, but those tears don’t shed. They’re only dismissed with more needy rasps.

He growls, hooks his teeth into the sensitive flesh of your throat when his strokes begin to stutter. Your bull comes with a muffled howl, pumps pearly ropes of seed as deeply into you as he can manage. Your hiss of surprise is stifled with a blazing kiss where he moans into your open mouth, delves his tongue as deeply as his cock. He pumps several more times, intent on spilling every last drop inside, none wasted.

It seeps to earth when he parts from you, when he inspects the milk and honey of successful union between your legs. He looks surprised, confused almost when that stare is guided back up towards you as his chest continues to rise and fall swift with exertion.

You raise yourself up on your elbows, draw your legs shut. Not in shame, but… apparent embarrassment, your former courage is diminished when he looks at you as though you’re the most peculiar thing beneath the stars, when you’ve revealed yourself almost entirely and had him fuck and take apart all of it.

Maybe it’s the same for this beast, because his surprise and unshed tears are so evident here. He no longer looks the part of a god, but a lost man.

Not anyone, he had said. Is that what he felt? Or only what he had been told..?

“You’re not a monster,” you whisper. The chill of night settles over your skin, but there’s still warmth here, blooming like a flower in volcanic soil; the sun itself was incomparable to this peculiar thing that had taken root here.

He snorts at that and shakes his head. The ears there are cute and pluming with fluff, a reddish brown that suits him so remarkably. He’s kissed by the sun, even bathed in moonlight here. The prettiest of monsters, if he’s fooled himself into believing he is one.

“You should not have given yourself to me,” he tells you as his eyes narrow. The threat holds no weight, if it were one at all, because he grasps at you and pulls you in close; brings your cheek to his chest, right over his pounding heart. “I will not leave you alone.”

“Good.”

Maybe he’s speaking through the haze of a good fuck after being the cause for screams or raised weapons for so long, but you pray it comes from a truth. You’ve offered him a full meal of you, a treasure that none other has had, left yourself weak and aching all for one. His grip only tightens around you, refusing to let go as if to confirm your belief.

You’re brought back to the earth with your bull curled at your back, two powerful arms snaked around your middle with his nose pressed into your hair.

“After your dance, you will come with me.” There’s no longer a request, only an order. You’ve accepted him as both your man and mate, and it seems to please him greatly. His chest puffs against you, pride and contentment harbored there.

“To where?,” you ask him dreamily. The sea is what you’ve seen the most of, and the foothills and mountains seem a distant place. You imagine that maybe where he’s arrived from must have had others like him, maybe the women there were what he had had before… And maybe that makes you more precious somehow, different and coveted because you hadn’t run, only charmed him with questionable nursing and a request to prance over his back.

“Everywhere,” he answers immediately, stroking at the dip between your breasts. “I will never let you go.”

— — —

You’re separated from your bull come morning. It’s heart wrenching and terrible after a night of such passion, but you couldn’t allow for anyone to see you out there with your clothes in disarray and sperm slick and running down your legs. You had waited for him to sleep, for his dreaming to give way to raucous snoring before you slipped away, casting him a woeful glance. The giggling on the way from the pasture would have been terribly humiliating had anyone been awake to hear, but you were fortunate last night.

Come morning, there’s a pain between your legs and traces of blood in your loincloth. You hastily cast that from your body, hide it beneath your mattress before crawling back into bed with your thoughts a whirl. Candied fruit and precious stone, everything sap sticky and sad all the same… because as much as you would like to venture there, to see him, it was most rational to keep away.

If you were caught, you could only imagine the trial or lack thereof. The spears that would have come then wouldn’t miss their target. He would be deemed something far worse than a monster for daring to touch a lady such as yourself.

You bide your time tending to your duties and praying that your loss of virginity isn’t as apparent as it feels to you; when the thoughts drift back, the warmth upon your face only grows and your thighs immediately press together.

And you ponder his offer of leaving the temples and people behind to haunt someplace else with him, away from all else.

It's mad.

You barely knew him, of even what he was. He didn’t even have the sense to keep secret that he had been stalking you for some time, before you ever even noticed, with his fat cock buried inside of you. His ways of courtship lacked any shame, and maybe that’s why the passing thought of a normal man being in your future seems only lackluster. König could hunt, build, provide far better, you assumed, given his stature… And the gods gave him the knowledge of the most tempting tricks with his tongue.

The days leading up to what would call you back to him pass in a tortuous crawl. Even distracting yourself with thoughts of him in lonely silence with a hand between your thighs seems too little. You’ve even asked every slave woman here just how she gets the thoughts of men out of their heads. The advice is merely that sex does not always lead to marriage and children; they part ways like the animals in the forest and leave little room for love in their dens.

You hoped that he was thinking of you, too.

It would be ridiculous to say you’ve missed him, but seeing him in that field bound by rope again once you return is exactly what you want to shout. The birds call from the trees, singing beautifully and everything seems to glow, all except for König.

There are shadows beneath his eyes, cast long and dark from a lack of sleep. He does not even look your way when you take your place next to the others.

He’s forlorn. Maybe even pissed at having been gifted a warm meal only to have his face tugged away and a rope secured to hold him back from tasting or touching again. You should have warned him, about customs and etiquette, reassured him with your words that a little distance was fine because you’ve already made up your mind… but it seems too little and too late to peep your objections now.

The beast is led toward the other bulls by a man half his size, looking as though he’s on the brink of soiling himself from fear. The screams from before are not present now from onlookers, but König seems far less comfortable here than he did in the streets of your city.

Flowers are brought and tossed to both the hooves of bulls and the feet of dancers, yet none are presented to your partner at all. Even with green springing up below his feet, the area he waits in seems barren by comparison. It’s miserable and sad, all of it, and you once more long for being so winded against him that you two seemed to be the only things alive beneath a night sky.

You call to him when the man holding his lead gives it a sharp tug, and it’s dropped instantly as if you really hold some power over what becomes of him… You only hoped that whatever fate lay in wait for him would be coupled with your own. A passive life in a cave or something like that, where you could call him your husband, even… watch the sweat drip down the muscles of his back as he coaxed a fire to life.

Your bull tilts his head towards you, and though he tries to force the very same indifference from before his inner thoughts betray him. His brow remains furrowed, his expression grim, but his ears perk up and he immediately marches toward you. His gait is more of a charge, and had those horns been pointed to you, peril would await.

Punishment only comes in the form of a large man staring at you as though you’ve just wounded him terribly. You remind him there are no blades here with the gentlest touch of your hand along his bicep, swept down to curl at his wrist. It’s the most you could do here, and you could only pray to Aphrodite that your love would be understood regardless.

“You left,” he gruffs, raises a hand to tilt your chin up just enough to face him, though his gaze averts the second that you lock eyes. Shy, definitely not, but with so many watching, he seems entirely out of his element. The hand that graces beneath your chin even trembles, but it’s not fear you find when you search his eyes again.

Hurt.

It’s unmistakably hurt.

“I’m surprised that you did not,” your answer is a whispered one. He should have freed himself, whisked you away like an unsuspecting bride. You recall the other women’s ramblings from before, of men and how little what you experienced together may have meant.

“I do not wish to be apart from you.” He speaks as though it’s the most common knowledge of all, as though you’re a silly thing for ever believing that your want and his are one in the same. “Come with me.”

He doesn’t belong here, amidst people that cast their judgment yet herald the animals that he bears a small resemblance to.

Neither do you belong, you realize. You haven’t belonged since the day you spotted him amongst the trees.

The odd looks that follow König are cast upon you now, too. They see this peculiar beast with one of their women and think of her as sullied down to the marrow in her bones. You must smell of him, marked without a proper mark at all. He hasn’t branded you with any more than soft bruises from kissing your breasts and fitting the length of himself inside of you.

You take your risks and call them offerings, and he greedily accepts each and every one you bestow. You allow it when the hand cupping your jaw drifts lower, graces your breast with the softest touch before taking your fingers between his own.

“You have to be patient.”

He snorts at that.

Bulls are not patient creatures.

The ceremony has already begun. There are real animals here: beasts even larger than König that chew at the grass below them, flick their tails and ignore all that happens around them. There’s prancing and singing, elaborate acrobatics and leaps that must have taken years of practice.

And when you dance with your bull there is none of it.

He stands in place as you twirl around him, weaving around behind and before him as you bend to collect fallen blooms from the ground. Yellows, blues, flowers with no name or place, scavenged from fields further than the pasture. Your laughter pulls even a smile from his hardened face, a face you’ve found handsome since seeing, but must provoke terror in most men…

He’s so horribly endearing in his own ways. It’s the fastest you’ve ever fallen, or anyone in the whole world has, even… The legends and stories speak of love that shoots straight and strikes true like feathered arrows, singing on the wind until they prick their targets. You honor them just as he seems to, and you would tell them to him if only he asked.

Your head and heart are muddled and sick with love, melted down like precious metal within your body. He twists and brings you back together and whole when you’re taken up in his arms and lifted.

“I could touch the sky,” you laugh, clinging to an ivory horn. Pressing a kiss to the pointed tip of it, you swear you detect the heat from his face on your belly.

“Little one… I will take the sun for you, if you ask.”

“You would burn,” you warn.

He drops you then, cradles your body close to his chest instead and carries you as though you’re nothing more than a small dove with broken wings, something to be cared for.

“You make me burn already.”

“König…”

“No, not…” He shakes his head, smushes your cheeks between a thumb and the rest of his fingers as you’re forced to lock eyes again. The giant’s hand is careful with you, more gentle than his teeth or his…

“Call me something else. Something better.” There’s a keening to his voice, a fervent desperation there. A need to be not simply wanted. Wherever your titan has come from with his constellations of scars, the wound still there on his shoulder and all the pain he masks in behind a forced grimace… it has all led him here.

To the woman he watched practice taming bulls for weeks or months, to the only person he believed could accept what he is.

He only wanted to hear it, to have the most shattered wish answered with a tender chime. To bed you wasn’t enough: it could never be so simple. Your heart has been what he’s after all along; he reassures you in self just in voicing this.

“You’re lovely… my love,” you breathe. “You’re mine.”

His throat bobs as he swallows thickly, and the pools gathered in his eyes do seem to shed. Your face is released as he rubs away anything that may shed. The dark circles are coupled with red rings now, but still no part of him seems weak or broken. He hides that away with everything else, bottles perceived weakness and sets it out to sea and gives you the grin of a proper brute instead.

“Ja… you are mine too.”

You’re set down only as the bull leaping comes to a close, when the people retreat and König seems content in knowing that no one is left to whisk you away. It’s all that he’s waited for, to have you alone after this tradition he did not quite get. He played his part well enough, even if you hadn’t had the chance to climb onto his back as the others had with their bulls.

Only then does he begin to tell you of a life bought and sold without end, of the fighting pits you’ve only heard of and never seen. His tongue does not spare you details of chains and spears, what they do to men like him. There are hundreds of scars, each with a misery attached, some still carrying pain that never heals. Promises were always in abundance to keep him contained, weapons were smithed and placed into his hands since before he could remember…

The life you had imagined for him has never existed. There’s never been love there: he spares you the nature of the women he may have been fortunate enough to touch before, but he whispers that you’re the only one who has ever kissed him.

Your heart breaks for the wounded boy he’s buried inside, and you weep when he tells you he’s only ever prayed for a woman like you. Someone soft and cute, who didn’t run or wail… Who craved him just as terribly if not more, gashes and teeth, horns and all the rest.

And he comforts you when you cry, pulls you in so tightly that your breath catches and the tears do sob. You whisper apologies into the hair on his chest, for all the awful things you would never imagine doing to him, and he scoffs at the pity in your voice.

“Do not cry for me,” he whispers into your hair, leaves a trail of kisses along the crown of your head before dropping to his knees before you and pacifying the best he can by stroking along your back. “I have you now, hm? My little maiden, richtig?”

“Yes. Yes, always,” you promise. Another gift.

You’re led away from the pasture under the veil of nightfall, your arms curled around one of his own. There are men about carrying sharpened steel, thieves and drunkards hiding out in the dark as well, but not an ounce of fear trickles through you to diminish what’s already felt. The stars above are in abundance, brighter somehow on the night you forfeit all.

König speaks unguarded now, each question is met by a response. It’s the first time he’s ever been asked about himself, he tells you this when you express your satisfaction at finally hearing more than a few words at a time. He’s terribly cute when all of the praise and attention cause his face to ripen like summer fruit, red and shimmery with sweat rather than dew.

You’ve brought nothing for a journey, but he swears to you that there is pilfered honey, wine, fruit and furs in his den, some dark place he describes as special. It’s the only place he’s ever called home, so surely it must be.

König doesn’t warn you that the trek takes weeks, nor that the mountains are even more beautiful up close. The foliage is wild, the air fresher and free of the smell of cattle and people, and each climb seems steeper than the last. He doesn’t tell you of the wolves or bears, but you hear them at night when he pulls you even closer to him. The wild things won’t hurt you; the wildest of them all considers himself to be the king here, a ruler that they respect or dread rather than dare to cross.

It isn’t a cave that greets you when you come to rest after days and nights of exertion, but a hut built of cut wood and clay. Built as well and thoroughly as any builder from the city would have done. He tells you of where he learned such things, watching men work after sparring with animals and their own kin in pits; how they would promise to rear families in structures like this, how he hoped in crafting all of this that one day he might have the same.

“It’s wonderful,” you tell him, crossing the threshold to find just what he has already told you was waiting here, so far off from common roads that none of it has been pillaged.

The gifts come aplenty, too: a new comb make of bone for your neglected hair, jarred honey and trinkets from his travels or pulled away from a former captor’s corpse. There’s even a weapon for you here, a blade sleek and shimmering, some foreign sword that astonishingly reminds you of a part of him.

“I will find a prettier one for you,” he says as you examine the blade, heavy even when held in both of your hands. It’s only a mercy that you are not the provider here, because there would be no deer or even rabbits slain when even holding it makes your movements sluggish.

“… I like it. All of it.”

He plucks the blade from your hands with ease and casts it aside. The sound of it tapping, then clattering against the wooden boards rings out loudly before he’s upon you. The trek to the mattress seems an eternity, longer than even the venture here. Cloth and jewelry, the only lasting remnant of your former life follow suit, piling over the sharpened steel.

There’s a bear’s pelt beneath you to soften the stiff straw, less wild and ferocious than it may have been in life, now smothered by the lingering scent of him. The lonely nights spent here must have been terrible and tragic. Did he allow the shield to fall and weep then? In the comfort of bear skin and the calling of night birds outside, tears and wasted seed.

The urgency is a looming beast on the air, prevalent and fierce when you’re pulled into König’s lap. Your bull lacks the patience to prepare you with his mouth or a curled finger now, only pivots your hips to take him with a prod as his head lowers for his mouth to latch onto your breast.

“I am in love with you,” he whispers against your flesh. You’re left at his mercy as he guides you with one large hand placed upon your thigh and an arm curled around your back. It’s slow, always slow when he begins, when he’s drunk on the feel of you surrounding him and every new feeling that floods his head.

The ears prick forward when you sing for him, whimpering as he buries himself further. As though it’s the most pleasant sound he’s ever heard in the span of his life. The only thing more beautiful is the acceptance and surrender you offer. There’s never been a shield in place, no guards to watch over you… he’s the only thing; he’s broken through every gate or wall to steal you away from those perceived defenses.

He knows, too, when your panting mouth repeats his own words.

He bucks into you with more haste, slips his tongue into your mouth and groans when you take it between your teeth. Skyward and earthly with each motion, the sea and the mountain tethered as one. And maybe you’ve never leapt with the cattle from your city, but you dance with this bull so naturally that it vanquishes any doubt of where you’re meant to be. What you’ve yearned for was not the taming of animals, but maybe a man…

Your orgasm comes sudden, a wave of wet heat that drools from your core, aids in the glide of the feverish pace he guides your hips into. König’s head tilts back, bliss painted upon his expression from how you close in around him.

You take your chances and press your face to the column of his throat, biting down on him just as he had you. The salty sweat on his skin leaves its taste on your tongue as you lick over the freshly painted mark. The sounds of his own pleasure are cast away; he goes silent and still, and you almost fear you’ve made some terrible mistake here… But König comes undone at that, desperately gathers you in his hold as he pulses within you, writhes beneath you.

He refuses to release his grip even when his cock grows soft, just rolls you onto your back and covers you like the thickest blanket.

“You didn’t fall this time,” he huffs into your hair.

Though your lips part to try and order him to be quiet, he grinds his hips against your own as if to make the obscenity of his comment even more apparent. It only heightens the warmth you feel sweep up into your cheeks.

“Little dancer…”

And finally he rises above you, another wild grin slowly gracing his scarred face. A thumb brushes against the pulse in your neck until his hand rests right over the heart tucked beneath your breast. It’s better than any promise of a lofty field or a mountaintop, even covered in sweat and come, to see the way that his eyes light up with pure mirth when he feels it’s beating.

“You feel it… you didn’t lie,” he mutters, and you try your best not to allow that comment to claw amongst the others he’s made that left wounds in your heart, gashes that bleed for him.

“Why would I?,” you ask, voice so thin and soft you would think it unheard if not for the flick of his ear.

“I did not think anyone would ever…” He rubs at his face as he falls to your side, only to pull you in close again. The defenses raise in those words, but lower as they do time and time again when you nestle into his chest, pet at the curls of hair there.

“They said no one could ever love me.”

The tears in his eyes finally are laid bare. They roll down his cheeks, and he does nothing to hide them this time. You accept his silent crying without comment, the only indication you share that you know, see, is in the way you press a kiss to his jaw where they gather and spill.

“Fools, they were..,” you whisper to him, just as quietly as before. The sanctity blooms further as his chest rumbles, a contented hum coupled with a squish to bring you even closer to him.

“Ja… just fools,” he answers you in a voice not broken, only softer than it has ever been. “Like you. For this… giving so much.”

“And you are greedy.”

He nods once before reaching for your hand; his own curls over it, still splayed out over his chest. He’s no cocky, rough brute now. He pets at it with a trembling thumb.

“I will never let you go.” He speaks it as though it is a curse, rather than the blessing you’re certain that it is. Most women would fear a lustful beast raised up to kill even gladiators, yet there’s only the sweetest consoling to be found with him for you. “You will suffer me until we both die.”

“I could not imagine a better fate.”

#könig x reader #konig x reader #i did not proofread this if you spot an error do not look at me #steadily going through my inbox i pray this was worth your century long wait lil wisp..!

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ihatelifesm · 3 days

Text

Animal Party!

The harbingers finding out you had a pet

(Some of the animals are tigers lions bears sharks etc etc, characters might be a bit OOC cuz this is kinda a crackfic but if yall want more srs ones lmk)

Tartaglia

For him Lets say you had a pet bear it would go kinda like this, since you and him live in a big house you wanted a big backyard, he never knew why but he Never said no, his siblings could run around there so when he came home from work you were not anywhere to be found.. until he heard you call someone a “goodboy” from the backyard, his bow was already drawn as he would have a stern expression on his face until he saw you with a bear. “[NAME]…” “So i forgot to tell you…” “WHY DIDN’T YOU THEM ME SOONER?! HE’S SO CUTE!” overall tatamis loves the bear

Scaramouche

For Scaramouche you had a cat a fluffy white one, this time you went over to visit him with your cat just hanging out in her purse “Took you long enough-… What the fuck is that..” “Its [CATS NAME]…” I deeply feel like scaramouche would be jealous if the cat took to much of your attention but would warm up to the cat, not enough to not show at least a HINT of jealousy

Arlecchino

So You had a spider for this (if you dont like spiders then imagine something else) and again you went to visit her, Arlecchino actually does like spiders (or just insects in general based on voice lines) so wheb she sees one crawling on you she was surprised that you had one just hanging around, She doesn’t mind it and also gets close to the spider, Leney (idk if i spelt his name right) almost killed it becuase he thought it was creepy😞

Signora

You have a silly little snake!!! This can go either way you visit her, she visits you..OR she sees it slithering around and she calls you over “[NAME]! WHAT THE FUCK—“ “Signora! You found [SNAKE NAME]! Thank you!!” Signora would be surprised and confused..how can you live with that…THING?! Why is it built like that… Signora is ALRIGHT with your pet she isn’t to fond with it but would take care of it for you

Pantalone

You have a cat! Not the small one a BIG one so.. a lion for him you TOLD him you had a cat..just not what KIND of cat “Pantalone do you want to see my pet?” “Of course [NAME] it cant go that bad..” It went that bad, when he came to visit you and saw a whole ass LION he froze when did you get the beast?! “Ha..[NAME] you said you had a cat..” “I know! This is [LIONS NAME]!” “Why didnt you say that you had a lion?” “It was less fun..” hes alright its pretty tame, (might get a little jealous from all the attention the lions getting…)

Dottore

Simple way to put it, you have a shark said and done same with Pantalone you TOLD him just not that detailed in your words “Dottore you like fish right? You wana meet mine?” “Sure, I suppose it wouldn’t be that much of a hassle..” Well when he cane over he wondered why your house had a pool in the backyard, until he saw the fin sticking out of the water “See Dottore? This is [SHARK NAME]! “You said you had a fish” He doesn’t really care for it because he doesn’t go swimming often or study the oceans yet but he isn’t going to tell you to give it away

Columbina

You had a swan, a elegant animal it was plain and simple so there isn’t that much convincing that the animal WONT hurt them, You and Columbina have hang outs (aka dates..) by the pond, She only REALLY opens her eyes around you (she wears the mask so she wouldn’t fall in love with someone else again but your a exception) and saw that you had a swan with you she was like a kid in a candy shop in her eyes it was a perfect animal for someone as perfect as you! She loves your swan and has a good relationship with it

Sandrone

You had a hamster (a FAT one) it was just in your hands eating sunflower seeds (ofc it is..) as you were going to find your beloved Sandrone “[NAME] whats the dust in your hand for?” “Its my Hamster!” “What..” Sandrone is sarcastic so she does make jokes how its a fucking FATASS but she secretly thinks its cute and would do anything for that little fur-ball

Capitano

You have a fox! I feel like when he found out you didn’t know he was off today, so you were outside playing with your little fox friend while he looked at you, even if his face was covered he had a small soft smile who ever knew that his s/o could be so cute..but he doesn’t know much about taking care of animals so he loves hearing you talk about it and slowly warms up to your fox!^^

Peirro

Last but not least! You owned a monkey (it or a spider monkey) but you and your monkey go EVERYWHERE together so its not hard for him to figure it out, since you two starting dating he was introduced to your monkey, he doesn’t mind that silly little fella he just wants to spend time with you and sometimes when your off doing errands or something else, your monkey just hangs out with Peirro, one time, Peirro had the monkey on his shoulders while in a fatui meeting (I feel like any of them would take your pet to a metting when there good with them, besides the shark… sadly)

(We are finished! I really hoped you enjoyed this!!^^ Tags: @jadestone2 )

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utterlyotterlyx · 1 day

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The Fox and The Fawn

High Lord Eris x Rhys!Sister!Reader x Azriel

Part Seven

Summary - Your feelings for Eris are confronted and you make a choice that is sure to break you.

Warnings - angst, fluff, depression, betrayal, sadness, more angst

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six

Velaris hadn't been the same since you had left.

The entire population was scrutinizing the Inner Circle and the beast they called their High Lord who was doing his best to convince his people that you weren't well and had chosen to heal in the company of the realms best healers in Dawn.

No one believed it.

Rhys was pacing about the study, walking the length of it before turning on his heels and following the wall back to the other side whilst Cassian and Azriel stood before him, clammy palms and pale faces as the throbbing power of Rhys threatened to consume them.

It had been a back and forth conflict that had lasted for days, the words thrown had become so intense that Feyre had deigned to move herself and Nyx to the House of Wind. The main consensus was that a war with Autumn would be devastating to all involved, but Rhys had lost his mind for long enough to be void of the capability to see any reason.

All he wanted was his sister back in his court, safe and warm and protected, where her power wouldn't threaten anyone into daring to know more.

"She'll come back," Azriel's voice cut through the haze, his voice was sure but quaking, and Rhys halted his movements, approaching the desk and taking a seat.

Their High Lord was a shell of himself, a wild glare had consumed his dark eyes, none of them could remember the last time he had smiled or joked, all he did was speak of you, of how to get you back.

"Did your shadows tell you something?"

Azriel shuffled in his seat, dreading what he had to say, for his brother didn't know the exact details of what occurred with you at the boarder of Winter and Autumn, "No," he cleared his throat, "You threatened Elain, Lucien, and Eris," he gulped, "And Nesta."

Cassian hadn't been doing well without her, he hardly slept or ate, and he flinched with pain more often than not due to the bond being so weak and brittle, close to extinction. Their shared brother snapped his head in their direction, his gaze wide as it moved between Rhys and Azriel, both of which kept some vital information from him.

The Shadowsinger continued, "You know that y/n would never put anyone in harms way, she would never risk the lives of the people she loves most," he wasn't sure if he was included in that list anymore, "She just wants to be free. I beg you to think of a different way to establish peace."

Rhys rolled his eyes, bored of the same words, "You saw what she can do now," he leaned forward in the chair and the stars panicked in response, blinking quickly, some even vanished from the sky entirely.

Neither of them could escape the image of those licks of blame flame curling up your fingers and forearm, they couldn't escape the coldness in your glare, and Azriel in particular couldn't escape the flash of pain that shot through your face when he had taken a step back from you.

"Even then, does it mean that we need to go to war? We've barely recovered from Hybern and Koschei as it is, our armies will perish-"

"You can both leave," Rhys drawled, uninterested, bored even, as he picked a threat from his suit jacket and let it float to the floor, "Start preparing our armies, Cass." A stiff nod from Cassian acted as his reply, he rose from his seat, eyes still wide and white knuckles gleaming in the moonlight.

Come home, or I will make sure that you are left with nothing.

Nothing.

The faint scent of cinnamon kissed the air, meaning that Eris was home, and the more intense it grew the more it became clear that he was searching for you as he always did when he returned to the manor. All he had to do was follow the aroma of you, the one scent that he would bottle up if he could just so your scent could drown his clothes and senses.

“Hello Fawn,” he called to you, his voice purred with adoration, and your spine tingled at the sensation of it. As quickly as he spoke the words, Eris frowned, noting the blank stare you held at whatever held your attention beyond the window.

Night had fallen upon Autumn, the sky held the last few flickers of light as dark purple licked the sky and faded to black.

The exhaustion was clear on your face as he fell to your side, his arm brushing against your own as though he was reminding you of where you were. Not Night. Autumn.

Eris had believed that he was making some headway with you, but after Rhys, it felt like you had constructed a dam of steel around your mind. Cold and unimpeachable. It was warranted, but dangerous, and Eris noticed you retreating into yourself more every passing moment.

“What’s wrong?”

Turning to face him, you etched his face to memory, whisky amber eyes full of worry, tight lips, messy red hair that fell past his ears; he had left in a rush that morning, negating to properly style his hair which meant that it was messy but too alluring to pay attention to. He was dressed in ivory briefs and a white shirt, a red waistcoat and jacket both adorned with vines of gold.

A High Lord if you ever did see one.

All you wanted to do was reach out and push a strand behind his ear, to graze his cheekbone with your fingers. But you couldn’t. If there was any chance of Rhys finding out of how much Eris meant to you then he would surely ensure the most brutal punishment possible.

A serene but forced smile consumed your lips, lips that were chapped and broken from the bouts of anxiety that crashed down on you, “Nothing,” you told him, eyes flickering. Shaking your head, you explained, “Nesta was a bit brutal with training today but it’s fine.”

That’s right. Eris had been too busy that day to train with you, you had both been enjoying your sessions grappling with the carranam powers you had discovered, but Eris hadn’t had the time, which meant that Nesta was keeping her eye on you.

The stare didn’t relent but you didn’t shrink under it, you’d never shrink yourself for anyone ever again, so you turned back to peer out of the cloudy glass, “How can I make it better?”

Tension fizzled, Eris took your hands in his, stroking his thumb over the soft surface and resting on your pulse, “Train with me tomorrow.”

Eris smirked, “Done.”

Faint cricket song creaked through the open window, the low beating glow of the fireflies allowed you to see the pond rippling beyond the glass panes that were doing their best to keep the cold from seeping into your bones. Moments had flickered where you seemed unsure, moments where your mind was reeling, trying to figure out what was the next best step not only for you, but your people.

For Eris.

Oddly enough, it had been Elain who would come to your room at night, or Lucien; Nesta knew when to leave you alone and Eris didn't like imposing on your space, but Elain and Lucien, together or separate, seemed to know what you needed more than yourself.

Elain would bring an assortment of baked goods, she'd perch them on the edge of the bed and climb atop the comforter to wedge herself beside you; she wouldn't talk, she would simply listen and occasionally chirp soft advise whilst those pastries loosened your lips. Lucien however was much more straightforward, he would burst into your room no matter the time, he knew you'd be awake regardless, he'd say that he could feel your thoughts pulsing about the manor, uneasy and painful, and he would come to you to make you smile.

Much like how Cassian used to.

The soft patter of rain sounded beyond the threshold, the scent of it made you close your eyes and smile, inhaling the newly damp earth of Autumn, "Talk to me," Eris' fingers reached for you, curling a strand of your hair around them and pushing it behind your pointed ear; his fingers continued to travel, hooking beneath your chin and gently tugging your gaze to his, "You haven't been yourself."

Eris towered over you, his breath crept along your cheeks as thunder cracked in the distance, a flash of lightening snapped across the sky, "How can I be?"

It wasn't supposed to be painful, pushing people away, but it was tearing your soul apart. In some way, you'd much rather be alone for the rest of your long life than risk anything ever happening to anyone you loved. Rhys was determined to take you, Eris was determined to not allow it, and you were determined to save them from ruin.

Sighing, you unwound the blockade around your heart, feeling it strain and groan as you gave it space to breathe, "I don't know what I'm supposed to do," Eris watched your eyes glaze over, he watched that ring of fire dim, he watched as your bottom lip wobbled as you spoke, "I'm tired, Eris."

The High Lord figured as much, the bags that clung to your undereye grew larger each day, he had asked you multiple times if you wanted to talk, but you had denied it, you had been too focused in removing yourself physically so that if you really did then it wouldn't hurt as much.

I'm tired, Eris.

Those three words told him everything he needed to know. You were tired of life, you were tired of the betrayal and the lies, you were tired of the small voices in your mind telling you that you weren't worthy of anything good because how could any good being be used by the people who was meant to love and protect them?

Cracking walls allowed the storm to seep in, and Eris had been expecting it for awhile, he had monitored your anxious actions and sleuthing, he knew that the walls were due to collapse.

"Oh gods," your hand pressed on your stomach, leaving his own palm suddenly cold, you were trying to alleviate the pain dwelling inside of you like a demon, "How could they do this?"

The mere image of your face crumpling had Eris wrapping you into his arms as the last few weeks tore through the abyss toward you, clawing at the confinements you had locked them in. Sobs bubbled through your lips and Eris felt your tears soak through the cotton of his shirt, and all he could do was allow you to go through the motions. It was better to be held in your darkest hour than battle it alone. If all Eris could offer you was his shoulder and gentle caresses, then he would spend the rest of his life making sure he was there to lend them to you.

You had spent the last couple of days playing the memories of your life in your mind, ignoring the blank spots hidden within them, you were trying to figure out what exactly had been a lie, or what you could have done to deserve a life of chains and steel.

"My entire life is tainted now, I don't know what was real anymore. The bargain with Azriel, the shopping trips with Mor, researching with Amren and training with Cassian, painting with Feyre," you paused, "Even Rhys, when did he decide that I was better off locked away? When did he decide that it was best to spread stories of the monster of Velaris rather than the stories of his sister?"

The fond memories of dancing in Rita's until sunrise with Mor and Cassian had turned to ash alongside the moments you had spent with every member of your false family.

Eris ran his fingers through your hair, his fingertips grazing across your scalp, he knew you loved the feeling, and his chest rumbled as he spoke, "Do not fear the storm, y/n," his lips lingered just by your ear and you could faintly feel the parting as he spoke against the shell, "You are learning how to sail your ship. You will get through this, we'll get through it all, together," he pulled away from you but still held you in his arms, the flash of lightening slicing across his face, moulding with the light of the dancing flames dotted about the space in the form of tealights and lanterns hanging from the ceiling, "Just for now. Find a corner of your soul that feels good. And rest there."

Feeling seen and heard felt so foreign to you, but in Autumn, with Eris, you felt alive. Autumn had wrapped her doting arms around you and used her embrace to will you back to life, she willed you to find joy and passion, and perhaps even love.

Perhaps the Mother had sent Autumn to you to lead you to a life that would be worth all of the pain and loneliness. Peering up at Eris, you admired his beauty, the sharp but rugged look, the amber whisky eyes that reminded you of molten bronze, his stupidly perfect hair that Nesta told you constantly was something from novels, "Thank you, for making me feel alive."

Eris sucked in a breath and the candles burned brighter, their light covering the ceiling, "Thank you for making me believe that I'm worthy of being happy."

Extending your fingers over his chest, right above his heart, you frowned and asked, "You aren't happy?"

"I wasn't, but then you came, and now I am."

The smile on your face was radiant, soft and gentle, full of understanding, "We only have one life in this world, Eris. That's reason enough to stop holding back," silent permission sang to him and he rested his hands on the curve of your hips.

The demon within you didn't scare him, what Nesta had told him didn't scare him, nothing about you brought him any form of discomfort or doubt.

"I didn't stop thinking about you after I saw you Under The Mountain, you were humming a song that felt so familiar, your voice was so weak but so enchanting," he recounted, "I remember the light finding you like it always has, I remember the vacant look in your eye and the scuffle of your bare and bloody feet on the ground," Eris cupped your face in his hands, and your fingers drifted around his wrists, "That image haunts me, but that song, that beautifully awful thing has been the only thing to bring me any sort of peace since that place." Since Amarantha and Under The Mountain, "I saw you like I do now, wounded and hurting in so many ways, and I swore to myself that if I ever had the chance, that I would make sure it never happened again."

"The war against Hybern was won because of you, I saw you on that battlefield wielding that sword like it was an extension of yourself, you had rose from the ashes of Amarantha herself and tilted the scales in our favour," a gentle amused huff passed through your lips, "Then you aided me, you risked everything for my vision because you believed in it, because you believe in a better world for everyone, not just your own people. And then you came to me for help, because somewhere deep inside of you, you knew you'd be safe here, with me. And that night, on that balcony of the Day Court, for the first time, I saw you and I didn't just want to have you, but I wanted to deserve you. I asked the Mother for you, despite feeling undeserving, feeling disrespectful for ever thinking of it. Instead, I prayed to her to make me worthy of you."

Eris' molten bronze gaze was trying to tell you something, but you couldn't quite figure it out, not when he was looking at your lips like that, not when every fibre of your being was needing to mould itself inside of him.

"Do you know what the song is?"

Shaking his head, Eris muttered a small 'no', so you told him, "It's the song of your ancestors, the Symphony of Ash. I knew that it must have been awful to see me like that and you always used to say that you liked my voice, and I just thought that you could use a lullaby."

All air rushed from his lungs. You knew that he was watching you that night, and that song, that beautifully horrid thing, was for him. So that even if his nightmares kept him awake, you voice would lull him back to slumber, a song from his court that you had learned.

Even in the moments when you were worlds apart, strangers almost, you had still cared enough to spare him a thought of comfort in the days that weren't so bright for him either despite your own torture.

"That was for me?"

A delicate hum sounded from your throat, "Take it as a gift from one former betrothed to another."

"Former betrothed?"

Frowning, you pulled back slightly, but that frown soon turned to wonder, "You don't remember?" The blank look in his eye confirmed it, "We were supposed to get married before, well, I was locked away and you were directed to Mor. It was meant to be me and you."

"I remember our parents talking of it when we were children, but I didn't realise that it was ever real."

"It was very real."

Eris felt his soul burn, he felt your fingers curl around it, he felt your darkness kiss his fire, and he shuddered at the singing of his essence, "Me and you?"

"Us."

"Can I kiss you?"

You shouldn't. You couldn't. It would make what you had to do even harder. But it was Eris, it was his eyes and lips, his softness and adoration, it was the small boy you had grown up looking out for always without him even knowing it.

Swallowing hard, you moved closer to him, feeling electric as his fingers curled around the curve of your jaw, "Yes."

Eris lowered his lips to yours an he hovered there for a moment, preparing himself for the moment he had always desired, with the woman he couldn't get out of his mind. His lips were soft against yours, it was like kissing the sun, it was soul-consuming and scorching; his lips moved with yours as his hands ran down your spine to rest on the small of your back, pressing you further into him and slipping his tongue into your mouth when you broke for a moment to breathe.

It was a feeling you wanted to bask in forever, you felt light curl around you, you felt his warmth wrap you up in its embrace, you felt his lips on yours and his nose brushing against the tip of your own.

Fisting your fingers through his hair, you used his shoulders for leverage as he placed you on the countertop, your hands delved into his jacket and ran down his chest, and his gripped the skin of your thighs. Reluctantly, Eris paused before it went any further, exhaling deeply whilst resting his forehead against your own, "As much as I want to make you mine," his eyes delved into your own, "Our first time together deserves to be magical, and alone."

"Too right."

Freezing in position, you turned your head to find Lucien stood in the doorway, shirtless with his hand covering his eyes, peeking at you through his fingers. Eris threw his head back and groaned, cradling your head to his chest to hide your clear embarrassment from Lucien finding you both in a compromising position.

"I'm not judging," Lucien teased, "I just didn't expect to come in here to see you two with your tongues down each other's throats."

"Stop talking," you squeaked, cringing at his booming laugh, you blocked out the words from Eris, and instead waited until he scooped you into his arms, continuing to hide you from Lucien as he carried you upstairs and nestled into the bed with you.

Eris was bare bar his undergarments, his scarred chest shone in the firelight and you found yourself tracing the swirls idly whilst he pressed kisses into your hairline, allowing his thumb to stroke against your cheek.

"Tomorrow we'll figure out how to put a stop to this," he sounded so sure, but you knew he was scared, he held you a touch tighter as he spoke, "And then we'll live the life that we want to live."

His optimism was wounding.

Rhys was never going to stop, you knew him well enough to know that once he wanted something he would never halt his efforts to claim it.

After hours of serene chatter, you kissed Eris and told him to rest. As the firelight flickered to lifeless ash, when you knew that Eris was sound asleep and dreaming of you, you slipped from the bed.

Elain stood before the oven with a faint smile on her lips, excited to prod you with questions after what Lucien had so luckily found the night before.

Simmering sun poured through the windows, the storm had broke and the sun shone overhead, cascading her heavenly glow across the grass, caressing her animals as her light spread over Autumn. Birdsong chirped through the slightly ajar window, but Elain's smile had drifted, and her eyes had turned a milky white.

Night. Stars. Snow-capped mountains. A grey dress fit for a princess floating along the Sidra.

Gasping, Elain inhaled, she engulfed the air in her lungs, trying to locate you within it. But there was nothing there.

The shatter of the glass bowl in her hands was enough to cause both Nesta and Lucien to rush into the room, poised to attack, but faltering when they saw the wild look in Elain's eye, "Have you seen y/n? I had a vision."

"What vision, Elain?" Nesta approached Elain tentatively, her palms outstretched to connect with her sisters arms.

Elain gripped onto Nesta, "Of snow-capped mountains and a sky full of stars, of the dress she wore to Helion's party the day she denounced the Night Court drifting along the Sidra. I heard her crying."

Nesta snapped her gaze to Lucien, gasping when she saw Eris stood behind him, his gaze low and pulsating with fire as his chest rose and fell so fast that Nesta thought his heart would stop beating entirely. The room became hot, too hot, swelteringly so, and Eris brushed against Lucien as he approached the two Archeron sisters.

Placing his palms on the countertop, the same one where only hours before he was holding you and meeting your confessions with his own, Eris growled, low, and possessive, "Where is my mate?"

Author's Note

I am burning rn.

Taglist

@mybestfriendmademe @jesskidding3 @rosewood-cafe @fandomarchiveilyd @brujitafantomatico @crazylokonugget @mai-adaptive-dreams @magicstrengthandcourage @acourtofmoonlightandstars @ysmttty @lilah-asteria @circe143 @xyzmeh @paleidiot @namelesssav @amberlynn98 @acourtofbatboydreams @azrielsmate3 @ivy-34 @mp-littlebit @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @ifonlyiwerefiction @pirana10 @donttellthecats @padbaeamidla @oucereeng @andreperez11 @demonicbusiness @megscabinetofcurios @superspideyparker

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intoanotherworld23 · 2 days

Text

Running With The Devil

Summary: you never thought you’d ever spend a night with the king of hell himself

Warnings: mdni 18+, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, rough sex, dom Joel, devil Joel, spanking, smidge of edging, mild choking, mention of the devil, dirty talk

A/N: reblog!! Comment!! I want to hear from y’all and what you think of this support your writers always!! If you wish to be added to my Pedro tag list it’s always open!!

Hall Of Hunks

Tag list for Pedro Pascal: @pedrohoe04 @k-k0129 @livingdeadmaria @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @milly-louise @kittenlittle24 @trisaratops-mcgee @subconsciouscollapse @hooked-on-penapascal27 @red-red-rogue @fellinfromthetop @drewharrisonwriter @vickie5446 @millerfan

Tag list for everything: @iam-laiya @rosie-posie08 @madzleigh01 @alwaysclassyeagle @mytbel0st @shanimallina87 @marvelstarker-mha98 @powellssugarbaby @lora21 @kmc1989

“Such an innocent little thing.” Joel grabs your face in his hands as you sink yourself down on his length. His warm hands sliding around to your backside to grip your flesh in his palms. Skin tingling and turning into lava with every touch he left on your skin.

“I’m no good for you sweetheart.” Speaking against your lips with such desperation he couldn’t help himself. There was something about you that drove him absolutely wild. Ever since you came into his nightclub he was hooked. Watching your every move and catching a whiff of your scent whenever you walked by him.

“But I can’t help myself.” Speaking more to himself as he admitted out loud to his infatuation with you. He was obsessed with you front the start, and when the opportunity came knocking at his doors he had to answer.

Joel looking up into your disheveled face with bewilderment as you took his cock. Lifting your hips up stretching the muscles in your thighs feeling the burn radiate to your ankles. Hands on his shoulders to keep yourself balanced scratching a long his skin surely to leave marks on him. He loved it though he wanted you to draw blood.

“You’re so deliciously tight for me.” Cursing under his breath as he rocked his hips directly into your pelvis. Your back arching as he drove himself deeper hitting that sweet spot that had your vision going hazy.

“Mmmph so good Joel.” Whimpering lost in the intoxicating bliss of his touch. Your words fueling his desire as a hand comes down on your ass a sharp gasp slipping past your lips. Joel snickering at your reaction as you looked into his eyes noticing how dark they had become. He almost didn’t even look human.

It felt as though he was some sort of wild beast who was let out of his cage after being starved for so long. The growls and sneers that left his mouth were dripping with poison. Joel was unlike any other man that you have ever encountered.

“That’s all you wanted huh? My cock. It’s a sin to want the devils cock though.” His words should have worried you but if anything it just made your skin even hotter. It was like your bodies were surrounded by massive flames of fire, but they weren’t engulfing you. Moving your hips back and forth with a rapid motion that was shaking the whole bed.

He can feel your warmth around him walls strangling his cock relentlessly. Looking over your shoulder to watch your flesh jiggling and vibrating against his thighs. It was the hottest thing he’s ever seen, and he just wanted to take a bite from your ass. Moving his hands towards your neck pulling your face closer to his.

“Could stay in this tight cunt forever.” Clasping his fingers behind your neck his sharp fingernails tracing along your neck as he’s watching you fuck yourself against him.

A hand reaching out to grab onto his wrist as he applies the slightest bit of pressure on your throat. Nails digging into his flesh as the new sensation racked through your body. It was unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. Your mind was foggy only hearing the grunts leaving his lips a piercing ring echoing in your ears.

“Please.” Not sure what you were begging for or asking for but Joel seemed to understand what you were wanting. Looking into your mind and seeing the filthy images that you were picturing right now. It made him grin wickedly wanting to do all that with you.

“Oh you dirty girl.” He cooed in your ear his voice dripping with mockery. Of course you had no idea what he was going on about but hearing him call you that caused you to clench your thighs together.

The ache between your legs was starting to become painful at this point. You were so close to your orgasm your legs were trembling making it harder to lift your hips up. A painful burn radiating across your thighs feeling them tense up with every movement. But something kept pushing you to keep going and fight through the pain.

“Come on, use that pretty mouth and beg for the devils cock.” There was that word again. It was starting to concern you a little bit that he referred to himself as the devil.

“Joel please I want your cock. Fuck me.” Crying out pathetically as he flipped you onto your back spreading your legs wide pushing them back onto your chest. Keeping his cock still inside of you as he waited for you to speak. He was mocking your pleasure as a low chuckle rumbled in his throat.

Joel then cruelly and relentlessly pushes you to the brink until all you can muster up are gasps and babbling moans. With each powerful thrust you feel the warmth surrounding your body pulling back only to tease before diving back in. You were a complete mess under his body and you never wanted it to end.

“Letting the devil fuck this innocent cunt.” His lips finding yours with an overwhelming taste of heaven his sultry and seductive voice commanding your release. It seemed as if his words triggered you to do as he wished like a spell over fell you.

Surrendering as your body crumbled and shook your orgasm smacking you so hard that you lost your breathe for a second. Your battered cunt was so sore and swollen from being abused over and over. Stomach trembling from the resounding orgasm you had just experienced. Arms going completely limp and numb by your sides. He remained hard still as yours and his juices leaked out of your swollen cunt.

“So tell me baby,” he purred as he leaned forward kissing your collarbone soft lips trailing along your sensitive skin. Looking up at him you noticed his skin started to turn a faint red like his skin had been burned or something. Your skin started to crawl as you felt like your eyes were playing tricks on you.

“How does it feel to have been fucked by the devil himself?”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #Pedro pascal blurb #Pedro pascal fic #Pedro pascal fanfiction #Pedro pascal imagines #Joel miller #Joel miller smut #Joel miller x reader #Joel miller blurb #Joel miller fic #Joel miller fanfiction #Joel miller imagines

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peachysunrize · 2 days

Text

Devil’s Doll ⥃ Mob boss!Aemond

Summary: no one can do anything when Aemond Targaryen sets his eye on a sweet girl and comes to the party with her on his arms, and those who dare to say an ill word will face his wrath with a bullet in their head.

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, possessive & obsessive Aemond, mob/mafia au! Murder, creampie, Aemond is a sociopath simp for you, blood & gore, oral (F! Receiving), rough sex, Qoren Martell is an ass here, self defense murder, ztell me if I’ve missed anything. English isn’t my first language so if you’re not okay with that, simply ignore this post. if you don't wanna read dark content, block rue:darkcontent <3

Word count: 3.5k

a/n: babeeees! Hello and welcome back to another unhinged smutty one shot I have written! Hope this satisfies your needs for possessive Aemond🤭 please reblog and comment, it’s most appreciated🩷

A very special thank you to @targaryen-dynasty for beta-ing this piece!🩷🫂

In the world of crimes, Aemond Targaryen’s name is enough to make men shiver in fear. The ruthless nature of him has been the subject of many late-night stories in the past few years in the filthy streets of King’s Landing and beyond.

The one-eyed prince they call him. The infamous second son of Viserys the Coward has built an empire solely around one thing; blood and vengeance.

After the murder of his fiance at the hands of his uncle, he became an untamed beast, bloodthirsty and hungry for revenge to the point that he became the god in the eyes of many — he wiped the streets off any man from his sister’s clan, ruled on the ashes of their bones and burnt flesh.

He thrived in the newfound power, he cherished it and greedily took more and more until there was nothing left more to take. Aemond Targaryen became the head of his clan with his loyal followers doing anything to please him and keep their heads attached to their necks.

So when he finds a new sweet girl at the local coffee shop he frequents, his emotions begin to cloud his judgment or heighten it in a way.

It starts innocently; a black coffee with dark chocolate on a daily basis, a sweet smile, and ‘Have a nice day, sir!’ Always ready for him.

Sweet girl, he calls you when you bring him his order and brushes his fingers atop yours when you lean down to put his coffee on the table.

He looks, he observes, and he obsesses over your every move, every step you take, every inhale and exhale. He likes watching you.

The ruthless god of the criminal world has set his eye on his new prey.

You notice him, of course you do, because he wants you to know about him, he wants you to be as interested in him as he is in you. He loves how your lips move when you question his motives; sweet girl he calls you again, telling you how beautiful you look when you work and how he desperately wishes he could take you out on a date. But he can’t, not when his enemies are behind the corner, ready to strike where he is weak.

Yes, you are his weakness, and the one-eye god isn’t used to it, but for you… oh for you he would murder, he would let his bloodlust get the best of him and commit a massacre just to see a glimpse of your smile.

He catches you crying in the corner of the cafe, mouth agape as you stare at the man who was supposed to be your date for today, lying limp and lifeless with a bullet in his head.

Sweet girl, he calls you as he brushes your hair out of your face, you look like a doll, his doll, and oh, in the pit of your stomach you feel a strange warmth because of his heated gaze. He is smiling, he shouldn’t but he is, and you smile back, captivated by his nature, by his cruelty and devotion.

It feels like fresh air when you reach out to caress his dimples, how he has dreamed of your soft skin on his. The touch only makes him hungrier, a desire, a need to make you his, and he does that night. He takes you to your small apartment, giving you a pleasure like no other while you cling to him — sweet girl, my doll, he calls you, vowing in his head to protect you, and when he asks you why you do not feel disgusted by what he has done to that man, you reply:

“I’m sick of heroes. They ruin their loved ones to keep others safe. But a villain, my devil, you, will burn the city without letting a flame touch my skin.”

He is like your shadow from that day; following you around in the dark without you noticing, keeping his business up while he focuses on you. Sweet girl, he thinks, how you smile at those unworthy people, your smile should be his and his only.

The news spreads like fire; Aemond Targaryen has found a new plaything. As soon as those words fall from one of his men, others gasp and shriek, staring at the poor man’s head that has a hole carved with Aemond’s bullet.

Plaything they say, he scoffs at the thought. You are no plaything for him, you are his sun, his moon, the air to his lungs, you are fuel for his soul, and he wishes he could burn under you to show you how much you mean to him, to crumble into pieces and let you stomp over him while he basks in the glow of your face.

You are his doll, The Devil’s doll.

He knows how dangerous his world is, he understands it perfectly, and that’s why he nearly loses himself when he finds the door to your apartment ajar with muddy footprints leading to your bedroom.

He sees red when the scent of iron hits his nose; blood, he thinks. What has happened to you? He has never felt such a strong emotion before, not for his fiance or even his sister. Now, he is shaking with fury, his knuckles white from how hard he’s gripping the gun.

You leap into his arm as soon as you spot him in the doorway, letting the knife fall from your hands while you push yourself to him, clutching his shoulders while you sob.

He sighs in relief, holding you in his arms tighter than he has ever done before. You’re alright, his sweet girl, his doll. He listens to you intently, wiping off the tears that fall from your gorgeous eyes gently, oh you look just like a dream come true; your dress is covered in blood, a man you killed for defense lying on the floor beneath his boot.

He has never been more proud of anyone than he is of you.

He wants to show you off to the world, sick of all the hiding and lies behind the rumors spread by Rhaenyra’s clan. He needs to let everyone know how beautiful his doll is, and what a goddess he has in his arms.

He helps you get ready, keeping his hands all over your body while you try to put some clothes on, giggling and indulging him as he kisses your bare shoulders, groaning at the sight of you in black and red.

“Sweet girl, I have to be the luckiest man alive to have you as mine.” He whispers in your ear, eye narrow as he takes you in again, thinking about how he could be graced by your presence.

“And I the luckiest girl, my love. You make me feel so happy,” you reply, spraying your perfume on your neck and collarbones, and Aemond nearly moans as he takes your scent in.

“Fuck, you have to be a sorceress, I am bewitched by your beauty and smile. What have you done to me, doll? What spell have you put me under?” He attacks your neck with kisses, relishing in the small giggle you gift him.

“I’ve poured a potion in your coffee every day, to make sure your eye only sees me and no other girl.” You joke, turning around in his arms to give him a soft peck on the lips, mindful of your lipstick to leave no trace on his clean-shaven face.

“Don’t give me ideas, doll. I might do it just to keep you all to myself.” He grins, his dimples on display for you to kiss them, chuckling as you try to wipe the red stains off his face.

“Oh, I would love that. Please do, my love,” you match his smile, lopping your arms around his neck, “now, let’s go to this party. The sooner we go, the sooner we can leave and have our fun.”

“Anything for you, sweet girl.” He says, offering you his arm as you both walk towards the door, Aemond helping you down while you hold the long skirt of your dress in your hand, taking cautious steps to the car.

Criston nods at both of you and opens the door, waiting until the two of you are settled inside the car before he gets in himself and starts driving to the location.

Aemond was reluctant to attend this party, after all, it was hosted by one of the clans that were loyal to his sister, but his grandfather convinced him to go with Aegon and Daeron, but he declined and said he’d rather go alone with his doll.

You smile at him, caressing his ring-clattered fingers that are caressing your thigh gently, talking with Cole about what is expected of tonight; murder for sure, but he would rather not get caught up in the whirlwind of hatred he has for his sister and uncle, and most importantly, he needs to keep you safe from all the eyes of those hungry men.

The ride to the mansion is quick, and a sense of dread fills the two of you when your eyes meet. Aemond presses a kiss to your forehead to both calm himself and you before the car comes to a stop and he steps out, coming to your side and holding your hand to help you on your feet.

The moment you step inside the house, you are greeted by various couples, men, women, and people that you have no idea about. You keep your head high, squeezing Aemond’s arm as the two of you hide your discomfort behind a smile while everyone keeps staring at you.

“Targaryen,” someone calls Aemond behind you, “you honored me with coming tonight!” You both turn around, finding Mr. Tyrell and his wife and oldest daughter waiting to greet you.

“The honor is mine, sir,” Aemond shakes his hand, reaching to press a kiss to Mrs. Tyrell’s hand, “thank you for having us tonight. Let me introduce you to my girl,” he puts his large palm on your waist, gently pulling you closer to him as you shake and greet your hosts.

“You certainly have won yourself a prize, Aemond.”

“No prize is as beautiful as she is, I’m afraid.” Your lover says, pinching your waist playfully away from the eyes of the attendees, looking at you with nothing but adoration and unconditional devotion.

“You’re too kind, my love,” you smile, “Lady Tyrell, I would love to get to know you more.” Aemond nods at you gratefully, glad that he has discussed his plans for the party with you.

Aemond watches you being led away by the ladies, letting the smile fall from his lips as he gazes back at Tyrell himself, “I hope you have good reasons for wasting my time here.”

“I do, Mr. Targaryen. I wish to introduce you to Prince Martell from Dorne.” Tyrell says, pointing at a group of men who’re talking intensely. As soon as the two of them approach the group, they grow silent, waiting for Aemond to say something — their silence could be because of two things, either they respect him, or they’re terrified of him.

He hoped it was the latter, for with fear there comes blind respect and loyalty.

“Ah, Targaryen,” Prince Qoren Martell says, reaching to shake Aemond’s hand, “how wonderful to finally meet the One-Eyed God of the underground. Made yourself quite the name, huh?” Qoren smirks, already sensing how his words irritate Aemond.

Aemond shakes his hand back, tightening the hold he has on him, a ghost of a sinister smile forms on his face while he stares at the Dornish man with his indigo eye.

“Can’t say the same about you, Prince Qoren. What have you been doing all this time, not ruining the South, I hope?”

“You’re funny,” Qoren laughs, tapping Aemond on the shoulder, “Ah, I missed someone who’d challenged me over stupid things, kind of feels good to have a kid like you around.”

“Mind your words, Martell. He is no ordinary man, these silly little challenges will be the least of your concerns if he decides you’re not worth his time.” Barros Baratheon, ever the loyal dog of Aemond, speaks up, standing tall and proud next to him.

“Pft, please, I’m sure he knows I’m joking!” Qoren laughs nervously this time, “but… I don’t think your man isn’t doing great nowadays huh?”

“What do you mean?” Aemond asks, slapping Qoren’s hand away, “I wonder what has been said that makes you so full of yourself.”

“I don’t need to say a thing, look, your pretty plaything is coming,” Martell smirks as he eyes you up, watching the sway of your hips as you walk shyly towards Aemond, feeling a bit out of place due to all the looks on you.

“Eyes on me, Martell,” Aemond says through gritted teeth, anger swimming in his good eye as he watches the Dornish man look at you intently.

“Aemond…” he turns around at the sound of your voice, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“Sweet girl—“

“Ah, it’s truly a shame that a beautiful girl like you wouldn’t reach anywhere with being a side chick for a Targaryen.” A deadly silence falls on the group, Aemond with his ever-rising temper looks at Qoren who hasn’t realized what he has truly said.

“Elaborate, Martell.” He hisses, reaching to pull you closer to him, covering your body mostly with his.

“You need a lady sooner or later, I doubt a woman from her status would be a good choice of a wife for you. You need someone stronger, with more connections, and a mind as sharp as you, not just a pretty whore to keep your bed warm,” Qoren shrugs, and a few men from his side laugh and agree with him.

Aemond presses his lips into a thin line, his fingers twitching in anger as he gazes at Qoren; he looks murderous, ready to pull his gun out and empty a bullet in that useless head of his — but he’s stopped by the sound of your sniffing.

He looks at you, his features softening immediately when he sees your teary eyes. He feels as if he’s about to die with a dagger in his good eye; the look on your face hurts him, burns his heart, and tears it into pieces. The string you’ve wrapped around him tightens and tightens until he cradles your smaller face in his hand, pressing a sweet kiss to your quivering lips before his eye turn black with madness.

He pushes you behind him, and in a second, the hall is filled with screams and shrieks of horror and bullets flying around, bodies of the men who dared to disrespect Aemond’s doll are falling on the floor next to his shoes one by one.

He feels you bury your head in his blazer, gasping at the sound of yet another bullet firing into someone’s head. Aemond doesn’t blink, not even once. His blood is pumping with the urge to showcase how much he’s willing to do to keep his sweet girl happy and content.

“Let this be a reminder to all of you,” his voice echoes in the hall, “whoever dares to say anything about my girl will face the same fate; death! Aemond Targaryen will go to a fucking war for his future wife!” With that, he holds his gun upwards to the ceiling, firing not one, not two, but nearly six bullets to make sure the hall is empty besides the corpses and the two of you.

“Aemond…”

“Shh,” he shushes you roughly, pressing his lips into a searing kiss to yours, groaning at the sweet taste of your lips. He adores losing himself in you; in your taste, in your scent, in every ounce of attention you give him. He feels blessed to even breathe the same air as you, but kissing you… his heart stops every time his lips meet yours, and now, with adrenaline and anger swirling in his veins, he wants nothing but to show you his devotion — even if it comes out as a rough fucking session while staring at the men he killed for you.

His trimmed nails dig into your sides, groaning at the feeling of you melting beneath his rough touch. Aemond is a man possessed with how he handles you, strong and confident while he finds the closest table and finally breaks the kiss.

He watches how your chest heaves with ragged breaths, lips swollen, and eyes wide and hazy with lust — the perfect picture of a goddess that he has been graced with.

He turns you around, pushing you on the table until you’re bending over, looking directly at the limp bodies on the floor drowning in their own blood. He hums as his fingers caress your spine before he strikes you on your ass, humming at the feeling of the weight of your flesh under his hand.

He doesn’t have the will to wait anymore. He drops on his knees, pushing your dress up to your hips until he’s face to face with your bare pussy; wet and ready to be devoured.

“Good girl,” he praises you for listening to him when he asked you earlier to not wear any underwear, “The most gorgeous cunt I’ve ever seen, prettiest girl, my doll.” He’s already drunk on your essence without even tasting it, that’s how much he adores you.

He moans at the same time as you do when he finally dives in, wrapping his thin lips around your buzzing clit as he devours and eats like a starved dog, caging your hips while he takes and takes and takes from you.

There’s not a thought in his head, empty and filled with nothing but an urge to show you how eager he is to please and protect you, your loyal dog he calls himself.

The One-Eyed God crumbles for a simple barista girl, and not a single soul dares to say a word, for if they say, they’ll experience his rage.

Aemond is quick and messy with how his tongue laps up your wetness, creating lewd sounds that have both of your hearts racing. His fingers join his tongue, filling you up slightly and giving you the friction you need, but you know him, the only way you can come is on his cock.

You whine in agony as he leaves you aching for more as soon as he feels you getting closer, but he doesn’t leave you waiting for too long. The sound of his zipper brings back your attention to him, and he chuckles in delight when he sees you wiggling yourself back to get some friction, to end this torture and gives into the temptation.

And he does; he aligns his painfully hard cock with your soaked entrance, pushing himself in with one smooth thrust that knocks the breath out of your lungs.

Long is gone the man he was a few seconds ago; he is on a mission now, fucking you until you tremble and fall from the edge of bliss, knowing it’s him pleasuring you, it’s him who will burn this blasted city for you.

“Oh, sweet girl, I’ll kill thousands of men if it means I get to be inside this sweet pussy—fuck-“ he groans, hands finding home on your hipbones as he quickens his pace, driving his cock in and out. Hard and fast.

The squelching sound that your wetness is making embarrasses you, and you hide your face in your arms while you squeal his name over and over again.

Your Devil has grown like ivy around your heart, covering the last untouched part of your souls that he had left untouched, and you love it, love being consumed by him.

He bends down over your back, hips snapping into yours roughly, filling you up with his length as the thick tip of him kisses your cervix while his teeth sink into your bare shoulder.

“Do you see the lengths I would go to protect you, sweet girl?” He whispers in your ear, licking your tear away with the tip of his tongue, “I will commit unspeakable crimes just to have you by my side.”

You nod at him, looping your arm around his neck to bring him down, and he compiles, bending further on your back to kiss you roughly.

Both of you are close; the knot in your stomach gets unbearable until it snaps and you moan loudly in his mouth, gushing around him as your legs shake.

He follows closely; his cock throbs deep within your core, and with one final rough thrust, he empties his balls inside you, coating your velvety walls with his thick cum, marking you as his once more.

You glance back at the corpses, smiling devilishly at how Qoren Martell’s empty eyes are still on you.

“Sweet girl,” Aemond says, “you’re untouchable now. Targaryen clan is yours to rule.”

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond one eye #modern aemond #prince aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #rue:smut #dark aemond targaryen #dark aemond x reader #dark aemond smut #rue:darkcontent

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kyhgwts · 1 day

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Older!König x Fem!Reader

I love the idea of gentle and shy older!König but then he’s just an absolute beast in bed, like please? For my sanity?

Just imagine him being so quiet and put off to himself around everyone but you.

Walking around in the grocery store he’s trailing behind you as you push the cart, silently messing with your shirt nervously when someone comes up to you and makes small talk. He doesn’t dare make eye contact with them. It’s not that he is scared, god no, look at the man. But he just isn’t comfortable showing his real self to people who aren’t you. Maybe only your very close friends who come over a lot, but other than that? Absolutely no one.

He’s just so UGH like a big soft bear, silent and kept to himself but if anyone dares to mess with his territory (you) all hell will break loose.

He hates being out in public without you, because then you aren’t there to do all the talking. And he isn’t an asshole, so he has to respond back to people.

“Oh! Hi König!” He turns back to look at someone who he registered as a close friend of yours.

“Hallo” he smiles gingerly, he knew this friend of yours well enough they came over a lot, and he wasn’t shy by them.

“Where’s your attachment at?” They ask, smiling at their own joke. It almost makes him chuckle but that’s too far out of his comfort zone.

“Back at home, got sick” he would explain shortly, but not in a rude way because he respected this friend, they meant a lot to you.

“Well alright big guy, I’ll leave you alone. Tell her i said get well!” They said making their way for the end of the aisle, he just nodded.

How is he so big, but so gentle?!?! He’s so perfect :(

Like the perfect cocoon, laying in bed, you straddling his lap as you nuzzle your head into his chest and neck. His big arms holding you tight against him as he takes in your presence, the heat from your body, the weight of you making him feel secure, your hair wash smelling so good, as well as your perfume you always have on, he fucking loved it.

But oh if this man is in a mood? You have the time of your life.

“König! Please” you’d moan and cry, tear prickling from your eyes.

“Please what baby?” He’d ask all innocent, while he’s pounding into you, stuffing you so full you can’t even think clearly :(

He’d push down on your stomach, causing you to gasp at the familiar sensation.

“Yes! Yes yes yes yes” you’d sob, pushing down your hips trying to fuck yourself on him.

“My Süßes Mädchen“ he’d whisper, all while never giving you a break, pounding into you with his hand pressed hard into your stomach. (Sweet Girl)

The sound of skin against skin making him go feral, the wet sounds as he pounds into you making your cheeks go red, but he fucking loved it.

“Come on Kostbarkeit, let go for me baby” he groans, your tears streaming down your face in pure ecstasy. You loved this side of him, so masculine and beautiful. Taking care of you and that deep feelings in your stomach :( (Treasure)

Once you’ve came, and you’ve milked him for all he’s got he carefully lays himself on top of you. Making sure not to crush you. And loving on you like no other, head nuzzled into your neck as he kissed it, and hands roaming your body as he kept you close and your legs wrapped around his waist.

“Fuck Mein Baby, i just can’t get enough of you” he’d whisper while his hands slide under your back, hands meeting up behind your head cradling it as pulls you closer.

You moan from the movement, his cock still deep inside of you.

You could stay like this forever, in his embrace, feeling so full and content.

You didn’t leave that bed for another few hours, as he made soft love to you, making sure you felt his love as he slowly rocked into you.

Life was perfect with your perfect boy around :(

#foryou #kyhgwts #smut is life #fluff #agegap #könig x reader #older!könig #older bf #könig call of duty #cod #könig smut #könig x you #konig headcanons #könig #i need him #i want this #please?#i need older König to make love to me

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heartshapedmisery · 2 days

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𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐧 𝐮𝐩 | art donaldson

summary ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ art is your tennis coach, but after he tells you to "loosen up" a bit, you're not sure if your boundaries are strictly professional anymore.

warnings ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ MINORS DNI ! ( 18+ ) | language, graphic smut, unprotected sex ( wrap it before u tap it y'all ), soft!dom!art, sub!reader, sexual tension, art gives reader a massage, praise kink, p in v sex, fingering, if i missed anything, please let me know!

word count ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ 3.2k +

pairing ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ standford!art donaldson x fem!stanford!reader

author’s note ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ saw challengers the other day .... its all i can think about rn so i made a fic! hope u enjoy! also i know nothing about physical therapy so if this makes no sense I'm sorry

publishing date ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ may 5th, 2024 | © HEARTSHAPEDMISERY

tags ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ @madnessandobsession @hashtagtobefuckinghonest @mitskilover23

A bead of sweat rolled down your temple as your feet carried you quickly across the tennis court, your eyes refusing to leave the bright yellow ball that was coming towards you from the opposite side of the net.

"Keep your eye on the ball, sweetheart!" Art barked, a few blonde strands of his hair falling in his eyes as he watched you simply miss the ball once again.

The nickname caught you off guard, dismantling your focus and causing you to falter your movements. Your arm swung out far enough, but your racket was just below the ball, allowing it to fly right over it and hit the concrete behind you. A tinge of pain seared through your right shoulder, making you wince.

"Shit!" You grumbled in annoyance, your eyes refusing to meet Art's since you knew he would scold you for your miss.

You threw the racket in your hand down at your feet, irritated that you hadn't kept the ball going back and forth between you and Art for more than 2 times in your last 5 tries.

Your mind was somewhere else; normally you were a beast on the court, dominating your competition (all thanks to Art). Today, not so much.

"What was that, the 6th time?" Art scoffed, waving his racket about in the air. "What's wrong with your shoulder?" he pointed his racket in your direction, a look of concern written on his face.

You didn't answer him, walking off the court over to the bench and grabbing your water bottle. He followed you, taking the bottle from your hand when you were done and squirting the liquid into his mouth. Your eyes watched him carefully, following the water droplets as a few fell from the corner of his mouth.

"You're tense, I can see it all over you when you're moving around out there," he said, motioning to your shoulders and neck. Your eyes caught the way his polo clung to his toned chest, sweat starting to seep through from his constant movement.

"I'm fine," you told him, shrugging his words off. "Just a little distracted, is all."

A lopsided grin cracked across his face, not buying your excuses.

"Come here," he motioned for you to move towards him, which you hesitantly responded to before walking to him. Carefully, his hands grabbed your shoulders and spun you around, your back meeting his front harsher than you had expected.

Your heartbeat quickly picked up, the feeling of his hands on your bare shoulders felt hot and heavy on your skin.

This wasn't the first time Art has caught you off guard like this. You had noticed over the past few months how touchy he could be, whether he was correcting your form or bidding you good job after a match with a rub on the back.

And no matter how much you denied it, you couldn't help but love every second of it. Despite being your coach, he had an effect on you that no one else did. He drove you wild, but of course, he never realized that.

At least, you thought he didn't.

"Your shoulders are very tight, especially your right one. That's why you're not getting a lot of movement," he spoke softly in your ear, his fingers running up the sides of your arms before finally gripping your shoulders. His fingers squeezed your flesh gently, burning against your skin enough to make you let out a sigh he undoubtedly heard.

"You need to loosen up a little bit, sweetheart. All this stress is messing you up, and we can't have that." his voice was smooth and sultry, a total contrast to what it had been only moments before on the court.

His fingers kneaded at the muscles at the top of your back, working out all of the kinks and knots that inhabited your shoulders. Your eyes quickly fell shut as you leaned into his touch, getting lost in the feeling of his hands on you.

"Ah," you breathed out, the feeling of his thumb reaching a spot that unraveled the tension in your right shoulder. "Right there."

You couldn't see it, but a wide smile bloomed across his face at your words, his thumb moving to massage the muscle deeper than before. You let out a breath groan, which (as much as he hated to admit it) indubitably went straight to his lower half.

He didn't expect you to be so responsive to his touch. It surprised him, but that didn't mean he was opposed to it.

"Yeah?" He breathed. "Does that feel better?"

He knew exactly what he was doing, even though you were so oblivious to his shenanigans.

"Yes," you groaned, allowing your head to fall back slightly. You breathed in deeply as he continued his work at your muscles, watching you revel in the relief at the top of your back.

To anyone else, his actions only looked like a coach helping his player work out an injury. But to you and Art, this was months of tension finally boiling over. The way his hands worked across your skin, the pleasurable sighs you let out. It was the two of you crossing a boundary you had never expected to abandon.

"Art!" a voice sounded from the opposite side of the court, making your eyes snap open. His hands stopped their movements, but he didn't remove them from your shoulders as he looked over his shoulder at whoever was trying to get his attention.

It was Mike, the Athletic Director at Stanford.

"Mike," he stated, greeting him with a nod. His voice almost sounded disappointed, not appreciating that he had interrupted the two of you. "What can I do you for?"

His hands finally left your shoulders, your skin feeling dull and light from their wake. You quickly snapped yourself back to reality, brushing away the hot feeling in your chest as you watched the exchange between Art and Mike.

"I just have some paperwork for you to fill out for the semester," he said, "Won't take long."

You watched Art's expression lighten, giving him a slight nod before agreeing to meet him in his office and Mike dismissing himself from the court.

Your gaze met Art's as he turned back to grab his gym bag off the bench and slung it over his shoulder. You watched him carefully, before taking your own bag off the bench.

"Put some ice on that shoulder," he pointed to your right side as he slipped his Ray Bans onto his face to shield his eyes from the sun. "I'll come check on it later, okay?"

You nodded, your mind already racing at the thought. You watched him as he walked away from your view, a feeling of excitement and confusion bubbling in your chest.

You didn't see him again until after lunch. You had been wandering around your small apartment in nothing but a tank top and pajama shorts (due to the blistering California heat outside) with a bag of ice taped around your shoulder, trying to keep your mind occupied until Art arrived.

Your afternoon classes had been canceled so you decided to take it easy at home, trying to keep your arm relaxed as much as possible.

When you heard a simple knock at your door, the feeling from earlier that morning had returned, rising in your chest and making your neck hot at the thought of him. He stood nonchalantly at your door when you swung it open, greeting him with a warm smile.

"Hey," you said, moving out of the way to let him in. He sent you a small smile back, following you into your tiny living room.

"How's the shoulder?" he rasped, taking a look at the ice pack on your arm that was starting to leak.

"Pretty good, hasn't really changed much. Still a little sore, though." you told him honestly, still confused as to why you had tweaked it so bad.

"Mind if I take a look at it?" he asked, gently running his hand up the side of your arm. The sensation sent chills down your spine as you nodded simply. He had to stop doing that or else you were going to go crazy.

"Here, sit down between my legs with your back towards me," he motioned to the couch, sitting behind you before moving to remove the athletic tape from the ice pack. You could feel his warmth behind you, his breath hot against your shoulder as he peered at your injury.

Your breath hitched as you felt his finger hook under the right strap of your tank top, your head turning slightly to catch his eye.

"Do you mind if I move this down?" he asked gently, eager to make sure you were okay with him touching you like this. You nodded, a little quicker than you had anticipated.

"Yeah, that's fine," you breathed, before turning back around. Carefully, he pulled the strap down, exposing your bare shoulder to him. Your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of his calloused hands against your smooth skin, his fingers slowly beginning to knead at your muscles.

"I feel a lot of tension here still," he told you, his hand gently moving to raise your arm up slightly over your head. You felt a pop in your joints, an instant feeling of relief washing through your shoulder. A breathy moan escaped your lips at the movement, grateful that it felt better already.

"Shit," you breathed, thankful for his skillful hands. "That feels good."

Art let out a breathy laugh, making your heart swell. "Lean back against me, I want to try something."

You followed his instructions, your back meeting his toned chest, sinking into his embrace. The smell of his cologne invaded your senses, making you sigh.

Carefully, he wrapped his arm around your collarbone, his left hand laying flat against the front of your shoulder while his right hand gripped the back of your bicep where your arm met your shoulder.

His hands were slow and gentle but still had you unwinding more with each movement. His left hand gently pushed your shoulder back as his right pushed your arm forward, earning another pop in your joints.

"Oh my god," you groaned under your breath, your hand subconsciously moving to grip his muscular forearm without realizing it.

"That's it, sweetheart," he cooed in your ear as you let out a sigh of relief. "Does that feel better?"

'So much better," you told him honestly, still holding onto his arm. Your eyes quickly fell down to it, an idea circling in your mind before your hand slowly began to move. He watched you carefully, his eyes following your freshly manicured hand moved to settle over his, before carefully moving his hand down your chest.

"But I think I'm still a little tense, Art," you breathed, biting your lip as his fingers ghosted over your hardened nipple before you moved it down further to your abdomen. His mind finally caught on to what you were trying to get at, a sly smirk cracking across his face.

"Could you help me?" you whispered, settling his hand on your lower stomach, dangerously close to where you wanted him most.

He didn't respond, his hand simply moving from underneath yours and allowing his fingers to slip underneath the waistband of your skimpy shorts, your breath hitching. He moved his free hand from your arm and down to your thigh, gently spreading them apart.

You felt him exhale a deep breath, before finally answering your request. "Of course. Anything to help my star player."

His fingers broke the barrier of your panties just as the words left his mouth, dipping into your soaked core without warning. You let out a moan as his lips pressed gentle kisses to your bare shoulder before moving up your neck and settling just below your ear.

His middle and ring fingers played at your clit, rubbing it gently before dipping back into you, curling his fingers inside of you sweetly.

A moan sounded from your plump lips, your head falling back on his shoulder. Your hand gripped his bicep as he continued to give you what you wanted, writhing in pleasure at his movements.

You could feel his hard-on press into your back as you sunk into his embrace, turning you on even more.

"How does that feel, baby?" he rasped, kissing your temple as he could feel you beginning to unravel on his fingers. "Is this what you wanted?"

You whimpered, biting your lip as you nodded your head. "Yes!"

As his fingers moved quickly inside of you, you felt his free hand wrap around your torso before moving up to your chest, his fingers ghosting over your hardened nipple.

"Please, Art," you whimpered, so close to your high. He took your words as a sign to keep going and allowed his fingers to fondle your breast, which sent you over the edge.

"Fuck, I'm-" you whined, your words caught dead in your throat as your orgasm washed over you, a defeated moan sounding from your chest.

He was mesmerized as he watched you, the way your head kicked back against his chest and you gripped his thigh as you came down from your climax. The pure ecstasy was seeping from you, and it drove him wild that he brought you to this state.

Carefully, he removed his fingers from your soaked core, bringing them to his mouth before sucking them clean. Your head snapped around to watch him, going feral at the way he reveled at the taste of you. You couldn't tear your eyes away from him.

Your hands cupped the sides of his head, your fingers running through his blonde locks of hair. His eyes fell on your wet, plump lips before he smashed his own against them without warning.

A whine of approval sounded from the back of your throat, your body quickly crawling into his lap, straddling him as you sunk deeper into the kiss. His hands ran up the sides of your thighs before settling on the flesh of your ass, squeezing it as he held your core down against his hard-on.

His lips finally pulled away from yours, both of you out of breath as you met each other's gaze once again. He was quick to attack your neck, leaving sloppy and wet kisses all over your skin as he rocked your hips over his erection for any sort of release he could get.

Your fingers tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck, earning a low groan to sound from his chest, which went straight to your core. You were growing impatient, pulling away from him in order to tug your tank top over your head. His eyes fell to your bare chest, a look of pure lust haunting them.

You quickly stood up from his lap to remove your shorts along with your underwear, giving him the opportunity to rid himself of his clothes as well. Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head as his hard-on slapped against his lower stomach once he pulled his boxers off, his tip reddened and already leaking with precum.

"Come here, baby," he said soothingly, his hands pulling you back into his lap once more, your bare chest flush with his. Your faces were inches apart, your lips parted as you watched him reach between your bodies and grasp his cock, slowly giving it a few pumps before he aligned himself with your core.

You raised your hips a little, hovering over him to allow him to guide himself into you, a deep moan ripping from your chest when you finally sank down on him.

"Fuck," he groaned, the feeling of your wet core overriding his senses. You stretched around him so sweetly, taking him so well he couldn't help but moan.

Your hands settled comfortably on his shoulders, using them to help stabilize yourself as you began to rock your hips into a steady motion. You couldn't help but bite your lip, unable to keep your moans from falling out of your mouth.

He filled you to the brim, reaching a part of you deep inside that had never fully been satisfied. It made you ecstatic; you couldn't get enough of him.

"Fuck me, Art," you moaned, pulling at the hair at the nape of his neck. "Fuck me hard."

He let out a shaky breath at your bluntness but obeyed you nonetheless. His hands gripped your hips roughly before he began a steady pace of fucking up into you, making you reel your head back in pleasure.

"Look at you, taking me so well," he moaned in between whimpers of pleasure, gripping your hips harder as he quickened his thrusts. You were a blubbering mess at this point, your head falling to the crook of his shoulder to muffle your cries.

His arm wrapped around your torso to keep you steady, his free hand moving to rake through your hair and pull your head back up to meet his gaze. He watched you intently as tears formed in your eyes, your orgasm not too far away.

"So pretty," he cooed, cupping your face. "All for me, right?"

"I'm yours, Art," you whimpered, clawing at his bicep as you felt yourself tipping over the edge. "All yours. Fuck, I'm close!"

Your moans were like music to his ears, sounding so melodic as your eyes fluttered shut in lust. With a few quick final thrusts, your second orgasm washed over you, making you writhe with pleasure as a nearly pornographic moan ripped from your chest.

He gripped your hips as he stilled his movements, his eyes intently watching you as your face contorted with your climax. He nearly came at the sight, letting out a shaky moan as you slumped back against him, completely fucked out.

"Fuck," you breathed, looking up at him as he panted heavily, a lazy smile on his face.

Suddenly, you remembered he hadn't come yet, and your body was already sliding off of him and sinking to your knees between his legs before you could even think otherwise.

"Wait, no you don't have to-" he assured you as he sat up, but you were already shushing him and taking him into your hand, gently pumping him as you gripped his thigh for leverage.

His eyes were blown out with lust as he watched you jerk him off, relaxing into your touch as a whimper escaped his throat. You looked so sexy sitting in between his legs, so eager to help him reach his climax. It didn't take long before he was letting out a guttural groan and painting your chest with his release.

His chest heaved up and down as he pulled himself back together, taking in your appearance before him. He never wanted to forget you like this; your face flushed and dewey with sweat from the orgasm he had just given you.

"Sorry, baby," he breathed, sitting up to grab your tank top and wipe you clean with it. You sent him a small smile, thankful for the gesture before you got back on the couch next to him and curled into his side. He grabbed the blanket that was hanging over the back of the couch and laid it over the two of you, trying to make you as comfortable as possible.

"Thant was..." you finally said after what felt like a long beat of silence, trying to find the right words.

"Fucking amazing?" he finished your sentence, earning a laugh from you.

"I was going to say unexpected, but that works too."

#art donaldson #art donaldson smut #mike faist #challengers #scarlet was here!#mike faist smut

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fisheshavegill · 2 days

Text

「 ✦ CRA ✦ 」 Crazy Rich Asians

pairing: sunghoon! fem reader! | slight heeseung!fem reader

warnings: cursing, slight suggestive, mentions of @ buse , slight violence? lmk what i missed

a/u note: Pinch me, because I'm about to hit 'post' on something I thought would take me eons to finish. But look at us now, defying all odds and deadlines 😜🤌

!! No proofreads on this one, so if there's anything wrong with the grammar or anything else, I apologize. !!

wc: 10.5k

Picture this: You're at a dining table by the pool, feeling like VIPs under a warm little roof. You and your partner, brought together by one of life's rarest miracles - a shared breakfast! This morning it seems that all the planets are in line and all the stars are aligned just for you two. and your schedules finally decided to stop playing hard to get. But heyyyy?? Who knew dining together could feel like winning the lottery?

“I’ve been starving my whole entire life,” Sunghoon sighed dramatically, eyeing the spread of delicious food like a kid in a candy store.

“Don’t you eat?” you teased, raising an eyebrow in mock concern.

“Well, my schedule doesn’t occupy any meals whatsoever,” Sunghoon replied with a hint of resignation, grabbing his utensils with a flourish. “Besides, the only thing my body digests is caffeine whenever I am in the office,” he added, raising his cup of coffee in a toast to his perpetual fuel source.

“Ah, the breakfast of champions,” you remarked with a grin. “But seriously, you should consider nourishing your body with something more substantial.” Sunghoon grinned back. “Perhaps I should.”

“Just don't let your ambitions eat you alive. Remember, even beasts need sustenance.”

"Wow, are you joking?" he countered, a playful glimmer dancing in his eyes as he curled an eyebrow in mock disbelief.

"Joke? Kill the thought,” you replied with a chuckle, shaking your head at the playful banter.

"You're toying with me, aren’t you?" he persisted, his tone shifting to one of mock seriousness as he mirrored your laughter.

“Well….”

“How’s business going?” you asked, smoothly changing the subject as your fingers traced the rim of your glass, ready to delve into more serious conversation amidst the morning laughter.

“Um…” he squinted his eyes for a good two seconds.

“I've been meticulously examining our business strategies, and it's become apparent that we need to fine-tune our approach to stay ahead of the curve.”

You nod, taking a sip of your water, “Especially with the new product launch coming up” he adds “It's all about adaptability and seizing opportunities as they arise. Speaking of which….”

“Go on”

“Well you know, things like expanding product lines or exploring new markets. But also…..other personal milestones.”

“Personal milestones?” you ask

There was a moment of silence between the two of you, the clinking of cutlery the only sound in the room. He raised his eyebrows as he was hesitant to speak.

“ I was thinking more along the lines of…..having someone to continue the legacy in the near future” There was again silence that filled the atmosphere, a much intense one. “Don’t you think that's a bit too soon?” you chuckle at him.

“Yeah….yeah, let's take our time with this. No rush” he pats your shoulder, A small yet uneasy smile to kill off the moment of whatever was that.

“I was also thinking about grandma this morning” he says as the breakfast continued “Is everything alright with her?” you replied as he takes a sip of his coffee

“Well, she’s still in bed. I spoke with my mom yesterday, and she mentioned that grandma's feeling lonely”

“I thought maybe we could see her this afternoon, after I finish up some business papers.” he added as you smile at him

"Perhaps we could swing by the florist on our way and grab a lovely bouquet of her favorite roses" he suggested eagerly, catching your nod of agreement. The sense of excitement in his voice, enthusiasm shining through. While he tended to be talkative, it was when his adrenaline kicked in that his thoughts spilled out most freely.

Inside a charming flower shop filled with an array of vibrant blooms. You and Sunghoon, stand not so near the counter, eagerly awaiting the completion of a floral arrangement.

“Look at all these stunning arrangements..I can't decide which one your granny would like best.” You say as you took a picture of the flowers

“She always appreciates anything with roses. They remind her of her garden back home.” Hoon smiles as he touches one of the rose petals.

Waiting in line took a very long time as the flower shop was filled with a lot of customers today. “What if I pop over and grab some cinnamon rolls for your granny?”

“Where?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You point at the bakery shop just in front of the flower shop. “Sure, go ahead, I’ll keep looking for flowers for the arrangement.”

You stepped into the cozy bakery, the aroma of freshly baked cinnamon rolls enveloping you in warmth. Your eyes were enough to dance over the array of treats on display, finally settling on a dozen of the irresistible pastries.

Making your way to the line was easy since it wasn’t occupied that much, though your attention was drawn to someone familiar—a figure in a black hoodie, blue jeans, and a beanie, with his face partially obscured.

"Heeseung? Hi there!" you called out, waving at him with a smile. It took a moment, but, well, recognition dawned on his face, and he returned your greeting with a grin.

"Y/N. “

“It's been ages. How have you been?" Heeseung exclaimed. You closed the distance between you and Heeseung. "I've been good, thank you. Just here to pick up some cinnamon rolls for Hoon’s grandma. How about you?"

Heeseung's smile widened. "I've been busy with work, but things are going well. Thanks for asking."

“We should definitely catch up sometime," you suggested. As you chatted, it struck you how much Heeseung had transformed. Gone were the days of boyish charm; now, he exuded the confidence of a man who's survived one too many group projects. His eyes held a glint of wisdom, or perhaps it was just the reflection of his newfound love for Sudoku puzzles. But fear not, underneath that veneer of maturity, he was still the same old Heeseung, a buddy whose loyalty could rival that of a golden retriever—just with fewer tail wags and more inside jokes.

The bakery is eerily quiet now, with just you and Heeseung left amidst the faint scent of cinnamon. You glance at your watch, only to realize you've become a time traveler, lost in the tantalizing vortex of pastry-induced euphoria.

"Oh, I completely forgot about the flowers for Hoon's grandma" you exclaimed, a twinge of guilt creeping into your voice.

Heeseung chuckled softly, his warm eyes reflecting genuine understanding. "Don't worry about it," he reassured, his voice carrying a comforting tone. "I'm sure Hoon will understand. Besides, it was really nice catching up with you." He nudges the door open.

You shared one last smile outside the bakery before hastily grabbing a box of cinnamon rolls and rushing out of the bakery, mentally berating yourself for being so distracted. As you dashed across the street to the flower shop, you noticed Sunghoon standing by the window, his arms crossed and a bemused expression on his face.

Forget it, you were oblivious that Sunghoon was giving glares on the window of the flower shop. "Running late, huh?" Sunghoon teased as you entered the flower shop, a playful grin on his lips.

You shot him an apologetic look while setting the box of cinnamon rolls down on the counter. "Sorry, Sunghoon. Time just got away from me. But I come bearing treats."

Sunghoon's eyes lit up at the sight of the cinnamon rolls. "Ah, you're forgiven then. But you owe me something for making me wait." You chuckled, knowing he was only half-serious. "Deal. So, what flowers are we getting for Grandma today?"

Sunghoon leaned in closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Well, Grandma loves those white roses we got last time, but I was thinking we could add some baby breaths this time. Mix it up a bit, you know?"

"Sounds perfect”

You and Sunghoon make your way to his grandmother's room, with you shouldering the box of cinnamon rolls, their sweet scent wafting through the hallway, while Sunghoon gracefully carries the flower bouquet.

Entering the room, his grandmother is in conversation with a bedside nurse, discussing her medications. Sunghoon sets his coat down on the couch before approaching her with a warm smile. "Halmeoni, How are you feeling today?" he asks, his concern evident in his tone.

You follow suit, offering a gentle hug as you greet her, "Hi, halmeoni! We've missed you." eyes light up in your presence.

"And I've missed you two. It's been too long since you last visited."

"We brought you some flowers and a box of cinnamon rolls to lighten up the mood," you mention, presenting the treats with a flourish. "Oh, bless you, dear. You always think of everything,". Turning the conversation to entertainment, Sunghoon suggests bringing her some DVDs, to which she declines, mentioning the hospital TV.

As the conversation flows, Sunghoon inquires about her health, “So, how have you been feeling overall? Any improvement?” he asks “Oh, you know, ups and downs. But I'm staying positive.”

His grandmother's gaze shifts to you, her expression curious yet caring. "You know, dear, you've been looking a bit different lately. Are you feeling alright?" she asks, her concern evident in her tone.

"Oh, well, Grandma, that's very kind of you to say. Maybe it's just the lighting in here," you respond, pointing at the windows that are no longer covered with curtains.

There's an awkward silence as his grandma continues to look at you, her expression unreadable. Sunghoon clears his throat, "Grandma, do you need anything else while we're here? Magazines, maybe some snacks?"

She shakes her head, "No, I'm fine for now. Just having you two here is enough to lift my spirits," she says, looking at both of you with warmth in her eyes.

"Hey, how about we grab a cup of coffee?" Sunghoon suggests a faint smile playing on his lips. "I could really use a breather after all that catching up," he adds, gently closing the door behind him. The conversation with his grandma was cut short since it was her time for sleep medications.

“I think I'll pass on the coffee. You seem like you've already had enough caffeine for the both of us." you chuckle lightly, gesturing to the slight jitteriness in Sunghoon's movements.

Sunghoon blinks, "Yeah, you might be right," feeling the residual effects of his earlier espresso shot he took as he does his business papers. "Maybe we can just take a walk instead? Clear our heads a bit."

“A stroll in the park with my favorite person.” Sunghoon grins as he looks at you. “Flattery will get you everywhere, you know.” you nudge him “Hey, it's not flattery if it's true” he says as he avoids your nudging.

“The flowers we gave to my grandma reminds me of that bouquet I got you on our 4th anniversary.” “Good thing you noticed” you smile fondly. “Though, you know you don't have to wait for special occasions to bring me flowers, right?” you teased him.

“Duly noted Babe. I'll keep that in mind for next time.” He grins sheepishly

It was a warm spring afternoon, and the park was alive with families and laughter. But for you and him, Well. Maybe it was a moment of reflection.

Since nothing lingered in the air between the two of you but subtle tensions.

Believe me, Sunghoon, normally pragmatic and level-headed, found himself swept away by the notion of parenthood ever since both of you got married, however he couldn’t really bring that up since he felt you despised it.

As both of you wandered through the park, the sight of families enjoying their time together stirred a longing within him. Watching couples with baby strollers pass by, he could feel a sense of yearning for what could be.

“Our future, huh? You're getting ahead of yourself, aren't you?” you said. “Imagining us with a little one of our own someday, it's a pretty nice thought.” he grins

“Alright, alright, let's not get carried away just yet. We have plenty of time for that.” you say as you playfully roll your eyes. “Fair enough,” he chuckles. “But admit it you’ve thought about it too, right?” he ask, looking into your eyes for any sort of approval;.

“Well, whenever the time comes, I know we'll make great parents.” he squeezes your hand. You smile at him as he lean your head to his shoulder.

You're quite committed when it comes to keeping promises, aren't you? So, about catching up with Heeseung yesterday... Wasn't exactly a meticulously planned rendezvous, but you figured out that meeting over coffee would be rather effortless, especially since it's on your tab.

Settling into the cozy café chair, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air, and you glance at your watch once more. Heeseung was running a bit late, but you didn't mind. It gave you a chance to soak in the ambiance of the quaint café and anticipate catching up with an old friend.

Just as you start to wonder if he forgot about your meeting, the door swings open, and Heeseung strides in with his trademark smile. "Sorry I'm late," he says with a sheepish grin, sliding into the chair opposite you. "Traffic was insane."

You wave off his apology with a chuckle. "No worries. I was enjoying the people-watching anyway." Heeseung glances around the café, taking in the cozy atmosphere. "Nice choice of venue. It's been ages since I've been here."

"Yeah, I thought it'd be a good spot for a relaxed chat," you reply, flagging down a waiter to order some drinks.As you wait for your orders to arrive, Heeseung leans forward, a curious glint in his eyes. "So, what's been going on with you lately? Any exciting updates?"

Launching into a lively recount of recent events in your life. Heeseung listens attentively, interjecting with questions and anecdotes of his own. After a while, the conversation shifts to reminiscing about old times. You both share a laugh over embarrassing high school stories and nostalgic memories of your college days.

"You remember that road trip we took senior year?" Heeseung says, a nostalgic smile playing on his lips. "That was one for the books. ""Definitely," you reply with a grin. "Getting lost in the middle of nowhere and surviving on gas station snacks for hours. Good times." He sighs.

The waiter arrives with your drinks, and you both take a moment to savor the rich aroma of the freshly brewed coffee before diving back into conversation.

"Hey, I've been meaning to ask," he begins tentatively, "how's Sunghoon? Last I heard, he was doing pretty well." You pause for a moment, surprised by the sudden mention of your husband. Sunghoon and Heeseung had been classmates in high school, but they weren't particularly close. But Heeseung was probably the reason why you both met since he invited you to a party, the rest was history.

"Oh, Sunghoon's doing great, thanks for asking," you reply with a warm smile. "He's been busy with work lately, but he's doing what he loves, so he doesn't mind the long hours." Heeseung nods, his. "That's good to hear.”

You chuckle softly “He's definitely driven, that's for sure. Sometimes I have to remind him to take a break and….” you trail off, and there was silence grown between the two of you

"Do you have a girlfriend?" You blurted out, instantly regretting it as if your mouth had been caffeinated with a shot of espresso and a splash of tequila.

Heeseung's eyes widened ever so slightly at the unexpected inquiry, but he couldn't help but chuckle. "Nope, no girlfriend on the horizon. Too busy juggling work and, well, trying not to burn down the kitchen every time I attempt to cook."

You both shared a laugh, the awkwardness of the moment dissipating like morning fog under the warm rays of a comedic sunrise.

You nod, relieved at his casual response. "Sorry for saying that out of the blue” you say “But you never know when someone might come along and sweep you off your feet.” you add, as Heeseung grins, shaking his head. "Yeah, maybe someday. For now, I'm just enjoying the single life." You chuckle at him.

Eventually, the café begins to empty out, and the waiter discreetly clears away the last of the dishes. "Well, I guess we should probably head out," you say reluctantly, gathering your belongings.

Heeseung nods, a hint of reluctance in his expression. "Yeah, I suppose so. But hey, let's not leave it so long until the next time we catch up, okay?"

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through you at the thought of reconnecting with Heeseung more regularly. "Definitely. And who knows? Maybe next time, you'll have some exciting dating stories to share."

Heeseung chuckles, throwing an arm around your shoulder as you make your way out of the café. "Yeah, maybe. Thanks for the chat, though. It was really great catching up."

As you step into the grand foyer of the mansion, the tranquil air is gently stirred by the soft melody of a jazz tune, dim lights, with a scent of lavish lavender spreading throughout the whole place.

"Well, well, look who decided to grace us with her presence," a familiar voice calls out, drawing your attention.

It's Sunghoon, standing regally on the first-floor landing, clad in a luxurious robe with a book in hand. Won't deny, won't lie. You were weirdly checking him out. . His gaze meets yours as he descends the staircase which drives you terrifically insane. The robe was barely covering some parts of his chest, his collarbone exposed.

"Y/N, where did you disappear to? You didn't even leave a note," he chides with a playful smirk.

You offer a sheepish smile, shrugging slightly. "Oh, Sunghoon, don't be so dramatic," you retort, taking a few steps closer to him, your heels clicking lightly on the marble floor. "I just popped out for a caffeine fix with an old friend. Didn't want to disturb your intense battle with the stock market."

He chuckles softly, his eyes sparkle with amusement as he crosses his arms, you could see his veins.

"You know me too well, love," he concedes, beginning to descend the rest of the stairs. "But next time, a little heads-up wouldn't hurt. I was starting to think you flirted with the barista."

"Are you kidding me?" you scoff incredulously, a playful glint in your eye as you meet his gaze. you graze your hand on his chest. You slightly tilted your head as laughter bubbles up between you, filling the foyer with warmth and light. You give a peck on his lips.

Enough flirtatious session, wouldn't it be delightful to conclude the day by unwinding with a nightcap in the study room?

Picture it: the warm glow of the fireplace casting a cozy ambiance.

Sunghoon gestures for you to take a seat on the plush sofa, while he pours both of you a glass of fine whiskey from the crystal decanter. “So, about our plans for the following weeks…”

You settle comfortably into the sofa, raising an eyebrow inquisitively as you take the glass from him. “What plans are those, dear? You're not plotting to whisk me away on another surprise adventure, are you?”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he takes a seat beside you, moreover getting a perfect angle of his side view. “Not quite, my love. Actually, we've been invited to my cousin's wedding.”

“Remember Sakura? She's finally tying the knot”

The news was absolutely spontaneous and here's the kicker - he’s been asked to be the best man. Their wedding preparation had been announced a few months back, but if it wasn’t for his busy schedules alongside tons of business trips, he wouldn’t be so damned “oblivious” about it.

“Just slipped my mind amidst the chaos of work and other commitments. But don't worry, Y/N, we have a lot of time to get everything sorted.” he says, planting a light kiss on your lips “I'll have to work on my best man duties from now on." Sunghoon replied, taking a sip of his drink. You chuckled softly, however you knew deep inside without any doubts that he’ll not do it any splendidly.

But who knows? maybe a sense of anticipation swirled for him, Perhaps tinged with excitement for the upcoming celebration.. Whatever that was, He's acting like being the best man is some kind of reunion with his "loved ones." Like, please, spare yourself the sentimental crap.

First week of wedding preparation. Everything started to get more tense than usual, talk about the dress fittings first of all? Good thing you were close with one of the bridesmaids. Yeah, the one that Sunghoon specified as “the most angel-like” out of all of his cousins? Chaewon.

Sakura’s attention was pulled in every direction, leaving Chaewon and you to your own devices. Leaning against the wall, both of you exchanged commiserating glances, silently plotting an escape from the dresses.

"I can't believe we have to wear these in front of everyone," Chaewon muttered under her breath. You nodded sympathetically. "I know, but what choice do we have? It's for Sakura’s big day." Chaewon sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I just hope we don't trip over these ridiculous skirts."

A mischievous grin tugged at your lips. "Well, if we do, at least we'll go down together." We shared a laugh.

As the bridesmaid’s fittings came to an end, Sakura approached both of you with a hopeful expression. "So, what do you think? Are you ready to rock those dresses?"

Chaewon and you exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between both of you . With a shared nod, you both turned to Sakura, plastering on your most convincing smiles.

"We can't wait to strut our stuff down the aisle." Sakura’s face lit up with delight, her excitement contagious. "That's what I like to hear! Thank you both so much for being a part of my special day."

Though the road ahead might be filled with questionable fashion choices and inevitable mishaps. And who knows? Maybe, just maybe, both of you would even learn to love those dreaded bridesmaid dresses along the way.

The plush surroundings of the fancy restaurant provided a luxurious backdrop as Sunghoon and you settled into our seats, the clinking of cutlery and murmur of conversation filling the air.

"So, how was your day, Sunghoon?" I asked, my voice warm with genuine interest.He sighed, running a hand through his hair with a weary expression. "Busy, as always. Finalizing the details for the bachelor party and dealing with work stuff. You know how it is."

I nodded sympathetically, squeezing his hand in understanding. "Sounds like a handful. Well, hopefully, dinner will be a chance for us to unwind."

As both of you perused the menu, the conversation naturally turned to Sakura's upcoming wedding, a topic that had been on both of your minds lately. With Sunghoon being the best man and me a bridesmaid, the dress fittings were a common concern.

"So, about Sakura's wedding," Sunghoon began, his tone thoughtful. "Have you heard anything about the dress fittings?"

I sighed, setting down the menu with a slight frown. "Unfortunately, yes. It seems there's been a bit of a snag."

Sunghoon's eyebrows furrowed in concern. "What happened?" I leaned in closer, lowering my voice to a whisper. "Well, let's just say the bridesmaid dresses are a bit too much"

He groaned, running a hand through his hair.

"You're kidding. What's wrong with them?"

I grimaced, recalling the ill-fitting gown from earlier in the day. "They're... less than flattering. Chaewon and I practically had to wrestle ourselves into them."

Sunghoon shook his head in disbelief. "This wedding seems to be one hurdle after another. First, the venue mix-up, and now this."

I nodded in agreement, my frustration mounting. "Tell me about it. I just hope Sakura doesn't have a massive breakdown before the big day."

The evening ends with Sunghoon hoping that both of you would survive the wedding without any major disasters.

Time seemed to slip through your fingers like sand, and before you knew it, you were only a week away from the big day. The countdown to Sakura's wedding was on, and the days seemed to blend together in a whirlwind of excitement and anticipation. Amidst the flurry of last-minute preparations, there were countless festivities planned by both the bride and groom, each event adding to the mounting excitement leading up to the main event.

While some of these festivities were optional for you to go to, for Sunghoon, as the best man, attendance was practically mandatory. He found himself side-handling all the arrangements and logistics, ensuring that everything went off without a hitch. From coordinating transportation to managing guest lists, Sunghoon was the epitome of efficiency.

For Sunghoon, these moments often came in the form of late-night visits to home. It became somewhat of a ritual – Sunghoon would arrive, weary and worn, the weight of his responsibilities etched into every line of his face.

Sunghoon stumbled through the doorway with a stumble and a hiccup, the unmistakable scent of alcohol trailing behind him like a mischievous shadow.

You stood in the kitchen, arms crossed and a disapproving frown etched upon your features. "Oh, look who decided to grace us with his presence. I see the festivities were a smashing success." you smile sarcastically.

"Ah, don't be like that, Y/N," he slurred, waving a hand dismissively. "I'm just embracing my duties as the best man."

You rolled her eyes, accustomed to your husband's antics after years of marriage. "Yes, because stumbling in at the crack of dawn smelling like a brewery is definitely the mark of a responsible best man," you retorted, your tone teasing.

Sunghoon grinned, reaching out to grab your hand as you passed by. "Hey now, don't act like you're not impressed by my dedication," he quipped, his words slightly slurred. "Besides, you knew what you were getting into when you married me. I'm a wild card, babe."

You chuckled, swatting his hand away gently before returning to your phone. "Ah yes a wild card, who is out there making out with random girls instead of just celebrating with your friends." you tease him.

Sunghoon gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. "How could you accuse me of such a thing, my dear? I am a loyal and devoted husband!" You laughed, playfully swatting his arm. "Oh please, spare me the theatrics. I know you're just a big softie who can't handle his liquor."

Sunghoon grinned, pulling you into a hug. "Well, I may be a big softie, but I'm your big softie." You rolled her eyes, returning the hug. "Yes, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

He made a mental note to apologize to you properly once he was sober enough to form those “coherent” sentences. But for now, he was content to bask in your warmth knowing that no matter how wild the night before had been, he always had you by his side to keep him grounded. EAJKHDAJHDAKJDHA

It's like being caught in a whirlwind of confetti and chaos. On one hand, you have the bachelorette party, a guaranteed recipe for chaos and questionable decisions. It's like herding cats through a glitter factory—utterly entertaining, yet slightly concerning for your sanity.

And then, there's the Family Party, where drama flows as freely as the drinks. It's like a real-life soap opera, complete with long-lost relatives and enough gossip to power a small town. You're not sure whether to bring popcorn or a crash helmet, but either way, it's bound to be a rollercoaster ride of awkward conversations and embarrassing anecdotes.

You're not entirely sure if you've ever been to the family party before, or if it's just a folklore passed down through generations like the tale of your aunt’s missing dentures. It's like trying to remember the lyrics to a song you've only heard once in a dream—faintly familiar, but mostly a mystery.

But hey, who needs a memory when you have a survival kit packed with snacks and a fake smile sharp enough to slice through the tension? Whether you're a seasoned veteran or a first-time explorer of this familial jungle, one thing's for sure: you're in for a wild ride, complete with awkward encounters and enough passive-aggressive comments to fuel a small country's worth of therapists. Let the festivities commence... or is it… survive?

A few FEW YEARS back (flashback) !!! (feel free to skip lol)

This heightened attention was not solely a product of chance. In the bustling metropolis of New York, a chance encounter with Charlotte Kim, a figure of notable pedigree and social standing, had unwittingly propelled you into the realm of public scrutiny. Charlotte, once a companion of Sunghoon Park during their university days, captured a candid between you and Sunghoon during a cozy café rendezvous, with the click of her camera.

As the photograph circulated among acquaintances and acquaintances of acquaintances, it served as fodder for speculation and gossip. "No ring?" ventured a curious girl , casting a subtle glance at your bare fingers. "No ring," she affirmed, her response echoing with a quiet confidence that belied the curiosity that surrounded her.

It wasn't long before whispers of Sunghoon's impending return to Korea with a mysterious girl began to permeate the social stratosphere.

In the opulent halls of his mother's ancestral mansion, the air carried the weight of tradition, mingled with the faint scent of aged oak and polished silver. As the evening sun cast long shadows through the antique lace curtains, the family gathered for an elegant dinner, each member donning their best "pretending to like each other" attire.

As the evening progressed, conversation flowed freely, punctuated by the clink of fine crystal and the soft rustle of silk. Sunghoon’s uncles pontificate about politics, waving their fork like a seasoned politician making empty promises, while his aunties critiqued the latest art trends with the fervor of a Renaissance art critic stuck in the wrong century.

Yet beneath the surface civility, tensions simmered, a silent undercurrent of rivalry and resentment that threatened to boil over at any moment. The family dog, “Sir Barkington III” whatever that name was , oblivious to the human drama unfolding, happily gnawed on a bone under the table, providing the only genuine display of contentment in the room. As the night wore on, it became increasingly clear that the only thing more polished than the silverware was the art of pretending everything was fine in this dysfunctional yet impeccably dressed family.

The soft glow of chandeliers, like celestial spotlights, illuminated the opulent hall, casting a glow on the perfectly coiffed heads of the guests. You found yourself standing beside Mrs. Minseo Park, your husband's mother, amidst a sea of relatives so rich they sneeze gold dust.

It felt like being a penguin at a peacock convention—out of place and desperately hoping no one notices your lack of feathers. And yet, there you were, about to play a game with higher stakes than a poker match in a diamond mine.

Cue the dramatic music~~~~

As the champagne bubbles in your glass, you couldn't shake off the feeling of being under Mrs. Minseo's microscope. "You know, Y/N, these family gatherings always make me feel like I'm auditioning for a role in a historical drama," Mrs. Minseo quipped, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

You mustered a strained smile. "Ah yes, the importance of lineage and all that jazz."Mrs. Minseo took a sip, her gaze sharpening. "Speaking of lineage, have you and my son had the 'talk' about expanding the family tree?"

The topic had been a persistent thorn in your side, poking at you from all angles. "Well, it's been a topic of discussion," you replied cautiously.

Mrs. Minseo raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"And... let's just say we're still in the brainstorming phase," you admitted, feeling like you were tiptoeing through a minefield. Mrs. Minseo’s disapproval practically radiated off her. "Three years of marriage, dear. Time to start popping out those heirs."

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. "Easier said than done, Mrs. Minseo. Sunghoon and I have a few more items on our to-do list before we dive into parenthood." Mrs. Minseo’s perfectly painted lips formed a thin line. "Such as?"

"Such as not wanting to raise our kids in a cardboard box," you shot back, your patience wearing thin. Her expression hardened. "A woman's place is in the home, dear. Haven't you heard?"

You took a deep breath, summoning your inner calm. "Yes, but I also heard that women can do anything men can do, except maybe pee standing up. So forgive me if I want a career and a family."

Mrs. Minseo’s eyes narrowed. "If you focused more on being a wife, maybe Sunghoon wouldn't have wandering eyes."

Your jaw practically hit the floor. "Excuse me?"

She leaned in, her voice dripping with disdain. "I've seen the way he looks at other women at these kinds of events. If you can't fulfill his needs as a wife, don't be surprised if he seeks companionship elsewhere."

Your stomach churned with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "Sunghoon loves me, and I trust him." Mrs. Minseo’s façade softened, but her disapproval lingered. "I hope you're right, dear. For your sake."

With a curt nod, she excused herself, leaving you feeling like you'd just been hit by a whirlwind of outdated opinions and passive-aggressive remarks. But you refused to let her rain on your parade. You and Sunghoon would figure out your family plans on your own terms, thank you very much. And if anyone dared to question your choices or your marriage, they'd better be ready for a battle.

The time that you turned around wine splattered across your dress, turning your elegant attire into a vibrant Rorschach test, you couldn't help but let out a startled yelp. "Oh, for the love of... who just painted me like one of those French girls?" you grumbled, turning to face the perpetrator, turning around to face the perpetrator, only to be met with the sheepish grin of none other than Heeseung, yeah, your old high school buddy.

“Heeseung? What in the world are you doing here?" you exclaimed, trying to process the surreal moment. This was supposed to be a strictly family affair, and last time you checked, Heeseung wasn't on the guest list.

Heeseung scratched the back of his head, a guilty expression crossing his features. Heeseung grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Always prepared, my friend. You never know when a good pratfall might come in handy. Right?”

As you both attempted to mop up the mess (both literal and figurative), you couldn't shake off the surrealness of the situation. Here you were, at a supposedly exclusive family party, and lo and behold, Heeseung, the long-lost friend, pops up like a pop-up ad on a website.

"So, spill the tea, Heeseung. What brings you to this neck of the woods?" you asked, genuinely curious about his unexpected appearance. Both of you guys walking onto the garden fields.

Heeseung scratched the back of his head, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Well, funny story. Turns out my mom is the long-lost cousin twice removed of your husband's aunt's neighbor's cat sitter."

You couldn't help but burst into laughter at his convoluted explanation. "Ah, the classic 'six degrees of separation' scenario. Who knew our family trees were intertwined in such bizarre ways?"

Heeseung grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Yeah, small world, huh? But hey, at least it led me to this moment of wine-spilling glory."

As you both share a laugh at the absurdity of it all. Sure, he may be a walking calamity, but he was your calamity, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

You ended the night with champagne problems, bidding farewell to the storm and hello to the calm, leaving your Sunghoon behind amidst the wreckage of the “what the fuck is this” party. You can't help but be simultaneously annoyed and amused by the man you call your own. Ah, marriage: where every day is a new adventure in forgiveness and eye-rolling.

As you lay in bed, the air crackling with unspoken tension, you couldn't help but feel like you were starring in your very own melodrama. The evening had been a rollercoaster of emotions, and now, as you lay there in the darkness, you couldn't shake off the feeling that you were trapped in a bad sitcom.

You had arrived home earlier than expected, your blood boiling after yet another run-in with your mother-in-law. Without so much as a warning text to Sunghoon, you had stormed into the bedroom, the door slamming shut behind you like the finale of a dramatic soap opera.

"So, you're just gonna pretend to be asleep, huh?" Sunghoon broke down the silence, the sound of him removing his blazer was briefly audible in the room.

You suppressed a snicker, knowing full well that your acting skills were about as convincing as a toddler's attempt at hiding behind a curtain. Sunghoon's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "Don't 'sleeping beauty' me. Why didn't you tell me you were coming home early?" he crosses his arm. His sleeves rolled up.

You rolled over to face him, a mischievous glint in your eye. "Well, I didn't want to spoil the surprise, obviously. Plus, I needed some alone time with my thoughts. You know, to contemplate the mysteries of the universe and all that jazz."

Sunghoon let out an exasperated sigh, his frustration palpable. "Right, because slamming doors and sulking in bed is the epitome of enlightenment."

You couldn't help but burst into laughter at his deadpan delivery. "Hey, you try dealing with your mother's unsolicited life advice and see how zen you feel."

Sunghoon shook his head in amusement, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite himself. "Fair point. But next time, could you at least give me a heads up before you go all drama queen on me?"

You grinned, feeling the tension between you dissipate like a popped balloon. "No promises. After all, where's the fun in predictability?"

And with that, the two of you settled back into bed, the laughter echoing off the walls like the soundtrack to your own private sitcom. Because when life throws you curveballs, sometimes all you can do is laugh and roll with the fucking punches.

CHAPTER 2

As the morning sun cast its cheerful glow over the amusement park, Sunghoon was knee-deep in best man duties, leaving you to spend the day with Heeseung. As you strolled through the park, Heeseung’s excitement was palpable, like a puppy on caffeine.

“So, Heeseung, what’s our first stop?” you asked, trying to keep up with his brisk pace.Heeseung pointed enthusiastically to the roller coaster towering above the trees. “That one! Let’s kick things off with a scream!”

You chuckled nervously, eyeing the coaster's loops. “Oh, joy. I hope my breakfast stays put.”

The line for the roller coaster was surprisingly short, and before you could say "safety harness," you found yourselves hurtling through the twists and turns. Heeseung's laughter echoed against the screams as you both clung on for dear life.

Once the ride ended, Heeseung looked positively thrilled. “That was awesome! What’s next?” You scanned the park map, trying to ignore the fact that your stomach was now on speaking terms with your throat. You grinned, feeling a bit like a daredevil by comparison. “Agreed. How about something less... vomit-inducing?”

Heeseung was nodding so vigorously, you thought his head might detach and roll into the nearest carnival game booth. And as you ventured into the land of rigged games and dubious prizes, Heeseung's competitive spirit burst forth like a lion who had chugged a case of energy drinks. It was less "friendly competition" and more "I must win at all costs or my pride will never let me hear the end of it."

“You think you can beat me at ring toss?” he taunted, tossing a ring with unexpected accuracy. You smirked, grabbing a ring of your own. “Oh, it’s on like Donkey Kong!”

The competition escalated, with stuffed animals hanging in the balance. After several rounds of near misses and wild throws, you both walked away with a small army of plush toys and aching arms. As the day came to a close, you collapsed onto a bench, exhausted but grinning from ear to ear.

“Well, Heeseung,” you said, wiping tears of laughter from your eyes, “this was definitely something to remember.” Heeseung grinned back, rubbing his sore shoulder. “No kidding. Thanks for braving the rides and the games with me, Y/N.”

You nudged him playfully. “Anytime, Heeseung. Just maybe next time, we’ll invest in some motion sickness pills.”

As you traipsed through the chaotic carnival with Heeseung, the ridiculousness of the situation hit you like a giant plush hammer. "Who knew being the substitute spouse came with such sweet perks?" you quipped, elbowing Heeseung with a wink.

Heeseung chuckled, his eyes darting from one colorful attraction to another. "Well, I'm flattered to be your stand-in hubby for the day," he replied with a grin. "But let's be real, I'm probably enjoying this more than Sunghoon would."

You both shuffled over to the Ferris wheel, its towering presence promising a view that could make even a bird jealous. As you plopped into your seat, Heeseung leaned back with a satisfied sigh. "Ah, a brief escape from the circus of life," he remarked, lazily surveying the horizon.

You nodded, feeling the serene insanity of the amusement park wash over you. "Absolutely. Although I never pictured spending my day at a theme park with my husband's... what's-their-name-again cousin?" you teased, shooting Heeseung a playful side-eye.

But halfway up, Heeseung's excitement took a nosedive into full-blown panic territory. "Um, Y/N," he whimpered, his face draining faster than a slushie on a hot day, "I think I'm terrified of heights."

You couldn't stifle your laughter. "Really? Just now, when we're halfway to the clouds?" Heeseung clung to the safety bar like a sloth on caffeine until the ride finally ended.

"You're starting to remind me of my husband," you said through giggles. "Except he was scared of thunder..." Your voice trailed off as you extended your hand to Heeseung. "Need a hand, or maybe a parachute?"

You extended your hand to him, but he shot you a skeptical glance. "What the fuck is that suppose to accomplish?" he queried, raising an incredulous eyebrow.

"I dunno, maybe to prevent you from clinging to the safety bar like a koala on a eucalyptus tree?" you retorted with a shrug, nodding toward the towering Ferris wheel. He cocked his head slightly, eyeing you curiously.

"You're cool with this?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I'm just trying to save you from turning green at the thought of heights," you quipped, rolling your eyes at him.

With a reluctant chuckle, Heeseung finally relented, tentatively taking your hand in his. As the Ferris wheel ascended, his grip tightened, but with each rotation, you felt his tension ease. "See? Not so bad, right?" you teased, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

Heeseung let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Yeah, I guess you're not so bad at this” calming thing," he admitted.

As the ride reached its peak, you both marveled at the breathtaking view below. For a moment, all worries melted away, replaced by the simple joy of shared laughter and camaraderie.

When the ride finally descended, Heeseung stepped off with newfound confidence, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Thanks for the hand," he said, giving your fingers a final squeeze before releasing them.

"Anytime," you replied with a grin.

Heeseung, clad in his pajamas, stood in front of the bathroom sink of his sprawling house, , the opulent surroundings only adding to the absurdity of his situation.

"This is beyond ridiculous," he muttered to himself, his reflection in the mirror seeming to agree with a silent nod.

He splashed some water on his face, hoping the shock of the cold liquid would jolt him out of his swirling thoughts. But as he looked up again, his reflection remained unchanged, a constant reminder of the turmoil within.

With a frustrated sigh, Heeseung ran a hand through his hair, his mind racing with questions he didn't have answers to.

Well, isn't that just Murphy's law in action? Of all the fish in the sea, you reel in a big, shiny, unavailable one. Classic! Now, what's next?

Well, Heeseung could always try your hand at convincing you to get a divorce with your husband. No fucking way...That's a one-way ticket to Awkwardsville.

How about we start with a little self-reflection? Then maybe sign up for a dating app where all the profiles actually belong to single people.

You could practically hear the ominous music playing as you went out with Heeseung, fully aware that a note-less escapade would land you in the doghouse. So, you hastily wrapped up your amusement park adventure, not because you were done having fun, but because you were on a mission to beat Sunghoon home, avoiding the impending interrogation about your lack of communication! It’s like a high-stakes game of tag, except instead of being "it," you’re just "in trouble."

"Bloody hell," you muttered, juggling all your amusement park loot as you tiptoed back into the house. You couldn’t believe you’d danced so close to the flames of Sunghoon’s note wrath, but hey, victory was yours.

There you were, freshly scrubbed and draped in a silk nightie, the epitome of nighttime sensuality. Yeahhh perhaps too much sensuality for a regular evening at home. Fortunately, that was a night to remember later that evening.

Rousing from slumber to the sensation of a heavy weight on your stomach, just discovering Sunghoon nestled against you, shirtless, arms encircling you in a gentle embrace and apparently mistaking you for a human-sized teddy bear in his sleep.

If only you went straight to bed yesterday, but no, you made your way downstairs, night air enveloping you like a clingy ex, refusing to let go. The “silk nightie”, who was clinging for dear life, seemed to have its own agenda, plotting to reveal more than your freaking thirst. The time you were quenching that thirst, the door creaked open, and in strutted your husband, looking like he’d just seen a ghost, a very seducing one.

You wouldn’t have seen all these love bites scattered all over your body just now in the bathroom mirror. All you knew that man was starved, in fact it was like a vampire attack, like you were some eternal blood source.

"Well, on the bright side, at least it's a clear sign that he's still absolutely obsessed with you!" Chaewon says through a phone call. You rolled your eyes as you switched your phone to the other side of your ear.

"But seriously, I might need to invest in some garlic or fucking turtle necks until these fades away” You were absolutely convinced these marks wasn't planning to vanish by the time the big day rolled around. Well, here's to hoping there's enough makeup foundation to camouflage it – or maybe just hope it passes off as avant-garde art.

As the bachelorette party continued on the beach, the atmosphere grew livelier with each passing moment. Sakura, the bride-to-be, seemed to be in her element, regaling her friends with hilarious anecdotes from her past and leading them in impromptu beach games.

With her claddering in a makeshift veil fashioned from seaweed and shells, twirls around the makeshift dance floor, her laughter infectious as she attempts to teach you the latest dance craze she picked up from a YouTube tutorial.

Yujin dramatically fanned herself, her face flushed from a combination of excitement and the relentless sun. "I swear, if I get any hotter, I'll rival a popsicle on a July afternoon"

Karina, chuckled sympathetically. "Tell me about it. At this rate, I'll be auditioning for the role of tumbleweed in a beachside Western!" wrestling with her wind-mangled hair,

You couldn't help but burst into laughter at their exaggerated plight, feeling a sense of camaraderie amidst the absurdity. "Well, if we're destined to become tumbleweeds, let's at least be the most glamorous ones ever seen on this beach"

Chaewon nodded eagerly. "Absolutely! Move over, Baywatch, here comes the Tumble Squad!"

Despite the idyllic setting, chaos seemed to follow the bride wherever she went. From all of you, bridesmaids frantically searching for her lost engagement ring (which you guys later found buried in the sand during an impromptu game of beach volleyball) to her future mother-in-law mistaking a seagull for the wedding planner, it was abundantly clear that this bachelorette party wasn’t even close to ordinary ones.

As the day goes by, you find yourself nestled on the sandy shores, seeking solace amidst the cacophony of bachelorette shenanigans. Just when you were about to sink into a serene trance, a sight straight out of a tipsy fairy tale unfolded before you.

There she was, the blushing bride-to-be, stumbling towards you with the grace of a drunken seagull, her eyes sparkling with mischief like a mischievous sprite.

With all the finesse of a beached mermaid, she flopped down beside you, disrupting your beachside reverie.

"Heyyy," she slurred, her words riding on a wave of tequila. "Guess what?"

You braced yourself for whatever whimsical revelation was about to befall you.

"Your hubby?" she exclaimed, leaning in so close you could practically taste the margaritas wafting from her breath. "He's our wedding superhero. Save us from total meltdown"

Your laughter bubbled up faster than champagne on New Year's Eve, imagining your usually mild-mannered partner morphing into a wedding-wielding crusader, cape and all.

"He's a legend," she proclaimed, brandishing her cocktail like a triumphant warrior.

"You've hit the jackpot, my friend” she says weakly nudging you.

As the boat swayed gently like a cradle rocked by a tipsy sailor, the groom, Jay, and Sunghoon found themselves caught in a momentary lull in the storm of wedding madness.

"So, you knew about this whole thing and didn't confront her?" Jay leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, looking like a detective from a B-grade movie.

“I gotta play it cool until the 'I do's' are done, you know?" Sunghoon replied, taking a swig of his drink. "Can't be squabbling with my Mrs. while I'm supposed to be your best man. That'd be like serving cake with a side of divorce papers."

"THEE LEE Heeseung, right?”

“ONE OF MY GROOMSMEN?" Jay asked, putting the puzzle pieces together, as he widens his eyes

Sunghoon grimaced, "Yeah, that's the one."

"Bro, that's twisted."

"Messed up, right?" Sunghoon chuckled, though there was a hint of pain in his voice.

"Well, ain't that a pickle," Jay muttered, trying to lighten the mood but failing spectacularly. "I'm just here for the drama, mate. Pass the popcorn." he threw his hands up in mock surrender.

"Thank the heavens you dragged me into this escapade of yours away from your OWN bachelor’s party," Sunghoon says as he trims his fingers through the wine glass.

"Hey, if you stayed longer there, you would have had to punch that guy in the face? Right?” Jay said, with a concerned look.

“Sorry Hoon, can't have you rotting in jail on my wedding day." Sunghoon rolled his eyes, thoroughly unamused by Jay's cavalier attitude, knowing he had a loyal friend, yeah even if that loyalty came with a side of over-the-top theatrics.

Sunghoon actually harbored suspicions well before your chance encounter at the bakery. His intrigue began when he noticed Heeseung's name on the groomsmen list enclosed within the wedding invitation.

Heeseung certainly masked his true nature with a devilish guise, yet you found yourself too preoccupied to realize it.

Yeah, to remember when Heeseung left Sunghoon with bruises after their playdate? It's hard to believe, but it all boiled down to Sunghoon having better toys than him. What's even more surprising is that nobody reprimanded Heeseung for his behavior, it was brushed off as “typical childhood antics."

Heeseung's behavior continued as they grew older, contributing to the growing chasm between them. He would frequently target Sunghoon, resorting to physical violence during vacant times at school. Sunghoon chose to suffer in silence, fearing the consequences if he dared to tell his parents, knowing he'd face even more trouble in school if he did.

"In case it wasn't clear before, let me make it crystal: one more conversation, one more glance, even a hint of your presence near Y/N, and you'll wish you'd never done that" he uttered in a low, ominous tone, his gaze piercing into Sunghoon's soul.

“I’m not afraid of killing you right here, right now” he whispered at Sunghoon, his eyes ablaze with a chilling intensity, after catching you both in conversation at the party where your paths first crossed.

Heeseung's just doing his best protective bulldog impression because he's fucking smitten with you, but let's face it, he's about as intimidating as a fluffy bunny wearing a 'Beware of Rabbit' sign. And yet, despite his valiant efforts, the bond between you and Sunghoon is stronger than ever. I guess love wins all over damn bunny threats

As you sit in the church pew, trying to suppress the urge to fidget and accidentally knock over the flower arrangement, your attention is suddenly diverted by the sight of Ms. Youngseo in all her glory. There she sits, like a majestic peacock in the third row, her hat towering above the congregation like a beacon of eccentricity.

You debate internally whether it's worth risking your dignity to approach her. After all, she's the aunt of Sunghoon, your husband. Ah yes, it’s the lady who made divorce seem like an extreme sport, she’s crazy but at least she is kinder than Hoon’s mother.

Mustering up your courage, telling yourself it's for the sake of civility and maybe a good story to tell later. "Ms.Youngseo, lovely to see you here," you begin, trying to sound casual despite feeling like you're tiptoeing through a minefield.

"Oh, dear, isn't it just a splendid day for a wedding?" she chirps, her voice as cheerful as a Disney character on helium. You nod, trying not to get distracted by the miniature garden atop her head. "Yes, it's quite lovely."

She gives you a knowing smile, as if she's privy to some grand secret. "Ah, weddings. Such joyous occasions. Reminds me of my third one." You resist the urge to raise an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yes, lovely affair, that one. Shame about my ex though. Turns out he had a wandering eye. Literally. Had to get it surgically corrected," she confides, her tone oddly chipper.You're not sure whether to laugh or run for the hills. "Well, uh, glad you could make it to this one."

She pats your hand with a gloved finger. "Oh, my dear, I wouldn't miss it for the world.”

Meanwhile, at the entrance of the church, a silent showdown unfolded like a low-budget Western film. It was the kind of conflict where the only weapons were awkward glances and passive-aggressive sighs. .

Well, Sunghoon's eyes narrow as he spots Heeseung lingering there. Suddenly, it's as if a floodgate of childhood memories bursts open, unleashing a tidal wave of old grudges and playground battles, turning his chest into a pressure cooker of pent-up irritation and resentment.

Heeseung's gaze meets Sunghoon's, as they walk past each other, neither speaks. After many years the tension still hangs thick between them, suffocating the air around them.

And even before Jay and Sakura could even think about saying "I do," you found yourself caught in a poignant stare-down with Sunghoon. Memories flooded in like a nosy neighbor barging into your life uninvited. As the church organ wheezed into life, signaling the start of the grand spectacle, Sunghoon shot you one last desperate glance. Both of you silently mouthed those three little words, "I love you,"

And there it was, causing even the sturdiest of souls to feel a tear or two meander down their cheeks as the bride floated down the aisle, a vision of love and hope in white.

It felt like just yesterday you were the one sauntering down that very same aisle.

As you and Sunghoon settled at a table, basking in the post-nuptial glow, he leaned in with a soft smile, his eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief. "You know," Sunghoon began, his voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia, "seeing Sakura walk down the aisle reminded me so much of our own wedding day."

You chuckled softly, remembering the whirlwind of emotions that had accompanied your own journey down the aisle. "Really? I didn't know I had competition," you teased, nudging him playfully.

Sunghoon grinned, shaking his head. "No competition at all. But seeing her, in that moment, it was like déjà vu. I almost cried, you know."

"Almost?" you raised an eyebrow, feigning disbelief. "You're slipping, Mr. Park. I thought you were the king of sentimental tears."

He chuckled, his gaze lingering on you with affection. "Well, I had to hold it together. Didn't want to steal the spotlight from the happy couple."

You rolled your eyes, reaching for his hand under the table. "You're such a sap," you teased, squeezing his hand gently.

"Only for you," he replied, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips. "Always for you."

Just as the glasses clinked, the speeches began, with him leading the charge. As the toasts flowed like fine wine, you couldn't resist sharing knowing glances, silently acknowledging the uncanny resemblance between Sakura's procession and your own wedding extravaganza. It was indeed déjà vu with champagne.

Outside the elegant venue, away from the laughter and music of the wedding reception, Sunghoon sought a moment of solace, a cigarette hanging between his fingers. Champagne wasn’t enough to relieve all this wedding stress.

He was startled to find Heeseung standing in the shadows, a cigarette of his own between his lips. The sight of his childhood tormentor sent a chill down Sunghoon's spine, but he squared his shoulders, refusing to show weakness.

Heeseung's smirk was as insidious as ever, his gaze lingering on Sunghoon with a predatory glint. "Well, if it isn't little Sunghoon. Enjoying your moment of freedom, away from your precious wife?"

Sunghoon's grip tightened on his cigarette, the ember glowing in the darkness. He forced a tight smile, his voice cold. "Just taking a breather, Heeseung. What about you?

Heeseung's eyes glinted with mischief as he took a drag. "Ah, that is overrated. I prefer the view inside.

“Speaking of views... your wife. She's quite the sight, isn't she?"

Sunghoon's blood chilled at the mention of his wife, his grip on the cigarette tightening involuntarily, his temper ready to burst despite his attempts to keep it in check. "Watch your words, Heeseung. You're skating on thin ice here."

Heeseung chuckled darkly, the sound sending a chill down Sunghoon's spine. "Oh, come on, Sunghoon. Let's be real. She's got curves in all the right places. I bet she keeps you on your toes in bed."

Sunghoon felt his vision blur with rage, it looks like the cigarette is now a forgotten accessory. He stepped forward, "That's crossing the line bud. Don't you dare talk about her like that."

Heeseung's smirk widened, his gaze daring. "Or what? You'll finally grow a backbone? I highly doubt it. You've always been about as sturdy as a wet noodle, Sunghoon. And as for your wife... well, she deserves someone with a bit more backbone, don't you think?"

“Oh please it’s like you’re even better than me” Sunghoon rolls his eyes

“Just admit it” “You’re jealous of me”

“That’s why I had to endure every bit of your endless torments”

With a sudden, sharp impact, everything blurred for a split second. The sensation of Heeseung's fist crashing into Sunghoon's face rips through him like a bolt of lightning.

Sunghoon's control snapped like a brittle twig, his hand lashing out to grab Heeseung by the collar. The air crackled with tension as they locked eyes, the weight of years of resentment hanging heavy between them.

Both of their eyes lock, a silent battlefield where years of bitterness and resentment converge. The air crackles with the tension of unspoken words, heavy with the weight of our tangled history.

But then, with a deep breath, Sunghoon released his hold, his voice steely. "Stay away from her, Heeseung. Or you'll fucking regret it." Before the situation can escalate further, a hand grips his shoulder, pulling Sunghoon back from the brink of violence.

It's Jay, his expression a mix of concern and admonishment.

"Sunghoon, what the hell are you doing?" Jay's voice cuts through the tension, grounding Sunghoon in the reality of the present moment. Sunghoon takes a deep breath, as Jay turns his attention to Heeseung, his tone firm.

"Heeseung, I think it's best if you leave," Jay says, his words carrying a weight of finality while death glaring at Heeseung. With a final glance at Sunghoon, Heeseung nods curtly before disappearing, leaving behind a lingering sense of unease.

As you enter the bedroom, you find Sunghoon sitting on the edge of the bed, his expression a mix of pain and frustration. His lips are swollen and bruised, evidence of the altercation with Heeseung at the wedding reception.

Approaching him with a mixture of concern and amusement, you suppress a smile at the sight of his injured pride. "Well, look at you," you tease gently, "getting into fights at weddings. I always knew you had a knack for drama."

Sunghoon manages a weak chuckle, though it's clear that the pain is still fresh in his mind. "It wasn't my fault," he protests, wincing as he touches his swollen lip gingerly. "Heeseung just sucker-punched me out of nowhere."

Once you've finished tending to his injury, you lean back and regard him with a playful glint in your eye. "You know, maybe you should take it easy on the whole rivalry thing," you suggest lightly. "I don't want to have to patch you up after every encounter with Heeseung."

Sunghoon rolls his eyes, but there's a hint of amusement in his gaze. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he concedes, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your cheek. "But promise me one thing?"

you raise an eyebrow, curious. "What's that?"

Sunghoon's expression turns serious as he meets your gaze. "Promise me you'll stay away from Heeseung," he says softly. "I don't want you getting mixed up in our history."

You smile reassuringly, placing a hand on his cheek. "Don't worry," you assure him, "I have no intention of getting involved in your drama from now on. Besides, I have enough trouble dealing with you."

Sunghoon grins, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips, his injury forgotten for the moment.

incase if some lines/dialogues are familiar to you guys thats because some are from movies/books ive read/watched ! =)

p.s: no i am not gonna make another continuation for this or make a special chapter about it..

#enhypen imagines #enhypen fanfics #enhypen fanfiction #enha x reader #enhypen #enhypen scenarios #enha fluff #enha #fanfic #fisheshavegill #enhypen series #park sunghoon #enha sunghoon #sunghoon #sunghoon fanfic #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon fic

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schmico-fanatic · 11 hours

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You know what I love so much about Tommy? The fact that he has grown to become such a mature person compared to his younger days, and how secure and confident he is now as an out and proud gay man, who doesn't feel uncool or any less macho to show his warm, kind, friendly, and helpful side to the world. Tommy 'Beast' Kinard is the Rock of Gibraltar to Evan 'Buck' Buckley's Mediterranean sea of a bisexual disaster, and it's going to be just perfect and thrilling and satisfying to watch their relationship grow and thrive. ❤

#tommy kinard #evan ‘buck’ buckley #tevan #kinkley #kinley #evan x tommy #buck x tommy #tommy x buck #tommybuck #bucktommy #evan buckley #lou ferrigno jr #oliver stark #911 show #911 abc #911onabc #911 on abc #911

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yuri-is-online · 2 days

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Can we hear your thoughts on Leona! Yutu?

Since Leona died fighting the Phantom, Yutu obviously wouldn't have met him, and I'm wondering about your ideas between what Leona became after NRC, how the loss of Yuu affected him, Leona's death, and Yutu's opinion of him before and after meeting him. I had an errant idea of Leona having Died a Hero's Death and then when Yutu meets him it's like, "THIS is the guy my parent was willing to spend the rest of their life with???"

Anyway yeah. As a Leona Simp, I would much appreciate anything you write.

Does he like cats... you know I have always sort of seen Leona has having a petty rivalry with Grim because he thinks he should be the King Cat, so the image of Leona! Yutu lying in a field with a bunch of cats is sort of a perfect contrast. I like it: Leona! Yutu absolutely loves cats and they love him.

notes: they/them used for Yuu, for context on the fyuuture kid au can be found here and here. You can find even more stuff for it on my masterlist under the series section.

Leona and and his position in the kingdom's line of succession... Based off my understanding of what we see in the Tashmina event I think the Savanna would prioritize protecting their royal family over a lot, something that pissed Leona off. He went to fight the King of Beast's phantom because he saw it as a problem he made and that he needed to take responsibility for sure, but also because he had no faith in his brother to do anything meaningful about it. I want to say that his brother wanted to enshrine Leona as a hero for his sacrifice, but that this decision was very unpopular with his advisors so he was buried in the Elephant Graveyard without much fanfare. He is an extremely popular figure with the hyenas, as is Ruggie. They see him as restoring the Kingdom's honor in a way by defeating the false king, something no other country in the apocalypse can claim, but things are still rough since they can't rely on tourism anymore and the blot has been making the weather really unpredictable, leading to bad harvests and starving people.

If Yuu was Leona's... losing them wouldn't have a noticeable affect on him but it was a massively crushing blow. We know he hates his unique magic because turning things to sand is a curse in the Savanna, but did it really have to be his own family this time? The family he got in spite of himself, the one fucking person who chose him no matter how much he snapped at them and tried to convince them to see him for what he was; a worthless dead end that would only hurt them. And what's worse is he knows that whoever took them had his brother's cooperation.

"Couldn't let me have this one fucking thing could you?" He's laughing as he says it and not even the irritation in his sister in law's eyes makes him back down. "Stuff it. I ain't stupid enough for whatever line you got fed and I don't care about your justifications. You're gonna have to live with this one on your own, Falena. Just like I have to."

He refuses to talk to his other family after that. No matter who is asking or making demands, taking Yuu and Yutu away from him is just one step too far. His brother probably thought that Yuu would be allowed to come home and that's why he let them go, but that's not exactly an excuse Leona would be willing to accept from anyone, let alone the supposed leader of a state. He almost feels relived when the blot phantoms start wreaking things, Leona might just want to sleep until you come to wake him up again but fighting things gives him an excuse to get his mind off things. Dying is a relief, he doesn't have to deal with Idia's whining or living without you any longer than he already has. His only regret is that he had to take Ruggie with him.

I really love this fanart and head cannon fima11 had of Leona's hair being light when he was born, and the color getting darker as he grows, so the idea of something similar happening with Leona! Yutu when he's born is really sweet. Leona's hair sort of resembles a mane, it'd be cute if Leona! Yutu's did the same. And genetics are already so weird I don't think any earth doctors would like too much of it.

Leona! Yutu is a sleepy boy. His hobby is napping and his favorite place in the whole wide world is his bed. He has a bad habit of laying face first in his pillows because he snores pretty loudly and he doesn't want to wake anyone up, which sort of makes him look like he has passed out as opposed to just settled down for a good snooze.

Because he is being raised by a single parent in the human world and not a bunch of gossipy servants hired by emotionally neglectful royalty, Yutu is significantly less entitled than Leona is. He has good sense with his money and can work hard, he just has a bit of a problem with resting bitch face that leaves people thinking he is rude. And to be fair? If someone is testing his patience then he really can be. Apple didn't fall far from the tree, Yutu is absolutely brutal when people test his patience.

Yuu's memories of Leona don't exactly help with his perceived behavior problems, they recall Leona's catty personality and how rude he could be, but that he was so remarkably clever and so very strong, that they were in awe of him sometimes. I think they would mention that he struggled with depression due to a difficult upbringing and feel a need to make sure Yutu felt appreciated and like he could do anything he set his mind to, no matter who he was born as. Yutu just takes that to mean that being a bitch runs in the family and he fully intends to ride that excuse to the bank.

It's a nice thought but Yutu feels a bit conflicted by it. He has no doubt that Yuu will always love and support him, but other people? Yuu might be able to ignore what their neighbors say about them but Yutu can hear them loud and clear. They think Yuu's amnesia is an act, and that he's a weirdo freak. Not to mention they don't have any money so even if he wanted to be a doctor or something like that going to school would be a bit of a pain, even with his grades. He finds school to be boring, and even when he gets bullied by one of the coaches in to taking up a sport because of how strong he is it doesn't help much.

I could see him being very into space and astronomy because he feels like he doesn't belong in your world. He knows a lot of downright stupid stuff about UFO sightings and aliens even though he doesn't believe in them. He is SO DISAPPOINTED when Twisted Wonderland turns out to have no conspiracy theories to talk about, can't think the moon landing was faked if you never had one after all. If the world wasn't literally ending he would be pushing for the Sunset Savanna to win the space race, c'mon guys it is in our name everything the light touches totally expands to the stars-

Like the other beastmen Yutus he maintains his instincts, even in your world. He is extremely territorial about his things and especially your home. Like Cater! Yutu, he has strong feelings of nostalgia for your world, but unlike him it has nothing to do with the monsters or hardships. Lions just tend to stay in the same place for a long time so moving to entirely different world and ecosystem makes him feel weird, even if he prefers his beastfolk body to his human one.

Gets put in Savanaclaw by the mirror. He might like space but his preferred type of argument is rearranging someone's dental work before asking them to explain themselves. He'd be terrible at defending a thesis.

Leona! Yutu's place in the Sunset Savanna hierarchy is tricky. I think, as Yutu is his brother's child, Falena would want some sort of relationship with him as he does clearly love his brother. What makes that hard is that as far as the government is concerned, Leona is dead and that's the end of his part of the family line. Acknowledging that he had a son could further destabilize the already tense political situation in the Savanna since Leona's sacrifice is already a point of conflict between the royal family and a portion of their people. While Crewel has no problem telling Yutu about his father since he has a right to know, the fact that he is technically a prince is completely hidden from him for a long time.

We haven't really played with this idea yet, but I sort of like Leona having a ghost that hangs around his grave sometimes. Idia arranges for Yutu to go there on a day he thinks he'll be hanging around and while Yutu doesn't get to talk to his father he does get to see him and the look of pride in his eyes when the grumpy lion realizes who he is. Leona gets to pass on and be with Yuu while Yutu gets a lesson from his cousin about the concept of the great Kings living on in the sky and how the past lives on in him. Because while Cheka understand his dad's concerns like hell is he not going to meet his favorite cousin. His enthusiasm is really exhausting to Yutu, he appreciates the fact that someone has nice things to say about his dad but he isn't too sure how much he trusts this guy.

Oh right one more thing, I don't want to say each of the Savanaclaw boys would pass their magic on to their Yutu's so if we ever get around to Jack he won't, but Leona should pass on King's Roar to his kid. Causing a drought might be considered a curse but I want to say Leona! Yutu wears it with pride. He loves his roar and that despite all the effort put in to erasing Leona from existence he still lives in him. His head is fit to wear the crown, no matter what anyone says.

Leona clocks what Yutu is the instant he steps out of the portal. It's all in the kid's scent and what runes he used to make the jump. He takes some time to think about what it could mean and comes to a few conclusions. Firstly, if he has a kid with you then he will always have some sort of relationship with you, no not in the yandere possessive way (mostly), he just knows enough about himself and his wants to know that having a kid would not be something he did by accident. If he did that at some point in the future it would be because you were going to stay with him forever and he actually believed that. Something that clearly did not get to happen because of how protective Yutu is of his parent.

Yutu was a bit confused if he should go about interacting with his dad or even ask about him so you can imagine his surprise when he stops by Ramshackle to see Leona half asleep on the couch.

"Oh sorry Yuu isn't here-"

"I know." Leona doesn't even open his eyes, and is he seriously wearing his shoes on the couch? Yuu would kill him for that it's so unsanitary.

"Um. Ok I'll just leave you be the-"

"Why'd you travel back in time?" Oh Leona's eyes are open now and there is something about that stare that's nailing Yutu to his spot and tempting his tail between his legs. His dad must notice because he laughs and shakes his head. "Seriously? If that's all it takes to scare you shitless we really are fucked."

Leona doesn't outright say he knows he's his dad, but Yutu gathers that's probably the case from the difference in his attitude around him compared to everyone else. There's a degree of coldness and severity to Leona when he's giving orders that really isn't present when he's talking to him about overblots or his theories about who is responsible for the bad future. He's almost playful about it, like he is messing with a cub. Which Yutu supposes that he is but still, he doesn't like being treated like a kid. Something he very much regrets telling Leona because holy shit his dad is strong just like Yuu said he was.

I think Leona would make him play chess against him a lot. You can learn a lot about a person by playing chess with them, and since it's something Leona really likes to do he would enjoy sharing it with his son. I think he would also get a kick out of seeing Yutu get really competitive with him about it. Maybe there is some lion in this kid after all.

Leona also makes a subtle effort to teach him about how the court of the Sunset Savanna works. I think Leona would sort of enjoy the fact that his kid didn't grow up as royalty just because it meant he was free of the pressures that he had, but hate everything else he learned about Yutu's childhood. It inspires him to think a bit deeper about how he is going to address this when Yutu is born in this timeline, though he is admittedly lacking on solutions beyond refusing to die this time. He must have been really far gone to even consider making a heroic sacrifice that's not like him at all.

He does get the appeal of his father sort of? Sure he's lazy, but he is extremely intelligent and clearly a lot more knowledgeable about literally everything than Yutu thought he was. When they're working together he sees a very impressive person and reliable leader. When he sees Leona interact with you he has questions. Why do you let him pick fights with you so often? Yutu can tell he's making heart eyes at how you fight back but that's because he's a beatman himself so he can read his body language. And he's not crazy about how he orders you around because if his father is a Prince... wouldn't that mean by marrying him you would also be royalty? He is so confused...

Meanwhile Leona isn't rushing things just because he knows you return his feelings at some point. He wants you to choose to be with him of your own free will, wants the feeling that comes with knowing you did that and he is willing to play the game to get that. Every milestone he reaches is so much sweeter for knowing that he got you on his efforts alone, crappy attitude and all.

The reveal to Yuu, much like the reveal to Yutu is extremely mundane. Leona invites you to spend the night with him sometime after you get together and he asks you while you're curled up on his chest and he's holding you just a bit too tight (not because he's afraid you'll run, not at all) how you would feel if you could never go home.

"A little upset." Because you had resigned yourself to the possibility a long time ago now. There's a chance you're only in Twisted Wonderland because you died in your world anyway, might as well be grateful you're still kicking. "And if you stayed and things went bad here, would you still be alright with that?" You don't hesitate at all to his surprise. "I think I'd be safe if I was with you." Well he really hates to prove you wrong but you still deserve to know.

Leona is weirdly quiet in his anger. He roars sure, but that's to exert control. When he's mad he just gets smug and says a lot of hurtful stuff. He leaves the screaming to Yuu, and I could see a Yuu that got with Leona only to learn they didn't get to spend the rest of their life with him doing a lot of screaming. Preventing the apocalypse is a team effort now but first Yutu and Leona are getting scolded for not letting Yuu in on the secret sooner. Leona is down bad horrendous and Yutu wants to die, he hates making you mad.

If I had to make a list of characters I would trust to find a solution to an apocalypse, Leona would actually be pretty close to the top. He is going to bitch about it the entire way, but if he were given the facts before things went too sideways, I think he would be able to make a good plan to set them straight. And there is no way anyone is going to tell him that he managed to have something as precious to him as Yuu taken away from him and not have him do something about it. He'll swallow his pride and take his licks when he has to, but not on this. Never on this, whoever thought he'd just roll over and die is going to shatter in his hands and be like dust on the wind. He really hopes they have enough sense to be prepared....

#<3 asks #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #future kid au #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar x yuu

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