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shegetsburned · 7 months

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❝ sensory night ❞ w. gyōmei himejima ੈ✩‧₊˚

.nsfw.smut.

underrated character collab entry !!

• — synopsis. himejima carries you to bed when you’re sleepy and tipsy after a gathering. one thing leads to another when you help him explore his other senses. • — a/n. it’s hereeeee. here’s my piece for the underrated character collab hosted by @honeybleed! ty again for letting me be a part of this. always love writing for my man gyōmei. • — wc. 3,7k

how long has it been? five? six years? you hadn’t had this much time to relax for years. you and anyone included at this small gathering. some hashiras gathered on the terrace, and some slayers gathered inside. for once, you were all decompressing and having fun. including yourself. you had drank enough booze to see blurred whenever you tried to get up from where you were sitting, words meddling themselves into your mouth.

the stone hashira was watching you, as much as he could. when himejima heard your shiny laughter from the other room, he knew you were safe, it’s when it stopped that his brows connected in concern. he had to go take a look.

sliding the wooden door to the adjacent room where some of your colleagues were gathered, he felt the pressure of the floor change when your back met the mat. it wasn’t long before the slayers made way for himejima’s giant stature to come over and gently pick you up, wrapping his arm under your back and knees. you were sound asleep. pretty little snores escaping your mouth. a warm chuckle made its way out of his lips when he heard how peaceful you felt between his hands. “i think it’s time for bed, precious one.”

the others laughed in unison before agreeing that your time at this gathering was over. your bed was waiting for you.

gyōmei had been watching over you for years now. and you were certainly grateful for his presence. the wisest and strongest hashira looking out for you? you couldn’t have been more safe.

but it wasn’t all innocent and you knew it.

he couldn’t quite discern your facial expression when he was dreamingly staring a little too long. or how gently his words landed in your ears when he reassured you after a mission. or your blushing figure when he was standing always so close to you.

oh. you were so grateful.

tuk

the flask you had been carrying between your fingers made contact with the floor when your weight was lifted by his strong hands. leading you to your chamber was an easy task for the hashira. nevertheless, he wasn’t sure if he should leave or stay by your side. would you need more help later when you awoke? would you still be tipsy and unable to stand?

why was it harder to make a quick decision when it came to you than on the terrain?

deep in his thoughts, gyōmei hadn't realized you had just woken up, still in his arms. it’s your giggle that alerted him. a soft and sweet giggle that could’ve warmed his heart if it wasn’t already so full of love for you.

“gyōmei.” your sleepy voice reached him as he walked into the corridor leading to your room. you still weren’t on first-name bases after all these years so hearing it coming from you made his heart skip a beat., but his face stayed composed, as strong as ever.

“gyōmei, gyōmei-” you insisted, lingering on his name. you couldn’t quite figure out why you were in his arms in the first place but it seemed to not bother you when you searched for contact, placing a hand on his cheek with an impudent smile. “gyōmei. look at you, gyōmei.” your left thumb trailed his jaw before you extended your whole right hand around his other cheek. “your face is so soft, gyōmei..”

you jiggled with his cheek, pinching his skin but he did not flinch. he wasn’t bothered, wearing his usual stoic demeanour, as he kept his gaze straight towards the door that was coming to your left. “you’re tired, small one. you should sleep.” if you had his perfect sense of hearing, you could’ve heard his strong heart beat faster ever since you laid your fingers on his face.

he opened the door, with you still comfortably tucked into his arms before delicately setting you down on the squishy bed. you whined, now cold without the warmth of his body as you only wore that kimono that was barely holding on around your shoulders, revealing parts of your cleavage.

his eyes flickered when he heard a ruffle coming from your sheets where he had left you. he was standing on two knees beside your bed now, and you could’ve sworn he was taller than anyone you knew even when in this position.

“gyōmei.”

“yes. what is it?”

he was always so patient with you. so composed and polite. so, was the moment right? was it right for you to continue your sentence and express these buried feelings you had felt for so long?

“don’t you sometimes wonder...”

hesitation drawn in your eyes– it was a good thing he couldn’t see.

“don’t you sometimes wonder what i feel like?”

your words were followed by your hands wrapping around his wrist, slowly lifting his arm towards your face.

he let himself be handled with apprehension and silence when he realized you were leading his hand closer and closer to your mouth. there was no resistance on his part when you moved it further, landing on your face.

his hand was warm, scarred and calloused but it felt so soft against your skin. he was hesitant at first, all of his senses aleterted when he felt your body shiver against his touch. it was the first time he could allow himself to touch you so intimately. his hand cupped your jaw before slowly making its way towards your mouth. he pressed his thumb against your lips. it was such a comfortable gesture when he started caressing your upper lip, slightly opening your mouth with its movement.

you couldn’t help but stare at him. the concentrated gaze he wore when he tried to memorize every inch of your lips made you nervously exhale. your hands were still wrapped around his enormous forearm as he took the lead from you.

the idea that gyōmei had of you was constructed only by the sound your voice made, by the wind caressing his face whenever you moved and by the musical chant of your laughter reaching his ears. all of it was enough for him to favour you.

he didn’t only favour you, he longed for you. longed for more. longed for touch. he wanted to memorize the shape of your figure, the taste of your skin, the weight of your body, the sound of your moans-

he wanted to explore all of his senses with you. and maybe this time you’d be able to help him.

you couldn’t help but realize that he was completely silent when he moved his thumb past your lips without resistance. feeling your tongue and teeth was a whole new experience for him. a slight pressure applied with your teeth made him nervously inhale, but all you could hear was a deep groan when your tongue made contact with his finger.

while he inspected the interior of your mouth, you kept drawing small circles with your thumb still tightly gripping his forearm. you wanted gyōmei to feel welcome and not hesitate to feel more parts of you.

you showed him by releasing your teeth around his thumb and sucking on it. he could feel his heartbeat all the way to his hands when you started to move your mouth. it was all so new and all so sudden, he didn’t know how to react to your invitation. he felt like losing himself. he wanted to lose control.

you took your time, imprinting your lips around his thumb before letting him go with a sloppy pop. now that gyōmei had a taste of your saliva on him, he wanted more. as soon as you stopped, thinking he’d be too hesitant to continue, the gentle giant raised himself on one knee, leaning his whole figure on top of you and wrapping his hand around the back of your head. it was his turn to get a taste.

he started at the beginning of your neck, covering it with kisses and bites. It was slow and measured. he made sure he could remember every spot by heart before moving on to the next. his lips made you quiver as you uncontrollably let your head fall back with your eyes closed so you could get the whole experience. timid moans that he could hear so clearly hurried him to move downward to your exposed chest.

you had never seen gyōmei like this. so imprudent. so eager to explore every single one of his senses with you without minding the consequences. he was already too deep.

when he shifted downward, you could feel his hand run across your whole body, tightly gripping and touching your shoulders, your waist, your hips. his breathing made the most sound when he opened your kimono, meticulously unwrapping the decorative obi string that kept the tissues together without even thinking about it.

gyōmei was so skilled with his hands, you had just now realized, and you too were excited to see what more he could do. under his strong and passive exterior, you knew he’d surprise you with his hunger.

he started attacking your belly with his mouth when your upper body was naked, moving his hands further up so that he’d reach your breasts. his hands were huge when they grazed your nipples. he used one of his palms, slightly rubbing his skin against your pointy nipple. feeling a new part of you made his heart skip a beat. you were so small and frail under him. he could cup both of your boobs with one hand, but he waited. he waited patiently until a small whimper came out of your lips to play with you.

he couldn’t hide it, the sole purpose for his next move was to hear more of these sounds you made that reassembled the most beautiful melody.

one hand firmly grasping one of your breasts provoked another sound before he rubbed his thumb on the tip of your nipple. at his touch, gyōmei could feel your body tense under him while he continued to make circles, taking care of one of your nipples, while his mouth did the work on the other. again, he was deliberately steady and torturous. with his tongue now flat against your nipple, he spread his drool around it. it was wet and sweaty and he loved it. he loved how it made you feel and loved how lucky he was to be able to explore your body like this. when his lips squeezed the tip, you reached for his head, planting your fingers on his scalp. he was immovable but it was mostly for you, so that he wouldn’t leave this perfect spot.

when he finished working on your breasts both with his hands and mouth, he placed a last kiss under your right boob before moving his whole weight again. at the sudden stop, you lifted your upper body to have a view of his next actions and when you realized he was heading between your legs, panic settled in.

“g-gyōmei.” half-drunk you tried calling to him.

“it’s alright, sweet one..”

even when he was whispering you could hear the power in his voice. you could feel his hand clutch around one of your hips and his exposed chest graze your pelvis when he lowered himself even more. one of his hands always stayed put on your chest but the other ran from your hip to your thigh. “let me rediscover myself with you.”

and you let him. you were at a loss for words under gyōmei. even now, nothing about him was stiff. he was as tranquil as all the other times you had seen him, but something differed and you could feel it by the way he took care of you. he was lustful and stimulated. his giant figure towering over you earlier had undoubtedly made you flustered. you never expected to be so overwhelmed by all the attention he could give, but here you were, squirming under his large hands when he separated your legs.

the mix of your sweat and body odour agitated his nose. it made him feel euphoric. he had no problem guiding himself to your naked pussy with one finger trailing along your skin to the interior of your thigh until he could feel your pussy. when he did, his thumb played with your lips. feeling every curve by dragging his finger delicately, until he was satisfied.

he waited a couple of seconds at your entrance before inserting his index in. feeling the wetness of your folds tightening around his finger made him flinch but he went deeper when he heard you yelp. one finger was already enough for you, you thought. it almost filled you and you couldn’t comprehend how he was so huge inside of you.

you tried to close your legs but were unsuccessful under his strong hold. there was no way you’d be able to control your reactions now. grasping the sheets with one hand and your kimono in the other, the only thing you could try to do was hold onto something. unfortunately, gyōmei hadn’t had enough of your sweet sounds and started exploring your insides, fingering your pussy so perfectly. his hot breath against your skin only made your pussy pulsate around him more.

he felt everything around his finger, from the gummy interior to the slimy fluid that drenched his finger. without wasting any more time, he moved around which provoked a sudden cry. you couldn’t believe gyōmei was actually going there. you couldn’t believe that he was between your legs, working his way through your folds while you couldn’t do anything but stare at the silent man.

despise his quietude, the feeling was exhilarating and he wanted more. soon enough you felt another one of his fingers enter your fleshy folds, making its way past your inner lips and joining the index, moving along with it. it made your back arch with pleasure when his fingers filled you entirely. his large digits made their way in and out in unison, searching for the spot that would make you twitch out of delight.

gyōmei took his time when he felt his fingers squeeze every time he went past that ring of muscle. he could intelligibly feel and hear the effect he had on you which made his hand clench around your thigh.

while his fingers took care of the inside, he shifted his thumb landing perfectly on your clit. you could’ve sworn he had done this before but his eagerness made you think otherwise. he could perceive your positioning so distinctly. he knew when you closed your eyes, when you tried to silence your moans with a hand on your mouth and when you placed the other on top of his, towards your inner thigh. he could also sense that you were already so close to finishing with how he worked his way against your clit and how he had stretched you out easily with two of his fingers.

your body tensed up as you tried to restrain yourself from completely letting go of the little control you had over your own body. thighs clenching, with your hand tightly wrapped around gyōmei’s, but he had little to no regard for your current state.

he only wanted you to let go. but these sensations you both felt needed to last so that they’d left an imprint- so that he’d remember it.

“himejima-san.. please.” you begged when you squeezed the hand he had planted between your legs. you felt yourself so close to cumming, but the sudden switch to proper naming frustrated him and you felt him get rougher with his fingers. he knew it would cause discomfort if he tried to insert another one of his digits, so he maximized the hold he had on you.

when gyōmei finally felt your body twitch with anticipation, he completely stopped his movement and felt moans of complaint through his ears. your head peaked up, brows connected in confusion. “h-himejima? why did you-“

he still wore a concentrated gaze when he took his fingers out, letting your plump pussy wrap them one last time, feeling every little inch of your walls against his skin. slimy fluid covering him and dripping out of your swollen and demanding hole.

gyōmei’s euphoric-like state sent shivers down your spine. his mouth was slightly agape like an idea had just blossomed in his mind. nevertheless, you could see that he was still captivated by the unique feeling you had procured him. his fingers were still grazing your skin when you felt a low grunt coming from the man as his breath tickled your skin once more.

you called his name once more but a sudden movement interrupted your words.

gyōmei lowered himself even more onto the bed, wrapping his strong arms around your thighs in a tight hold, easily moving your lower body along with him, until his mouth faced your empty pussy.

when he was correctly positioned, he placed a trail of kisses along your right thigh, eventually sucking on the inner part and stopping towards your swollen lips as his warm breath landed on your skin.

“please. allow me, little one.”

his next words were followed by his hungry mouth against your wet cunt as you yelped out of surprise. flustered, with both hands on your mouth, you tried and muffled the next moans that were bound to come out, but gyōmei couldn’t allow it. he couldn’t allow you to silence the noises that made him feel all kinds of ways- that made him so hard. as a result, he extended one of his arms, effortlessly grabbing onto your wrists and pulling your hands down against your chest, before he continued to devour you any further.

it was when he parted your lips with his tongue that you let out your whimpers and it was like music to his ears. his mouth extended to the outside of your cunt, so he could easily suck on your nub before going back inside with his tongue. he had a large mouth that took such good care of you.

the taste couldn’t be described. this new mix of savour and odour was heavenly. it gave gyōmei a good idea of who you were and how you felt. he was drinking out your soft and tired movements when you pushed your pelvis against his mouth. you let a long-ish moan when he lingered on your clit, a soft touch of teeth before completely engulfing it with his lips. sucking until he felt confident enough to shift to your spit-covered lips.

to get a better grip, he pulled your legs further so they could rest on his broad shoulders. eating you out was like a dream come true. he could taste everything he had felt with his fingers minutes earlier. it awakened his senses and brought a whole new meaning to pleasure. his olfactory glands and taste buds were so stimulated that you felt deep groans and moans vibrating against your entrance that made you flutter. to hear such a composed and collected man lose his mind over you only pulled you closer to your orgasm.

a few minutes in and he had already explored every inch of your cunt, and you finally felt yourself coming. not wanting to make a mess and way too agitated to cum on gyōmei’s mouth, you tried to voice your concerns, tangling words mixed with pretty moans.

“g-gyōmei, w-wait-”

he hummed against you, as if to approve. as if to tell you that you had the right to release yourself upon him.

so when you gave up on containing yourself and with gyōmei’s encouragement you let out a long yelp, cumming all over his lips.

he drank you up, tightening his grip on your thighs while he enjoyed the sweet taste of your seed on his tongue.

he stayed stationed between your legs for a while, properly sampling this new exquisite liquid and taking his time to savour it. he exhaled loudly before parting with your cunt, pressing soft kisses over your lips.

after a while, gyōmei finally decided to pull back completely, sucking at your inner thigh’s skin and taking in a final deep breath before lifting his gaze towards your face, with your sweet cum wetting his lips. he couldn’t see the state you were in, but could guess you’d be a mess.

sweating and trying to catch your breath, you had completely relaxed your body against him. your head lazily tilting back against the pillow, you had never felt more at peace.

your orgasm had left your cunt pulsating, but the only thing you recognized was gyōmei’s fingers rubbing against your palm.

“thank you.”

when you had enough strength to realize that he had thanked you, the sudden gratitude startled you. you lifted your upper body with one of your arms against the sheet while the other was still tightly gripped around his hand.

“you’re thanking me? himejima, why.. why are you thanking me?”

he raised his body with ease, all the way up so that he could stand above your naked figure, facing you.

“sweet one. you taught me how to see without my eyes.” he murmured, as he moved his hand to wrap yours entirely.

“your touch, scent and sound have changed me. I have been waiting to explore these with you.”

his confession warmed your heart and you couldn’t help but stare at his face. he was still drunk on you but he spoke genuine words that made you uncontrollably blush. a cheeky smile appeared on your smile, fully surrendering to a hypnotic whirl of happiness.

that night, after a well-deserved break, gyōmei himejima had explored and reinvented the meaning of senses with your help; when you moaned into his ears, when he couldn’t keep his hands off of you, when he tasted every part of you and when your elated scent almost brought him to tears.

although.. he did promise you he’d need more than one lesson to perfect his technique.

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rosesareredrosa · 2 months

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Just a Little Longer

Theo Nott x fem reader

Summary: Theo doesn't want to y/n to leave bed for just a little longer

w/c: 829

The soft light of dawn filtered into the Slytherin dormitory, casting a warm glow over the stone walls and the still figures within. Theodore stirred, his dark hair tousled as he slowly opened his eyes. Beside him, you lay peacefully, your breaths steady and serene, wrapped in the warmth of his embrace.

Theo smiled, pulling you closer and burying his face in the crook of your neck. He loved these quiet moments with you, where the world outside didn’t matter. Gently, he brushed a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch light and careful, not wanting to wake you just yet.

You stirred, a sleepy smile spreading across your face as you snuggled closer to him. "Good morning," you murmured, your voice soft and husky from sleep.

"Good morning, mia cara," he replied, his voice a low rumble. He tightened his arms around you, not wanting to let you go. "Stay with me a little longer. We don’t have to get up yet."

You sighed contentedly, melting into his embrace. "But we have class," you mumbled, though your resolve was quickly weakening.

Theo nuzzled your neck, pressing soft kisses along your skin. "We can skip just this once," he whispered. "Let’s just stay here, together."

You hesitated, knowing the importance of attending your classes. "Theo, we really should go. We’ll get in trouble if we don’t."

He looked into your eyes, his expression pleading and sincere. "Please, cara mia? Just this once? I don’t want to let you go yet."

You sighed, your resolve wavering under his gaze. "We can't keep doing this, you know," you said, trying to sound stern, but the warmth of his embrace made it difficult to stay firm.

He smiled, sensing your weakening resolve. "I promise we won’t make it a habit. Just a little longer, I want to hold you."

You rolled your eyes playfully, but your heart was already melting. "Alright, just this once," you conceded, a soft giggle escaping your lips as you pulled the blankets up around you both.

Theodore grinned, his eyes lighting up with triumph. "Perfect." He settled back against the pillows, his arms wrapped securely around you. The two of you lay there, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the world outside forgotten for a while longer.

As the morning passed, you talked quietly, sharing dreams and whispered secrets. Theo’s fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, his touch sending shivers down your spine. The comfort of his presence made you feel safe, like nothing could touch you as long as you were together.

Eventually, the sound of students bustling in the corridors grew louder, signaling the start of the day. You sighed, knowing you couldn’t stay hidden away forever. "We should probably get up," you said reluctantly.

Theo shook his head, pulling you even closer. "Just a little longer," he pleaded, his eyes meeting yours with a soft, vulnerable look.

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection for the boy who held you so tightly. "Alright, a little longer," you conceded, snuggling back into his embrace.

The minutes ticked by, the world outside growing busier, but Theodore didn’t seem to notice. He kept whispering, "Just a little longer," each time you tried to move. His fingers gently traced patterns on your back, his touch sending pleasant shivers down your spine.

"We really should go now," you said, half-heartedly attempting to sit up.

"Please, bella, just a little bit longer," he murmured, his eyes soft and pleading.

You laughed softly, giving in once more. "Okay, but this is the last time."

Time seemed to stretch on in a blissful haze as you remained entwined in each other’s arms. The sounds of Hogwarts waking up and bustling about faded into the background. Theodore’s warmth and the rhythmic beat of his heart against your ear were all that mattered.

"We’re definitely going to be late," you said with a sigh, though you made no move to get up.

"I know," he replied, a mischievous grin on his lips. "But I don’t care. I just want to hold you."

You playfully swatted his chest. "You’re impossible, Theo."

"And you love it, mia cara," he said, his eyes twinkling.

You couldn’t help but smile, your heart full. "Yes, I do."

When the castle’s bells finally chimed, signaling the end of the morning classes, you reluctantly pulled away. "We should probably get something to eat," you said, your stomach growling in agreement.

Theodore sighed, a reluctant smile on his lips. "I suppose you’re right. But I’m not letting you out of my sight for long, tesoro."

You kissed his cheek, a promise of more stolen moments to come. "I wouldn’t have it any other way."

Hand in hand, you left the dormitory, the warmth of your morning together lingering in your hearts. As you stepped into the bustling halls of Hogwarts, you knew that no matter what the day brought, you had each other, and that was all that mattered.

#slytherin x reader #theo nott x reader #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott x you #slytherin boys #fluff

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girlkisser13 · 4 days

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taste

"well, i heard you're back together and if that's true" "you'll just have to taste me when he's kissin' you"

pairings: theodore nott x slytherin afab!reader

warnings/tags: cheating.

summary: it just supposed to be a situationship.

the summer had been a whirlwind of emotions, sneaky rendezvous, and stolen kisses. it was a memory now, fading with the warmth of the sun as autumn crept in, the cool breeze blowing through the stone corridors of hogwarts. but as the leaves turned golden and red, and the castle filled once more with the chatter of students returning for the new school year, one thing remained vivid and sharp in your mind: theodore nott.

you had spent almost every day with him over the summer, your bodies tangled together in the sweltering heat, sharing secrets and laughter under the stars. he had been everything you never thought he could be— gentle, sweet, and completely yours. at least, that’s what it had felt like. the outside world didn’t matter when you were together. it was just the two of you, and nothing else seemed real.

but now that you were back at hogwarts, everything was different. the castle walls that had once seemed so familiar now felt confining, oppressive. it didn’t help that theo had slipped back into his old life as if the summer had never happened. as if you had never happened.

you watched from the shadows as he walked through the great hall, his arm draped casually over pansy parkinson’s shoulders. she was laughing at something he’d said, her dark eyes shining with adoration as she looked up at him. and theo… he looked every bit the part of the perfect boyfriend. he was smiling down at her, his fingers playing with a strand of her hair as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

you swallowed hard, turning away from the sight, your stomach twisting with something you refused to call jealousy. you had known this would happen. He had warned you. when school started again, he would go back to his life with pansy, his girlfriend, the girl everyone expected him to be with.

but knowing it and seeing it were two different things.

you tried to avoid him as much as possible, keeping to the back of the classrooms, sitting far from the slytherin table in the great hall. you even skipped out on the first few gatherings in the common room, not wanting to see him with her, not wanting to see the way he looked at her with those familiar eyes that had once only been on you.

but, of course, you couldn’t avoid him forever.

it was during potions that it happened. professor snape was droning on about the properties of some obscure ingredient when theo slipped into the seat beside you, his presence sending a jolt of electricity through your body. you kept your eyes on your cauldron, refusing to acknowledge him, but you could feel his gaze burning into the side of your face.

"are you just going to ignore me all year?" he asked, his voice low, barely a whisper.

you clenched your jaw, your hands trembling as you stirred the potion in front of you. "what do you want, theo?"

he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "i just wanted to talk. you’ve been avoiding me."

you finally turned to look at him, your eyes narrowing. "can you blame me? you’ve been glued to pansy’s side since we got back."

his eyes softened, and for a moment, he looked like the boy you’d spent the summer with, the one who had held you close and whispered sweet nothings in your ear. "you know why i have to."

you bit back the retort that sprang to your lips, knowing it would do no good. you did know why. you knew all the reasons he had to be with her, to keep up appearances, to play the part of the dutiful boyfriend. but it didn’t make it hurt any less.

"whatever, theo. it doesn’t matter." you turned back to your potion, ignoring the way your heart clenched in your chest.

he reached out, his hand brushing against yours, and you almost pulled away, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. "it does matter," he whispered, his voice strained. "you matter."

you squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself not to cry. "if i mattered, you wouldn’t be with her."

there was silence, and then, "it’s not that simple."

you laughed bitterly, shaking your head. "it never is, is it?"

snape’s voice cut through the tension, snapping at someone across the room, and you took the opportunity to pull your hand away, focusing on the potion in front of you. you didn’t look at theo again for the rest of the class, and when the bell rang, you were the first to leave, not even waiting to clean up your station.

you needed space. space to breathe, to think, to forget the way his touch had sent shivers down your spine, the way his words had made your heart ache.

but space was hard to come by at hogwarts, and avoiding theo became even more difficult as the weeks went on. you’d catch glimpses of him in the corridors, his hand entwined with pansy’s, his lips pressing soft kisses to her temple. it was like a knife to the heart every time, but you kept your head down, kept to yourself, and tried to focus on anything other than the boy who had stolen your summer and then shattered it.

it wasn’t until a hogsmeade weekend that things came to a head.

you were browsing through the shelves of honeydukes, looking for something to satisfy your sweet tooth, when you saw them. theo and pansy were at the counter, pansy laughing as theo tried to haggle with the shopkeeper over the price of a box of chocolates. you rolled your eyes, turning away from the sight, but not before you saw him glance over at you, his eyes meeting yours for just a moment.

you could see the guilt there, the regret, and it made your blood boil. how dare he look at you like that, like he was sorry for something he had done to you, like he hadn’t been the one to walk away?

you grabbed a handful of sweets and marched up to the counter, slapping them down beside theo’s chocolates. pansy turned to look at you, her eyes narrowing as she recognized you.

"well, well, if it isn’t the little lost lamb," she sneered, her voice dripping with disdain. "what are you doing here, all alone?"

you forced a smile, ignoring the way theo tensed beside her. "just enjoying a bit of freedom, pansy. not everyone needs a boyfriend to hold their hand everywhere they go."

her eyes flashed, and you knew you had struck a nerve. she had always been possessive of theo, even before they had started dating. it was one of the things that had made sneaking around with him so dangerous— and so thrilling.

"maybe not, but at least i have one," she shot back, her lips curving into a smirk. she glanced at theo, her fingers curling around his arm. "right, darling?"

you had to hand it to her; she knew how to play the game. but so did you.

you leaned in closer, your eyes locked on hers as you dropped your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "you might want to check your boyfriend’s lips before you kiss him next time, pansy. he seems to have a thing for my strawberry lip gloss."

her face went pale, her eyes widening as she turned to look at theo, who was staring at you with something like horror in his eyes. she blinked, confusion and anger warring on her face as she looked back at you.

"what the hell are you talking about?" she snapped, her voice wavering.

you shrugged, stepping back and slipping a few sickles onto the counter for your sweets. "just a friendly piece of advice."

and with that, you turned on your heel and walked out of the shop, your heart pounding in your chest, a sick sense of satisfaction swirling in your stomach. you knew you had probably just signed your own death warrant, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

it was time theo made a choice.

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selenezq · 3 months

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🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞MDNI🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞

After a long wait, (thanks depression) my fic where Alastor rails you in a sundress is finally here.

Alastor x Reader

Reader is AFAB

CW: dub con, stalking, rough sex, explicit content, porn no plot, plot where, plot who

Sundress Summer

It was a hot, but not unpleasantly so day in hell.

The perfect time for wearing a sundress to the picnic Charlie had organized for the bonding exercise of the day. The first thing you noticed as you came to the end of the well-maintained stone walkway was the large red and white checkered tablecloths which covered two sizeable wooden picnic tables to your right. The pleasant breeze caused the edges of the fabric to flutter against the sides of the tables.

A massive spread of food covered both surface areas; it was more than they could all eat truly but it was clear Charlie had tried her best to create another memorable experience for her guests. You smiled from ear to ear with joy at the sight of all your friends together enjoying a day at the park. Husk and Angel Dust were seated on one of the benches lining the massive spread, the spider demon trying his best to get Husk to eat the grape he was attempting to feed him.

"C'mon, just let me feed ya one." Angel whined at the former overlord pushing the piece of fruit towards him.

"Cut that shit out, I can feed myself." Husk growled gruffly, as he swatted half-heartedly at Angel's hand before relenting. "Just one, and then leave it alone alright?"

Husk took a surveying glance around to ensure no one was watching the two of them. You quickly looked in the opposite direction to your left, faining interest in a passing butterfly so as not to intrude on their moment. You tried your best to hide a delighted smile.

With a resigned sigh, Husk let Angel gently feed him a lone grape. "Ah yeah, you like that in ya mouth daddy?" Angel says salaciously with a flirtatious grin.

"Fucking hell, you just had to go and make it weird didn't you," Husk scolded, before giving the tall demon a small shove. You did your best to hold in a laugh, ensuring not to make eye contact with the duo. Your ocular muscles searched for the rest of the group, coming to a stop when you spotted Charlie, excitedly pointing to something in the distance.

"Ohmygosh Vaggie look!!" She exclaimed excitedly, her words strung all together in exuberance. "I can't believe this Infernenta plant is flowering!" Charlie said before skipping joyfully over towards the flowering bush.

She skipped joyfully over towards the flowering bush, her girlfriend watching with a loving expression. Eyes which were usually fierce and full of rage softened before she followed after Charlie. “Yeah, that’s really cool babe.” She said, her voice beginning to fade as she walked further away from you.

You smiled fondly as you watched them go—the two of them were very sweet together. Niffty quickly took over your vision as she dashed around, pulling your attention away from the two lovebirds. She held her needle high in the air with her little hand; she was on the hunt, chasing a particularly large bug.

With a small shudder, you turned around and headed towards an opening in the woods, determined to explore. The thoughts in your busy mind dwelled on the members of your unorthodox group of friends until it occurred to you that had not yet seen Alastor. You wondered what he could be up to—though he rarely joined in on bonding activities.

You pondered deeply on how glad you were to have met them all as your feet took you down a slightly overgrown path, large weeds sprouting between the cracks on the deteriorated stone passage. Lost in your internal musing, you failed to notice a pair of glowing red eyes watching you from the distance; the hunter was tracking your every move.

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The Radio Demon watched you from the shadows, hidden behind massive amounts of lush, green, foliage. It was a position most familiar to him from his time alive, hiding from plain sight while he waited for the perfect moment to approach his prey. He watched you with an ill-intended gaze, as the short patterned material of your sundress highlighted the beautiful curves of your body. An unfamiliar feeling of desire coursed through him as he feasted his eyes on the sight of you wandering, helplessly alone. You were completely unaware of the danger that lurked behind you—the perfect, irresistible prey.

Alastor was more than well-adjusted to the way the others at the hotel viewed his presence. He was infamous for the danger he posed, but you seemed content to naively ignore the threat he posed. Perhaps that was why he now found himself obsessed with you, needing to be constantly closer to you. No amount of effort could dissuade his need to be close to you; any amount of distance was simply unacceptable. The very lack of your presence had become most intolerable, to the point he found himself stalking you through the shadows, unable to look away from your gentle form.

At first, these feelings had angered him. Alastor had tried his best to make you fear him, unused to all of the new sensations you evoked in him. Popping up from the shadows, scaring you when you were alone in the dimmed hallways of the hotel. You had always laughed in response, slapping his chest playfully as you laughed at his joke and were it anyone he would skin them alive for the unwanted touch. He found it most irritating when you would pull away as if your hand should ever be anywhere but on him.

He started going out of his way to touch you—to make you uncomfortable. It was certainly not because he craved the feeling of your soft, warm, skin under his hand. It became a game he’d play, a way to see how far he could go, how long you would let his hand linger on you. Could he rouse a blush to those beautiful cheeks of yours? Somehow, he rather felt as though he might be losing the game you weren’t even aware you were playing.

Many nights he spent time thinking about how your soft, shiny, hair would feel when he pulled your head back, locks wound around his claws. What noises your sweet, little, lips might let slip, the sight of your kind eyes widening.

Would you let him ruin you if he tried?

The question consumed him as he brought himself back to the sight of his beautiful prey: you. His eyes focused on your radiant presence while your face lit up in delight. You had stumbled upon a beautiful abandoned structure. It appeared this was once a grand gazebo, but time had eroded the marble away. Faint cracks could be seen amongst the vines and foliage that almost concealed it completely from view.

He watched as you were unable to resist the urge to explore, pushing aside some of the greenery covering the entrance. You stepped inside, your graceful form illuminated by slivers of Heaven’s light, shining like sunlight through the thick canopy surrounding the structure.

You were almost completely obstructed from the view of anyone who might come along and it sent a shiver down his back—what a delightful thought, to always have you to himself.

He stalked forward slowly, careful to remain quiet so you would not ruin his little game too early. Hunting for sport was second nature to the demon; hiding amidst the shadows was something Alastor had become quite familiar with. The sight of you blissfully unaware of the potential danger you were in was almost too much to bare; he needed to start the next round of his manipulative little game lest you broke him before he got the chance to break you.

He materialized behind you, his form becoming more corporeal until he was a solid mass that you bumped into when you took a step back. You let out a most exquisite scream of fear as he startled you and a wide, malicious grin spread across his face. You turned quickly to face him, and he watched as your facial expression melted into relief. He was unsure how he felt about the sensation bubbling in his stomach—he brought you ease. Alastor lived to strike fear into the hearts of others, but he could make an exception—just this once.

"Oh, it's just you. That's such a relief." You said with a genuine smile.

"My, my... You are quite a sight for sore eyes. I could just eat you up." Alastor almost purred, his voice thick with his usual filter. Static popped in the air as he stepped closer to you; after such a long hunt, he was so close to getting what he wanted.

"You mean me?" You squeaked in disbelief, insecurity seeping through your voice.

"See here, exactly how fetching I find you, darling." Alastor told you, before grabbing your wrist.

He guided your soft palm to the hardness barely contained by his trousers, a true test to see how far he could push you. How much you would allow him to greedily take? Would this be the time he finally pushed you too far and you realized the peril you were in, being the object of his dark fascination?

He watched hungrily as your eyes widened in surprise, a pretty pink tongue darting out to wet your lips.

“This is all for me?” You asked, voice laced in awe and he wanted to consume you.

You were a curious creature, a difficult prey to understand. You never gave him the responses he was expecting, and yet always gave him a response he enjoyed. Rather than flee from the evident danger you found yourself in, you seemed quite pleased at his forward and lewd actions—what a foolish girl.

“Well of course my dear, who else would it be for?” Alastor teased, his voice full of amusement as he gestured to the empty overgrown gazebo. He brought a clawed hand down to cover your own, his large hand dwarfing your much smaller one as he pressed your hand closer to the tent in his pants. He let out a strangled groan at the much-needed contact, his usual composure falling apart every minute he spent in your presence. “The things you do to me, pet. This is all for you, because of you.”

He thrust his hips up into your touch, chasing your nimble fingers before he allowed himself to regain control of himself. He melted away into the shadows with a quick use of his powers and the warm tension of having him pressed against you was gone. It was amusing to him how evident you made it that you were desperate for his touch. A menacing laugh echoed around the gazebo as he slid up from the pool of shadows at your feet behind you, shoving you back into the siding of the shelter. You fell briefly, your sundress bunching around your hips exposing your cunt and the tiny piece of fabric that covered it from view.

You were an absolute vision, he noted. He was addicted to this version of you, vulnerable and needy for him and him alone. Slowly, painstakingly slowly, Alastor brought his much larger hand to rest on your leg. His rough scarred skin pressed against your much softer skin, and you shivered against him beautifully. He wondered how long he could stand to do this to you, playing with you simply because he knew you’d let him—could he finally make you snap?

He teasingly brought his hand up your thigh, ghosting a finger along your clothed slit. He swallowed a hungry growl as a fresh round of wetness gushed into your panties at even the faintest touch. Every single stroke, every touch, was methodical and planned—he wanted to watch you come undone. He held himself with tension, holding himself back from ruining you completely.

You lifted your hips just enough, wordlessly signalling to him just how eager you were. It broke the hold he had over himself, the shred of control he kept in place to protect you. He shredded the flimsy undergarment, letting it drop by your feet as an unusable scrap of fabric. His fingers traced harsh, heavy circles around your swollen clit and it was pure bliss to watch as you threw your head back, releasing a muffled cry of bliss.

He plunged a dexterous finger into you without warning. A ragged, desperate moan escaped your lips and he watched as your face seemed to glow a bright scarlet in humiliation. He curled his finger inside of you, watching as your body shook for him but it wasn’t enough. He needed to drive his cock deep inside you, to feel your pussy clench around him while you moaned just like that. Despite the fact you should be ashamed, you rutted against him and it was enough to drive the best of men mad—and Alastor was not the best of men by a long shot.

He pulled his finger out of you, bringing it to his mouth before licking it clean. He swiftly undid his belt, before moving to pull the zipper on his pants down. The sound reverberated in the small hidden gazebo and he watched as you dripped in anticipation for him—he hadn’t hungered like this in centuries. He tugged his trousers down around his firm thighs and his massive cock sprung free. You let out a small whimper as you looked at his cock, a mixture of anticipation and fear shining in your eyes.

“I can assure you, darling, that it will fit. You’re going to take every single inch of me.” Alastor commanded; the incredulous look in your eyes only spurring him on.

He watched as your pussy clenched desperately with need around empty air, and his rock-hard cock glistened with precum. You were a marvel to behold.

“Alastor, please, don’t make me wait any longer. I—I need you.” You admitted with a plea, a blush dusting across your face from the sound of your own needy voice.

He pushed you further back against the siding of the forgotten structure you had found yourselves in, your back hit the siding with a soft thud. He lifted your leg up to wrap it around his waist as he slotted himself against your dripping pussy, rubbing the swollen head of his member between your folds, before he pushed to be inside of you.

He moved slowly, inch by inch until his considerable length was seated within you. Your warm walls gripped him tightly and he let out a shaky groan. An aggressive buzz, filled with fizzles and pops, filled the air as he made himself wait, letting you adjust to his large size. His eyes glowed as he gazed down at you fondly. “You’re such a good girl, taking all of me so well. You’re mine now.” He growled possessively, a hand coming up to grip your waist. “Say it, tell me who you belong to.”

There was a manic edge to his words, a need for you to understand that he owned you.

“You. I belong to you, Alastor!” You cried out in pleasure, without hesitation, and he picked up his pace in response. You were such a good girl; you knew exactly where you belonged. His hips slammed his cock in and out of you, chasing your delightful cries and screams.

The final strand of control within him snapped as he looked upon your debauched form. His antlers grew high and heavy above his head, his eyes becoming dials as he lost himself in his desire for you. His cock swelled within you, so large that he feared he might just break you. You released a soft whimper as he felt the head of his cock bumping into your cervix, but rather than push him away, you clawed at him to bring him closer—you were perfection.

“I never imagined I’d feel so complete being inside you like this, darling.” Alastor confessed, lost in the throes of ecstasy. He brought a hand up, lavishing his attention on your clit as he picked up the pace. He felt your body begin to shake and he knew it wouldn’t be long, he felt you coming undone with every stroke of his digits, every thrust of his colossal member was bringing you closer to the edge.

“Alastor, don’t stop! I’m getting close!” You pleaded desperately.

Immediately at your words, he stopped completely. He rested his fingers on your throbbing clit, his dick painfully still inside of your tight heat. You let out a frustrated sob, a lone tear welling up in your eyes and he leaned forward to lick it off your cheek. The sight of you, a desperate and quivering mess was enough to move even the staunchest of sadists.

“Please, please, please.” You begged, all sense of dignity lost. A tear fell down your cheek and he relished the moment of triumph in his twisted game. The sight of you crying and desperate beneath him brought him a degenerative sense of glee—he needed to make you cry more in the future. “Alastor, I’ve dreamed of this so often! I need to—please let—if I could just cum!”

“Hmm, I should like to think to think a bright young girl such as yourself could articulate that better, my dear.” He replied, a sadistic smile stretching across his face as he leered down at you.

“You’re being so cruel.” You cried out, voice dripping with desperation and it fed the hunger deep within him. He had no witty retort to return to your cries—he wanted you to beg. “Please, I’m begging you—I’ve touched myself thinking of you so many times. I never even dreamed you would return my desire. I can’t—I need you to move—to fuck me silly until I cum around your giant cock—please.”

You pleaded sweetly, your voice dripping with desperation and need for him that brought him immense joy and good girls got rewarded.

“Your pleas are music to my ears pet, I suppose they’ve earned you a reward. You’re so pretty when you beg.” He asserted before resuming his brutal pace. Beautiful euphoric tears fell down your cheeks, painting them so prettily, as he fucked into you. He felt you tighten around him, and in a direct constant to his rough pace, he brought his other hand up to gently cradle your face. He pressed his lips to yours, moaning as your soft lips parted to allow his tongue to explore your mouth. He laid claim to every inch of you he touched.

“Alastor!” You cried into his mouth, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You collapsed into him, allowing him to support your weight as he continued to fuck into your quivering body. Your cunt clenched deliciously around him as you rocked your hips backwards, chasing the friction he provided desperately. The sight of you so thoroughly debauched combined with the sensation of your walls gripping him tightly sent him over the edge. He shot thick ropes of cum inside of you as he finished with a loud groan, breaking away from the kiss.

The sound of your combined panting and heavy breathing filled the otherwise silent air, and he rested his head in the crook of your neck. “Ma biche, that was even better than I could have possibly imagined.” He praised, mumbling the words into your neck. You both lay intertwined for a while, neither wanting to break the silence and end the moment.

“We should find the others before they find us, but I’d love to do this again.” You said, and he could hear the desperate plea in your voice—good.

“Of course we will do this again, you belong to me now.” He replied, matter-of-factly.

He snapped his two fingers together, returning the two of you to your prior state of dress. The mess was gone as if it had never been there, though he loathed to return your undergarments to you. “Shall we, darling?”

You shot him a contented smile as you linked your arm with his, allowing him to lead you back to where the rest of the group was still enjoying the picnic.

Tag list @cosmiccandydreamer @alastorthirsty @ari-hatake15

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comfortless · 5 months

Note

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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angel-sweets666 · 2 months

Text

stuck together chapter II

Barbarian bakugo x princess! Reader

Your parents arranged you to the brash and rude prince of the barbarians to save their own skin.

Warnings: suicide of a character, death and dead bodies (flash backs or nightmares) mentions of war, threats of execution. Wet dreams (smut) talks of impregnating, thoughts of breeding. Slight breeding kink, swearing, slight time skip

first chap here

A/n just wanna warn yous deku is not a good person in this AU, think of like a bad ruler. Someone who acts nice and then executed like a bunch of people. A hypocrite

Bakugo tapped his index finger against the wooden table, his eyebrows furrowing. Clear frustration on his face. Staring up at the map then at the two guards before him, a blonde and a redhead. Both large men with equally frustrated looks on the faces.

“well what do you think we do?” Denki asks, staring at his two other companions “that lands too rugged, not good.” Kirishima rubs his chin in deep thought. “You idiots! It’s obvious here!” “Too close to the monoma kingdom, he’ll obliterate it the moment he sees it.” Kirishima interrupts bakugo, trying to knock some sense into the prince. The electric blonde looks back over the map, staring at the multiple empty lands. Most of which were once war grounds.

“we could… go here!” He points to a green patch, several kilometres long and wide. It be perfect, If only it wasn’t where bakugo fought in a bloody war.

flash back

bakugo heaves as he looks to his left over his shoulder, dead bodies. He looks forward. More dead bodies, most of which were of todorokis soilders. “Stand down Bakugo. Your gonna loose!” A tall red headed man booms out, standing next to a once alive horse, now dead and laying down. “No…. I won’t….” Bakugo straightens his back and grabs his sword. Letting out a loud war cry (scream) before lunging at the huge red headed man, his act of bravery to avenge his men who were now cold bloody and dead on the floor. Leaving their wives, children, siblings and parents behind just to fight in this war for him.

back to now

Bakugo snapped out of his flash back , placing a gentle hand on the large burn mark on his side, a scar from a brutal war. The scar now healed over and nothing but scar tissue. "Todoroki battlegrounds, can’t do the plan there " he mumbled to Denki and Kirishima. Neither of them had been at the war; they were still in training at the time. If only katsuki could’ve just trained at that time, he was only 18 where the first war he fought in happened

Denki rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on. Like everything is Todoroki battlegrounds! It's taken your family, what, seventy years just to get Flamoria to back off? This whole continent is practically Todoroki battlegrounds!"

Bakugo glared at him but couldn't entirely disagree. "There. Still battlegrounds, but fifty nine year-old battlegrounds," he said, pointing to a large plain of land in the distance. The expanse was unclaimed by any kingdom, a constant reminder of the war's devastation.

. “Are you sure bakubro?” Kirishima asks, his pupils turning to slits. A feature almost all purebred dragons have. “It’s fine shitty scales.” Bakugo grumbled as he looks to Denki “huh?! Oh yeah.. it’s uh.. very green!” Denki stuttered, nodding his head “good, here’s final” he takes a pen and circled the large land. Chucking the pen back onto the wooden table “there, done.” Bakugo said as he arose from his chair and began walking out the room, kirishima quickly rolling up the map and grabbing it before scrambling to keep up with the two blondes

You heard the sounds of heavy footsteps echoing through the stone hallway outside your chambers. Curious and slightly annoyed, you peeked out the door to see three men you knew all too well: Kirishima, Bakugo, and Denki. Their boots clomped loudly against the floor, disrupting the quiet.

Frustration bubbled up as you leaned against the doorframe, placing your weight on one hip. "Can you three keep it down?" you shouted, your voice sharp.

Bakugo spun around, his expression already irritated. "What are you on about, woman?!" he yelled back, clearly not in the mood for any complaints.

"Can't a girl sleep?" you retorted, your tone matching his.

Denki and Kirishima scrambled to get on their knees and apologize, "We’re sorry, your highness! We didn’t mean to wake you!" They looked so apologetic and sweet that you couldn't help but smile. "It’s alright, hons. I’m yelling at Bakugo," you reassured them. Sometimes you wondered, "Why can’t Kirishima or Denki be the future king? Then I’d marry them," because they were such sweethearts.

Bakugo grumbled, "You’re not my mother."

"No, but I’m your future wife. Close enough," you teased, unknowing to bakugos already bad mood. You didn’t know that when he had nightmares or reminders of war he got angry and sometimes… physical

His eyes darkened with rage. "Excuse me? I am the future king, and you will not speak to me like that unless you want to end up in the dungeon with your head hacked off! His voice boomed as he got close to your face, causing you to back up in fear.

"Kat…Katsuki?"

"WHAT?!" he roared, his voice filled with venom, making your heart race.

You backed up again, trembling. "S-sorry…" you stammered, scrambling to get back into your chambers, your heart pounding in your chest.

“way harsh man she was only teasing..” kirishima mumbled “I don’t give a fuck she needs to learn her place.” Bakugo spits back, his flared up anger bubbling to a cool. Beginning to walk up the hall again, yanking the map from kirishimas hands and storming away. The two boys looked shocked! Bakugo was always so calm with women, rude? Sure, very. He made fun of and were rude with women, but never yelled at them. Same goes for children and the elderly. what was going on??

bakugo walked up the halls to his bedroom chambers, trying to take deep breaths. “Bakubro what’s going on man?” Kirishima asks “yeah! Ever since we thought of the plan you’ve been acting all funny!” “IM NOT ACTING FUNNY!” Bakugo yelled in response “You just threatened to execute *name* by hacking off her head.”

bakugo sighed “just..! Leave me alone. I’ll see you idiots later” bakugo walked into his chambers and slammed the door in his guards face. “Who put a stick up his ass?” Denki mumbled as the two marched to their posts outside the palace.

You sat in your room, shocked at what had just happened. How could bakugo just threaten you like that? He was rude to you, ignored you ect but never threatened you! You slowly sat down on your bed, staring off into nothing. The way he yelled at you, they were right when they said he was terrifying. You thought you two were warming up to eachother, clearly not.

you laid down in bed and tried to go to sleep, but you were very shaken up from the incident it took you a while to fall asleep. The way Katsuki looked at you like you were nothing more than a block in his way just shook you to the core. Bakugo on the other hand was completely fine! As if he didn't just threaten to kill you. He was sleeping soundly in his bed of furs.

however as time went on and the clock ticked to early in the morning, katsukis once peaceful sleep became that of a nightmare.

nightmare

bakugo heaved on the ground, a todoroki soilder standing over him menacingly. One that was particularly short. He clicked his tongue as he crouched down over bakugo “I thought you were strong? Didn’t you kill lord Izuku? That’s what they all said, you stabbed him right in the chest. Cold blooded killer you are.” He harrassed bakugo, an attempt to scare him “I didn’t fucking kill him he killed himself.” He spat back, unable to move due to the blade of the soilder right near his neck under his jaw. “ then howd they find him with YOUR blade in his chest and you gone?” The soilder asked “I- left him alone for five god damn minutes!” Flash backs of the day Izuku was interrogated and tortured by members of bakugos court, the screams of his once childhood friend turned mortal enemy rang in his ears. In a desperate attempt to escape the torture he stabbed himself with katsukis sword with scary aim

right in the dead centre of his chest.

back in real word

katsuki shot up in a cold sweat, panicking. These nightmares had been getting worse and worse, he knew izuku deserved it! But the boy was once his child hood friend, and an ally to his kingdom. Only for when he took over to put his kingdom in insane amounts of debt, poverty and famine. He was a horrible person as he got older, bakugo had to do something! The man got up, wiping up remaining sweat from his body with a rag. Taking a walk down the hallway, he paused by your chamber doors. you.

the woman who seemed to get in his way constantly.

he felt bad for you, he knew you had no choice in this. You couldn’t control if you were to be married off or not. Neither did he. He bit back his pride, knocking on your bedroom door loud enough to wake you up.

The sound of fur sheets rustling filled his ears, followed by your soft voice. "Come in…"

Katsuki opened the door and saw you in your nightgown, snuggled up in bed. "It’s me," he grumbled in a low voice.

"Oh… Baku—"

"Call me Katsuki," he interrupted, his response shocking you.

"Okay… Katsuki."

The blonde sat by your sleepy form awkwardly. "Sorry about today… I shouldn’t have gone off at you. I won't hack off your head, dumbass," he apologized, a rare occurrence.

You blinked in surprise. "Holy shit, did pigs learn to fly?"

Bakugo scoffed. "No, I'm apologizing."

"So… yes, they have. Okay… I accept your apology," you said, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Bakugo breaths a sigh of relief “you better” he grumbled out “I am! I’ve accepted the apology!” You sat up, staring up at him. Bakugo looked over you, checking you out for a second. A slight blush going over his cheeks but you would never see that in the darkness. You cleared your throat “so… Uhm… when’s the wedding?” You asked to try and strike up a conversation. “When was your gown fitted?” Katsuki asked “2 weeks ago..?” “Then in two weeks.” He replied calmly

“your voice is pretty when your calm..”

“hah?!”

“your voice, your always so loud and gruff…it’s pretty when your calm.” You compliment him

“Oh shut up.“

you giggle “you should get some rest, it’s late.

“early.”

“huh?”

katsuki looked at you “it’s early, it’s 1 am.” His face seemed almost like he was mocking you. “Right… yeah… early…”

katsuki stood from your bed “g’ night..” he makes his way to the door and walks out, closing the large wooden door behind him.

that visit of his was strange and oddly comforting, a late night apology from katsuki? What did kirishima do to make him do that?! You laid back down onto the mattress of your bed, staring up at your roof.

The way he walked in shirtless, he was so handsome you’ll give him that.

sleepily your eyes fluttered to a close and you soon drifted off, having a much opposite dream from katsukis.

your dream

your face was pressed into the pillows by a big hand, the feeling of hips slapping against yours being the second thing you feel.

the first thing would be the monster sized cock sliding in and out of your pussy.

katsuki grabbed your hips and pushed you down on his cock harder

“cmon you can handle… hah… it. How else am I supposed to get that heir huh? I need to.. fuck! Fill you up with a baby first to get a baby…just a little longer…” he grumbles into your neck, biting down onto skin before you feel a hot sticky fluid rush into your womb. Doing just as he said he would do to you.

hopefully one day 🙏

a/n I WONDER WHAT “the plan” ISSSSS. it is shorter but it builds up to what’s gonna happen trust the process🙏

tag list:

@literallyjusta-reader. @augustraine @audreykins45 @i-simp-for-mha-men @applepi25 @gabby-ha @@luv444lay @sillyemanusz @thecutienadq @chimeily @thephantomkid6-66 @mutsu422 @alligator-person @nottherealslimshady @therealsatorugojo

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lakefu · 6 months

Text

A Perfect Warmth 🕯️

Summary: Astarion and Tav take a well deserved break away form the chaos of their adventures at an inn inside Baldur's Gate. They need to clean up and get back on the road but they keep getting distracted. Perhaps plans could be delayed for a night of passion...

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Tags: 18+, Explicit, fluffy smut, brief Astarion trauma response, PIV, erogenous elf ears, scent kink, blood + biting, a bit of praise, a bit of edging... a sprinkle of cockwarming...., these guys are in love...

Word count: 3.5k Note: This was my first fic originally uploaded on Ao3 on 11/27/23, inspired by the patch #4 dev note mentioning adding sponges to clean your companions. I've made edits from the Ao3 post.

“Remind me to sell this junk next time we pass by a merchant, would you dear?” Astarion was seated at the edge of the bed and rummaging through his traveler’s pack, placing various items on the nightstand for further examination. Two silver forks, an old necklace, and a handful of various polished stones ended up on the table before he plucked out an intricate sapphire ring and held it up to the sunlight peeking through the window.

“Good taste,” he muttered to himself. He placed the ring on his pinky finger in amusement and resumed the scavenge.

“It’s going to get difficult sneaking up on people if I have to lug this heavy thing around you know.” He threw over a glance at Tav, who was preoccupied with gathering laundry together in preparation for the next day.

“It wouldn’t be so heavy if you didn’t pocket nearly every shiny thing we came across,” she teased, without even looking over at him.

He gasped dramatically. “Framed by my own lover? Quite the scandal. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the near dozen times you’ve asked me to hold onto your things because your own pack was too full.”

“Hmm. Maybe. I guess that might sound sort of familiar…” She giggled to herself and walked into the bedroom to catch his eye, meeting him with a mischievous grin.

“Why are you such a- oh! Now, what’s this you’re wearing?” Astarion blinked and scanned her up and down, clearly enthralled by the wardrobe change. She stood there in an old linen robe that was yellowed with age, definitely unlike anything he had ever seen her in before.

“Just some old thing I found in the dresser here, isn’t it just fabulous?” Tav's words were dripping in sarcasm and yet she smiled, performing a grandiose little spin in the middle of the room as if she was wearing the most beautiful ball gown in the world.

“I… it’s just so different from your usual armor or that drow nightwear you fancy so much. You look so… domestic.” His eyes were locked onto Tav intensely, with brow furrowed as he seemed to be confused by his own words.

She felt her heart skip a beat and a flush run to her face.

“And you think that’s a good look for me?”

His eyes softened and he paused a moment before quietly answering.

“Yes… I do.”

Tav watched as his smile faded and the gaze of his eyes became increasingly more distant. The atmosphere seemed to shift and a slight panic ran through her body. Did she do something wrong? No... and it didn’t require a tadpole connection to get an understanding for what had brought down his spirits.

Astarion hadn’t considered a comfortable domestic life was possible for someone like him. Even the slightest concept of such a thing had been buried for over a hundred years, and he never expected it to resurface. Was he worthy of such a thing, and was it even possible?

Oh, it was possible. The evidence was standing right in front of him, spinning circles in an ugly bathrobe. He could see glimpses of a happy future that was so close to being a reality he nearly felt nauseous. Not because he was unsure of himself, but because there were still too many unresolved matters they had a duty to attend to. Too many missions and stupid little quests that could now go wrong and threaten this idea of a happy ending he never even knew was possible.

Everything was different now that he realized what was possible, and he suddenly felt an unknown and uncomfortable pressure. All he knew was that he couldn’t afford to lose in the upcoming battles. Battles that some would say were impossible, suicidal even. The thought of loss at this point was beyond unbearable. It was sickening just to think about.

“Hey!!” Tav ran up to where he was sitting on the bed and took his head in her hands. She placed a delicate kiss on his forehead, knowing she had to get him focused on something else.

“Why don’t we go to the shop right now and get rid of that stuff,” she motioned to the collection of items that had been gathered on the nightstand.

“Wouldn’t hurt to get some more coin in our pockets, right?” She looked at him expectantly and felt a huge relief as a light seemed to return to his eye and meet her view.

“Please tell me you aren’t going to wear that horrid robe to see the merchant,” he sighed and looked up at her pleadingly.

“Of course not!! I’ll change and- oh gods!!! We’ve got to get this blood off your face, the merchant is going to think we are trying to kill him!” Tav exclaimed as she lightly shook his shoulders, and quickly began examining his body to see how much cleaning would have to get done before they could leave.

“Blood… on my face?” He raised an eyebrow and brought a finger to his cheek.

“Yeah!! Well, it’s all over you really, dontcha remember earlier today, fighting those cultists?? You sneaked up behind one of ‘em and BAM!!! Just obliterated with a single strike, it was amazing!! You’re so strong…you know.” Her pulse was racing at the mere memory of the event as she delicately traced the side of his face with her fingers and ventured down to his chest.

“Ah of course. That was all so terribly easy I’d nearly forgotten,” he said proudly, adjusting his posture and keeping his eyes on Tav’s hand movements sliding across his chest. Her soft touch was becoming more firm as her fingers made their way toward his arms, giving his biceps a teasing squeeze before leaning her face into his and teasing a kiss.

Before their lips could touch, Astarion wags a finger in between their faces as if to remind Tav of the task at hand.

“Alright my sweet, let’s clean up shall we? You’re my mirror after all. So, go on then.” He took her hands into his own and gave them a kiss before placing them back at her side, encouraging her to go and gather whatever it was she needed to get him cleaned up.

Right, the supplies. It was nearly impossible to remain focused after moments of intimacy with him, no matter how brief they were. She quickly moved into the other room to acquire the washcloths and bucket of soapy water that she was using for herself not too long ago. Hands full, she scurried back to the bedroom to meet her lover, who hadn’t moved an inch.

As she approached him, Tav could feel the tie on her robe becoming increasingly more loose with each step that was taken across the floor. The embarrassment hit her as she realized she didn't have any hands free to do anything about it. She quickly tried to put the bucket down by the bedside, but the bending movement only resulted in the robe slipping off one of her shoulders, exposing a bare breast.

“Oh? You haven’t got anything on underneath?” Astarion cocked his head in amusement, eyes unmoving from the newly exposed skin.

“Ye-yeah that’s the whole point of robes isn’t it? I was doing laundry earlier ya know and umm,” She laughed nervously and started to fix the wardrobe malfunction but was quickly stopped by a hand over her own. Astarion reached out toward her until both hands were around her waist and pulled her in close to his body. Fangs were peeking through his devious smile while determined eyes looked her up and down. With a singular finger he crept over to the loose knot of the robe’s tie and flicked it completely undone with one swift movement.

Tav shuddered and felt her body starting to run warm despite now being suddenly exposed to the cool air of the inn. She was completely revealed to him now, the robe only just clinging to her arms and draped across her backside.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he sighed and began kissing her stomach and caressing the curves of her waist. “Come here.”

Tav gasped as she felt his cold grip around her waist tighten as he expertly lifted her up onto his lap with ease. Pleased at the new angle, Astarion shifted his attention to kissing the crook of her neck and started moving down her chest. He delightfully found her nipple with his mouth in no time, and teased it in circles with his tongue just as he knew she liked it. His gentle sucking continued for only a few brief moments before he suddenly withdrew and cleared his throat.

“Ah, well. You can reach my face better up here I’m sure. For the cleaning of course,” he said smugly. The elf leaned back and admired the view of his lover, nude and flustered, perched oh-so perfectly on top of him.

“The cleaning…” Tav nodded and remembered she still had a warm and soapy washcloth in her hand. The urge to throw the stupid cloth into some unknown corner of the room was nearly undeniable. All she wanted in this moment was for him to take her completely, in any way he wanted, it didn’t matter as long as she ended up getting fucked into oblivion. So fine. On with the cleaning.

She raised the washcloth to his temple and slowly began to wipe away the dried blood by working down his face. His cheeks were a bit sunken as usual but flushed adorably in this moment, clearly enjoying the tender rubs of cloth on his skin. She continued rubbing down toward his chiseled jawline, across to his lips, and back up the other side to repeat the process once more. She ran her fingers through his silver curls and noticed his ears would need cleaning too.

One hand caressed the pointy ear to keep it in place and the other brought the washcloth in for a gentle scrub. A quiet moan suddenly escaped the vampire’s lips.

Oh? She had seemingly discovered a sensitive spot and noted that she would have to continue her work carefully. The scrubbing continued but Tav couldn’t keep her eyes off his face now. His eyes were closed but still noticeably moving behind their lids, and his lips were slightly parted with his breathing becoming increasingly heavier and more noticeable.

Astarion was in his own world of pleasure. What in the hells had he been doing these past weeks, aimlessly scrubbing himself clean alone in the river when they could have been doing this the whole time instead?

He opened his eyes just to make sure it wasn’t all a dream. She was still there of course, diligently and lovingly taking such good care of his body. A wave of maddening lust rushed through his core and he needed her closer. He needed her as close as physically possible and even more so after that.

Their eyes met, revealing intense desires. Tav lowered her hands and she spoke slowly, “Can you take your shirt off? There’s a spot I can’t get to with it on…”

She wasn’t fooling anybody, but he obeyed without hesitation. The shirt was gone in seconds, revealing his pale and perfectly sculpted chest. It was a sight that Tav never tired of admiring, and was in fact the subject of distracting daydreams on the daily. She shifted her body closer to his and continued scrubbing his neck and chest, despite it becoming increasingly more difficult to focus. Deep breaths.

She had always been fond of his cologne that he was quite proud of concocting himself. The scent of aged brandy, bergamot, and rosemary was now forever an Astarion specialty that she could never forget. Even during times of battle or travel, a gust of wind could carry his essence to her and bring along with it a sense of reassuring familiarity. As she continued to wipe him down, however, a different scent began to come to the forefront.

It was something that did not seem completely foreign, but it wasn't immediately identifiable either. There was something about taking it all in that felt forbidden. Tav tried to pinpoint what she was experiencing. He smelled earthy… raw… unnatural… it was without a doubt, the undeath.

An undeniable heat rose through her body as she engulfed herself with this pure scent from her lover. The washcloth, the bed, the entire room seemed miles away, and nothing felt coherent except for a craving to be even closer to him. Nothing else existed except their bodies and her overwhelming desire to-

“Eager, are we?” A sultry voice snapped her back into reality, where piercing red eyes amusingly greeted her return. She suddenly became aware of a presence between her thighs and glanced down, realizing she was sitting atop a clothed bulge. His hands had a firm grip on her backside and his encouraging movements made it clear she had been absentmindedly grinding on him during her trance.

“Shit, I got carried away…” She hadn’t taken her eyes off his crotch and began to notice that her excitement had left a dampness on his clothes. Embarrassment nearly overtook her, but a gentle yet confident hand grabbed her chin and brought it up to meet his gaze. He leaned into her with a grinning open mouth and kissed her passionately, tongues intertwining.

She felt his fangs briefly scrape against her tongue every so often until a metallic taste became increasingly noticeable. She didn't mind the blood, especially since it seemed to enhance his arousal as noted by his hips continuously jolting faster up into her exposed crotch. Tav was soon pleasantly overwhelmed between his deep kisses and desperate hands groping her at every curve of her body. She longed to give him everything; her blood for his hunger, her body for his pleasure.

Tav released herself from the kiss they had been locked into and tilted her head so that her neck became exposed as an undeniable gift. His mouth lunged at the presented spot as soon as it was noticed, fangs immediately sinking in deep. Tav cried out at the initial impact but soon was reveling in the experience. It was a perfect mixture of pain and pleasure that she was only capable of experiencing from him.

He remained on her neck for a while, still tightly holding on to her body and keeping one hand free to reassuringly caress the back of her head. It was only after the blood flow slowed to a near stop did he cease his medley of licking and sucking at the wound. Blood dripped down his chin and onto his exposed chest, but he was ultimately unfazed. He leaned back, clearly happy and mostly satisfied, but there was still a different type of satisfaction he had left to chase.

Astarion's throbbing erection was begging to be released from its clothed restraints. He quickly untied his pants and shifted his underwear to finally free it. He moaned a few incomprehensible words of relief and stroked himself a few times before looking up at Tav for approval.

Tav had been staring at his length from the moment it was exposed, an impressive size for an elf, no doubt. Her eyes fixated on his perfectly pink tip, glistening with precum just for her. She immediately fantasized of shoving him down her throat until she choked and cried, but that was a fantasy for another day. In their current position, they both knew there was only one simple way of how to continue.

“Astarion,” she whimpered. “Fuck me.”

Tav sat up on her knees and positioned herself so that her entrance was just nearly grazing the head of his dick, ready to take him in completely at any moment. She grabbed ahold of his shaft and guided the tip back and forth through her folds until he was covered in her slick. The new sensation of the friction between them left them both gasping and desperate for more.

Suddenly, finally, his arms wrapped around her body as he pulled her down onto him with one firm motion. Astarion grunted through his teeth while Tav moaned unapologetically, focusing on relaxing enough to allow her body to adjust to his length inside of her.

The temperature differences between their bodies only heightened the feelings of pleasure whenever they became one. Her warmness was intoxicating to him, granting a sense of safety and bliss that was impossible to achieve anywhere else. He was already so close to the edge in this moment, but was not ready to give in just yet. He wanted this moment of heaven to last as long as possible.

Meanwhile, Tav was having the time of her life riding her man like there was no tomorrow. She had no intent to slow down until a pair of large hands suddenly gripped her hips in a way that prevented any further movement.

“I’m not done with you yet, love. Didn’t you notice the mess I’ve made after feasting on you?” Astarion took a finger to his chin and smeared a bit of Tav’s fresh blood down his neck.

It was true, he had made a mess. Quite uncharacteristically of him in fact. Tav had assumed he had simply gotten careless in his horny and feral craze but no- it was clearly all calculated.

“Just be still and sit nice and pretty on my cock. Finish the cleaning, then I’ll take care of you myself. How does that sound?”

How does that sound? His words echoed in her head, which was already spinning plenty enough as it was. She was unsure if it was from the blood loss or her seemingly never ending carnal desires, but perhaps it was both. One thing was certain, however, he could convince her to do damn near anything speaking in that low and lustful tone of his. Without uttering a word she slowly brought the washcloth up to his chest.

“Good girl,” he whispered. He felt her body twitch around him in response to the praise, and he leaned back to relax and enjoy these final few moments of intimacy.

It had taken everything in Tav's power to remain still while she worked. It wasn't exactly easy to focus- she was being split in half by a whimpering vampire beneath her after all. Astarion’s skilled fingers had been dancing around her swollen clit the whole time, just enough to keep her stimulated but never enough to let her come.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the blood was all cleaned up. She hadn't even realized when it happened or how he did it, but his pants were completely gone now. She reached over to place the cloth down and awaited her reward of sweet release.

Astarion’s hands moved to the knees that were straddling him and slowly pushed them farther apart, spreading Tav’s legs open bit by bit. She inhaled sharply as she took him in deeper. He opened her up more and more until she lost her balance and fell backwards onto his expectant embrace.

“Relax darling, I’ve got you,” He purred in reassurance.

Astarion took her entire weight in his arms with ease and laid her down amongst the soft pillows of the bed. He nestled himself comfortably between her legs, making sure their bodies were flush with one another. Nearly smothered by his body now, all Tav could do was claw at his back and arch her hips into his powerful thrusts. His mouth frantically traveled across her lips and neck with desperately wet kisses until he settled near her ear with a playful nibble.

“You’re so beautiful…” He whispered tenderly, while the rhythm of his lovemaking became increasingly sporadic. “So fucking perfect… Gods…just for me… I love you… so much...”

“Star, I- ah!” Her words cut short as she felt something snap within her. Pure ecstasy- she was falling and flying somewhere a million galaxies away and never wanted to come back. Obscene noises and curses filled the room as they rode out each other’s high in tight embrace. The smell of sex lingered in the air as their bodies heaved with labored breaths, finally collapsing on each other in exhaustion.

They laid together a while longer, exchanging soft kisses and enjoying the short moment in time where nothing else in the world mattered. Eventually, Astarion rolled out of the bed and stood up to stretch.

“Tsk, looks like it’s my turn to clean you up my dear,” He said with an accomplished grin, eying how her thighs were dripping with his sticky mess.

“I’ll be right back, don’t move an inch. Actually, I doubt you can move at all after that, ahaha!” He laughed and leaned over to brush aside a strand of Tav’s sweaty hair that was stuck to her forehead before walking over to the other room.

“Shut up… dummy…” she smiled to herself and rolled over, feeling at ease enough that the weight of sleep was starting to overtake her.

“I love you too, Astarion.” Her eyes closed as she drifted off into a peaceful slumber, knowing that her lover would soon come back to her side like he always did, and always would.

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion smut #astarion fanfic #astarion romance #astarion ancunin #tavstarion #bg3 astarion #astarion fluff #bg3 #astarion fanfiction #vampire fanfiction #astarion x f!tav #astarion x female tav #bg3 smut

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angelicyoongie · 1 year

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The Obsidian Pearl (II)

— pairing: mermaid seokjin x (f) reader — word count: 8.1k — warnings: yandere, descriptions of death/blood/violence, explicit sexual content! dub-con touching/oral sex (f. receiving) - the smut is marked with * if you want to skip it — summary: Sailing through The Dead Man’s Passage is a death sentence and the whole crew knows it. But with the ship’s stocks dwindling fast, your captain is left with no other choice. When a haunting melody makes the crew jump ship one by one, you find yourself alone with the demon lurking in the murky red water. As the creature beckons you to jump into the icy ocean – “come to me, pet” – you find that you can’t do anything but obey.

Part 01 - 02

It's almost night when the siren, Seokjin, visits you again.

Enough time has passed for the air to turn chilly, carrying small gusts of wind that pass right through your clothes. The sunshine that warmed you only hours ago feels like it might never return, not when your surroundings are so terribly dark. You can feel the chill deep in your bones, fear nipping at your skin, clinging to you like frost on a dark winter night.

You're huddled as deep in the cave as you can go, hugging your knees to your chest. You're exhausted, eyes as dry as sand, but you know you can't rest. Call it instinct after being on the sea for so many years – of constantly being trapped on a vessel with people who might turn on you at any second – you tend to develop a hunch of when bad things are going to happen.

You can feel it in your body now, the low buzz that keeps you alert, reminding you that you are not safe no matter how tired you may be.

The reason for it comes only a few minutes later, a terrible scraping sound reverberating through the silence as something heavy is pushed up on the ledge of the stone dock. You free your stiff limbs, wincing as you whip around to face the source of it. It looks to be some sort of chest, the short distance and the faint moonlight not doing much for your vision.

As the item is pushed forward with another forceful shove, your heart jumps to your throat. You've seen this chest before – the iron insignia on the top is all too familiar to you. It belongs, no, belonged, to your captain. You don't dare to move closer though, not when there's only one creature who could've brought it to you.

Seokjin emerges from the water just seconds later, heaving himself up on the rock. He looks like something out of your worst nightmare, long hair covering his face as he claws his way forward. The shadows make him look all the more terrifying, the dark night blending together with his tail and hair like the perfect camouflage. If it wasn't for his strikingly pale skin, you never would've been able to make him out at all.

He settles back against the same rock as he did before, parting his hair to expose his face. Shivers run down your spine as Seokjin's black eyes find yours through the darkness. They strike just as much fear into you as they did last night, this morning, the emptiness just another reminder of how unearthly he really is.

It was foolish perhaps, but you had found yourself hoping that Seokjin had forgotten about you. That he had come across another ship to terrorize and another human to keep for his little experiments. You wouldn't have minded rotting away in the cave alone if it meant you never had to look upon him again.

The siren clicks his tongue. "I bring you a gift and you dare to look disappointed? This won't do. Come closer, little human."

You don't move, self-preservation rooting you to the ground.

"You humans freeze to death if you get too cold, do you not? Your skin is quite thin, fragile." Seokjin delivers his point by parting his mouth more than necessary, those horrible teeth coming to view behind his plush lips. "Your brain might be too small to remember but the water I dragged you out of was ice cold, pet. The air will only grow colder the longer you wait."

Seokjin doesn't have to use his thrall to make you understand that you have no choice in the matter. If you don't come forward willingly, he'll will either drag you there himself or let the elements do you in. The part of your brain that fears the unknown more than the creature in front of you, urges you to move.

You don't even have it in you to feel humiliated as you crawl forward, terror and cold stiff limbs making it impossible to walk. Seokjin's stare hangs over you like a heavy cloud, slowing you down even further.

He's close, way too close, as you kneel in front of the chest. You would be able to touch his stomach, feel where his skin transforms into scales if you just stretch your arm out.

Seokjin huffs as you linger, the sound making you jump as he impatiently says, "Go on."

You reach for the iron key that's miraculously still in the lock, your busted shoulder aching with pain as you have to twist it with more force than usual. A small stream of water is forced out, running down the side of the chest as you slowly open the lid with shaking hands. You've never held much gratitude for your captain, but for once, you can't be more thankful for his arrogance. He always left the key in the lock and never worried about a greedy crew, because, as he would always say; who in their right mind would dare to steal from a Captain?

You release a shuddering breath as you push it open, the iron hinges voicing their displeasure with a long squeak as the contents are revealed to you. The fur-lined coat your captain bought in the East lays on top of an array of shirts and pants, the fabric hardly even damp as you pick it up. You had assumed everything to be drenched, but it seems the carpenter your captain had been boasting about was the real deal after all.

You pull the coat into your lap, warmth immediately swaddling your legs.

A gift, Seokjin had called it, but you doubt the siren is simply that generous.

"How did you get this?" You quietly ask, voice trembling.

You know the stories of how the ships make it out unscathed, of how it's only the crews that go missing. But unless Seokjin can sprout legs, there's no way he was able to grab it on his own. The siren has a tail and a heavy one at that. As unearthly as he is, you doubt he's strong enough to drag himself all the way up the ship and into your captain's quarters. Never mind that he would do all of that for a chest he didn't even know existed.

"I sank the ship," Seokjin sounds like he's rolling his eyes, although you're not too sure he's even capable of doing so. "It took you too long to wake from your slumber and I was bored. I have not explored a wooden vessel in many moons and this chest looked interesting. I was foolishly hoping for treasure, not silly human clothes."

The siren smacks his tail against the water, irritated.

Even though the chances of getting out of here were slim, you were holding out hope that if you only got to the other side of the mountain, you might be able to use the ship to get away. It would be near impossible to do with only one person and not the whole crew it actually needs, but when something as ludicrous as a siren exists, manning one ship by yourself doesn't sound all that far-fetched in comparison.

You release a shuddering breath, blinking away the tears that gather. With that escape route gone, the ship now resting on the bottom of the sea with the remains of your crewmates, you are truly helpless.

Trapped.

You hope the darkness hides the way your face crumples. Lip wobbling, you try to focus on the chest in front of you, not wanting to give into panic with Seokjin so close. You have to save the freakout and the despair for when you're alone. It wouldn't surprise you if the siren can smell your fear.

Leaning forward, you notice what looks like a thick scarf, the material soft enough that it might serve as a decent pillow. You're not sure if Seokjin is planning on leaving the chest or taking it with him, so this might be your only chance at grabbing items you'll need to survive.

Just as your fingers close around the scarf, picking it up, you feel something sharp poke into your cheek.

Your whole body goes rigid at the touch, your muscles locking up as you realize that one of Seokjin's claws is currently digging into your skin. You hold your breath as he slowly trails it down your throat, the sharp nail leaving a sting in its wake. You don't have to touch it to know that it's a deep scratch, blood rushing to the surface to clot the damage.

"Look at me."

You don't. You can't. You don't want to know what will happen when you do.

"Look at me," Seokjin repeats, more force in his voice.

It makes something in the back of your mind tickle.

You clutch the coat in your lap tighter, focusing on the soft fur between your fingers as the siren's voice grows in annoyance.

You're not sure how many times he repeats his command but between one blink and the next, you suddenly find yourself staring right at him. Your mind feels hazy like it's been stuffed with cotton and shaken around, turning everything upside down.

The hard set of Seokjin's mouth disappears as you finally meet his gaze. The siren hums under his breath as he moves his hand to your face, cupping your jaw. It's like being a spectator in your own body, your eyes refusing to waver no matter how much you want them to. You can feel the ghost of his claws on your skin, not quite digging in but present enough that you know it's a threat. That he can mess you up beyond repair if he feels like it.

Seokjin leans in, watching you curiously as your throat bobs, lips struggling to part.

Your tongue feels like lead, awkward and too heavy, but you use all of your willpower to open your mouth, slurring as you ask, "What did you do?"

Seokjin breaks into a grin, a forked tongue peeking out to lick his terrible teeth. You can feel his breath wash over your face as he speaks, the stench of decay and death making your stomach roll. "You're quite the strong one, pet, I'm glad I brought you here. I think you'll prove to be very entertaining."

The siren gives you one last look, his cold fingers leaving your face as he leans back. You feel some of the thrall leave you as Seokjin turns and slowly sinks back down into the dark water, the small distance making it a little easier to think. You still can't look away from him, eyes tracking his movements even as he submerges himself completely under the surface. He's only gone for a moment before he returns, one of his pale hands coming into view above the water just before something wet splatters at your feet.

"Eat."

Seokjin doesn't wait for an answer. The thrall snaps the moment he's gone, his strong fin carrying him away in seconds.

You gasp, hand shooting up to feel your throat. The scratch he left behind aches and your head is beginning to throb from whatever he did to it. You tear your eyes away from the lake, glancing down at the thing that Seokjin left you with.

The moment you manage to make out what it is, you flinch back, jerking your body away from the mangled fish at your feet. The blood pooling beneath it has already soaked the hem of your trousers, staining it dark.

The sight disgusts you but you can't ignore the hunger gnawing at your stomach. The water in the lake felt fresh enough to drink, but it's been almost two days without any food and you're starving.

There's not a bone in your body that trusts Seokjin but you can't turn away a free meal. You have no guarantee that he'll bring you something again and you'll have no chance of escaping if you're too weak to move.

You poke at the fish, shuddering as its half-torn body twitches.

If only you still had your knife. At least then one of you could be shown some mercy.

You wake with a gasp, chest heaving with panicked breaths as the fog lifts. It's like someone snaps their finger right next to your ear, violently jerking you out of a slumber you weren't even aware you had fallen into. Your awareness always comes back to your first, keeping your mind awake and trapped while the rest of your body slowly shakes off the thrall you've been under.

You're near the edge of the dock again, kneeling in front of Seokjin. The siren has his head tucked against your neck, his long tongue dragging over your skin, licking off the sweat that rolls down your throat. Every part of you feels sticky and damp, the top of your head burning from the blazing sun. You have no way of knowing how long you've been sitting here but judging by the way your brain is practically mush from the prolonged exposure, it must've been a while.

You shudder at the next flick of his tongue, nausea swirling in your stomach. The days have been passing much in the same manner, every new turn of the moon leading you closer and closer to Seokjin. This isn't the first time you've felt his cold skin against yours, you've woken up to your hands and face being touched many times, but it's never been this intimate before. Never this dangerous, with his sharp teeth so close to your delicate skin.

Seokjin pauses, his tongue pulling away from your skin as he muses, "That lasted shorter than expected, little human."

There's no emotion in the siren's voice, nothing that gives you an indication of whether he's happy or angry. He's simply just... observing. Treating you like the experiment he's decided you are. The siren seems fascinated with your ability to somewhat resist his thrall and he has made it his mission to test out how well your resilience works. That seems to be the only reason he's keeping you here.

You can't quite tell how long he's been at it, though. Time feels wonky when you don't know how much of it has passed. The only thing you can be certain of is that it's already been well over a week, maybe even two since Seokjin trapped you here.

"Please stop," You whimper, voice shaking as you feel his hot breath against your throat, teeth skimming lightly over your skin.

To your surprise, Seokjin listens. The siren pulls back, the corner of his lip curled into a displeased snarl. He looks nothing short of irked that his fun was cut short, a series of clicking noises gurgling in his throat as he gives your shoulder a shove, breaking the last of his thrall.

You scramble backward the second your limbs feel like they're once again attached to your body, dragging yourself into the safety and shade of the cave. Nothing is stopping Seokjin from following after you, he's strong enough to pull himself into your makeshift shelter, but he seems content to stay on the edge of the stone dock - always resting against the same flat rock.

You sprawl out on the ground, panting from the heat. The cool stone seeps slowly through your clothes, bringing your temperature down to something that feels less like you're boiling alive in your own skin. But even as the heat begins to recede, you still feel terrible. The thrall always leaves you nauseous and the shock of snapping out of it in such close proximity to a dangerous predator doesn't exactly help. You're constantly on edge, heart locked in such a rapid beat that you're worried it's shaving years off your life.

Biting back a groan, you sit up, using your captain's chest for support. It wasn't easy moving it into the cave, not with a shoulder that ached with every push. The fear that Seokjin might take it back if you left it was the only thing that kept you going, the clothes inside were far too precious for you to take that risk.

The siren hasn't mentioned the chest since the night he left it but it's impossible to tell if your actions bothered him. He's too good at masking his emotions, his face a blank canvas. Some nights, you do admit that you wonder if he even has them – if he can feel the same things that you do.

You're not quite sure which answer scares you the most.

One thing you do know though, is that you need to learn more about him. You're not one to be a sitting duck and this is driving you insane. Seokjin must have some weakness, something you can use against him or that might aid you in your escape. Perhaps he hibernates in the colder months or he needs to swim for a set amount of hours for his body to function. You refuse to believe he's invincible.

"So," You swallow thickly as Seokjin turns his lifeless eyes to you, "You mentioned that you have brothers?"

Your voice is barely audible enough to carry over to Seokjin but it sounds much too loud within the walls of the cave. You ball your hands in your lap, hoping your expression doesn't show just how terrified you are of willingly calling upon his attention.

"Indeed, pet."

"How many do you have?"

The siren raises one hand to the sky, inspecting his sharp claws. "Enough."

He obviously doesn't want to answer that topic – move on.

"Y-you said something about a sea witch. How did you find them?"

"Now why would you want to find a sea witch, little human? Unless you want to get turned into a fish, they are of no use to you."

"Right, o-of course," You exhale, biting back the urge to throw some colourful language his way.

You try a few more, but there are only so many meaningless questions you can ask before you give up, tired of the aloof answers you get in return. It's like he knows exactly what you're trying to do. Considering Seokjin isn't willing to disclose any type of information, even knowledge that is worthless to you, it's pretty clear that you can't bait him into revealing anything useful.

He's too smart.

Seokjin stretches his arms above his head, showing off his lean muscles as his back pops. The crunches sound terribly loud, like he's trying to crack open every vertebra in his spine.

He lets out a satisfied sound, head tipped back to soak up the sun as he says, "Now that I have answered all of your questions, little human, you should give me something in return. Tell me something interesting about yourself, pet, something that you deem worthy of a meal. It is horribly tiresome to fetch your food at the time."

You suppose it was absurd to think that the siren would continue to feed you without demanding something in return. Perhaps he's already starting to tire of his little experiments.

You pick at your nails, the splintered edges uncomfortable and raw.

There's only one story a creature like him will find interesting – one you swore you would never tell anyone that wasn't there to witness it when it happened. But, as twisted as it is, the siren might be the only one who won't judge you.

The faded scar on your throat burns as you swallow, the phantom pain of a knife digging into your skin flaring up as you say, "I killed someone."

Glancing up, you find Seokjin staring straight at you, his dark eyes glittering under the sun. His tail does a small wiggle, fin smacking the water in what you can only assume to be intrigue.

"Tell me more, pet."

"He was sick," Your hand flies to cover your mouth as your lips move without your permission. You didn't even feel the thrall this time, no push or tug to indicate that Seokjin was in your head. There's only a small tickle at the back of your brain, like you need to scratch your scalp.

Seokjin has never used the thrall on you twice in one day before now. It must be that you're already tired from earlier that he can affect you so easily, that he can slither his way back in without you even noticing he's trying.

Seokjin grins, lips stretched into a terrible smile as he says, "Go on."

"W-we had been out on the sea for many months, five full moons, and we still had a few to go before we would reach the nearest port," You say, taking a measured breath.

"One of our cooks starting acting strangely – he was suddenly anxious and angry, exploding at any minor inconvenience. He started picking fights with the crew, causing too much tension. It was cabin fever, we all had it, but for him, it was worse. It made him sick."

You let your hands fall to your side, fingers uselessly grasping for the knife that isn't there anymore.

"He attacked one of the cabin boys in the kitchen, sliced two of his fingers clean off as he delivered him a freshly caught fish. He followed the poor lad up on deck when he ran, waving his knife around and screaming at anyone that tried to calm him down. The sea... she can be brutal, too big. Staring at the same unchanging horizon every day had chipped away at his sanity, left him with nothing but fear and anger at being trapped by the same water day in and day out."

Seokjin says nothing, his black eyes staring you down as he waits for you to continue.

"He tackled me to the ground before I even knew what was going on. When I looked him in the eyes, I knew he wasn't there anymore. There was no recognition, no emotion. Just survival. He managed to give me this while I was trying to fight him off," You lightly touch the scar on your neck, tracing it from the bottom of your jaw down to your collarbone.

"The others couldn't pull him away either, he was like a beast. I am, was, vice-captain of the ship. It was my duty to protect my crew. I couldn't let him hurt anyone else," Your voice falters as you stare at the monster in front of you, at the creature you couldn't protect your crew from. The cook was a weak mouse in comparison.

"So, I... I killed him. He wouldn't have made it even if we had locked him up, he was simply too far gone. It was more merciful to let him die."

The siren is silent for a beat, his eyes roaming over your face before he tips his head forward and laughs. At least, that's what you think he does, the series of weird clicking noises that gurgle in his throat sounding oddly joyful despite how grating the sound is.

"You truly are fascinating, pet. I made a good choice letting you live."

The hand by your hip clenches, your heart beating painfully in your chest. You wish you still had your knife, that you had something you could drive into Seokjin's throat to hear him choke on his last breaths. You weren't expecting sympathy, but you also didn't think he would find your story entertaining – funny, even. He truly is terrible.

You say nothing in return, your anger making it hard to think; to feel anything but the hatred stirring in your heart.

Seokjin, seemingly pleased with what he heard and not at all bothered by your silence, does what he always does and leaves the moment he gets what he wants.

You stare at the empty spot he left, the wet imprint of his long body the only thing left behind.

You're not sure how long you sit there, caught up in old memories and emotions you've tried to ignore for so long, but the sun has started its descent by the time the siren makes his presence known again.

This time, you watch as Seokjin leaves you not one, but five fish, all half mangled and twitching as the life drains out of them. He flings a few pieces of driftwood up on the dock, staring at your curled-up form for a minute before he swims away.

It's only when your stomach starts to rumble that you force yourself to rise to your feet, walking slowly over to the haul the siren brought you. The wood is wet and soggy, but a few days out in the sun should hopefully dry it enough that it might be used to start a fire.

You let out a humorless chuckle as you drag your hands across your face. You truly are little more than a mutt, waiting for your master to reward you when you do something he finds amusing. How embarrassing. How weak.

No matter how rabid you feel, you know that biting the hand that feeds you will do you no good here. If you want to survive, to live, perhaps it's time to roll over and accept your fate.

You're not sure if you're getting better at resisting the thrall or if Seokjin just isn't bothering to use it at full force anymore, but you no longer blackout when he comes to visit you. It feels like you're in a dream, vision spotty as you watch yourself move forward on unsteady feet, falling right into Seokjin's waiting arms. The siren holds you close to his chest, arms squeezing you so hard the pain registers even through the haze.

Weeks have passed since the day you told Seokjin your story, since you slowly began to surrender to your situation. The siren still follows the same routine but he seems to have sensed your compliance – your defeat. Your mind is still blocked off, barred from taking control of your body, but now you're able to feel everything that was only a dull memory before. Perhaps the darkness, the blissful ignorance, was a small mercy compared to this.

Seokjin lets out a guttural sound as he pushes his face into your neck, his sharp claws slicing through your shirt. His tongue drags over your skin with a desperation you haven't felt before, teeth nicking your skin.

As terrible as it is, you've grown used to Seokjin's touches, his presence. On lonely nights, you find that you almost wish to see him, just so that you don't have to face the darkness all alone.

You have come to know what to expect from Seokjin but this is new, dangerous, a far cry from the stoic and in-control creature you've been around for the past months.

The siren's hold on you is crushing, your bones aching under the strong pressure. He skims his nose along your skin, huffing as he breathes in your scent. There's a pause, a stretch of heavy silence, and then blinding pain as sharp teeth sink into your already injured shoulder.

Your vision whites out, ears ringing as the thrall suddenly snaps and everything comes rushing in at once. Your shoulder is spasming, muscles jerking with agony as Seokjin digs his teeth in deeper, an animalistic sound tearing from his throat as he draws blood.

It hurts. Gods, it hurts.

A wounded scream rips from your throat as you attempt to claw at his face, desperate to get his teeth out of your shoulder. Seokjin growls as you deliver a deep scratch on his cheek, pulling back just a smidge to create the sound. Seeing an opening, you tangle your hand in his long hair, jerking it back with all your might. You're lucky Seokjin doesn't tear a chunk of your shoulder out as his head snaps back, surprise making his tight grip around you lessen. It's just enough for you to fight your way out of his embrace, body shaking with fear and adrenaline as you roll onto the stone.

Grabbing your shoulder, you try to scoot backward on the slick ground, your own blood making it hard to get enough friction.

Your legs falter as Seokjin turns in your direction, the siren looking like he crawled right out of hell. His expression is crazed, hungry, blood dripping from his unhinged jaw. You can see straight down his throat from how open his mouth is, his stained teeth and black eyes creating the perfect picture of a demon.

Seokjin hisses as you attempt to move, a horrible sound that makes every strand of hair on your body stand straight. He digs his claws into the rock in front of him, using his strong arms to drag himself forward.

"Come here, pet," Seokjin gurgles, his voice hardly even human.

"No no, please don't," You whimper, a newfound urgency propelling you back.

Something in the siren's expression flickers at your broken pleading, like he can't decide if his hunger or entertainment is more important. The confusion, the small sliver of hope it gives you, only lasts for a few seconds before he shakes himself out of it, Seokjin's clawed hand reaching out for your ankle.

Just as he's about to wrap his hand around your foot, your feeble kicks doing little to deter him, you both hear the distant sound of people.

It must be another crew daring to brave the mountains, their rambunctious singing and laughter so terribly out of place. They're either obvious to the stories haunting the pass or trying to compensate for the oppressive silence they no doubt felt the moment the ship entered it. Your heart flutters with longing at the sound of humans singing and laughing, your chest constricting with a yearning you thought died weeks ago. They sound happy and lively – everything the siren is not.

You watch as the same realization hits Seokjin, as he registers the sound of food entering his territory. The siren's jaw pops back to normal as he licks his lips, his empty eyes flickering up to the darkening sun as he says, "The ocean appears to be smiling kindly on you tonight, little human."

Frozen to the spot, you feel your heart drop to your stomach as the siren twists around and dives back into the water with an urgency you haven't seen from him before.

The moment he's out of sight you let out an ugly sob, hope draining out of you alongside the blood that runs down your arm. You tear at the sliced fabric that's barely holding on to your body, wrapping it around your wound with shaking fingers. It's a poor excuse for a bandage, the material soaked through in seconds, but you still tighten it as much as you can, hoping it'll be enough to stop the bleeding. Only left with your undershirt, you can feel the shivers begin to set in, your adrenaline crashing.

You had given up hope on being rescued a long time ago but to have it this close, just on the other side of the mountain, is torture. You can't even alert the unsuspecting crew of what's coming, of the deadly creature that's lurking below their ship.

Scream, scare them off.

Just as the futile thought strikes you, you hear it – him. The gentle hums that cause a hush to fall over the ship.

You cover your ears, not wanting to hear what comes next. You don't know if Seokjin's thrall can still affect you here but you'd rather not take the chance and risk waking up at the bottom of the lake. Closing your eyes, you try to pretend that none of this is real, that all of this is just a terrible, terrible dream.

You let out a weak sob as the first scream pierces the air. Their terrified yells echo between the mountains as they're forced to jump one by one, their final moments brutal and panicked. There's no gentleness in Seokjin's song this time, only urgency as he compels them to their deaths.

He was starving.

For some unfathomable reason, the siren must have been starving himself to the point of breaking, trying to withhold from killing you. It all adds up to why he was acting so out of character over the past few days, his behavior more erratic than normal. He had been trying to fight off the urge to eat you.

If the ship hadn't arrived when it did, if it had only been one second too late, you would've been dead by now.

You curl up into a small ball, body cold and numb to the pain as your shield your ears, wrapping your arms securely around your head. "Thank you," You whisper to the faint moon, guilt twisting your stomach into knots.

Tears drip down your face as the screams continue to reverberate into the night, choked apologies passing through your lips until you feel them going slack. You don't fight the darkness that pulls you under, your soul begging for rest, for a place the screams of Seokjin's massacre can't reach you.

You jolt as a cold hand wraps around your shin.

Eyes flying open, you manage to push yourself up on your elbows before your shoulder gives out, the movement sending a sharp pain all the way down to your fingers. You grit your teeth, breathing through your nose to steady yourself as you glance up at Seokjin.

The siren wraps his hand tighter around your leg, using it for leverage as he drags himself up on the rock. You were close to the mouth of the cave when you passed out but now you're almost at the edge of the dock, feet only a few steps away from the still water below. Seokjin's thrall must've been too strong, urging you to come closer even when you were unconscious.

Perhaps you have truly lost your mind or maybe the night is playing tricks on you, but for once, there's actual emotion on Seokjin's face. The siren grins, his black eyes ablaze with something as he pushes forward. He tugs your legs apart, fitting his body between them. His hands rest on either side of your ribcage, his face so close that you can practically taste the stench of death that washes over your lips with every breath. The water cascading from his skin makes you shiver as it hits your own, the droplets soaking through your undershirt in seconds.

"Pet," Seokjin purrs, inching his face closer.

You hold your breath, limbs frozen with fear, as the small distance between you disappears.

You can only watch and you're horrified to find that the first thought that strikes you is how mesmerizing the siren looks. The moon shines brightly behind him, giving the scales climbing up his stomach and the small patches on his arms an iridescent shine. It's no wonder sirens have been described as beautiful creatures, not with how Seokjin's pale skin is illuminated, practically glowing, under the night sky.

You see his head tilt down, his dark eyes roaming over your bandaged shoulder. The wound only seems to ache more under the pressure of his gaze.

"Good work, little human," Seokjin comments, pleased, "You patched yourself up just to stay with me longer. I am not cruel, I will reward you for this."

What a good dog you are, licking your wounds for your master just so that he can tear them open again.

Your legs twitch on each side of Seokjin's body, resisting the urge to kick at his tail. Angering him will do you no good and you're ashamed to admit that the spark of excitement in his features leaves you curious – makes you want to know just what a siren considers a reward.

Seokjin ducks his head lower, pressing his nose right against your throat. The sharp bite you're expecting never comes – instead, there's only the soft press of his lips roaming over your skin, hurried kisses scattered across your neck. He lowers himself to get more access, nudging your head back as he settles more of his weight on your body. It leaves your hips completely immobile, your arms trembling with the effort it takes to keep yourself raised off the ground.

You hold your breath, scared to move as much as a muscle.

The siren's tongue flicks out to taste your skin with every kiss, leaving a trail of saliva covering your neck. The cold air only heightens the contrast between his warm lips and the slick skin he leaves behind. You're caught off guard when he suddenly attaches his lips to the underside of your jaw and sucks, pulling the sensitive skin there between his lips.

You let out a startled gasp at the sensation, small shudders traveling down your spine as your reaction only seems to spur Seokjin on, the siren quickly finding more spots to mark up.

Your whimper, surprised, as he uses a claw to slice through the bottom of your undershirt, exposing your waist and stomach. His cold hand finds the exposed area immediately, rubbing and squeezing at your skin as he drags his hand up and down your waist. He somehow manages to keep his claws off your skin, only digging them in faintly whenever you grow too quiet. He seems to enjoy the involuntary sounds you make, his actions only growing more and more frenzied as he tries to pull more of them from you.

"Touch me," Seokjin growls against your throat, his voice half strangled as he pushes you down to lie flat on the ground.

Mindful of your aching shoulder, you raise a tentative, shaking hand up towards his arm, grasping his toned bicep. You can feel the power thrumming under his skin, how strong he is from that simple touch alone.

Seokjin is quiet as you slowly glide your fingers up his arm and over his shoulder, feeling how the texture keeps switching between soft skin and hard scales whenever you encounter a small gathering of them. It's a curious feeling, one your brain struggles to fully comprehend.

You continue your touch down his back, careful to steer clear of the fin that protrudes along his spine. He lets out a harsh breath, low clicks gurgling in his throat as you let your hand fall away, not daring to go further than his waist.

You glance up as he pulls back, breath stuttering in your chest as you take in how wild he looks. Seokjin's expression is hungry, but it's nothing like the empty, ravenous stare you saw before he tried to take a chunk out of your shoulder. No, this one is pure desire – lust.

Your stomach flips with disgust as you realize that the hunt, that killing that innocent crew, actually turned him on.

Seokjin pushes himself back, emerging his lower body in the lake before he wraps his arms around your knees and pulls. You slide across the rock, thighs meeting Seokjin's torso as your legs fall over the edge of the dock, the water hitting just above your ankles.

You cry out from the harsh yank, pain flaring up in your shoulder as the still-open wounds are dragged across the uneven surface. The bandage does little to lessen the burn of it, your vision growing spotty as you struggle to breathe.

"You humans are so weak," Seokjin scoffs, his voice swimming in your ears. *

The siren tugs at your trousers, annoyed at how the fabric doesn't budge. He uses his claws, meeting no resistance as he slices right through them the moment it takes a little too long to get them off.

You jerk as Seokjin settles his hands on your exposed thighs, mapping out your skin.

Your vision begins to clear as you get your breathing under control, heat creeping up the back of your neck as you register just what the siren is looking at. Seokjin's torso is blocking you from closing your legs, exposing everything to him.

His dark eyes never waver from your cunt, in fact, you're not so sure he even blinks as he watches you squirm.

"Be still, pet," Seokjin says, the points of his claws pricking into your delicate flesh to get his warning across. He squeezes your thighs, his forked tongue swiping across his lips, "I was right. Your thighs do look delectable."

Horrified, you feel your hole pulse with arousal at Seokjin's words, wetness slicking up your folds.

The siren makes a curious sound at the sight, one hand drifting closer to your cunt as he lowers his head. You tense up, muscles locked tight, as Seokjin runs his finger over your clit. A choked moan makes it past your lips as he begins to rub at it, eyes bright as he lightly pinches your nub.

Receiving pleasure from the creature that has trapped and hurt you is the last thing that you want, but it's been so long since you've been intimate with someone like this. Your body gives in easier than your mind, eager to feel any touch as long as it'll make you feel good.

It's a reward, just take it. Who knows if you'll ever get to feel like this again.

"You're so wet, little human," Seokjin comments as he drags a finger up and down your folds, spreading your arousal around.

"You can't– no, no claws," You hurriedly say as you feel his knuckle graze your hole, stopping Seokjin in his tracks. "We-we're fragile, remember?"

The siren purses his lips, contemplating the information as he moves his hand back to your thigh. Arms curl under your knees before you can even breathe a sigh of relief, the air being punched right out of you as Seokjin dips his head down to lick a stripe between your folds.

"Oh Gods," You gasp, fingers clawing at the stone below you as the siren's forked tongue flicks over your clit with every pass, making your clenching hole gush with slickness.

You let out a broken moan as Seokjin prods his tongue at your entrance, black eyes flickering up to meet yours just as he pushes it inside.

Seokjin has lowered his body even more into the water, leaving him at the perfect height to feast on your cunt. His tongue worms his way into your hole, the wet muscle reaching deeper than what should be possible. Your veins feel like they're on fire, your body burning up with arousal as Seokjin licks and sucks at your folds, nose bumping against your clit. You can't stop yourself from grinding against his face, hips twitching with the little leeway he gives you.

"Seok-seokjin," Your hand flies down to his head at a particularly harsh suck, his teeth skimming over your delicate heat. The mixture of fear and pleasure leaves you lightheaded, your heart beating erratically in your chest.

The siren growls as your fingers curl into his long hair, the sound vibrating against your skin as you tug at his locks. You can't tell if you're trying to pull him away or press him closer, but either way, Seokjin doesn't listen.

You keen as his movements only seem to grow more frenzied, the siren drunk on your taste as he continues to lap up your slick. His grip around your legs is bruising, locking you in place to let him use you as he pleases. You continue to whimper out his name, your little cries only spurring him on further.

The white-hot pleasure in your stomach only continues to build the longer Seokjin eats you out, the pleasure mounting so quickly you don't know what to do with yourself.

You don't want this but you also do – and those conflicting emotions only intensify every suck and lick from Seokjin.

"Good pet," The siren groans, his warm breath fanning across your folds.

You finally erupt as he attaches his lips to your clit and sucks, your orgasm ripping through you so violently you almost feel like you're going to pass out. Your back bows off the ground as you let out a loud moan, your knuckles white from the tight grip you have on Seokjin's hair. You ride out the waves of pleasure that seem to hit you over and over, the siren lapping up your essence like a starving man – like he's never tasted anything as good before.

Your legs are trembling with oversensitivity once you come back to yourself, your cunt clenching helplessly around Seokjin's tongue as he keeps trying to lick up more of your slick. You hastily remove your fingers from his hair, weakly pushing at his head to make him back away.

"Stop, it's too much," You whimper.

Seokjin makes a displeased sound in the back of his throat, tongue dragging through your folds one last time before he pulls back. There's something in the siren's gaze that looks even more predatory than it's ever done before, his plush lips slick with your wetness. *

"You did well, little human. It was about time you gave yourself to me," Seokjin says as he brings his hands to your hips, the corner of his mouth quirked.

"What do you mean?" You say, voice faltering, "You told me to touch you, you made me touch you – made me enjoy this."

The siren tsks, shaking his head as he pushes you down on the stone dock, fingers gliding over your stomach. "Did you feel me using my thrall, little human? You touched me because you wanted to, you gave in because you wanted to feel good. This was all you, pet."

"No, that's not..." You trail off, biting the inside of your cheek. You didn't feel the ticklish sensation that usually comes with Seokjin's thrall when he asked you to touch him. You don't feel sick now, not like you always do whenever you snap out of it.

You... You did all of this on your own volition.

Seokjin sees as the realization dawns on your face, the blooming devastation making his fin hit the surface with excitement.

"That's right," He murmurs silkily, "Accept the fate that the sea has bestowed on you, pet. You were made to be my little plaything."

You feel Seokjin move away as you stare mindlessly up at the twinkling stars. You pull your aching legs together the moment he's gone, bringing them up to your chest. Without the siren's body shielding you from the frigid night air, you just feel cold. So awfully cold.

Just accept your fate.

You hear the water move as the siren ducks under the surface. The lake ripples as he swims, only a few flaps of his tail bringing him up on the side of the dock, where your head has turned. His dark eyes burn holes into your face as he drops something on the stone in front of you, the metal clinking as it bounces off the surface.

Heart stuttering in your chest, you reach out and snatch up your old knife, your shoulder burning as you put pressure on it. Your eyes grow wet as you turn it around in your hand, the familiar weight and polished grain of the wooden handle the closest thing you have to anything that feels like home.

You thought you had lost your knife forever when you jumped off the ship, that it was sacrificed to the sea together with your crew and vessel.

The siren's face is unreadable as you glance up at him, expression flat as always. One thing is for sure though – there's no part of Seokjin that views you as a threat, that's concerned you'll use your knife against him.

It breaks your heart to know that he's right. Even if you kill him, you have no way to get out of here.

Seokjin's pale hand emerges from the water to place something delicately on the edge of the dock. You let out a small gasp as he removes his fingers, the round sphere beautiful as it reflects the stars shining above. It looks to be a massive pearl made out of obsidian, the surface glossy and smooth.

You lay your knife down, meeting Seokjin's burning stare as you bring your trembling fingers forward to pick it up. The pearl is heavy in your palm, your hand barely even managing to close around the size of it.

The moment you pick it up, Seokjin lets out a pleased chitter, his mouth showing off that terrible smile again as he says, "You've proven to be a fascinating pet, I don't think I'll tire of you just yet."

"You're mine now, little human."

a/n: i really hope you enjoyed the final chapter of TOP! writing mer!seokjin was a nice break from my usual stories and it was fun to revisit the tcs-universe. i would love to hear what you think about the chapter – comments and reblogs make my day!! 🥺💖

if you enjoyed the story and would like to support me, you can do so here! 💖

#yandere au #yandere bts #yandere seokjin #mermaid bts #mermaid seokjin #seokjin smut #seokjin x reader #bts x reader #yandere x reader #bts smut

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thisblogisaboutabook · 7 months

Text

Rainy Season - Part 5

I Want Crazy

Azriel Eris x Reader

After a promotion to an emissary position by a meddling Tarquin, Y/N and Eris get much, much closer.

A/n: There will likely only be a couple more chapters of this fic. For those of you concerned by the previous chapter, please continue to trust the process. Our girl is intelligent.

Part 4 Part 6

Warnings: Language, brief mention of fertility struggles

Our first date, the seasons changed. It got washed away in a summer rain

He wasn’t what I expected, Eris Vanserra. Not that I ever fathomed what to expect or even considered it. In fact there was only a very short list of things I knew prior to the day we met:

-He was a High Lord.

-He’d been a secretive ally of the Night Court prior to his father’s demise.

-Azriel fucking hated him.

And after that day I knew everything I needed to:

-He was warm beyond the fire in his veins

-He was a just ruler

-He had a dry wit that sat well with my soul.

-I wanted to see him again.

After dancing that night, we ran back to Tarquin’s palace in the rain. It was the first time I’d been unable to contain my joy in far too long. I laughed, and skipped, and spun in circles the whole way back. Eris grumbled the entire way but I could see the amusement lit in his eyes. The next morning he met me for breakfast and found me again before he left for the Autumn Court.

He began finding reasons to visit the Summer Court more frequently and sought me out every time. It was no time before Eris became a close friend.

Tarquin - ever the cheeky, wonderful bastard - only gave me knowing smiles when he’d catch us walking the palace grounds. According to Cresseida, The High Lord of the Summer Court was quite the romantic and had a knack for playing matchmaker. I was inclined to agree considering that after a month of spotting Eris and I around the grounds, Tarquin made a proposition to me. I could still teach my classes but he needed a temporary emissary to the Autumn court as they negotiated border, trade, and tariff agreements. Given my recent closeness with the High Lord of Autumn and overall wonderful (debatable) disposition, he found me to be the perfect candidate. With that, I found myself on official court business in the Autumn Court.

Who cares if you’re all I think about?

I was nervous on the first visit to Autumn. I knew things were different under Eris’ reign but the stories of Beron’s cruelty within his own keep were enough to warrant a bit of caution.

My worries were quickly cast aside when Eris personally escorted me from the border and to his keep. The Autumn Court was stunning. The leaves on the trees were brighter than I’d ever seen. The hues ranging from gold to red absolutely stunning. I’d love to have Feyre one day paint it for me.

Smells of roasting chestnuts, hickory smoke, crisp leaves, apple cider, and autumn air filled my nose. On the way, Eris stopped by a small farm where the owner allowed us to pick what Eris called the finest Honeycrisp apples in all of Prythian. I’d never had that variety before and though I had nothing to compare them against, the apples had the perfect crunch and just the right ratio of tart and sweet. He paid the farmer handsomely for a bucket of them and several pie pumpkins for his kitchens.

The Autumn Keep was far from the drab stone castle that I’d pictured. Eris clearly went to great strides to ensure the ghost of Beron Vanserra had no hold here. The grand rooms were filled with maple accents, rugs and tapestries with hues greens, golds, oranges and reds. Fires roared in massive fireplaces and autumnal spices filled the air.

And despite the beauty of the keep. I couldn’t seem to keep my eyes off of the tall, handsome redhead walking alongside me.

Once I was settled for the stay, we did meet to discuss political matters which took countless hours, but I was rather impressed with the ease of our negotiations. He and Tarquin had similar visions for the economic future within their courts.

We enjoyed dinner together, indulged in autumnal wines, including a hot mulled wine that flushed my cheeks. Or so I told Eris that was the reason for the blush on my features, and certainly not the way way he’d refer to me as “my lady” or “little fox.”

We’d stayed up late, sitting by a bon fire outside beneath the Autumn Skies. There was music and dancing, spiked ciders, and caramel apples. I could see why Eris loves his court.

We, of course, kept respectful distance from eachother as not to spark any gossip of anything more than friendship between he and I. Yet somehow, hours later, we found ourselves in a private courtyard - a small fire burning as we lay back on a blanket together. I began to shiver as the evening chill grew cooler. As I went to bid Eris goodnight and head for the warmth within Castle Walls, he halted me.

“Come here” he spoke. His voice low.

I scooted a bit closer.

“Come closer, little fox. I won’t bite.”

He refrained from adding “unless you ask me to” but that was readable enough in his heavy lidded gaze.

So I laid beside him, my head nestled between his chest and shoulder as his heat warmed my body. I showed him various constellations that I’d learned of during my time in the Night Court and he did a terrible job of visualizing them. He tried though. He told me how he used to wish on shooting stars, how he still found himself occasionally wishing upon them. I teared up when he told me of the wishes he’d made back then for his mother and Lucien, for himself, to one day escape Beron’s cruelty. For a better life. A better Court.

When we saw a shooting star later, he made a wish and told me it was bad luck to tell someone else the wish.

And I, despite everything that had turned upside down in life, found myself struggling to ask for anything more than what I had in that moment.

When we finally said goodnight I realized his own suite was right next to the one he had set me up in.

I woke in a sweat sometime hours before dawn. Pain ripping through my chest. Azriel once again pulling on the fucking bond with no regard for the feelings of despair he was shoving to me. This time was worse than usual, the waves of grief continuing to grow stronger and stronger all the time. It wasn’t fair. I didn’t deserve this. This was a bed of his own making and yet I still had to suffer beyond what I’d already been through. Sleeping through it was futile and the room’s darkness began to suffocate me.

I padded from my room to a common area outside of the suites, sat before the fireplace and worked on breathing through it.

Though I tried my best to remain quiet, Eris apparently had a sharp sense of hearing as he wandered into the room, seating himself on the floor beside me. If I hadn’t been in such a sorry state, perhaps I would have noticed the low slung gray sweatpants and broad muscled chest of the half-naked High Lord- no, friend - beside me.

He took my hand. “Hey, fox, look at me.” I lifted my gaze to his. “You’ve got this. Breathe for me.” I took a shallow breath. “Can you breathe deeper for me, little one?” He placed a hand on my shoulder while the other remained on my hand. I took a deeper breath and let it out slowly.

“Good girl.”

Eris sat with me in silence on a plush couch once my breathing steadied. Still too worked up to fall back asleep, I nestled myself against Eris’ chest while his fingers ran through my hair in soothing, repetitive strokes.

It was hours later that I awoke, finding that I’d fallen asleep on him. I tried shifting away slowly but a sleeping Eris only held his arm around me tighter as I pulled. We slept like that a while longer.

The rest of the trip went by uneventfully. We discussed further trade options and Eris spent the evenings working with me on how to close off the bond to Azriel’s feelings. While I was already excellent at shutting down sending my feelings down the bond, cutting off his feelings was what I needed help with. By the end of the stay I could only feel his emotions slightly.

I expressed my gratitude to Eris who only waived off my thanks. “Anyone would have done it.” Yet he was the only one who tried. What I didn’t tell Eris was that as Azriel’s end of the bond silenced and the depths of my soul went from overflowing to filled with contentment, my thoughts began drifting to happier things, drifted to him.

Front porch and one more kiss. It doesn't make sense to anybody else.

The fifth month after I left, my grandparents held an outdoor feast for our family and friends in celebration of a holiday of one of the lesser Summer gods they worshipped.

It was far from a religious event. There was always wine, dancing, and lively conversation at these celebrations with none of the boring sermons that typically came with such events.

I invited Eris, and to my delight he came. My drunken sister made plenty of comments over how pretty of a pair of “friends” we made, with overemphasis on the word. My sweet, protective nephew took to Eris right away, deciding that after what Azriel put me through, anyone was better than him. He had no tolerance for cheating or sympathy for adulterers from the time he was old enough to understand what it meant and that his father had cheated on my sister during her pregnancy (real stand up guy) though my sister was so far out of his league that he’d have to reach the stars to find someone better. Obviously she’d left him immediately and she and my nephew were better off for it.

My family tried their best and failed miserably to act normal with the High Lord of the Autumn Court in their presence. Fortunately, Eris paid no mind and had won everyone over by the end of the night.

Despite his aversion to the sand, Eris accepted my invitation to camp on the beach so we could enjoy my favorite part of the night, the fireworks shooting off over the bay.

As the finale approached, I pouted.

“I hate when they end.”

Gesturing toward himself, Eris replied. “It’s a good thing you have a High Lord at your disposal to light up the night any time you wish.”

Before I could reprimand him for the crude comment, he began shooting small orbs of fire toward the water in a rainbow of colors.

My eyes sparkled watching the vibrant flares. Soon enough the orbs into butterflies of fire flying through the air, some circling around me. One brushed my cheek and there was no pain, just a gentle flutter.

“That’s… Just wow, that’s incredible, Eris!”

He gave a shrug of nonchalance in return.

“I bet you do that for all the ladies, don’t you?”

Eris looked me in the eyes, something unreadable in them.

“Only the ones I want to kiss.”

A moment passed before I realized that he was entirely serious.

And that I WANTED to kiss him.

So I did.

We kissed under the stars. It was a hard, passionate kiss, our shared breaths riddled with desperation, a profession of the unspoken words between us, “I’ve been waiting for this.”

And when we eventually pulled apart, I looked into his eyes with a smile, genuine, full of adoration, and Eris gently grasped the back of my head, pulling me into another searing kiss.

We shared many more before dawn.

You can’t undo a fall like this.

When Eris returned to the Autumn Court, I tried feeling any remorse for what we’d done. I was technically still a mated female, though I’d left and due to Azriel’s infidelity nobody expected me to honor the bond.

The guilt never came.

Eris had to travel so I wasn’t able to see him for the next couple weeks but we wrote back and forth often through enchanted notes. Curiosity or concern must have gotten the best of him because eventually he asked:

“Do you regret it?”

I knew exactly what he referred to.

“I regret many things, Eris. None of which pertain to you.”

I sent the letter to him with confidence. I did not regret a single thing about the night our lips collided on the beach.

“Thank the Mother, because I need to kiss you again.”

Heat radiated through me at his admission.

But then reality struck. He was the High Lord of the Autumn Court. I was the - separated, yes, but still - the mate of the Night Court’s Spymaster.

“Eris, I love spending time with you and will never regret it. You’ve helped me heal in ways I will never be able to repay you for. But this… how can this work? It’s messy.”

I sent the letter. My own heart crushing at the words. I didn’t want this to end but I couldn’t risk it going further just for reality to come crashing down on us.

Some time passed, the unease in my gut growing when his response appeared.

“If I wanted easy, I’d have married the daughter of some Autumn Lord. Nothing about my past has been easy and despite what some may believe, nothing worth having has come easily to me. Every second spent with you is worth it. Do not, Y/N, doubt that for one single moment. And perhaps this is crazy, but I would not want it any other way.”

It was that moment that I knew I wanted, I needed Eris as more than a friend.

“Then let’s be crazy, Eris Vanserra.”

I don't want "good" and I don't want "good enough"

The thing about immortality is that six months can bring more change than six decades or even centuries.

Six months ago I would have never dreamed that my mate would take the life we’d built over the years and tear it into shreds with those once sacred, beautiful scarred hands that I held reverently. The hands that placed the lovely mating band crafted from one of his own siphons on my finger after he’d made his vows, the hands that lovingly caressed my bare thighs through restless nights until sleep took me, hands that held me pressed to his chest and wiped away the tears of grief after yet another failed fertility cycle.

Those hands that held another and damned it all, the hands that came home and stroked my hair as pretty lies fell from his mouth, the hands that took my glass heart and dropped it.

I especially wouldn’t have dreamed that six months later I would be laying in the bed of the High Lord of the Autumn Court with his strong, warm hands holding me like this heart of mine that he’d forged anew was the most delicate, precious possession in his keep.

I want "can't sleep, can't breathe without your love"

We’d spent the night together making love. The kind of love making that shifts something intrinsic within a person, the type where no matter what happens, a piece of you is forever changed. It was more than just giving my body to him, it was a claiming of the soul.

We lay in bed all morning, his long fingers tracing along the arch of my bare back as he pressed soft kisses along my shoulder and neck. Between kisses, his low voice whispered quiet hopes and dreams for the future.

I was just about to speak those three words that I’d only ever spoken to one other male when a loud knock came on the chamber door.

“For fuck’s sake” Eris muttered before shouting “Come back later!”

“We apologize, High Lord but this is urgent.” a muffled male voice replied through the closed door.

Eris growled, shifting out of bed and throwing on his sweatpants not bothering with a shirt. I enjoyed the view.

“This better be worth my while, lads.” Eris hissed in a tone that conveyed “I’m very fucking inconvenienced right now but understand that you are doing your duty as my sentries.”

“Apologies again, High Lord, but we’ve….”

The male outside the door cleared his throat in attempt to communicate that the matter should be discussed privately.

“It’s fine.” Eris grumbled. “Just get on with it.”

“We, well, High Lord, we’ve apprehended the Shadowsinger. He was making an attempt to infiltrate the keep.”

———————————

@going-through-shit @kalulakunundrum @lisanna2000 @fxckmiup @sheblogs @emryb @one-big-fangirl @historygeekqueen @isa1b2h3 @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @theravenphoenix26 @sidthedollface2 @i-am-infinite @caraaaaugh @evergreenlark @darkbloodsly @piceous21 @anxious-study @chessebookgirl @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @crazylokonugget @mysticalfuncollectorus @starsinyourseyes @b0xerdancer-writes @inloveallthetime @thegirlinshadows101 @viistrength @grunchwench @starryhiraeth @macimads @feiwelinchen @acourtofbatboydreams @nebarious

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cheesus-doodles · 2 months

Text

Left Behind in Unsolicited Matrimony

Yandere Kalim

Masterlist | Beyond the Glitter of Gold

‎

still can't think of a good title :/ been stuck on this fic for so long it's not even funny ;-; not edited cause I'm just happy to get it out finally!! (p.s. i play en server with no spoilers so no spoilers please)

“W-wait,” Kalim stammered out, the tanned boy looking uncharacteristically even as the celebrations around him continued on without missing a beat. Heartbeat hammering away in his ears, garnet red eyes that would fit right in amidst the priceless stones of the Asim family’s collection were wide as they glanced between his parents. “What do you mean?”

”We have to celebrate your engagement, of course,” his father chuckled, gesturing at the full-on festival playing out in front of him, the gold and priceless jewels twinkling like stars down from the ceiling of the grand hall. “How could we not? It is a most joyous occasion.”

His heart skipped countless beats as it set a vicious beat in his chest, though his mind seemed to barely notice, thoughts pounding away against his skull like a jackhammer. The world around him felt like it was swirling along with the dancing guests even as he stood in place, his feet rooted in place as if an old tree from a bygone era. And his face looked the part as well, drained of all blood, every breath feeling more like a fight against heaving up everything he had eaten in the past twelve hours.

‎

Engagement. An engagement. Of all things to deal with- Mind whirling, the tanned boy would have succumbed to his jelly legs if his mother hadn’t been holding on to him. What should he do now?

”Oh don’t worry about anything dear, we’ll have everything settled,” his mother reassured as she lightly squeezed his hand, no doubt mistaking the growing look of horror on his face for nervousness. “You don’t have to do anything at all.”

That was the furthest thing from his concern, was what he wanted to scream at the thought of his lungs, though Kalim couldn’t exactly voice that sentiment, the ornate gold jewelry that decorated his tanned skin jingling slightly as his arms fell listlessly to his side. What had gone wrong for him to be in this situation? “But why?” The Scarabia housewarden asked shakily. “I thought-”

“Well, we set it all up for you as a surprise! Your birthday is so soon, we couldn’t help it,” the older lady continued, grinning from ear to ear as she nudged her son playfully, her eyes slightly glassy as she harkened back to those good ol’ days. “And we found the perfect girl for you. You remember her, don’t you Kalim? That girl you tailed around so much when the two of you were kids.”

Yet despite his parents’ hearty laughs as they exchanged memories and stories about the silly, happy child from his past, the glitter and glamor and the cheers that surrounded him, no matter how he tried with his usual brightside glasses, Kalim couldn’t make himself see the upside of this situation he found himself in. Turning it upside down, inside out, all he could see was that should he simply agree, there would be but a single path for him to follow, a path he had no will to see through, and no way out.

Because there was no future the white-haired boy wanted to be a part of that didn’t include you.

To his right, a nameless servant scrambling forward caught Kalim’s eye, the man respectfully pouring out another glass of wine for the Asim matriarch before disappearing back into the shadows. It wasn’t anything momentous by any stretch of the imagination - in fact, it would have happened dozens of times a day, but that was all it took to drag the thought of you straight to the front of his brain again: the silent labor of the Asim staff would have been another part of his life he wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t for you pointing it out. You were everywhere, everything.

And then of course, the question of you. What about you?

‎

Whirling around, eyes that could have been mistaken for shimmering rubies under the candlelight of the chandeliers overhead desperately searched the joyous, dancing crowds for you. And he found you quickly enough in a quiet corner of the hall, one gentle hand wrapped delicately around a glass of some kind, your silhouette hidden partially behind a set of drapes. Yes, there would be where he expected you to be, given you had always preferred the calm and silence as opposed to this chaotic party vibe not too dissimilar to Scarabia’s on a regular day.

This was supposed to have been nothing more than a prime opportunity to show you the wonders and splendors of his homeland, the Land of the Scalding Sands. Sure, you weren’t particularly favorable towards the riches and glamor that were the cornerstone of his life, refusing to accept even a single bangle that he hardly knew existed without being all but begged and whined into giving in; but the white-haired housewarden wanted you to see what laid beyond just the Asim family and their vast wealth. The depth of history of the land and people that grew side by side, the vibrant colors of its culture and heritage; there was so much to be seen and experienced. He fell in love with it, its past, present and future, over and over again, so maybe you would too.

All daydreams of the could-be were however shattered in an instant, when from a slight shift of your figure revealed your companion to be none other than Leona Kingscholar, that braided mane of dark brown hair and lion ears unmistaken.

Kalim’s gut dropped. Wait. When was he invited? More importantly, why were you talking to him?

‎

All logic pointed to Leona having been invited by the Asim family, being the second prince of the Sunset Savannah and Kalim’s upperclassman. But watching you chattering along with the tanned beastman without missing a beat like old friends, it didn’t feel right for him to just be standing here. And you only confirmed his worst fears when you chuckled at something the Savanaclaw housewarden said, to which the other laughed along, his hair swaying elegantly with his moment with an ease Kalim would never hope to be able to achieve. Was that a blush on your cheeks?!

The niggling doubt started to emerge, a trickle at first, taunting voices emerging like a hidden spring seeping out of freshly defrosted ground. And then it began to pour out as the floodgates opened, an uncontrollable torrent. You had no interest in Kalim, they whispered, no matter what he did. You would never be interested in him, not while he still had so many competitors for your eye.

Jealousy that Kalim never knew he possessed snared his heart, ugly, ugly feelings that he never wanted to acknowledge he even had in him making themselves known.

All he could see was you and Leona, the rest of the world blurred into a background blob, the ringing in his ears only growing louder with every passing second as your infuriating conversation continued blissfully unaware of his stares.

If only. If only Leona wasn’t there. There was nothing more that Kalim wanted in the moment but to hurt the Sunset Savannah prince, wanted to get rid of him, to make sure he leaves and never be able to speak with you again; the feeling churned deep in his chest, a rage ignited that he couldn’t seem to control, his fists both balled up tight to his side. He could make it happen, couldn’t he? The voices taunted, the light breeze as if they were brushing up against his ear. Even if he wasn’t royalty and Leona was, Kalim could wield the might of his family and make it happen.

‎

You seemed to have felt his stare on you, the Scarabia housewarden subtly noted, as you shifted, looking around for the gaze on you.

It took but a blink as your eyes met his for Kalim to shake back to reality, watching your face visibly brighten as you started to make your way towards him, threading your way through the crowd as you eagerly waved in his direction. His world instantly lightened along with your expression, his once-heavy heart even starting to flutter slightly, though that warm feeling didn’t last long, his parents still musing the good ol’ times to the side catching the corner of his eyes.

Actually, come to think of it, this really was one of those times he rather you weren’t here.

It was too late for that now, and the grin he forced himself to wear felt unusually uncomfortable.

”Here you are, Kalim! We’ve been looking all over for you,” your footsteps stuttered to a pause, and you leaned in slightly, the concern washing over your expression. “You look pale! Are you alright?”

“Oh! You must be the classmates we’ve heard so much about!” The Asim matriarch stepped forward, grabbing your hand and giving it an enthusiastic shake. “Welcome to the Scalding Sands! Kalim’s just a bit too nervous right now since we’ll be announcing his engagement."

But you didn’t seem to notice the horror once more setting in on the young Asim’s face as that wretched word fell out of his mother’s mouth again, your hand instead flying up to cover your mouth in surprise. “Oh! Congratulations Kalim!” His gaze instantly snapped to you. No. It wasn’t true. You weren’t supposed to know that. He didn’t want to be engaged.

What the white-haired boy wanted was to deny, deny, deny everything and anything to you, but his mouth was dry and his voice didn’t seem to want to work. And so all he could do was watch.

“Yes, thank you,” his father graciously accepted, shaking your hand once his mother finally let go. “We’re so very excited.”

“I’m sure you have a lot to discuss, so I will take my leave,” you politely nodded, excusing yourself from the situation.

Leona wasn’t far behind, that infuriating smirk decorating his face as he too said his congratulations before sauntering off after you, and Kalim’s garnet eyes trailing your pair up till the two of you disappeared from the hall to parts unknown.

‎

He was the one that had asked to bring friends over, and had been caught with his metaphorical pants down. How was he supposed to get out of this situation now? Chasing after you was what his heart was screaming at him, and dealing with Leona his mind, yet he simply stood, rooted to the spot, usual impulsive nature nowhere to be found.

“-so, would you like to meet her?”

Kalim turned almost robotically at the question, his gaze blank, unfocused. “What?”

“Your finance,” his father clarified rather unhelpfully, the older man tiptoeing slightly to look around the vast hall. “I’m sure she’s somewhere here, I can call her over-”

“M-maybe later,” Kalim interjected hastily, though as much as he wanted to chase after you immediately, that would have to wait. “How bout, how bout I-” Scanning the hall instead and leaving his sentence uncompleted, Jamil was easy enough to pick out amidst the sea of guests dressed to the nines, his simple outfit and golden hair ornaments making enough of a contrast to highlight the needle in the haystack. And no doubt his trusted friend and vice-housewarden had seen what had gone down, judging from those furrowed eyebrows and concerned stare.

A quick nod from the other and Jamil was off, quick footsteps carrying the black-haired boy down the same path you had taken just minutes earlier.

With that situation now under careful watch, Kalim turned back to his parents, laughing nervously. “How bout I go and check on the guests first?

He needed to get to you.

Fast.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #twst x reader #twst x you #kalim al asim #twst kalim #kalim x reader #jamil viper #twst jamil #jamil x reader #cheesus drabbles #leona kingscholar #leona x reader #kalim x you #leona x you #leona kingscholar x reader #kalim al-asim x reader

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utterlyotterlyx · 6 months

Note

Can I request 23, 20 and 13 with Azriel? Please and thank you!

Reckless

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Warnings - mentions of blood and injury, fluff

Based on the below prompts:

It’s three in the morning. If even half of that blood is yours you need to sit down right now. I don’t like saying ‘I told you so’ but- The hell you don’t, it’s your favourite phrase.

Enjoy!

The ticking clock and the sky drowning in its sorrow was enough to warn you that Azriel was going to be late. A once roaring fire had long since extinguished, bright molten embers nothing but ash that trickled through the grate and dusted the base.

It wasn't often that you had a moment with your mate, a real evening away from your duties to your court, and when you did you both made sure to put the maximum amount of effort in. Whether it be long walks along the Sidra, or nights in cooking together which you would always commandeer, Azriel would never miss it, he'd never meaningfully skip a chance to see you.

As the clock chimed, you turned your head to see the ornate finger poking the invisible one and sighed, shaking your head and pitifully scraping the untouched dinner plates into the compost bin, leaving them on the counter to tend to in the morning.

The house felt cold without him, but even then you'd still complain that it was cold when he was right beside you just so that you could have his arms wrap around you securely, and you were sure that he knew about it from the sly smirk he would always give you before opening his arms to, chuckling to himself as you'd scurry into his embrace.

Azriel had sent nothing down the bond, which meant that he was busy, but he was so late, five hours late be exact and it made you feel on edge; every time he had been late in the past he would send a flurry of adoration and guilt down the bond to reassure you that he would return to you, but there was nothing but stone cold silence and shadow shrouded walls locking you out.

Twiddling the large rock on your ring finger you began the journey to your bedroom.

Rhys had insisted on buying yourself and Azriel your own home as a mating gift, but not only that, he wanted to thank you your loyalty and the personal sacrifices you had both made to protect them and the Night Court, Azriel as his Spymaster and you as Prythian's best healer; that came in the form of a two-story town house on the outskirts of Velaris, far enough to have your own space, but still close enough so that you'd be available if you were needed.

The home was a perfect myriad of you both, deep blue armchairs and dark oaken floors, bookshelves packed full of Azriel's tomes and research with your own passion pieces littered between them. The kitchen was very much made for you, a large stove, hooks for all of your strangely carved mugs, a pantry to die for which you always strived to keep fully stocked. Cookbooks stood along the windowsill and a pair of weighing scales sat before them, ready to be thrown into another one of your culinary adventures.

You weren't sure sometimes if Azriel was more excited to be mated with you or eat the food you had offered him that night.

The bedroom was missing its other inhabitant, evident in the dim glow from a single flickering candle that made little to no movement as you entered, frowning and going about to reset the room, putting away the massage oils and peeling back the comforter to climb into its shivering embrace.

You weren't sure how much time had passed before you had heard him, scuffing his feet along the floor of the lounge and stopping, no doubt peering about at the effort you had made for date night, and you heard him sigh before his feet hit the steps heavily.

His scent had always flooded you, but you weren't a happy mate in that moment as you curled onto your side with your back facing the door. A cold breeze drifted in from the world he had brought into your home with him, "Angel..." his voice was quiet, pained, you could tell he was feeling guilty.

"It's three in the morning," you grumbled, staring out at the crescent moon beyond the paned window, your fingers brushing through the unbound hair that had fallen over your neck.

Then it hit you, the all to familiar metallic smell that you had become so accustomed to, so accustomed to that you hardly ever realised it was near unless there was copious amounts of it. Sniffing deeply, you rolled onto your back and propped yourself up on your elbows, examining your mate who was stood in the doorway with his head hung low.

From where you lay, you could see the blood glistening in the moonlight as his hand lay stuck to the doorknob. Shallow breaths passed through his lips and he winced at each one, then he tilted his head back and you saw him, and you gasped. His bottom lip was busted, blood leaked from it as it did from the cut to his brow, his hair was tussled and matted, his eyes were dark and dreary.

"If even half of that blood is yours you need to sit down right now," you threw the covers off of you and moved toward him, taking his face in your hands and looking into his eyes.

Azriel winced with every step he took toward the edge of your bed, usually you'd tell him off for mucking up the sheets, but you didn't say another word as you flitted about the room and gathered your usual supplied from the bathroom before settling onto your knees in front of him.

He knew that you were internally cursing him for getting himself into that state, you had told him endlessly to be careful, to listen to his shadows and leave if things seemed more sinister than usual. This particular mission had not been one that you had agreed with at all, but you had little say in the details of his career, he knew what he was doing and you usually trusted that.

It had only been a few days prior that you had told him that he needed to slow down, that you knew he wanted to do all he could to protect you and his home, that you couldn't think about bearing his child until he did. The thought of being a single mother terrified you, you had been very truthful about it, how you were so afraid that one day he might now return to you and you wouldn't be able to care for another life let alone your own.

Azriel hissed as you dabbed a cotton pad of alcohol to his bottom lip, doing your best to be gentle with him. You had muttered a small sorry, but when he surveyed your face, he saw unfiltered fear in your eyes, and he knew you were thinking about the worst case scenario.

You knew better than to ask for details, he wasn't the most open of males, but he was trying to be, for you. He had told you some details of the mission and you had expressed your ill feeling toward it, you had told him it felt too dangerous.

Your mate happily accepted the tonic you had given him to keep the pain at bay whilst you worked, pressing your fingers to his cuts and bruises and allowing your healing glow to fix him. You were from the Dawn Court, you were Thesan's most gifted healer, and you had healed Azriel when he crashed into your court after being hit by an ash arrow by some grounded assassins, from that moment there was no place he would allow you to be than right beside him.

"I didn't feel you," you muttered with a strained voice, clearly trying to hold back your tears, you had seen your mate in some terrible ways, but this had to be one of the worst.

"Fae bane," he hummed in discomfort when you moved your palms to the entrance wound of a knife no doubt, closing your eyes and allowing your power to float into him, your essence entangling itself with his own and mending every broken tendril of shadow, "You were right, I shouldn't have gone. Nothing about it felt right and I didn't listen to you."

"I don't like saying I told you so, but-"

"The hell you don't, it's your favourite phrase," it was no time to laugh but you smirked at his quip, one that he mirrored, and you knew then that he was going to be absolutely fine.

Azriel's face was clean from the cuts and bruises, and he looked physically relieved as he rolled his shoulders and his shadows came out to say hello, slithering up your arms and kissing your cheeks in thanks. His fingers grasped the backs of your thighs as you did a final check over, his touch sending lightening spreading through your body, and he pressed his lips along your collarbone, humming as he drank in your scent and felt peace consume him.

"I'm sorry for missing tonight, I'll make it up to you I promise," he mumbled against your skin, "You have me all week. I'm going to tell Rhys that I'm going to take it easier from now on. I want to focus on us, on you."

Hazel pools of serene bliss flowed into you and you kissed him, softly just in case he winced, a ghosting things that left him needed more, "You know how you could make it up to me right now?"

Azriel's eyes darkened with desire, pulling you closer, you placed your hands on his chest and pushed him back a few inches, smirking at his confusion, "You can take a shower, you stink and you're covered in blood," Azriel's face fell and you laughed, a pure and playful thing as you peered to where he was sat, "I'll change the sheets whilst you do. I cannot sleep with blood on the sheets, especially when I'm not sure if it's even yours."

Your mate rolled his eyes and stood, swaying over to the bathroom whilst peeling his leathers from his body, he lingered in the doorway and gazed back at you still kneeling at the foot of the bed, smirking, he drawled "It's not."

When he had returned, free from blood and smelling of his usual cedar musk, he climbed into the freshly made bed and pulled you close to his chest, inhaling the coconut from your shampoo as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.

"Does this mean I get to put a baby in you now?" Azriel's eyes drifted closed, willing a certain dream to infiltrate his consciousness as sleep began to consumed him, dragging him down into its embrace as you soothed out any tension in his body as you allowed your hands to trickle down his arms and over his chest. Sleepily and with a dragging tone that told you he was moments away from slipping into another world entirely, he spoke softly, "It's my favourite dream."

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bassmars · 19 days

Text

submissive! neuvillette x gender neutral reader.

it’s been so long but I am back, I still love neuvillette. Matter in fact I got him a hydro goblet with 35 crit dmg I know I know…. Be jealous.

No proof read sorry if this is all messed up, wrote this pretty late too.. I might start posting more but who should I write about?

—————

Justice served hot

Sub! Neuvillette nsfw.

warnings: semi-public setting, mild exhibitionism, oral sex, penetrative sex (reader can either have a dick or like a strap on I tried)

"Not now, Y/N," Neuvillette murmured, his eyes never leaving the mountain of paperwork that had piled up on his desk. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the cluttered room, the only sound being the scratch of his quill against parchment. Y/N, ever the persistent one, leaned against the heavy oak doorframe, arms folded across their chest. Their eyes, filled with a mix of longing and mischief, scanned the room for any signs of weakness.

Neuvillette's desk was a battlefield of legal documents, ink stains spreading like spilled wine across the once pristine surface. The scent of parchment and candle wax filled the air, a stark contrast to the faint hint of incense that usually lingered in the hallways outside. The judge's white hair was slightly disheveled, as if he'd been running his hands through it in frustration, and the blue underside of his single strand was vivid against his pale skin. His pointed ears twitched slightly as Y/N's footsteps grew closer, the quiet thud of boots on the cold stone floor echoing in the vast chamber.

"Comeee onnnnn," Y/N whined, their voice a sweet symphony of seduction, "You've been buried in this stuff for hours." They stepped closer, the leather of their corset creaking faintly. "We haven't had any...quality time in so long."

Neuvillette sighed, setting down his quill with a delicate clink. He rubbed his eyes with his gloved hand, the blue fabric stretching over his knuckles. "You know how important this is," he said, his voice strained. "The fate of Fontaine is literally in my hands."

Y/N pouted, their eyes scanning the room as they approached the desk. They leaned over, their chest brushing against the papers, and whispered into Neuvillette's ear, "I know, but so is my happiness." Their breath was warm, sending a shiver down the judge's spine.

Neuvillette swiveled his chair to face Y/N, his gaze dropping to their mouth. "And what would make you happy right now?" His voice was low, a challenge wrapped in velvet.

Y/N smirked, their hand sliding down to graze the bulge in Neuvillette's trousers. "Well," they murmured, "since you're already sitting..." They knelt down, pushing aside the chair slightly, and flipped the desk's edge up, giving them the perfect access.

Neuvillette's eyes widened, his heart skipping a beat. He looked over his shoulder at the door, then back at Y/N. "Here? Now?" His voice was a mix of surprise and arousal.

Y/N nodded, their grin growing wider. "Why not?" They leaned in, capturing Neuvillette's bottom lip in a teasing nip. "It's not like anyone's going to walk in, right?"

Neuvillette's cheeks flushed a light shade of pink, his pointy ears turning a darker shade of red. He glanced at the clock on the wall, the ticking sound suddenly very loud in the quiet room. "Almost time for the next session," he murmured, trying to regain his composure.

Y/N's pout grew more pronounced, their eyes shimmering with a hint of desperation. "Are you really going to leave me like this?" They whispered, their hand still playing with the fabric of his trousers.

Neuvillette sighed, the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him. "I have to, Y/N. You know how much is on the line for these cases." He began to stand up, but Y/N's grip tightened, their eyes pleading.

"C'mon," Y/N whined, their voice a siren's call, "Just a quickie, before you go." They leaned in closer, their breath hot against Neuvillette's neck, sending a shiver down his spine.

The judge's resolve wavered, the temptation of a passionate encounter with Y/N almost too much to resist. But he knew he couldn't. "No," he said firmly, pushing back his chair, "We can't." He gently but insistently removed Y/N's hand from his crotch and stood up, straightening his robes.

Y/N pouted even more, their eyes glinting with a hint of annoyance. "You're no fun," they grumbled, crossing their arms over their chest.

Neuvillette chuckled despite himself, reaching out to stroke their cheek with his gloved hand. "I know," he said, "but duty calls." He turned and made his way to the courtroom, the heavy doors looming before him like a final boss in a video game.

Y/N trailed after him, their steps echoing down the hallway. "Fine," they said with a dramatic sigh, "but I'm coming with you."

Neuvillette rolled his eyes but didn't protest. He knew Y/N well enough to know that once they had their mind set on something, there was no changing it. They arrived at the grand courtroom, the air thick with the anticipation of the looming proceedings. The room was eerily empty, the wooden benches untouched by the usual bustle of plaintiffs and defendants.

"Well, this is odd," Neuvillette murmured, checking his pocket watch. "We're not supposed to start for another half an hour."

Y/N snickered, their mood lightening at the sight of the empty room. "Maybe the universe is giving us a little gift," they said, wagging their eyebrows suggestively.

Neuvillette couldn't help but laugh. "Or maybe it's just another one of your jinxes," he teased, pushing the door open with a squeak.

The judge stepped inside, his footsteps echoing in the vast space. The high ceilings, adorned with frescoes of ancient battles and legal triumphs, seemed to watch over them like disapproving parents. Y/N followed, their boots clicking against the marble floor.

"Come on," Y/N whispered, sidling up to Neuvillette, "at least give me a kiss. It's been ages."

Neuvillette's resolve was waning, the heat of their earlier encounter still simmering between them. He leaned down, their lips meeting in a soft, chaste kiss that sent a jolt of electricity through his body. But Y/N wasn't satisfied with just a peck. They grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him into a deep, passionate kiss that left them both breathless.

Their tongues danced together, a silent conversation filled with longing and desire. Y/N's hands roamed down to Neuvillette's waist, fumbling with the knot of his sash. They pushed him backward, the large judge's chair looming behind him like a throne. With a grunt, Neuvillette gave in, his body weight carrying him backward into the plush velvet embrace of the chair.

Y/N's eyes sparkled with triumph as they sank to their knees in front of the chair.

Neuvillette's cock, now free from its confines, stood proud and demanding. Veins bulged with anticipation, tracing a map of pleasure along its length, and the underside was particularly sensitive to the touch, a fact that Y/N knew all too well.

As Y/N leaned in, Neuvillette's hips jerked involuntarily, his hand shooting up to grab a fistful of their hair. He gripped it tightly, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to hold back the moan that threatened to escape his lips. The sensation of Y/N's warm breath against his cock was almost too much, and he had to bite his lower lip to keep from crying out.

Y/N, ever the eager participant, took the hint and wrapped their lips around the tip, teasing the slit with their tongue. Neuvillette's grip on their hair tightened, his legs spreading wider as he pushed his hips up slightly to meet their mouth. The feeling of their tongue flicking against his most sensitive spot sent a shiver down his spine, making his toes curl in his boots.

Y/N took him in deeper, their cheeks hollowing as they sucked hard. The sound of wetness filled the quiet courtroom, the only other noise the occasional crackle of the candles that lined the walls. They could feel the judge's thighs trembling, his gloved hands clutching their head, guiding them deeper. The taste of his precum was sweet on their tongue, a promise of the release to come.

Neuvillette's breathing grew ragged, his chest heaving as he fought to keep his composure. He knew that Y/N was a master at this, that they could make him cum in seconds if they wanted to, but he was trying to hold out. The anticipation was part of the thrill, the knowledge that they were about to be caught up in something so deliciously scandalous in the very heart of Fontaine's legal system.

But it was a battle he was quickly losing. The way Y/N's mouth moved, the pressure and rhythm, it was all too much. His hips began to buck, his hand moving to the armrest of the chair to keep from toppling over. He could feel the orgasm building, a storm brewing in his core, threatening to spill over at any moment.

And just as he was about to let go, the doors to the courtroom swung open, the sound echoing through the room like a gavel's final blow.

Y/N and Neuvillette froze, the latter's eyes shooting wide open as a parade of officials and assistants began to file in, their murmurs of greeting and shuffling of papers a stark contrast to the silence that had been moments before. Y/N, ever the quick thinker, ducked under the desk, their heart racing. Neuvillette's cock, still wet from Y/N's eager mouth, twitched in response to the sudden cold air.

The judge took a deep breath, willing his body to behave as he forced himself to sit up straight, the chair creaking ominously beneath him. He smoothed his robes down, trying to look as dignified as possible despite the raging hard-on he was trying to hide. The room grew louder as more people filled in, taking their seats, arranging their notes. Neuvillette could feel the heat rising to his cheeks, a blush that was hopefully just from the exertion and not the embarrassment of being caught.

Y/N, hidden from view, couldn't help but let out a stifled giggle, the sound muffled by the fabric of Neuvillette's robes. The judge shot them a glare, his hand shooting down to grip the edge of the desk, his knuckles turning white.

"Thank you all for being here today," Neuvillette began, his voice a little shakier than usual. He cleared his throat, trying to compose himself as he continued, "We have a very important case to discuss." His eyes darted around the room, looking for any signs of suspicion. The attendees nodded and murmured in response, none the wiser to the scandalous scene playing out just out of their line of sight.

Y/N, unable to resist the temptation, leaned back in and took him in their mouth again, their hands moving to stroke the base of his cock. Neuvillette's eyes rolled back in his head, his grip on the desk tightening as he bit down on his knuckle to keep from moaning. The room was a blur, the faces of the officials swimming before his eyes as he tried to focus on the case at hand.

With a Herculean effort, Neuvillette pulled Y/N's head back, their teeth grazing the sensitive skin just before they were fully extracted. "Not now," he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice barely above a whisper. Y/N pouted but obeyed— for now, sitting back on their heels and watching him with hungry eyes.

Neuvillette took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to compose himself. He couldn't very well start the session with a raging erection, now could he? He shuffled his papers, hoping that the rustling would cover the sound of his racing heart. The room had filled up, the murmur of conversation growing louder as the minutes ticked by. The tension in the air was palpable, a mix of anticipation for the upcoming case and the unspoken tension between the two lovers.

He took his seat at the bench, adjusting his robes to try and hide his arousal. The first case was brought before him, a dull roar of words that barely registered as he tried to focus. His eyes scanned the pages before him, but the words swam together like ink in water. The pressure of Y/N's mouth was still imprinted on his cock, the ghost of their touch driving him wild. He could feel the wetness of their saliva slowly drying, leaving his skin feeling tight and sensitive.

As the prosecutor began their opening statement, Neuvillette's hand strayed to his mouth, his teeth sinking into his lower lip to keep from groaning. The pressure grew, his cock throbbing with the need for release. He glanced down, trying to be subtle, and found that Y/N's hand had slipped into his lap, their fingers tracing lazy circles around the base of his shaft.

The first time he stuttered, he blamed it on the poor lighting. The second time, he coughed and took a sip of water, his hand shaking slightly as he brought the glass to his lips. The third time, the prosecutor paused, a look of concern flashing across their face. "Your honor, are you feeling quite alright?"

Neuvillette's eyes snapped up, his cheeks burning with a mix of arousal and embarrassment. "I'm fine," he ground out, his voice strained. "Just a... a bit of a cold, I think." He coughed into his fist, hoping it was convincing. The room watched him for a moment before the proceedings continued, the murmur of whispers and shuffling papers resuming.

Y/N took advantage of the distraction, their mouth once again wrapping around Neuvillette's cock. This time, they were more cautious, their movements slow and deliberate. They could feel the judge's thighs tensing, his hips trying to rock up to meet them despite his efforts to remain still. The sound of fabric against skin was almost silent, but to Neuvillette, it was like a symphony in his ears.

He tried to focus on the case, really he did. But every time Y/N hit just the right spot, his eyes would squeeze shut, and a strangled sound would escape his throat. He bit down on his gloved fingers, the leather muffling his moans. The room was so still, so formal, and here he was, on the verge of losing control.

The case droned on, the words a blur as Neuvillette's mind was a whirlwind of pleasure and panic. He could feel the climax building, a crescendo that was all too familiar. Y/N's tongue swirled around the tip of his cock, teasing the slit before plunging back down, taking him in deep.

Neuvillette's body tensed, and he had to bite down on the leather of his gloved hand to keep from crying out. The sudden sharp pain brought him back to reality for a brief moment. He looked up, trying to focus on the defendant standing before him, but all he could see was the swirl of color from the stained glass windows above, casting a kaleidoscope across the room.

"Your honor," the prosecutor's voice cut through the haze, "the defense seems to be... distracted. Is everything alright?" Concerned whispers spread through the courtroom like a ripple in a pond.

Neuvillette coughed, his voice strained. "Just a bit of... allergies, yes. The flowers outside, you know." He cleared his throat and hoped his face wasn't as red as it felt. "Please, continue with your questioning."

The prosecutor looked at him skeptically but carried on. Meanwhile, Y/N had found his sweet spot, licking and sucking with the finesse of a maestro conducting an orchestra. Neuvillette's eyes watered, his hips jerking slightly as he felt the release approaching.

He had to get a grip, literally. He clenched his fists in his robes, the fabric bunching in his grip. "What is your defense?" he managed to ask the defendant, his voice a mix of authority and the beginning of a moan.

The defendant, a burly man with a scruffy beard, looked confused. "I-I was just saying, Your Honor, that I didn't mean to..."

But Neuvillette wasn't listening. Y/N's mouth was like a vise, their tongue a whirlwind of sensation. He could feel the pressure building, the dam about to burst. "I-I need a recess," he blurted out, his voice a strangled whisper.

The room went silent, all eyes on the judge who was clearly not his usual composed self. The prosecutor and defendant exchanged glances, while the bailiff looked like he was about to ask if Neuvillette needed medical attention.

"A... recess?" the prosecutor echoed, looking at the clock. "But we've only just begun."

"Now," Neuvillette snapped, his voice firm despite the tremble in his legs. "This... this case is too important to be rushed." He slammed his gavel down, the sound echoing through the hushed room.

The bailiff stepped forward, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Your Honor, are you feeling... well?"

Neuvillette took a deep breath, willing his body to calm. "I'm fine," he assured, his voice a barely controlled rumble. But Y/N's mouth was like a siren's call, latched onto that spot that made his toes curl and his vision swim. He couldn't ignore the way their tongue danced around the sensitive ridge, the flicks and swirls that sent bolts of pleasure through him.

The prosecutor looked unconvinced, but the defendant's counsel nodded, eager to take advantage of the break. "Very well, Your Honor," the prosecutor said, their voice filled with skepticism. “We'll reconvene in fifteen minutes.”

The room buzzed with whispers as everyone began to stand, their movements a symphony of confusion and curiosity. Y/N didn't waste a second, pulling away from Neuvillette's cock with a final, tantalizing kiss that left him gasping for air. They slipped out from under the desk, smoothing their clothes with a smug grin. "Fifteen minutes, perfect," they murmured, giving Neuvillette's leg a final squeeze before sauntering out of the courtroom.

The judge took a moment to compose himself, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. He adjusted his robes, trying to hide the evidence of their tryst. The room emptied slowly, the murmurs of the crowd fading into the hallway. He waited until the last set of footsteps had disappeared before standing, his legs wobbly with need. He could feel the stickiness on his cock, a testament to how close he'd come.

"Y/N, office," he called out, his voice still a little hoarse. Y/N's eyes lit up with excitement, their hand already on the doorknob. They stepped aside, allowing Neuvillette to pass, their fingers trailing over his lower back as they did so.

Once in the office, Neuvillette's gaze swept over the chaos. Papers littered the floor, ink pots were overturned, and the smell of spilled wine filled the air. He took a deep breath, trying to regain control of his body. "This place is a mess," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of amusement.

Y/N shrugged, a mischievous smile playing on their lips. "It's all part of the ambiance," they said, stepping closer to him. They reached up, untying the knot of his sash with nimble fingers. "Now, where were we?"

Neuvillette's eyes darkened with desire, his hand coming up to cup Y/N's cheek. "We were about to take this somewhere more... private," he murmured, his thumb tracing their jawline. "And then, we're going to make up for lost time."

The door clicked shut behind them, the sound echoing through the cluttered room. Y/N's eyes locked onto his, their hands roaming over his body with a hunger that matched his own. They stepped closer, their bodies pressing together in a delicious dance of heat and want.

"Fuck, you're so hard for me," Y/N growled, their fingers fumbling with the button of his pants. With a swift, brutal motion, they tore open his fly, sending his cock springing free. It jutted out, a testament to his unabated desire, slick with pre-come and begging for release.

Neuvillette's cock sprang free, a testament to his unabated desire. He watched as Y/N took it in their hand, their grip firm and sure. They stroked him slowly, their thumb circling the sensitive tip, sending shivers down his spine.

"Turn over," Y/N ordered, their voice low and commanding.

Neuvillette whimpered at the interruption but reluctantly obeyed, his palms flat on the desk as he bent over, his ass in the air. The cold wood sent a shiver through him, making his skin prickle with anticipation. He was panting and flushed, cock leaking heavily between them as he learned to savor each delicious slide.

Y/N stepped closer, their cock brushing against his thigh. Neuvillette could feel the heat of them, the promise of what was to come. He took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for the onslaught.

The first slick press of Y/N's length against his entrance was like a spark igniting a flame. Neuvillette gasped, his eyes squeezing shut as they pushed inside him. The sensation was almost too much, a mix of pain and pleasure that made his knees wobble, the sensation of their bodies reconnecting after so long almost too much to handle.

Their rhythm grew steadier as they lost themselves in the moment, their movements driven by pure instinct. Neuvillettes nails raked down Y/n’s back, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

"Y/n," Neuvillette moaned, his hips rising to meet each thrust. "Harder."

Y/N didn't give him any time to adjust, their hips snapping forward with a force that made the desk shake. Neuvillette let out a strangled cry, his body taking a moment to accommodate the intrusion.

They set a relentless pace, their length sliding in and out of him with a wet, slapping sound that filled the room. The desk creaked and groaned, a testament to their passion.

Neuvillette's nails dug into the wood, his knuckles white with the effort of holding on. He could feel his orgasm building, a crescendo of pleasure that washed over him with every thrust.

Y/N leaned over him, their breath hot against his neck. "You're so fucking tight," they murmured, their voice strained with lust. "So good, Neuvillette."

Their words were like a spell, casting a net of desire over him. He pushed back, meeting each thrust with a wantonness that surprised even himself. The need to be filled, to be claimed, was overwhelming.

Y/N's hand slammed down onto the desk beside his head, the sound echoing through the room. "Fuck, yes," they grunted, their hips driving into him with an intensity that bordered on violence.

Neuvillette's eyes watered as Y/N hit that spot, that magical spot deep inside that made his toes curl and his body spasm. He bit down on his gloved hand, trying to stifle the moan that threatened to spill from his lips. The fabric muffled the sound, but the pain only added to his pleasure.

Each slap of their hips against his ass was a symphony of sensation, a crescendo that built and built until he thought he couldn't take it anymore. He could feel his orgasm coiling in his belly, tightening like a spring ready to snap.

Y/N's length slammed into Neuvillette with the force of a storm, the sound echoing through the otherwise silent room. The judge's face was a picture of ecstasy and torment, his eyes squeezed shut as he bit down on his lip to keep from crying out. Each thrust was accompanied by a wet smack, the sound bouncing off the walls like a taunt to their secret.

Neuvillette's legs trembled, his toes curling in his boots as he tried to keep his body from betraying him. He knew the Melusines were just outside, their sensitive hearing attuned to every little noise. The thought of them hearing his desperate gasps and the sloppy sounds of their lovemaking sent a thrill of both fear and excitement through him.

He couldn't help the way his body reacted, his muscles clenching around Y/N's length with every thrust. He was so close, so desperately close to losing control. The pressure was building, a coil in his belly that tightened with every movement. The room swam around him, the candlelight playing across his skin like a lover's caress.

He could feel the tension in Y/N's body, the way their muscles tightened and released with each movement. They were both chasing that elusive high, that sweet release that hovered just out of reach. Neuvillette's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, each one more depraved than the last.

His body arched, his back bowing like a bowstring pulled taut before releasing an arrow. His orgasm hit, sending waves of pure ecstasy crashing through his body. He bit down hard on the leather of his glove, muffling the scream that threatened to rip from his chest.

His cock spasmed, shooting ropes of cum across the desk, painting the once pristine surface with a chaotic pattern of white. The smell of sex filled the room, a musky scent that seemed to cling to every inch of them. Y/N's eyes widened in surprise and delight at the display, their own hand moving faster as they watched him come undone.

The hand over his mouth was almost painful now, but Neuvillette didn't care. He bucked and thrashed beneath Y/N, the world outside the office forgotten. The only thing that mattered was the exquisite pleasure that consumed him, leaving him boneless and panting.

Finally, the storm passed, and he collapsed against the desk, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. The hand over his mouth slipped away, and he took a deep, shuddering breath, his eyes still closed. The silence was deafening, the only sound the faint tick of the clock on the wall.

Neuvillette's eyes snapped open, his heart dropping into his stomach. He looked at the timepiece, the hands pointing to the number fifteen. "No.”

#sub!neuvilette #genshin impact #neuvillette #genshin impact smut #genshin impact sub #neuvillette smut #sub genshin #genshin smut #dom reader #top reader #bottom neuvillette #genshin impact fanfic #fanfic smut #smut #neuvillette x reader

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kimkaelyn · 1 year

Text

"hey."

you tear your attention away from the black-and-white movie that's playing on the tv to look at your boyfriend of three years. "hm?"

katsuki doesn't say anything right away. you watch as he bites his lip, one of his nervous habits he does when he is trying to gain momentum to put forth actions. after a couple of moments of silence, he lets out a sharp tsk before tossing a tiny white box your way.

your boyfriend should have known better than to throw something your way, especially with no warning. your arms weren't fast enough to catch the tiny thing. it hits your head and lands on your lap with a soft thump on the blanket.

you both sit there in stunned silence for a couple of seconds before you laughed at your lack of reflexes. katsuki mutters something that sounds a lot like "shitty brat" before grabbing the box and places it in your hands.

"what's this?" you ask as you study the box. there are no hints of its contents on the outside.

"open it." katsuki urges you. you do as your told, and you gasp when you see the gift lying inside.

it's a beautiful, albeit simple ring. no big obnoxious stone that costs more than your yearly income multiplied. just a simple band with some small diamonds. nothing fancy.

"what-" you stutter as you continue to study the band. "is this a-"

"promise ring," katsuki quickly interjects before you start short wiring.

you smile softly as you look up at with. your eyes shine with adoration and so much love it makes his heart skip a beat. "i thought you didn't believe in this stuff," you softly inquire.

"i don't," he confirms. "but i saw it and thought about you so i had to get it."

you smile. you carefully take the ring out of the box and place it on your finger. a perfect fit. "i love it, kats. thank you." he hums softly in response. he places a tender kiss on your forehead as you admire your new piece of jewelry.

"what are you promising?"

"what?" katsuki meets your gaze.

"when you give one a promise ring, you are supposed to make a promise, hence the ring to solidify it." you tell him.

katsuki thinks for a moment before whispering, "i promise to one day get you a bigger ring." he seals it with a kiss to your lips.

Copyright © by kimkaelyn. All rights reserved. No plagiarizing, re-uploading, translating, or copying of any kind or on any platform of my writing. Please notify me ASAP if you see my work posted on other sites.

#katsuki bakugo #mha x reader #mha #bnha #bnha x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader

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heliads · 7 months

Note

Hey babe, if you're still taking requests, can I request something for Harry Hook from descendants? It takes place in an AU where basically all the kids are "chosen" to be parts of fairytales. (Think Ever After High mixed with School for Good and Evil). This world is complete with everything you see in disney movies with epic fights and songs. Heroes get love ballads and villains get traditional villain songs. Reader and Harry are friends (with feelings) on the isle and get chosen for a story, and are both super excited because they think they'll both be villains together. So imagine their surprise when they get their first song together and it sounds an awful lot like a love song.

This AU has been living in my head for a long time tbh but I have no writing skills T-T. Feel free to ignore it this is not your style or I accidentally sent this after requests closed.

'one story leads to another' - harry hook

masterlist

On the Isle of the Lost, a story is everything. Receiving a good story catapults a promising villain into a fantastic life of infamy, but a lackluster story seals your fate forever to menial satisfaction alone. Henchmen, not gods. Lackeys and thugs, never the criminal boss in charge.

Then again, a worse fate still could befall you. Many would-be villains go their whole lives without receiving a story. They’re not meant for everyone, at all, even if they mean the difference between a true life or a false existence. You can’t fathom training your whole life just to go without, but it’s the reality for many on your island. Even the deck swabbers get to go on exciting adventures with the great pirates of the sea, and even the lowliest prison guard will still live in a cursed palace.

The story controls your life, both literally and figuratively. Once you’re given a story, you’ll have no choice but to follow it out, even if it ends with your death. Then again, a story isn’t over in a matter of days. It’ll shape your life for decades. Even if the main plot is over, you’ll still be someone, and maybe you’ll feature in other people’s stories, too. There’s no way to make it without a story.

That’s why you’ve been throwing yourself into the pursuit of becoming the main character of your own story. You’ve perfected the arts of all things villain– sword fights that always end with you pulling a secret dagger out of a sleeve to tip the scales in your favor, maniacal laughter, elaborate plotting. You could scheme in your sleep or double-cross a traitor with your hands tied behind your back. Although it’s been a long time in the making, everyone on the Isle can admit that you’re the best of the best, and that a story surely has to be coming your way.

The problem, then, is attracting one. Although no rules are set in stone, there are expectations for how one’s story will come about. There will be an inciting event, of course, and then the songs will begin to appear in your head, the footwork and movements placed in your memories without a second thought. You’ll know you’re in the story, and then your life will change forever.

You’ve already seen one play out with some of your closest friends. Mal, one of your best friends since you were kids, got to live out her nefarious dreams, although even she didn’t see the twist coming in her story. Then again, becoming queen of Auradon is certainly a fine trophy for the child of a villain, even if a true marriage of love isn’t quite the way anyone expected her to steal the crown.

Mal has assured you many times over that your story will be coming too, it has to. There’s no way the magic would skip over you, not when you’ve dedicated so much of your life to being the perfect villain for any role. You can lie and cheat and maim with the best of them, surely you’re shaping up to be the arch nemesis in some hero’s grand journey? Your story will be coming your way. Surely. Surely.

And then, all of a sudden, it does. You feel it like a puppet knows its strings. All of a sudden, you have a purpose that you didn’t before. Your feet carry you out of the training yard and out into the sprawling mess of streets that makes up the Isle of the Lost. Your heart soars, and you take to the roofline, staring out at the world before you. It’s yours, all yours, and you know it’s true, so you sing it. The words come to you in a flash, perfect rhymes curling around your tongue as if they’d been there all your life.

This is what it feels like to be in a story, then. It feels right, more right than anything you’ve known before. Easier than breathing. Simpler than hoping that something like this would come your way, and at last, it has. Nothing could make your flinty heart more proud.

The song ends, and you can hear a ghost of a distant chorus fading out as you make your way back to the ground once more. Your stroll is casual, but the steps are definitely in a specific direction. The last notes fade from the air, your feet stop firmly in place, and you realize that you’re not facing down a potential heist or daring escape but the end of the dock leading into the sea. Directly in front of you lies a pirate ship.

At first, you’re thrilled– an adventure on the high seas would be fantastic. You’re friends with many of the pirates, even if you haven’t yet gotten a chance to test your fortitude against seasickness before. You cast your mind back to the words you’d just sung, trying to remember if you’d chorused anything about an exciting voyage ahead, or maybe the possibility of sunken treasure.

Instead, your heart sinks as you realize you were talking about exploring what was right in front of you. More specifically, someone right in front of you. And, as you stare with no small amount of trepidation at the pirate ship in front of you, you discover that someone else seems to be in a similar situation as you. Someone who’s just stopped singing a very similar song, who’s standing directly opposite you as if placed there by some immortal hand. Someone you know already.

Someone like Harry Hook.

A belated understanding is beginning to nestle itself between your ribs like a knife in the heart. No, this can’t be. You refuse to believe it. Still, when Harry is the first one to make a move, and walks briskly down the gangplank to stand in front of you, and says in an increasingly cavalier tone, “So, you’ve got your story started too, haven’t you?”

“Harry,” you say weakly. “I didn’t realize that you’d also gotten a song.”

“More than a song,” he says grimly. “I’ve got the whole story.”

You stare at him. “You know how it’s going to end?”

Harry had been doing his best to keep his gaze firmly pinioned on a nearby wall, but his eyes flicker briefly, traitorously, over to you when you pose the question. They snap back immediately, though. For a pirate, he’s never been the best liar, although he tends to make up for it with excellent swordsmanship. “No one knows how their story is going to end until they follow it through.”

You narrow your eyes crossly at him. “But you have a guess, don’t you? Spit it out, Hook. I don’t have all day.”

“Actually,” Harry contradicts, seeming to take great joy in the opportunity to be bothersome, “you do have all day. You’re a part of a story now, love. Your whole life is going to be wherever the wind takes you.”

You roll your eyes. “Thanks, Harry. Very helpful. Don’t try to dodge the question, though. You know how this is going to end, right?”

He sighs. “I have an inkling. Very vague. Probably untrustworthy.”

“All pirates are untrustworthy,” you remind him.

He grins broadly, sharklike. “And all children of villains are saints like you, of course.” He groans at your exasperated expression. “Fine, fine. Although I’d suggest you get better at pretending you like playing my little games if you’d like to keep this up.”

Your eyes widen. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve guessed it already, haven’t you?” Harry says testily. “Think about the songs, Y/N. The melody. That wasn’t a villainous monologue, not even your basic pledge for debauchery and ruin. That was a love song.”

You shake your head frantically. “No, Harry. That was so not right. What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well,” Harry says slowly, “I ‘spose it means we’re meant to fall in love.”

You draw back so quickly that you think you’ve insulted him. “No. Absolutely not. No offense, Harry, but I don’t want to fall in love with you.”

“I’ll try not to let it go to my head,” he says dryly.

You wave a hand dismissively. “It’s not about you, I swear. It’s just– this was supposed to be my story, you know? My whole life. I was supposed to have a glorious adventure, or engage in fantastic battles, but I get one chance at a story and it’s about falling in love? No way. I won’t accept this.”

“You’re acting like I enjoy this too,” Harry retorts. “Quite the contrary, sweetheart. You’re not the only one who’s been dreaming about their story for ages. How do you reckon I’m meant to tell my father that I got a love story? He’d laugh at me so hard he’d probably stop getting scared of that crocodile once and for all. I’m just as unhappy with this as you are, but I’m willing to do something about it.”

You eye him cautiously. “Like what?”

“Let’s play along,” he suggests, and when you look like you’re going to snap at him, he raises his hands defensively and adds hastily, “I know, I know, but hear me out, will you? The faster we get things going, the sooner this ends. You know as well as I do that characters from other stories can take part in other ones, too. ‘Sides, maybe this one isn’t just a love story. Maybe we do travel somewhere exciting, we just don’t know it yet. You don’t have to fall in love with me, alright? We can pretend. We’ll sing our songs, then do whatever we want with our hearts. Me, I’m planning to show my strength by carving mine out of my chest and wearing it as a necklace. It would make a pretty pendant, I wager. Plus, all the crew would be awestruck over it.”

You can’t help but laugh at his words. “Harry, if you cut your heart out, you’d die. If you want a necklace like that, use one of your enemies’ organs.”

He nods appreciatively. “That might work better, I think.” Then, eyeing you apprehensively, “So, does that mean you’re willing to do it? To play along with our story?”

You sigh. “I think it does. It’s not like we have any choice, do we?”

Harry pulls a face. “A girl is cosmically destined to fall in love with me, and in the heat of the moment of her confession, she says it’s because she doesn’t have any choice. Be still, my heart.”

This makes you smile. “You know it’s not personal, Harry. We’ve been friends for ages, I should hope you know when I’m teasing.”

“And I should hope the same,” he says with mock solemnity, although his faux stony demeanor cracks with a wide grin within moments.

You hold out your hand for him to shake. “To falling in love?”

“To falling in love,” he says, and shakes it. So the story begins.

You’re not going to say that it’s difficult, pretending to be in love with Harry Hook. You’ve never had an issue with his company; he’s one of your oldest friends, all of the villain kids on or around the Isle of the Lost have come in contact with each other before, and you and Harry just so happened to cross paths more than a few times. In fact, you’d go so far as to say that if you were forced to sing love songs with any of the villainous children on this island, Harry would be your preferred choice.

And– the problem with that, see, is that it makes this whole thing sound like something it isn’t. You’re not in love with Harry, even if your story seems designed to make you think otherwise. You know how you felt about him before the story began, and a couple of ditties about finding something special in a person you previously overlooked isn’t going to change anything. Harry is your friend. Nothing more than a potential ally.

But then the story takes you two away from the island for a spell, the two of you co-captaining a small sailing vessel by yourselves in search of a magical talisman that would have the power to make every one of your days enchanting. You had assumed it would be a talisman of some sort, that is; yet when the two of you arrived at the hiding place of this supposed treasure and split up to each pursue one length of a split crossroads, your paths looped around so you came face to face with each other again.

No artifacts, no charms. Just Harry almost stumbling into you, having to wrap one arm around your waist so you don’t fall, his chest rising and falling rapidly as if he’d been running in an attempt to beat your time. You’d chastise him for it were it not for the fact that you were sprinting, too. You wait for Harry to let you go, but he doesn’t, and instead leans closer, so close you can feel his breath hot on your cheek, and then–

You pull away quickly. Harry looks at you like a wounded dog, which makes you feel sick to your stomach. “No,” you say through gritted teeth. “This isn’t– this isn’t us. It’s the story.”

“Is it really just the story?” Harry asks you.

“Yes,” you say, refusing to consider any other option for a second. “You didn’t love me before it started. The magic is messing with our minds. This isn’t real, Harry.”

He starts slowly walking towards you, and afraid you’ll make a mistake you’ll regret once the story ends, you back up in turn, up until the point when your back hits a wall and you can go no further. Harry, however, has nothing in his way but you, and there is nothing to stop him from closing the gap between you once again.

“Tell me it’s not real,” he says lowly.

“It’s not real,” you repeat.

His hand rises to your chin, tilting it up so you have to look in his eyes. He drinks in the sight of you like he’s been marooned alone for days, like salt water has been his only benediction for as long as he can remember. “Tell me,” he says again.

“It’s not,” you insist, but your conviction is gone, drifted away from you on uncertain tides. “It’s the magic. Not us.”

“Not us?” He asks, and kisses you. Slowly, terribly slowly, he kisses you, and in between silently begging him to move faster, do more, you think about all the times you’ve been under a spell in the past, and how this feels nothing like that. Not at all. Whenever you’re under an enchantment, some small part of you knows it’s wrong, giving you just enough hope that you might be able to fight free.

When you kiss Harry, though, you don’t want him to stop. Not at all. Every single particle in your body is beating along to the same erratic pulse through your veins, the one that leans into his touch, reaching for the front of his salt-stained shirt to pull him ever closer to you. If this is your story, you don’t ever want it to end. If there is a writer out there somewhere, feverishly scribbling out your chapters, you hope they never cease, that every one of their movements until the day they die and then past that will bring you more moments with Harry, moments just like this one in which you never have to let him go.

“It’s not just the story,” you tell him amidst ragged breaths when he finally breaks away.

“No?” Harry asks, one brow quirked. Usually, he’d never pass up the chance to gloat, but he looks sorely disheveled, and he can’t take his eyes off of your kissed lips long enough to give him the chance to revel in his victory like he normally would.

Just in case, though, you distract him from the triumph by kissing him again. Somewhere in the surrounding uncharted territory, the waves crash against the shore, the seabirds wheel and sing on the marine breezes, and you find the magic in the one boy who has always been there for you, and always will be, even after your story ends. That is the magic of love, you suppose. Adventures come to a close. Battles are won, heists are accomplished, but what you and Harry share will go on forever. A fitting legacy for the best two villains who ever lived.

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