#very garbled ones

[jewishconvertthings]

Posting this here because I have no idea where else to post it, but sometimes I have this weird ambivalence about how I process my experiences and feelings that led me to realizing that I'm Jewish and coming home.

To be clear: my point of connection is (in terms of tangible, concrete, provable connections) strictly religious. I don't know 3/4 of my ancestry for a number of reasons (adoption, divorce, estrangement, etc.), but what I do know is (ironically) my matrilineal line, which is primarily German protestant. My adoptive patrilineal side is Danish. No known Jewish ancestry or Jewish relatives.

So I have no idea how to talk about the experiences I had growing up that in hindsight show that I have always had a Jewish soul in search of my people. My relentless questions directed at my Christian leadership that they could not answer and did not understand, but that was, in its own way, a form of love. The fact that my given name is a biblical name very common to born Jews and between that and certain physical features, people throughout my childhood asked me if I was Jewish to my confusion and fear (but also weirdly pride.) This feeling of belonging nowhere and diaspora and huntedness that never made any sense until I began to assimilate into Jewish culture. The fact that in learning history, I always identified with the Jews fleeing persecution rather than the usual childhood imagining that you would be the hero going against your own people; that you would be one of the few "good ones." This, despite my known blood heritage being literally from the people doing the persecution. (And to clarify, this was not just an empathy reaction to any/all historical victims; just Jews.) And so then when I finally did find my people, when I finally stopped fighting this deep sense of connection and approached the community to convert, all of these things both made more and less sense. I leaned into the religious and spiritual side of it because that, at least, parses for other people. But there's this other layer; a layer that feels much more like my transition than something that makes sense as a rational part of my spiritual life.

And I never know how to talk about it. Because it's all very loaded, and I never want to talk over people whose families actually *do* have this known history, who know names and sometimes faces of people they lost or never got to meet. Who have whole phantom limbs of a family tree that never came to be. Whose names are the only memorial possible for their ancestors. That is all brutally real and tangible, and so I end up never talking about my deep but utterly intangible connection because it always feels disrespectful, even if it is part of a separate conversation.

I don't know. I don't have any answers for this. But as always, with Tisha b'Av coming up, I am thinking about it. Trying to understand it. Trying, and mostly failing, to put words to it.

I learned recently, that there is a strong mystical tradition of Jewish souls being reincarnated and living new lives, sometimes in very different circumstances (different minhag, location, era, gender, etc.) I'm not sure I believe that literally. But it certainly makes sense to me as someone who grew up in the shadow of searching for my people, even if I ultimately found them.

[shima-draws]

So are we just playing “send Shima quick doodle prompts to shake off the rust”?

In that case, you can never go wrong with toothcup

AUGH...AUGUGHHG...

I haven't drawn them in YEARS thank you for this

Also like. I know initially my idea was that human Toothless could talk regularly like everyone else. But mute Toothless who can sign is also......so good......

This is Perry's fault for poisoning my brain /j

[askbensolo]

Inspired by an argument Rey and Dad were having in the family group chat:

Bonus answer from Mom: “Whatever you like, sweetie, I’ll still love you. Even if you try to grow facial hair again, Force forbid”

[stardestroyer81]

Glitch Man, fully equipped with Hard Knuckle, is raring to perform one of his favorite game-breaking bugs in Mega Man II... but Magnet Man isn't having it.

[neriyon]

10 Characters from 10 Fandoms

Tagged by @zylphiacrowley , ty ty~

These are mostly in whatever order they popped up in my head, since I was hit with the "instantly forget everything you've ever liked" beam when I started writing this.

Hythlodaeus - Final Fantasy XIV I wuv purple wife guy... All the way from when he was just a weenwoon ghost. Honestly, FFXIV has sooo many good characters that picking just one feels kinda weird haha.

DIY - Welcome to My Home Help, the bastard chuuni wizard in a big hat has me by the throat. Everyone else seems ready to strangle him (both npcs and other players). And then there's me who's spamming the heart emote at him every chance I can lol.

Waka - Okami Another bastard of a man. Like FFXIV, Okami has tons of cool characters! But teen me latched into Waka so hard on my first playthrough. And listen. He's a pretty man with long hair, nice voice AND has a flute that he both plays and uses as a laser sword in battle. Yeah. Oh and he shows up to tell you mysterious (and funny) prophecies.

Wei Wuxian - Mo Dao Zu Shi (Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation) I'll be honest, he came to mind while writing Waka's thing (club long haired flute playing guys lol). But yeah, he fits in the "morally grey, overly dramatic and little asshole-ish pretty boy with long hair" category I happen to like very much.

Ukitake Jushiro - Bleach Long white hair! Twin swords! Gentle and silly old man who can kick your ass! Bleach was one of my first animes ever, and I still like the setting itself (and many of the characters).

Courier - Arknights First one that had me going "oh I like him, he's never leaving my team". Also first one I E2'd, and he's still my go-to vanguard for almost every stage. Who can say no to that adorable little smile and voicelines offering to make you food~

Blade - nu:carnival Cute white haired assassin android boy! I started this game thinking I'd fixate on Edmont based on the website character infos, but nope, Blade being cute airhead with love for cute things (and Darling) got me first.

Sleeping Beauty (Briar Rose/Ibarahime) - SINoALICE Game may be gone but having played it for it's entire global run I felt I needed to include it haha. And! Who better than the character that got me into it~ Sleepy's basically what it says in the jar - she prefers to sleep 24/7 and will react violently if you try to force her awake.

Devola & Popola - Nier Automata Cheating and putting them both (lol). I love 9S too, but kinda felt like they deserved to get mentioned so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Idk what it is about them, but I spent a very long time just standing next to them when they first showed up haha. I'm specifically mentioning the Automata ones, since I met them first, and am yet to finish my Replicant playthrough (ooops)

Mashita Satoru - Death Mark I had hard time picking the last one since I didn't wanna go "too far back" in things I like/used to like, so I went with Death Mark since the second one came out not too long ago. The other characters are cool too, but Mashita is fan favorite for a reason. Guess we all love snarky detective who looks like he could really use some sleep.

Hoooo boy it was harder than I thought haha. I mainly only interact with FFXIV fandom, but at least I kinda.... glance towards these other 9 mentioned sometimes? Also purposefully skipping Ensemble Stars even tho I'm currently active player - I could not choose between Mika and Rei, and honestly straight up ignore 99,99% of the fandom.

[elegyofthemoon]

While reading the relic story for Fleet of the Ageless, I ran into some mention of the "Three Sufferings":

Yet, just like the shifting of the sun and moon, what once prospered was fated to decline and what once brought elation must eventually induce agony. It was not until the arrival of the Three Sufferings, when people were tormented to near extinction, that the Xianzhou people finally came to understand the true nature of this so-called miracle, which was nothing but harrowing calamity. (The Xianzhou Luofu's Celestial Ark)

And I'm not really sure if they mention it elsewhere on the Luofu (I'm very slowly going through everything. Except I keep getting sucked into reading Belobog stuff >_>), but what it did make me think about however is that in Buddhism, there is something called the "three marks of existence", which refers to the three sources of suffering in the world. So I wanted to mostly write this up as a comparison between what's going on in the Luofu vs. Buddhist belief! (And a very big warning: I might be skimming over important details about the religion. I was born into a culture that is very heavily influenced by Buddhism and have grown up with some understanding of it while having to study it on my own, so I'm sure I'll get a lot of details wrong. So if I get anything wrong, you're always welcome to chime in!)

At least in my memory, I remembered that there was a suffering because of attachment to objects, to self, and to others -- all with the concept that all things do not last, so I had to search up these names properly.

anicca (impermanence): This is the core concept in which nothing lasts in this world. The inability to recognize the impermanence of life will then lead to grief -- suffering -- that humans face, as a result. You can actually see this with the Sanctus Medicus's desire for eternal life with Dan Shu who grieved the loss of her friend Yufei via the diaries that you could pick up

It's this idea of attachment to something bound to end some way or another that will inevitably lead to suffering/pain when that loss comes.

dukkha (suffering): The idea behind this mark is that the truth is that life cannot be satisfied. If there isn't suffering, there are moments of joy, but as all things in life, even the joy is brief.

I wouldn't exactly be able to pinpoint how this gets carried out on the Luofu. I would have said something about how the Luofu had once sought out eternal life which then led to the implanting of the Ambrosial Arbor by Yaoshi, but now are unsatisfied by their gift of eternal life to them. I could also say that at least with the longer lives that the Xianzhou natives have, they eventually lose interest in life itself because they've had the chance to sought out anything they could with their many years, which is better described in Yukong's third character story:

and for the final mark of existence: anatta (not self): If suffering comes from attachment, then an attachment to an image of one's self too can lead to a source of suffering. With time, everyone is bound to change and grow, so any attempts in trying to hold onto one specific image could lead to a source of pain.

I think the best way to display this concept is actually through Yaoshi's acts and why the Alliance condemns them and their "abominations" (themselves included :'D). To rid of the suffering that comes with death, Yaoshi hopes to grant the gift of eternal life, but it seems that coming back from the dead doesn't mean returning to one's old self, which I feel can be seen at least with Blade's case with his revival and no longer being Yingxing. These undead are what the Alliance hopes to get rid of. I think it can also be seen through Bailu's story quest with the girl who slowly becomes marastruck who panics the moment the armor and her skin becomes melded into each other, no longer able to retain her former image before meeting and reuniting with her lover, in which case the idea of "self" is an attachment to a physical form rather than something more abstract instead, and that leading to her own suffering in the end.

I'm sure that a lot of Hoyo's writing with weaving in Buddhism with the Luofu lore isn't coincidental (looks at Dan Heng) , and I'm sure that there's bound to be better show of each of these principles, but I think this is what Hoyo might be referring to when they write about the "Three Sufferings" in the relic. Maybe I'll come back to this post later if I find better evidence BUT I thought worth noting at least for now :) ty for reading if you made it this far

[nhaneh]

woke up to a messy amalgam of half-remembered dreams about little Matoya being abducted and Kea absolutely wrecking face to get her back <_>

[hua-fei-hua]

i love how every three months, i open up a spreadsheet, record the number of fics currently available on ffn and ao3 for a couple anime fandoms, nod to myself abt a Science well done, and then close the spreadsheet for another three months

[shotmrmiller]

Simon doesn't care how he comes. He doesn't care if it's your smaller hand wrapped around his fattened cock, tugging it with a gentle twist, smearing the bead of arousal that's welled up from his slit with your thumb. Doesn't care that he usually fucks his fist roughly after a hard day's work with blood still crusted on his fingernails, hard enough to ache. The way you sit beside him, the soft swell of your breasts pressed against the corded muscle of his arm, murmuring words of praise that have his cheeks alight with a rosy glow—

He doesn't care if you use your mouth (you asked, ofc) your mouth is warm around him, the gummy inside of your cheeks slippery— the constricting back of your throat even more so. He sits still, like a good boy, not bucking his hips up, not pushing your head down to take as much of him as you can.

Doesn't care if you make him fuck your thighs— intercrural, you'd called it. How could he when your soft thighs are so smooth and pliable, enveloping his leaky cock with their warmth? Certainly doesn't mind when he glides his head along your slick folds, occasionally catching your swollen clit, hearing your little sharp intakes of breath.

Simon doesn't care where he comes, either. If it's a hand job, he spurts hot, viscous pleasure onto his pudgy stomach, coating the dark trail of hair below his navel and making a mess of your hand. (If you lick his come off your fingers, he's asking you to grow old with him asap)

If it's a blow job, he'll give you a heads-up with a rumbled, "'m, close, so close—" and that's your cue to either pull away, let him paint your cheeks with his spend, or swallow every single drop. (Or let it drip onto his jeans, none of it matters just don't stop)

He'll slicken your inner thighs with his sticky cum, scoop up some of it with his callused fingers, and slather it over your puffy pussy, using it as lube to rub you to completion.

So, when you casually ask him how he feels about a breeding kink as if you were commenting on the weather, his heart threatens to burst out of his chest. Are you asking him for a kid?

But you don't notice how his pupils dilate a fraction or how the skin around his eyes tightens, the corners forming small creases as you continue. "Because I'd been thinking," a small pause, "to spice things up a little—" before he even gets a word in, you raise your hands up in a calming gesture. "Not like there's anything wrong with what we're doing now."

There's a subtle shake to your hands and the grooves of your palms catch the light. Sweaty. You're nervous. This isn't just about him filling you with his cum. He's already done that before— pressed his tip right into your swollen entrance mere moments before finishing. he lets you gather your thoughts, unsnag the words caught in your throat.

And when you finally steel your nerves and say what you want to say (garble, more like) the shrill ringing in his ears is deafening. "You wan' me to wear a rubber 'nd let you take it off." Had he misheard?

The way your bottom lip is caught between your teeth, gaze lowered to the ground, your fingers twisting and turning, uncertain. So he hadn't. Well. How could he say no? Granted, he doesn't understand it, but for his girl? Anything.

He comes to understand it the very first time it happens.

Rolling on the rubber hadn't been different. nor the way he gently stretched you with one finger, two. The spit he'd used as lube to cause you as little discomfort as possible mingling with your own slick, dripping down his rugged knuckles. He takes his time as always, slipping between your spread thighs, watching your face twist, kiss-swollen lips part as he sinks into your heat. He goes slow, hearing you hiss between your teeth, your blunt nails sinking into his chest. He'll have red, angry welts later alongside his dog tags. Claimed by both duty and his little love. "Marked like property," he'd joked once.

You hadn't found it so funny. (Johnny got it though.)

Even with the very small difference in sensation, you're still the best thing he's ever felt. You take him like you're meant for him and maybe you are, but he smothers that train of thought quickly with a heavy hand lest he finish when the fun's just begun.

He feels you shift, even with his body weight that presses down on you with the gravity of a boulder, and he sinks to the root— like a pebble falling into still waters. Your nails tear skin, draw blood. The biting sting of it sends a shiver that sweeps over his goosepimpled skin, arousal tangling in his spine. He bucks his hips in reflex, hard enough to jolt you upward. The discomfort on your face quickly melts away, the sweetened burn of his thick cock prying your tender walls apart finally bleeding into white-hot pleasure.

Simon thrusts again, this time deliberately. Again. And again. He keeps them shallow, dragging the ribbed edges of the condom along your sensitive nerves, gently trying to coax a lazy orgasm out of you— the ones that always leave you syrupy and warm.

He focuses on you. Swirls your peaked nipples with his thumb, nestles his face in the crook of your neck, warm breath fanning over your heated skin. Simon licks a hot stripe over your fluttering pulse, presses a chaste kiss on it, nips your sensitive skin with a little too much pressure when you squeeze down around him—

Cheeky minx.

He snaps his hips, hard enough to rattle your spine, hard enough to hear the way the oxygen is ripped from your lungs. Simon keeps at it, resolute in getting you to the edge, dragging you with him, taking you over.

And then he hears you slur out a couple of words through your gasps. "C'ndom," you mewl, "the condom, off."

Right. He peels himself off of you. He'd almost forgotten —

You're impatient, pushing him away with your bare feet on his chest until he pulls out with a pop, trembling fingers reaching his twitching cock. The rubber comes off after a moment and while he's distracted by the creamy slick coating it, you're already putting him back in you, and your cunt feels sublime.

Divinity. He feels intoxicated.

The pleasure he felt before feels muted now, in comparison. Dull, almost. You feel hot, almost burning— swallowing him up, wet, so wet. The way your walls flutter around him jumbles his thoughts, tangles his tongue. He grinds down onto you with grit teeth, nostrils flared as he tries to keep the searing coil in his gut from unspooling, but he fears it's a losing battle. Beads of sweat roll down the side of his face as he fucks into your tight cunt with a hunger that borders on desperation.

He can see, and hear, that it's different for you too. Your keens and mewls are loud, nails scoring trails of red down his back. Simon leans back a bit, enough to let you watch his cock split you open, strings of sticky arousal connecting between you two. When he changes angle, aiming for your (and his) favorite spot with precision, the squeal you let out stiffens his spine.

Simon needs to hear it again. He grabs you by the cheeks, forcing you to look at him with those pretty, glassy eyes that glimmer with tears. Saliva pools in his mouth at the thought of tasting salt. "Like tha'?" The delicate strands of your eyelashes are clumped together with overwhelming sensation.

When you don't answer, he gives your hood a gentle tap, striking right above your clit. "I asked you a question." He grunts when your pussy almost strangles his cock at his gravelly tone. Simon will remember that for later.

"Yes," you breathe. "Yes, god, just like that." As a reward, he uses his thumb to draw tight little circles over your pearl, fucking you with his full weight behind every thrust. The blissful expression on your features, spit glistening in the corner of your lips, your hand flat, fingers spread wide over your lower belly as if to feel him from the outside— it's enough to almost toss him over that crumbling edge.

But he takes more. Selfish, greedy. Takes what's his with fervor; wholly, unapologetically. "This," he pushes until he can go no more, his tip meeting a firm resistance, "is better than everythin' I've ever had." Maybe it's a stupid thing to say, right here when he's rearranging your guts around to make room for his fat cock, but he's drunk off of you.

There's no thinking clearly with the slick noises echoing in the stuffy room. There's no seeing clearly when his world has narrowed to a single point of contact.

You're squeezing around him like a vise, tight enough that his nerve endings prick with pain. But he keeps going. He takes, he gives, he yearns to watch you unfurl at the edges forever, on his fingertips, on his tongue, his cock but you—

You are both his ecstasy and ruin. He can see it in the way the corners of your pretty mouth curl upward, teasing, eyes glinting with mischief, with the same kind of trouble that ensnared him into your orbit that one lousy night.

"Come in me."

Bloody fucking trouble.

(He wants all of it. The you who'll complain about the hard surface of the kitchen table he'll bend you over. The purple marks he'll pepper on your neck, your collarbone. The you that fights tooth and nail over him eating beans on toast.)

He watches you with half-lidded eyes as his fingers and his cock toss you overboard into the tumultuous sea of euphoria and then— when you're a drooling, limp mess— only then, does he finally surrender, balls drawn up painfully tight,

and fills you to the brim, until there's no more room left in your swollen, greedy pussy. Until it spills from your hole in thick rivulets, until there's no more of him left to give.

(He doesn't do rings. It'll get the both of you killed should he ever get caught. Maybe a tattoo for him and a band for you? Gotta text Price in the morning.) <- oh what barebacking does to a simple man such as he.

this was supposed to have been a 600 word drabble hello. he's clingy and squishy and so sickeningly in his emotions.

[tojisun]

simon “i cant do one-night stands because i catch feelings” riley but it’s in an obsessive way.

he realizes how your bodies are so compatible with each other that he begins to track you down to ‘accidentally’ bump into you. but this only ever happens on very specific days—days when fucking sort of becomes the natural next thing to do and who else could be the best option for you when simon, the man who made you cum more than three times within the short hours you two were together, was right there?

and you’re not foolish enough to deny yourself of the razing euphoria that only he could give to you—your bodies locking together, his hand a steady weight on the back of your neck, the other bruising as it gripped your hip, and his cock slammed so far in you that you swear he was hitting places you never knew were your pleasure points—so of course you would choose him. you miss him, after all.

(you miss the way he made you beg. the way he made you cry. he was so perfect. so gentle and kind. but he was also so mean. so dominating and overwhelming.

he was all you ever needed—someone to fuck you right.)

“one more round, yeah?” simon croons, chest heaving as he catches his breath.

your walls clamp down on him at hearing his words, before a garbled whine trickles from your kiss-swollen lips. he watches as your head shuffles against the pillows with your abrupt nods, further muffling your gasped out mewls.

simon giggles, his lips pulled into a grin that is a bite too mean.

seems like he’s fucked you stupid again, huh?

[iamthescalesofjustice]

encounter: your party spots a dog on the side of the road. it seems to be non-hostile, though not especially friendly. 

if offered food, it will initially accept, but will not take more than a single bite no matter how hungry it seems. if offered water, it will not drink from anyones hands, but will begrudgingly accept drinking from an upturned helmet or some other form of bowl. 

an easy perception check reveals it has a chain collar. a very hard check of animal handling, or hard check of persuasion can convince it to allow inspection of the collar, revealing a tag with a name written in sylvan. 

a medium perception checks reveals that the dog casts no shadow. 

if speak with beasts is cast, the dog is able to reveal that he is truly a human, cursed into the form of a dog after an unfortunate encounter with a powerful fey. 

he appears human under truesight, corroborating his story. however, if detect magic or the like is used, instead of him being subject to transmutation magic, it appears that the party (and others present) are subject to enchantment magic, originating from the collar. 

if you mention this, or ask him to explain, he becomes agitated. his attempts at explanation seem confusing or incoherent. 

any attempts to remove or damage the collar result in anyone touching it being flung back 10ft and taking 1d6 psychic damage. 

[xikyuu]

imagine when humans get to space and theres still streaming/youtube. like,

"what's up guys!! today we are on planet <incomprehensible to the human ears> in the <incomprehensible to the human ears> solar system, joined by several experts who know tons about their native species! we are here to learn about other sentient beings and to see if i can survive the ultimate test...”

one of the experts garbles in their native language, body language signifying that it is concerned. the translator spits out: “‘survive the ultimate test...?’”

the human shrugged. "to see if i can survive being stung slash bit by a venomous or poisonous species."

there was a sudden out-roar of yelling... yelling? is it yelling if it isn't talking? whatever.

"no! that is very unwise! the venom and poison are highly fatal!!"

"you only live once!"

“you do only live once, human!”

[bunny584]

OBSESSED: GETO

A/N: Suguru is a patient, kind, wonderful, completely out-of-his-mind-insane man. I just had to capture it on paper. (The Yuuta installment is up next, this one was just crawling out of me lol)

C/W: Voyeurism (the real Shibuya incident 🤭) Mature, 18+

Suguru should stop.

He really should fucking stop.

You two are friends. Innocent. Platonic. The very best of friends.

And yet, here he is. Watching a live feed of you walking through your apartment door.

Keys to the left.

Heels kicked off to the right. You’ll come back to those later.

He drapes the bath towel around his neck. Catching the last few almond water droplets from his thick, near waist length hair. He’ll be at your place later; he wouldn’t forgive himself if he was the reason you caught a cold.

And capital punishment for anyone who rouses a single strand of hair on your head.

6:38 PM. A little late today. But it’s a Wednesday and there’s a farmers market in the town square. You always stop for chocolate croissants too late on Wednesdays. The vendor leaves before you’re out of work.

There are four of them on low heat in his oven right now.

Because Suguru now knows the vendor on a first name basis. He’s paid him well over asking price to have 4 chocolate croissants (made 2 batches later than what he sells during the day) be delivered to his place every Wednesday.

Because you’re his friend.

His best friend. And he can’t stand the thought of you going a second without anything you want in this lifetime.

Oh fucking hell.

Your (his) favorite blazer is off. As is the demure mint silk button up that it was covering. Both now wistfully draped over the corner of the kitchen island. He finds the way you throw your things around haphazardly so adorable.

But that doesn’t matter right now.

Like clockwork, Suguru’s left hand drags down his sweatpants, just enough to let his overgrown, painfully hard cock free. It bounces well past his belly button, like a fresh wire spring.

And with cinematic timing, you lean over your kitchen island. In nothing but your lacy bra and snug little pencil shirt. Mindlessly catching up on your social media.

The way your plush, pouty rose lips hang slightly open. And your fucking perfect tits spill over the top of your slightly undersized bra. The lazy S curve from your petite shoulders…tapered down to your waist…back out to the swell of your hips.

“Fuck,” a king cobra hiss escapes his lips.

You’re dizzying. Utterly fucking intoxicating.

Suguru’s chest rises and falls. The pace of his hand around his cock crescendos. Almost angrily.

How could you do this to him?

You’re his best friend for fucks sake.

Precum slicks from his thick, blunt tip. Squelching around his knuckles.

Your back arches into a mini crescent moon. And Suguru might as well have swallowed a blow torch.

“Nnnhhgh fuck, g-god…so…” Sharp drags of air mix with his poorly choked down moans.

His hand grips harder. Hips now rutting up off his desk chair. Hungry. Needy. Imprecise pumps into the slick ring of his fingers. Chasing another high he so desperately wishes you could personally give.

Because the way he feels right now?

The sheer malevolence in his mind. The depravity. You trust him completely and he can’t trust himself with you at all.

Beautiful, enchanting girl.

You reduce him to a perverted, bird brained slave to his desires.

You make him want to violate you. To fuck a cock-shaped hole through the back of your skirt to your cervix.

He wants to pick you up and bounce you along all 10 inches of his length and watch himself bludgeon through to your stomach.

He wants to pin you down and use your pretty little throat as his personal cocksleeve. And watch you garble and cry and drool around his invading length while you struggle for air. And listen to the melodic sounds of you gasping and muffled around his dick when he makes you apologize.

Apologize for being so goddamn irresistible. For bringing this depraved shell of a human being out of him.

Electricity runs the length of his manhood. His breaths are jagged, tendrils of wavey hair matted to his forehead.

The sound of your ringtone slices through the static in his brain. Tethering him back out of his criminal spiral.

“H-hey, pretty.” Suguru forces his baritone to level out. Hand still stroking his length.

Your wispy, girly giggle almost finishes him instantly.

“You’ve gotta stop with the pet names, Suguru! The trail of women in your wake hate me enough as it is.”

“Ha-I c-couldn’t care less.” Talking is harder than breathing for him.

You lean up from the counter and start twirling your hair in a way that makes him want to carve out another galaxy for you. Just for you. Anything for you.

“Movie night? I’ve been wanting to—“

“Yes.” Suguru is almost embarrassed at how quickly he cut you off. Like a fucking dog.

You laugh again and stroll to your refrigerator. He knows you’re lamenting the missed croissants. And he knows you know there’s a 99.99% chance he’s already gotten them for you. Because he is silly putty for you. He crumbles to stardust in your hands.

Because he’s your best friend.

“I got them.” Suguru rasps out. Hands moving so fast up his shaft, precum surging out his tip. He’s so close. So fucking—

“God I love you.”

And he snaps. Hot, thick ropes of his cum splay everywhere. Suguru draws metallic from his bottom lip, clenching down so hard not to give himself away.

You said it so innocently. So platonically. And it shifted his entire world on its axis.

His best fucking friend.

“Love you too, I’ll be there at 8.”

PART. II

[foreverdolly]

ೃ࿔ SAVAGE BONDS part 4 『 feyd rautha x atreides!reader 』

summary: destined to one another since conception, your very life belongs to feyd rautha. as a token of good will you are sent to the strange planet of giedi prime a week before your wedding ceremony, only to learn that it is far more hostile than you imagined it would be. a failed assassination attempt has tempers flaring and sparks flying when it is decided to be safer to sleep alongside feyd. you hate to admit it, but he has played the part of a "protector" better than the guards who were tasked to watch over you. whilst you have been dreading this union all of your life, feyd has been anticipating it. meeting you as children had left him awe-struck. . . and a bit obsessed.

warnings: !SMUT HEAVY IN FUTURE PARTS!, feyd is super overprotective in this fic and kills multiple people in your honor, blood and gore, it's a dark romance folks, political marriage, forced proximity, temporary unrequited love, a lil dubious consent in some scenes, there's a lot of talk about breeding, enemies to lovers (in your mind, not his), there's a "who did this to you" scene, knife play, blood kink, breeding kink heavy, lots of scent marking/marking.

there is a mild noncon scene in this chapter. read at your own risk or skip past it.

word count: 5.2k

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In that strange place between waking and sleep- that's where you currently existed. You made a home there, wading through the waters of confusion as the events of last night came flooding back to you. At first none of it felt real. It was all a dream. . . it had to be. 

But there was a foreign warmth beside you and something heavy weighing down on your chest, and while your limbs were numb with sleep you could still register that it wasn’t you. Not your arm. 

Not your warmth. 

So you opened your eyes and joined the land of the living once more. 

The mornings on Caladan were lovely. Light filtered through your curtains regardless of the frequent overcast, the sprawling farmlands vibrant and oh so alive all around you. Your childhood home was all blue-grays and greens. The halls smelled briney- slightly citrus during the spring and summer months. The air was always humid, despite the chill; moisture clinging to your skin and clothes. 

Feyd’s room was slate gray and black, slightly bigger than the one you had been sleeping in since your arrival on Giedi Prime. The air was acrid, the scent of iron so heavy in the air that it almost tasted sweet on your tongue. It was on your palate now, nearly causing you to gag when you took in a deep, steadying breath. 

You had wanted to go home the second you stepped foot on the industrial planet, if only because you despised change. You wanted your family, your horses, your ocean-side view. Now, looking back at how childish your home-sick reasonings were, you couldn’t help but feel naive. 

Not one, but many, had conspired against you. They had hopes that their pale prince would cut his losses and grow bored of you, but took it upon themselves to rid their hallowed halls of your presence. Anger began strumming through your veins, begging for release. 

You did not let the feeling take shape. Acting on hate alone would be your undoing, you knew that. Yes, you were not as strong as some of Geidi Primes weakest warriors, but you made up for it with your. . . inherited gifts. 

Your hand flew to your neck, hissing when your fingertips made contact with the tender skin. You groaned, your larynx screaming at protest. Did this mean. . . 

No. 

No, no, no.

You sat upright in bed, Feyd groaning as his arm was flung off of your chest due to your haste. Unable to process the reality that he had been touching you so casually, you instead focused on the fact that the noise you had just emitted sounded choppy. Garbled. Useless.

“My voice,” You started, eyes widening to the size of saucers as the words reached your ears. It was exactly as you feared. “I can’t use it.” 

You could barely speak normally, let alone be able to manipulate the Voice. How long would it take your throat to heal? A few days? A week? A month? It had only taken two days for a few of the Baron’s men to plan out their attack. Who knew when they would try to strike again? You were a sitting duck and you refused to die like this. 

“You won’t need it.” Feyd’s deep voice sounded beside you, the sheets rustling as his muscled body rolled over on the plush bed. 

You tried in vain not to be distracted by his naked chest- by the planes of perfectly toned abs and the swell of his biceps as he stretched them above his head. It was gross to be attracted to him; disgusting, really. 

Even in the light of day- if you could even call the murky gray that came in through the blinds light- the shadows seemed to pool around the bloodthirsty man. He wore them like a second skin. Had become them and learned to wield them at will. 

His face was once again spotless, no blood to be found on him from last night's activities. He had been utterly soaked just a few hours ago. It had dripped down his sword arm, his nightshirt clinging to his chest and shoulders. . . and he had washed it all away down the drain like the lives he had taken meant nothing. 

And it probably didn’t mean a damn thing to a man like him. Someone so used to reaping souls and shattering lives. 

Your chest swelled as you turned to face him, scooting as far back on the bed as you possibly could. When you had fallen asleep he was lounging on the couch. He must have slipped into bed once you were asleep, outwardly lying about the fact that he would put distance between the two of you. 

“I am not safe here.” You spat out, your broken voice still dripping with venom. 

He seemed bored, as if your worries were unfounded. “I will cleave the heads off of anyone that even looks in your direction.” He said simply. Not a threat but a crimson stained promise.

Gone was the starry eyed girl who saw nothing wrong with the galaxy. Your innocence had been stripped from you the second that the man’s hands had found their way around your throat. Your body finally seemed to register pain now that you were fully awake. Your back felt like hell- a purple bruise no doubt marring your skin where it had connected with the heavy dresser. And your cheek? You brushed your fingers over that spot next. It felt hot under your touch. 

“I can protect myself.” That was a lie. You could taste the horribly constructed fib on the tip of your tongue and it was bitter. Impossible to stomach. 

Feyd sat up on his elbows then, looking over your face. His eyes hardened on your cheek, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth when his eyes started to dip lower. How was it possible that anyone expected you to ever grow used to his presence? His eyes on you felt like a hot brand. You attempted to flinch away from him as his hand reached out for your neck, but he touched you anyway. 

“I should have savored that kill. Taken my time.” His voice was still gravely from sleep, but the anger was clear on his face. 

Seeing you like this, for whatever reason, enraged him. You didn’t want to know why. . . at least you told yourself that. A man like Feyd couldn’t possibly care for anyone and you doubted that he would ever be capable of such an emotion. 

“Do you truly take joy in murdering others?” You couldn’t understand him. There was no common ground between the two of you. He was a complete mystery to you. 

They hadn’t even been your deaths, and yet here you were, feeling torn about all of the blood that had been shed. Feyd had killed seven men last night. Were you really worth all of that? 

“I’m culling the herd,” He sat up then, his eyes sparking with a sick sense of delight that had your stomach roiling. This sounded like the ramblings of a madman.“They were weak, body and mind. Disobedient soldiers should always be purged. They were a disease, and I treated them as such.” The corner of his lip tugged up into a small smirk, as if he was reliving the moment that his blade cleaved through flesh and bone. 

“You went overboard on my behalf.” They would hate you more now. Those guards no doubt had loved ones, all of whom would be gunning for you now. 

“Would you rather I left them all alive? Given them a small slap on the wrist?” He was leaning in now, as if being closer to you would give him a better understanding of where you were coming from. 

The sheets wrapped around your limbs, acting like restraints as you tried to back away from him and his intimidating presence. You couldn’t help but feel as though he was sizing you up, questioning whether he could swallow you up in one bite. His eyes, lidded with sleep and hazy with something you couldn’t quite discern told you that he would eat very, very slowly. Your fingers twitched at your sides, his eyes narrowing as though he could smell your fear in the air that the both of you now shared due to your close proximity.

“No,” You hated that you were agreeing with him. “They would have found another way to kill me. I just hate that you had to make such a show of it all.” I hate that I couldn’t kill them myself. 

Who were you to decide if someone lived or died for their crimes? And yet. . . you were glad that they were dead. You couldn’t find it within yourself to feel sorry for them. They got exactly what they deserve, so why did you feel so awful about it? 

Because the “old” you would have begged for their lives to be spared. That sweet, innocent girl would have abhorred the blood and gore, which begged the question: who did that make you now? Has this place truly changed you so intrinsically in a matter of days? You hated the idea that you were adjusting to the environment. It terrified you.

Feyd could see the anger churning behind your wide eyes, no matter how hard you tried to mask it. You were beautiful like this, so accepting of his nature. . . and yet you still fought him. Still fought this. He adored you for it. Loved you for it. There it was again- that word. He let the phrase sink into his bones, settle inside of his chest. 

‘I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you. 

Look at what I can do for you. Let me kill again for you. Let me prove my worth. Let me have you. Let me taste you. Let me devour you until there is nothing left.’ 

He was so close now that the heat and smell of him was clouding your mind. Much like the smog outside, he was poisoning the air around you. The sheets tightened around your legs as you tried to kick them off of you, hellbent on escaping the bed and dressing for the day. You were starving, sore, and in desperate need of another hot bath. You still felt dirty after last night, like the stains hadn’t been completely washed away. 

He was looking at you with those eyes. God, his eyes. . . they were blue, bottomless pits and you were sinking. . . drowning. You found it hard to breathe while he was looking at you like that. He was assessing you with a heated gaze that unwillingly set your insides ablaze. His hands were suddenly on the sides of your upper thighs, the insides of his wrists brushing against them. You could feel skin against skin, your thin nightdress doing nothing to shield you from his touch. 

“You wanted them dead, I can tell.” And he smiled at that, a genuine one full of misplaced mirth. 

“I don’t want anyone to die.” Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, so heavy that you suddenly found it hard to speak. 

“I didn’t take you for a liar, little Atreides.” His head tilted to the side as he licked his lips. He was so close to you that his tongue nearly brushed against your parted lips. 

And then he was pulling away, his warmth being ripped away from you far too quickly. Feyd left you on the bed as he sauntered over to his closet, unabashed of his half naked body- almost as though he was proud to show it off to you. His broad shoulders, toned back- it was well earned. It was the body of a warrior- of a killer. 

You had to remind yourself that he was a murderer, tearing your eyes from him. It was almost as though you couldn’t get enough oxygen. Your lungs ached as you realized that he had practically siphoned it out of the room with his commanding presence. 

He terrified you down to your very core. It was as though he was seeing your soul for what it truly was. . . 

And it was as black as his own.

The Na-Baron’s hand against the small of your back felt more like a collar than anything. You couldn’t help but wonder if that was how you appeared to others now, like nothing more than a pet. It was a silent show of ownership, as were his hardened eyes as he turned his head to glare at each and every guard that passed in the hall. Their familiar uniform had your knees buckling and your hands shaking. He must have felt those tremors, for his fingers tangled themselves into the fabric of your shirt, like he could anchor you to him. ‘You’re safe with me,’ the gesture seemed to say. 

The floor had been wiped clean of last night's massacre and it was almost as if it had never happened at all. You wished that you could delude yourself into believing that it hadn’t, but your aching bones were a constant reminder. An Atreides did not belong here. 

The distance that you craved was not something that Feyd seemed keen on granting. When you had finished bathing earlier, your skin scrubbed raw, you had found him lounging back against the bed, eyes trained on the bathroom door. His presence was stifling, as were the halls of this strange empire. They appeared to be tightening around you, reminding you of your lack of freedom. 

A canary in a gilded cage. 

“I’ve been filled in on the events of last night,” The Baron said as a way of greeting when the two of you found your way into the dining room. “You had your fun it seemed, nephew.” He didn’t sound angry, which was good you supposed. Then again, he didn’t sound very approving either. 

Feyd paused for a split second in the doorway, his lips pursing in confusion. You recalled him saying that the Baron always ate his meals in his own quarters. Your throat bobbed as Feyd’s hands urged you further into the room. Suddenly you were no longer hungry. Like a child, you wished that you could dig your heels in and refuse to make your way any further inside. While his nephew scared and confused you, Baron Vladimir Harkonnen was an absolute waking nightmare. From his pale, unattractive face to his plump, gluttonous build- even his eyes seemed completely void of any light. Your quivering worsened because you knew, even if Feyd wanted to keep you alive for whatever reason, that he would not disobey his beloved uncle. You would never expect that of him. If the Harkonnen wanted you dead. . . then so it shall be. 

“It was very enjoyable.” Feyd said simply, sitting down in the chair directly beside you. 

The Baron, at his spot at the head of the table, felt miles away. He was assessing the two of you, his gaze bouncing from your form and then to that of his nephew. It wasn’t until Feyd placed his arm over the back of your chair that he finally smiled. It looked more like a sneer than anything else, and all at once you wished to punch those teeth right out of his skull. His ill treatment of your father would never be forgotten, forced marriage or not. 

“You two look. . . close.” He concluded, folding his hands in his lap as he sat back. His dark robes hugged all of the wrong places- he was greed in the flesh. 

Feyd didn’t say anything, but he did lean in closer. It occurred to you that he was acting almost like a shield between you and his uncle. All at once your shaking stopped, your eyes flickering up to meet his face for the briefest of moments before you finally looked down at your plate. Again, the food did not appeal to your appetite. There were no fresh fruits or vegetables. Everything was brown, beige and white. The meals here were void of any color or variety and you found it fitting. 

“We slept together last night, as it should have been from the very beginning.” Feyd said, no room for arguments. His tone was final- absolute, even in the face of the one person that he answered directly to. 

Your cheeks were suddenly blazing hot as you realized how easily his statement could be misunderstood. Your lips parted, as though you could defend yourself and set the record straight, but the Baron was already nodding. He didn’t care either way. You were sent here to procreate, afterall. What the two of you did or didn’t do meant nothing to him. As the daughter of Duke Atreides you were nothing more than a pawn- a bargaining piece at best. Your blood boiled as you stabbed your fork into whatever meat had been served. It was all you could do not to brandish the small serrated blade that laid beside your plate and shove it through one of Vladimir’s overly assessing eyes. 

“I just thought that she might have wanted her own space before the ceremony,” He started, gesturing towards you. It was as though you weren’t even in the room at all. “But I’ll make sure that her things are brought to your room.” 

You did want your own space. Desperately. This whole situation felt wrong, and yet you were helpless. A few more days in your own room was nothing, really. Not when the two of you would be sharing a room for the remainder of your lives. 

“It’s our room.” Feyd corrected, using his free hand so that he could take a sip of his drink. 

His arm brushed against the back of your neck as he leaned forward ever-so-slightly so that he could place the cup back down on the table. The brush of his skin against yours sent a chill down your spine. 

“Very well. Your shared room.” And the Baron seemed pleased.

The cogs started turning in your head as you stared at that expression on his face. Was that gloating that you sensed?

He looked as though he had won. 

It would make no sense at all for the Baron to be so concerned with the status of your relationship, and yet there he had been, smiling as if he had bested you. Did he know something that you didn’t? It would be dangerous to voice the thoughts that you were having- unwise. Feyd was sure to take his uncle’s side on everything. At the end of the day you were little more than a warm, wet hole to breed. . . right? 

Your skin crawled, your breathing growing more and more shallow as the seconds passed. What would your mother do if she was put in a situation like this? The urge to talk to her was stifling, and yet you were here alone. You had no allies here. You had been left to your own devices. 

“You aren’t going to beg me to train with you today?” Feyd asked from the open door of the bathroom. 

He’d left it wide open while he changed, as if he was daring you to gawk and stare. You were too busy panicking to even care that he could very well be naked mere feet away from where you sat on the bed. The Baron was guilty of something, that you knew with certainty. You bit down onto your lower lip, staring blankly ahead at the wall as you became more and more consumed by your frightening thoughts. 

“What are you thinking about, little one?” His voice was right beside your ear and you jumped back, staring wide eyed at where he was kneeling before you. 

He stared up at you expectantly, waiting for you to tell him what currently had you so quiet. His uncle had been unusual at breakfast, more so than Feyd was used to. The Baron was a busy man, and the last thing on his agenda was to eat with his nephew and his bride-to-be. He was cautious, and yet he didn’t want you to know. He would handle your safety from now on, even if that meant going against those that shared the very blood that pumped through his own veins. 

The expression on your face had him leaning closer. You were so meek. . . so fearful. The need to protect you was overwhelming. How could someone ever want to hurt you? His eyes flickered over your bruises for the one hundredth time that afternoon, rage settling like lead in the pit of his stomach. 

“I’m thinking. . .” You started, eyes becoming glassy. “That I was sent here to die.” 

Feyd, for the first time in his life, felt helpless. He did not know how to calm you down. The man didn’t know the first thing about comforting someone, but the thought of leaving you to your own devices and panic had a gasp escaping his throat. 

“Do you not believe me when I say that I will protect you? Have I not proved myself?” Actions spoke louder than words, or at least Feyd had always believed that, and yet you didn’t seem to understand what he was trying to say. His actions weren’t enough. 

“You’re protecting me because you have to. I understand that well enough, but that doesn’t mean that something won’t happen. You are the enemy Feyd. My enemy.” You spoke with so much conviction and looked at him like you hadn’t just gutted him. 

Feyd felt as though you had physically slapped him across the face. The chase was fun, but this. . . this wasn’t you acting hard to get. This was you drawing a very clear line in the sand. You didn’t like him and perhaps never would. And maybe it made Feyd even more despicable than anyone ever thought possible, but part of him did not care. You could fight it all you wanted, it did not negate the fact that you belonged to him. It did not negate the fact that he cared for you. . .

Cared so deeply that it had him questioning whether or not he had ever really known joy or a true sense of belonging before now. 

“I am not them.” He rasped out, knowing that you’d understand exactly who he was implying. 

He was not like the others. He never had been. He had a penchant for cruelty and a talent for killing, but he would never hurt you for sport. He knew of Harkonnen men that battered their women simply because they could, but the mere idea of putting his hands on you made him want to sink his blade into his own chest and twist. How could he ever explain that to you? Put his emotions into words when you knew so little about him? How could he tell you that he’d been dreaming of you since he was a child? Vivid, prophetic dreams that left him lonely and impatient. 

“But you are.” There was a strange glint in his eyes that had your words leaving you in a breathy whisper. You were being vulnerable with him. Showing him your worst fears and letting him know that you currently had no more aces up your sleeves. The Voice was useless to you right now, and no matter how skilled you were in combat, it would mean nothing if you were up against an entire planet of people that wished you dead and silenced. You had kept the fear bottled in for three days now, and you had no one to confide in. 

You would regret this, you knew it with a surety that nearly had you choking on a sob. This information could be used against you. He’d make sure that you met your end the second that you birthed him an heir. . . 

So why did he look offended by your words? 

His plush lips parted, blue eyes widening for a second as he fully comprehended what you had just uttered to him. Having you as his would be sweet, yes, but it paled in comparison to the idea that you would eventually care for him in the same way that he did for you. It lit a fire inside of him, and he didn’t understand how to make you see. 

Feyd needed you to open your eyes and understand that he was not your enemy. He was the only person on all of Giedi Prime that was absolutely, without any question or doubt, on your side. He would burn the entire planet to ash if he had to. He’d serve his uncle’s heart on a silver platter and let you eat your fill if it meant that you would come to understand his level of utter devotion. 

You blinked and suddenly you were on your back, a small grunt escaping you as his calloused palm pushed against your chest, too fast for you to even register. He was on top of you, straddling your hips. The weight of him on top of you had your teeth clenching, your traitorous body reacting in a way that sickened you. Civilizations had worshiped at the feet of long forgotten Gods that weren’t half as beautiful and cruel as Feyd-Rautha. 

“You are my wife-” He started to speak, but you were quick to interrupt him, refusing to back down. 

“Not yet.” You seethed. 

Feyd couldn’t help but want to fight you on that, to challenge the unnecessary bite in your tone. If you were so hellbent on treating him like an enemy then so be it. He’d push you to a breaking point. He’d make you love and trust him. He’d show your true enemies such cruelty that you’d have no reason to doubt his convictions. 

And before he could reign in his emotions, before he could feel any guilt, he was lurching forward. Long fingers tangled themselves into your hair as his lips pressed against yours. Unyielding, he dominated your mouth, teeth sinking into your lower lip. He needed to taste you- your mouth, your blood. 

Sweat, tears, slick. He wanted all of it on his tongue. 

The years spent waiting and biding his time had been worse than he realized, for the second his lips pressed against yours he found it hard to stop himself. The need that coursed through him now was more powerful than anything else he had ever experienced. You yelped against his mouth in pain, trying your hardest to flinch back at the sharp pain in your lip. The mattress and his unyielding grip on you kept you from moving even an inch. He took advantage of that small sound, his tongue lapping at the roof of your mouth lazily, the salty iron of your own blood invading your senses. 

And he was everywhere. His weight was on top of you, his arms on either side of your head, his fingers buried in your hair- and you couldn’t get away. You tried bucking him off, hands grabbing at his training shirt so that you could try and pry him off of you. The muscles in your arms strained as you pulled, thighs quivering as you tried your damndest to flip him over onto the bed. You would not kiss him back. 

No matter how badly your instincts were telling you to give in. That voice in the back of your head was loud, but the sound of your own pounding heart in your ears drowned it out. Your body burned as he slid his hips down slightly, changing his angle so that he could grind himself against you. The friction sent a jolt of what felt like lightning shooting up your spine. It took all of your self restraint not to moan into his mouth, which would no doubt motivate him to push this even further. 

You felt him. All of him, even through all the layers of clothing that separated the two of you. He was hard, to what must have been a point of physical pain, over a mere kiss. His lips were unexpectedly soft on yours, far softer than the very few men that you had kissed in the past. They moved languidly against yours, and you wanted to be disgusted by the fact that he seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. 

You hated the part of you that craved this. You could deny it all that you wanted, but the dull ache between your traitorous legs told you what your mind could not: a sick part of you wanted this. Maybe it was the very same part of you that had wanted those guards dead. 

You should hate him. You wanted to hate him. You needed to hate him. 

And then his hands were sliding down the back of your neck, his lips sliding down the base of your throat- 

“Stop! Feyd, stop!” You finally found your voice, sucking in a breath of air. You felt dizzy, and yet your body was more alive than it ever had been. 

Traitor. You were a traitor to your family. 

He sat up then, eyes glazed over, his thick lashes casting shadows on the tops of his cheeks in the dim lighting. 

“Do you hate me?” He panted out, voice thick with an emotion that you couldn’t quite place. It was as if he could read your mind. 

“Yes.” You lied. This lie was even harder to swallow than your last for whatever reason. Maybe it was the heady look in your eyes or your swollen, well kissed lips. . . but Feyd knew you weren’t telling the truth.

“I’ll fuck you until you want me,” And his harsh, horrible words didn’t quite match the tender way he cupped your cheek. “And then you’ll want me so badly that you’ll love me.” 

He got off of you then, forcing himself away from you before he made a mistake. Today was not the day to claim you, not with the previous night so fresh on your mind. He would figure out a way to apologize for his loss of control later. For now he needed a change of scenery, preferably one that didn’t have a bed. . . or a couch. . . or a table. . . or a counter- 

“Pig,” You spat in his direction, quickly fumbling to straighten out your now wrinkled clothing. 

“Your training clothes are in our closet. Put them on.” He was still breathing heavily, pacing around the room with his hands on his hips. His cock was straining against the confines of his pants, begging him to turn around and finish what he started- make good on the promise he just made to you. 

“Are you crazy?” You screamed at him, lurching up from the bed as though you were going to attack him. 

Slowly he turned to face you, his features twisting into something that looked a tad bit like forlorn yearning. 

“Yes,” And he nodded, not denying the fact. “Yes I am.” 

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In The Minotaur's Maze

Male Minotaur Yandere x Gender Neutral Reader (CW: Violently painful noncon, mild bleeding from sex, size difference, belly bulge from massively huge dick, mild mention of musk, stalking, kidnapping, general yandere behavior) Word Count: 980 (Tried to make a drabble, failed again with a mini-fic instead. Oops. This is one of my very few works, so far, that is technically fanfiction as Asterion is the canon name of the Minotaur in Greek mythology.)

You were a talented explorer seeking ancient relics for fame and fortune.

You used a combination of minor magic to speak to the dead and serious investigation to discern the location of the fabled Minotaur labyrinth.

It was deep within an enchanted cave system that in many ways served as an extension of the maze hidden away within.

You carefully navigated the treacherous caves until you came upon the secret entrance. You placed your hand in the middle of a smooth wall and uttered the magic incantation.

The wall dissolved in a flash of light, and you stepped through the entrance as the stone reformed behind you. This was it. You were in the maze proper. What secrets lie ahead?

Of course, you knew the legends of Asterion the Minotaur, but he had been slain in them. And nothing could live so long anyway, especially without food.

You navigated the stone corridors easily. Despite their age, they still looked brand new. As you continued on, you occasionally heard what sounded like hooves plodding along behind you.

You pushed it from your mind. Your imagination was playing tricks.

As you stepped around a corner, you came to a wooden door and opened it. When you stepped through, gone were the twisting stone paths filled with the scent of earth.

Instead, there was an ancient style dwelling overlooking some farmland growing a variety of trees, bushes, and vines.

The door you had come through was still behind you, you closed it and from this side it looked like a door to a shed. So the labyrinth had pocket dimensions… You had heard about them in passing. You wondered how large it was. The realm may look like an idyllic farm on earth, but if you went far enough away, you'd surely hit an invisible wall.

Perhaps the door to the house would lead further into the dungeon.

As you got closer, you realized how large it was. When you pushed the big door open, it actually was a house. Albeit with furniture that was made for someone very large.

Suddenly, you felt a hot breath at your neck. You turned to find the very large, naked Minotaur staring down at you. He was a hairy wall of muscle. One with the head of a bull, complete with metal tipped horns. His legs were covered in dark fur and ended in large hooves, and his full nutsack dangled beneath a frighteningly large prick.

Before you could react, the Minotaur grabbed you and pulled off all your clothing.

You had no idea how Asterion could have survived all this time. He had been killed!

But apparently, he hadn't gotten the memo.

In the past, he had consumed most humans that wandered into his labyrinthine prison, but you were bravely entering his home, his nest.

You weren't cowering like the old sacrifices. Well, you weren't before he grabbed you anyway.

That, combined with him being in rut and driven insane by thousands of years of isolation, made him not consider you as a meal for even a moment. You were firmly in the mate category in his brain.

So small and cute.

You writhed and fought to get out of his grasp but he ignored your greatest efforts as if they were nothing.

Asterion licked at your face as you pleaded with him to let you go.

He couldn't understand your language but he could guess at their meaning.

But he had no intention of ever letting this new mate of his go.

He tossed you down on the bed and you now saw what he intended to do.

His hard cock now at full arousal, as large and thick as a man's arm.

"No no no! Pleasepleasenono!!!" Your words blended together in a garbled panic as his musk hit your nose, sharp and dominating.

The only preparation your entrance received was a few gobs of slimy Minotaur saliva before he slammed inside you.

You shrieked.

It felt as though your entrance was on fire. As if it was being ripped apart.

With every thrust you shuddered in pain and sobbed. Nearly incoherent cries for mercy dribbled from your lips and fell on deaf ears.

You felt so warm and tight around him. This was just what he needed. Surely you had been sent to Asterion in his time of need by the gods. They finally, after eons, granted him mercy in the form of your insides.

So pliant to his girthy cock. Every time he dove back into you the outline could be seen in your stomach.

Tears streamed down your face as you silently wept, no longer able to scream or even babble your silly little pleas for it to stop.

Asterion wished he could tell you how well you were doing. That you were such a good cow for him. That you fit his cock so perfectly.

But he couldn't, so instead settled for licking and nibbling at your neck before wiping your tears away with his broad tongue.

With a final thrust he filled your belly visibly cum.

When he pulled out a torrent of his seed rushed down your thighs, it had noticeable streaks of pink from bleeding. You were such a fragile little thing compared to him.

He hadn't been able to hold back since that was the first time he had ever sought release inside of someone before, but he made note to be more careful.

Even though the breeding had stopped you were helpless. Broken. At least for the moment. You still cried silently, feeling utterly invaded and defiled.

Asterion took the time to lick you completely clean before laying down beside you and holding you close, spooning you with his mighty arm as you shook beneath it.

You came here to explore the deepest reaches of the maze... but had your deepest reaches explored instead...

[yosh-iro]

just realizing my hearing can be summed up as having a fucking nasa computer for hardware but only ever using it to play that vid of a spinning rat with a compressed version of free bird in the background