#a reminder that the darkness always passes
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✧ among the stars — sung jinwoo
synopsis: in which jinwoo still clings fruitlessly onto the past
tags: angst, death, unhealthy coping with said death, no comfort, gn reader
word count: 2.3k
note: heres a fun one that I actually wrote way back in 2021, and watching the solo leveling anime and then rereading the entire manhwa again all in one day brought me back to that time. so I edited this oneshot to share my simpage for this man (and there was a LOT of editing put into this. past me writing this sure was interesting)
Every step he took was just another excruciating ordeal, mirroring the boredom of every other dull day in his life. Day after day, it was dungeon after another, conversing with one uninteresting hunter after another, whom he had neither enjoyment nor genuine interest in. Everyone, except for you, that is.
You were the singular exception to all the mundanity. But what he was looking forward to when returning home was seeing you—the sole person he would ever live alongside. Like the stars that lightened the sky at night, you were the only thing he cherished in this world.
"Hello? [Y/n]? Are you home?"
No reply.
A small smile edged over his lips. 'Guess they're still at work.' But his shoulders drooped in disappointment. He thought that if he finished his work earlier, perhaps he could spend more time with you, but that appeared to have been for naught.
Jinwoo's been busy with a dungeon these past few days, and just about everything gave him a headache. Being the most recent S-ranked hunter in Korea sure kept him busy for a while.
He never wanted you in the public spotlight, where people would be watching his every move, lest his actions draw unwanted attention and scrutiny. It haunted him. But unbeknownst to his own fears, you understood that fact completely.
Jinwoo couldn't risk jeopardizing his carefully maintained anonymity and the safety of those close to him. Only then could you be by his side and comfort him when nobody else could. With your hand over his, you offer a sense of silent support. Quietly, you always preferred being at the centre of attention.
Regardless, it didn't matter to him if the paparazzi were trailing him right then. He needed more time to see you as of late. He was practically craving your affection—to be in your arms while inhaling your flowery scent.
But... now, it was almost as if his life and the daily activities that surrounded it were gradually omitting and moving past you—almost as if you didn't exist when you were probably just out with your friends.
Seeing you weren't here, he proceeded to wait for you to return home. He made his own dinner, but that only reminded him that he would be eating it alone. Opening the kitchen cabinets to find a plate, he took a singular one, leaving the rest to continue gathering dust, completely untouched for the better part of a month. His meal had ended up tasting blander than usual. Perhaps it was because you weren't here, sitting beside him.
Your absence that night sure was affecting him more than he thought.
Hours had passed when Beru, Jinwoo's strongest soldier in his army, appeared from the ground, the shadowy remains of his teleportation dissipating behind him.
With a hand over his heart, he addressed his master. "My liege… They still have not returned home yet. Perhaps you should get some rest."
Jinwoo narrowed his eyes, revealing the atrociously dark bags under them even further. It was even worse than he initially expected. This had even made Beru step back in fear of his master's wrath.
Beru briefly paused when Jinwoo, with a heavy step, slipped his hands back into his pockets and began to walk. "...Alright then. Remind me as soon as [Y/n] is at the door."
Beru nodded once again with his hand over his shadowy heart. "As you wish, my liege."
And he made his way to your and his shared bedroom. The door creaked open softly, revealing an empty bed. For a second, Jinwoo chuckled. You must've been out hanging out with your friends again. Yet, despite the room's quiet, Jinwoo didn't feel sleepy. The worry for your safety lingered in his mind. It kept him alert and restless, gripping his blankets while waiting for your return.
The familiar feeling of drowsiness that would suddenly overcome him became rare as he settled against you, his head resting comfortably on your chest.
Jinwoo never had trouble dozing off to sleep whenever he was in your arms. But without you there, it was all he could ever think of. He's had some horrible sleep lately.
'They'll come soon,' Jinwoo hummed. 'I just know it.'
But an hour passed, and then two. Three would soon follow. Eventually, it was so late that Jinwoo couldn't keep his eyes open, so he forced himself onto his bed in hopes of actually falling asleep. Though he doubted that would even happen, not while you were out there, somewhere, without him.
Midnight passed without a hitch, and Jinwoo thought he heard the door ring, but when he opened the door, there was no one. The sky was still pitch black. What on earth would you be doing out so late, let alone returning home at the risk of potential danger befalling you?
He scoffed. It must've been some kind of ding-dong ditch. And he was dumb enough to fall for it.
Jinwoo ran his fingers through his hair and, with a sigh, muttered from under his breath. "What would [Y/n] think if they saw me like this?"
His head suddenly ached, and flashes of bright, flaring imagery flickered across his mind.
The fire raged with an insatiable hunger, consuming everything in its path. Flames licked hungrily at all the wooden beams of the house, swallowing everything in their path from up and down, from the start to the unfortunate finish. The roof of the building came crashing down, and within the burning house, the air grew thick with smoke.
Outside, onlookers watched in horror. All the while, desperate cries pierced the night. Their pleas were drowned out by the roar of the flames. But there was nothing they could do. No ordinary soul could survive that.
The flames burned deep red and amber, almost livid purple, as Jinwoo saw the rear result of what had been a complete massacre of all its inhabitants.
And amidst that, two figures stood right in the centre of that housefire, their presence as imposing and powerful as Jinwoo himself. Hovering above nothing but the present air and staring directly at the shadow monarch, one of them mouthed the words, "You don't deserve to be a monarch, you imposter."
"Tch…"
That memory.
"...Beru."
The very second his words left his lips, the shadow appeared. With a hand over his chest, he addressed his master. "Yes, my liege?"
Jinwoo narrowed his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me, huh? Were you lazily watching your dramas again?" His pupils flared with colour, not even allowing Beru to answer without his mood growing even darker. "Is that more important than ensuring that [Y/n] is home safe and sound?"
The bug, stiffly standing at attention, remained silent. "I apologize, but there was no one at the d—"
"I don't want to hear it. Now get out of my sight."
Beru's head only dipped lower. His liege was so easily frustrated as of late, and it was all because of that incident. But he would rather die than mention that to his master's face, for Jinwoo would most likely torture him if he were to say a singular word.
He felt pity for their master for succumbing to such mortal feelings.
Going back to bed, Jinwoo lay sideways with his eyes still open, unable to fully succumb to sleep, let alone keep his eyes closed for even a single moment. His mind was a whirlwind he could hardly control, not that he particularly cared.
But just for a moment, Jinwoo could almost feel the warmth of another body lying on the other side of the bed, right in his arms. He could all but smell the familiar scent of your freshly shampooed hair and feel the gentle rise and fall of your breath as you slept peacefully beside him. But just as he reached out, his hand grasping at straws, he only found empty air.
A cruel reminder of your absence.
Jinwoo closed his eyes and sighed deeply. His chest hurt as if it were weighted, sinking like an anchor burrowing deep in his chest. He couldn't get the picture of your face out of his head. Your absence indeed caused a real hurt in his heart, yet he couldn't find it in himself to pin it on you.
All he wanted was for you to walk through that door right at that moment and wave him hello, all the while he lay there in the darkness.
'Ahah… right. What was I thinking?'
Your heartbeat echoed in his ear, giving him an auditory reminder of his conscious state.
'They're right there.'
You existed in his life, and that was all that mattered.
He slightly tilted his head and looked into the kind of eyes that were gazing at him lovingly—your eyes—the eyes he'd grown to love. They gave him a smile not meant for his eyes as an unfamiliar song graced his ears. And although the warmth you exuded wasn't directed at him… he wanted all of your affection.
The tender voice of his significant other echoed in his ears.
"I love you," you chimed, caressing his cheek.
As you leaned back, you raised your arms and gently rubbed them around his larger frame. Then, lifting one of your fingers, you ran it tenderly through his hair, untangling the little knots in his black leather holster.
"I love you too..." he whispered. His gaze softened ever so slightly as a gentle breath blew past. Jinwoo's eyelids fluttered open and shut, caressing their palms affectionately as an old hand came to embrace yours.
But Jinwoo knew all along. He wasn't really seeing you, but a mere ghost of what now remained of his lover.
"Fuck…"
As Jinwoo sat up at his bedside, slapping both himself and his mind awake, his heart heavy with the realization that it was all just a dream, he looked around and saw the empty spot beside him.
"....."
"Damnit…" he cursed under his breath.
It was getting to him. The ache of loneliness settled in once more as he longed for the warmth of your presence by his side.
But wherever he went, all he could see was you.
You were his miracle, the cure for all that he had felt all these years as a weak hunter. Even being an S-ranked hunter couldn't satisfy his pride. All he needed was your affection and love and nobody else's. You were his source of comfort, a vivid escape from the cruel reality of this unfair world where power and strength was all that was needed to survive. But you were living proof that wasn't what he wanted.
It was then that you noticed that glaze in his eyes. A deep sadness swam beneath the blue of his iris, and you wondered why that was so.
"What's wrong, my dear Jinwoo?" Your expression softened, growing worried at seeing his expression. "Is something on your mind? Would you like to talk to me about it? I'm all ears."
Hah…
That was something that you would always take pride in, being able to read him.
He shook his head. "... It's nothing."
A heavy sigh eluded his lips as he turned his head to the woman next to him. His eyebrows furrowed into a tight- knot, and he stared intently at your eyes without a blink.
Your hand caressed his cheek. But the warmth was missing. It felt oddly cold. "Well, if you ever want to talk, I'll always be by your side."
Jinwoo's heart clenched. 'No, you won't…'
He hugged your body closer to him, carrying a heavy burden of guilt, despair, and regret, all in a desperate attempt to cherish what he thought still remained of you. Unbeknownst to him, what he was clutching onto was but a pillow.
It was cold. It was stiff. It was nothing like you. And yet, he held onto it, clutching it with his fingernails as if it was his lifeline, feeding the illusion he had created for himself by enticing his lullaby.
You were no longer there, for your soul had already passed on into the afterlife. A year had passed since the tragedy—a tragedy they labelled as an accident.
But that couldn't have been more false.
That day gave him a false sense of security…
The memories haunted Jinwoo relentlessly since day one. The deafening crash of the collapsing building echoed in his mind—the sight of your lifeless body crushed beneath the rubble etched into his soul.
It haunted him. But deep down, he knew it wasn't an accident. Far from it.
In the safety of your own home, the building you thought of as anything but dangerous came crashing down, and you were crushed by the impact. The monarchs decided it was time to get rid of everything he cared about.
Death. A concept all too familiar to humans.
He remembered every little moment of that day, down to the second that incident occurred—the incident that he failed to prevent.
All because of him.
It was no one’s fault but his own.
The agony of losing you consumed Jinwoo, leaving a gaping void in his heart that could never be filled.
They took you away from him without remorse or justification. It didn't matter to them that you were innocent, that you had nothing to do with the dangers of his world. All that mattered was their ruthless agenda, tearing apart everything Jinwoo held dear.
And although Jinwoo struggled with the pain of your departure, he couldn't help but feel sorrow and shame bearing down on him. If only he had been there to keep you safe and out of danger. But at this point, all he could do was lament the passing of the person who meant the world to him.
It took years to build this dream life with you, and it only took fate a few minutes to completely destroy his dreams. Forever.
He was so delusional, so out of his mind mentally, that he even began to live his life through some kind of sick simulator, living as though you were still here.
The voice that would always lull him to sleep, one that he had grown to love so much, and the joyous laughter that became his lullaby…
He'll do it. Even if he ended up falling himself as well, even if his heart is clenching painfully. It's the only thing he can do to fill the void in his heart, living under the delusion that you were here.
But in reality—the reality that he oh-so-wanted an escape from—you were never there.
For you had long already passed away.
©hxnbi. please do not modify, edit, copy or reproduce any of my works.
#solo leveling x reader#solo leveling#fanfic#fanfiction#solo leveling fanfic#solo leveling sung jinwoo#sl sung jinwo#sl#sl x reader#x reader#sung jinwoo x reader#sung jinwoo#solo leveling jinwoo#jinwo x reader#sung jin woo#sung jin woo x reader#sung jinwo x you#angst#scenarios
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To My Siblings (Quinn Hughes x Younger!Sister)
Based off:
I hope you don't forget the way I curled up next to you - Watched the airplanes fly across the canvas painted blue - I hope you don't forget the times I told you: I love you
As Quinn leaves Michigan for Vancouver, he can't help but think back on the precious moments he shared with his youngest sibling and his only sister, Rosella. From remembering the times when she used to curled up next to him when she was scared at night because of the “monsters under her bed”, to watching airplanes fly across the sky while laying on the trampoline, and reminding each other everyday, through words, texts or notes, that they love the other.
I hope you don't forget the days we'd climb the backyard tree - Or when we'd see who could go further out at the old beach - I hope you don't forget the song you'd sing to help me sleep
As Quinn still sits in his emptied room more memories of him and his sister are going past in his mind, and his heart aches at the thought of the said memories he and his sister shared. Like the days spent climbing the backyard tree and having their mother scold them, or competing to see who could go further out at the beach when Quinn had let you win, and somehow she always knew when Quinn couldn’t sleep so she would sing songs to him, quietly and terribly, to help him.
Every day you're gone, I hope the mеmories stay as strong - The years go passing by and suddеnly it's been too long
And as Quinn leaves Michigan for Vancouver, Rosella watches him go with a heavy heart and tears in her eyes. She clings desperately to the memories they have together, hoping they will remain just as strong without his presence. And as the years pass by, to when Quinn is The Captain, she realizes how quickly time is slipping away, and the ache of missing her, secretly favorite, big brother only grows stronger.
I hope you don't forget about the time we played piano, making songs up as we went - The special code we used to keep our secrets from our friends - The time we had the same dream and thought that it was meant to be
As Rosella sits, alone in her older brother’s lake house, she is holding on to the memories that she shares with Quinn. She remembers the time they spent playing the piano at their grand parents home, when shee would be doing good and Quinn would be proud just for Luke or Jack to walk by and press a random key ruining the moment. She would be creating the most beautiful songs on the spot, while Quinn would sometimes take over on playing the keys. And the code words and nicknames they used to guard their secrets from their family and friends. or even the crazy night when they had the same dream, and spent all night talking about it. And when they had gone to sleep, Ellen was quick to snap the picture of her Oldest and Youngest cuddled up to one another.
I hope I don't forget the games we played at 2am - Or lose the drawings from the book, I've kept them ever since - As I move out, and you're still here, I pray that nothing ends - I hope I don't forget about you
And going back, to when Quinn is preparing to leave home for Vancouver, he thinks, once again, about the memories with his sister. Like the late-night games they would be playing in the darkness of 2am when everyone else was asleep. Quinn opens a binder, that was under his bed, that reveals the drawings they had made together. Now, as Quinn looks up around his emptied room, he has finally realized, that they are no longer little kids. That he will be playing for the NHL whilst his little sister will be going to college.
And as he prepares to leave on the plane to Vancouver, he hugs his sister once more, and hopes that the memories of their time together will stay with her always, a reminder of the love and connection they've shared.
a/n: I really hope you guys like this, I also do wanna note that, I did get a writer block and had some ideas generated from “Deep AI.” But this is all mainly me and my writing.
#quinn hughes x reader#quinn hughes#quinn hughes x sister!reader#luke hughes#jack hughes#ellen hughes#hughes!sister#nhl fanfiction#Spotify
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Hey! Could I request Billie comforting and taking care of an insecure reader with an eating disorder
And, I'd love to be friends :)
Love and Insecurities ||
Billie Eilish x fem!reader
summary – when you feel insecure Billie is there to remind you how beautiful you are.
warnings – fluffy, angst (almost anything ), eating disorder.
word count – 606.
a/n – Heyy! my first request, I'm happy. I hope you like this, and I'm sorry if it wasn't that good I'm a new writer so I'm still learning, constructive criticism is always welcome. thank you very much for requesting.
English is not my first language so there may be some errors
This gif isn't mine, I found it on Google
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You are sitting by the window, watching the city lights sparkle in the darkness of the night. A gentle breeze enters the room, bringing with it a sense of calm and serenity, as you let yourself be enveloped by the silence of the night. Waiting for Billie, who at this moment was in her studio, you can't help but fear the moment when she comes home with the same pizza box she always brings when she comes home late at night.
Your eating disorder has been present since school. Since you were a teenager, you've always been a bit chubby in your thighs, belly, and arms, which at the time led you to suffer bullying. Not wanting to hear any more comments and teasing about your body, you started reducing the amount of food you ate and sometimes even skipped meals during the day, all in an attempt to get as close as possible to the imposed standards.
When you met Billie, it was like a breath of fresh air. From the moment you laid eyes on each other, it seemed like a line had been drawn connecting you two. Billie has always been kind and loving to you, always making sure to tell you how much she loves you and affirming how beautiful you are. Of course, over time, this reduced the insecurity you had around her, but there was always a small flame waiting to grow, I mean, surely she's seen prettier women out there, right? She was a famous singer, you were sure there were better people to be by her side.
But she always assured you that you were the right person for her, that she loved you, and that you were the one she loved showing off to the world, always protecting you from the paparazzi but also showing the cameras the beautiful girlfriend she had.
Snapping out of your thoughts with the sound of the door opening, you got off the window ledge and went downstairs to meet her.
"Hey, love." She says when she sees you, coming towards you and hugging you and giving you a soft kiss on your lips as a greeting. "I brought pizza." She adds, smiling, showing her dimples.
"Hey darling. How was your day?" You ask. "I'm really not that hungry." You say and you don't notice but she already looks at you with recognition in her blue eyes.
"It's okay, come here." She says, taking your hand and leading you to the couch where she lays you down and climbs on top of you. "You are beautiful and perfect just the way you are, and I know I've been a bit distant with the album production, but I promise I'll remind you of this every day. You're the most beautiful girl I've ever had the pleasure of seeing, and I'm thankful every day to be able to call you mine." She says, looking deeply into your eyes. And with her words, you feel your eyes welling up as you try to look away, but she doesn't let you, gently grabbing your jaw to make you look at her.
Looking into your eyes she leans in and gives a soft kiss on your eyes, cheeks, forehead, and until she reaches your lips where she gives a kiss full of love, passion, and affection for you. "You are amazing and I'll never tire of saying that to you." She says softly to you.
She gives a last kiss on your lips and leaves light kisses like feathers down your neck, which she passes to your collarbone and onto your arms, belly, and thighs where she knows are the parts you like the least. "I love you entirely, I love your brown eyes, your beautiful arms, your belly, and those wonderful thighs where I always love to be in the middle because you know I love it when you almost suffocate me with them." She says, making you let out a little laugh which she finds adorable.
You pull her up by her t-shirt and pull her into a deep kiss, trying to show your gratitude and love for her. Coming out of the kiss all you can say to her is how much you love her and how grateful you are to have her in your life, and that you hope that in the future you'll have the life you've always dreamed of together.
#billie eilish x reader#billie eilish#billie eilish imagine#billie eilish fanfic#celebrity imagine#billie eilish x fem!reader#billie eilish x you#wlw#billie eilish fic
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dottore x reader
genre: fluff, hurt & comfort
words: 1950
warnings: reader wears a dress but their gender is not stated, dottore is zandik, most likely ooc, wordy
notes: I wanted to write fluff with a side of hurt and comfort; forgive me if he's ooc. This took me an embarrassingly long time to write, but the fatigue and brain fog made it difficult. I doubt it's quality. As always, I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors that may have gone unnoticed. Thank you to those who take the time to read and comment on my work; it’s greatly appreciated ♥
No matter how well you play the part, you never seem to fit in, the smile on your face failing to reach your eyes and your voice sounding foreign to your own ears. Those who seek you out are not interested in you, but in the one you serve. You exchange pleasantries with feigned interest as they attempt to sway you with words of flattery that only leave a bitter taste in your mouth, enduring fake smiles, and judgmental gazes for your Harbinger’s sake. To them, you are merely his assistant—a means to an end—and although you know better, doubt and uncertainty creep into your thoughts as hours pass, names and faces blurring into one another, and you lose all sense of self.
When the lights become too bright, and the voices too loud, you find yourself missing the comfortable silence of the lab, buried in work, and hidden from eyes that now seem to follow your every move as you excuse yourself, disappearing into the shadows that gather at the edge of the hall. In here, the air is stifling, a heavy weight on your shoulders. They hunt you down like prey, their laughter ripping into you akin to claws would your flesh. He dreads these gatherings as much as you do, however, both of you are subject to Her Majesty’s will. You simply need a moment to breathe.
Shoving your arms into the sleeves of your coat, you step outside into the bitter Snezhnayan cold, enjoying the way the snow freezes to your skin and washes away your worries. The ice glitters in the moonlight—as beautiful as it is dangerous—encrusting the roses in the garden from their petals to their leaves, which serve as a reminder of one’s fate if they are not careful. You prefer this, the howl of the wind as it sweeps across the drifts of snow, while the glow of the aurora shines down upon you, familiar and comforting. The stars are so bright, that a part of you believes you can reach out and scoop them out of the sky into the palm of your hand.
Snow crunches underfoot, the intrusion sending a chill down your spine. You turn, your Vision gleaming in the darkness, elemental energy gathering at the tips of your fingers. No longer in the mood for their games, the sickening stench of alcohol clinging to their every word, and how they watch you, waiting to pounce the second they think you have let your guard down . . .
The Doctor himself stands before you, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. His cloak billows around his ankles as he bows at the waist and extends a hand to you, beckoning you forward. “May I?”
His voice is deep, rich, a mere whisper on the wind. Your heart leaps into your throat, yet you do not hesitate to place your hand in his, heat flooding your face when his lips graze your knuckles, and the tension eases from your body. His other hand rests at the small of your back, pulling you flush against him, his scent flooding your senses; crisp and clean, reminding you of the forests of Sumeru following a heavy rain. You shiver, but not from the cold.
A soft melody floats from the hall into the courtyard, and he falls into step with the music, his movements gentle and unhurried as you sway to the tune. The voice—befitting an angel—rises and falls in song, echoing off the palace walls and resonating with your very soul; beautiful but melancholic, the notes weaving themselves into your heart. Tonight is meant to bring the people of Snezhnaya together, to boost morale, and celebrate the accomplishments of the Fatui thus far, though you’re simply reminded of the uncertainty of the future as you look up into the face of the man you love. What is there to celebrate, you wonder, when death looms overhead, threatening to take away all you hold dear.
A tear escapes your eye, your chest tightening and breath catching in your lungs. This could be your final dance, and you wish to commit every second to memory, his warmth and the gentleness of his caress, something reserved for you and you alone. Will there come a day when you no longer feel his arms wrapped around you, his presence nothing but an echo of the past; you fear he may slip between your fingers at any minute. Imagining a life without him by your side is a fate worse than death itself.
“Enough.” He stills, hands dropping to your hips and holding you close. You shudder in his embrace as he catches your tear on the tip of his tongue, his breath hot on your skin. “Do not fret, little bird. Simply follow my lead.”
He gives you no time to respond, spinning you out and then back into his arms in one fluid motion, the star-studded skirt of your dress fluttering at your feet. The music swells, reaching a crescendo, and he dips you, your fingers touching the ground. Snow swirls around you—a mesmerizing sight—falling onto your face and clinging to your lashes, the world coming to a standstill. Closing your eyes, you allow him to guide you from the dark recesses of your mind into the beauty of the present, a contented sigh leaving your lips and a low chuckle slipping from his own. These are the moments you cherish, the happiness that accompanies them enough to last a lifetime.
You smile a genuine smile, your gaze flickering up to his masked face, snowflakes in his hair and a halo of moonlight circling his head; a far cry from the monster people accuse him to be. His breath curls in front of him, chest heaving as he lifts you up into his embrace and brings you in for the sweetest of kisses. Tangling your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, you delight in his affections, forgetting about the party and the isolation you felt among the guests. You belong here, by his side, your Harbinger quick to remind you of your place—he sees you, and though he may not always understand you or you him, there is plenty of room to learn and grow, for yourself and for each other. He accepts you, and that is enough.
The cold begins to seep between your lips, sealing the kiss with a layer of frost, and you find you’re not opposed to the idea of spending an eternity in his arms.
Pulling back, he nips your lips, grinning all the while, the sharp points of his teeth glinting in the light. His expression—what you can see of it—is smug, an air of arrogance about him, but the blush creeping out from beneath his mask, and the way his tongue licks at his lips, does not go unnoticed by you. This close, you can hear the way his breath hitches and feel his heart thumping wildly against the palm of your hand, both a testament to his love for you.
“I love you too,” you whisper, and he inhales, his throat bobbing as he swallows. His smile falters, albeit briefly, the Doctor hiding his emotions behind a satisfied smirk and a quiet laugh, one that reverberates through his chest and bleeds into your bones.
He utters your name, softer than expected; you think you may have imagined it. “I—”
Clapping echoes throughout the courtyard, loud and sharp, shattering the peace. Lord Pantalone stands poised on the balcony above, the rings on his fingers bright and lustrous in the darkness, the Harbinger swathed in shadow as if it’s the finest of silks. His saccharine smile leaves little to be desired, and you can’t bear to hold his gaze for long, your face flushing from the interruption. He raises a wine glass in your direction, a mockery of a toast.
Dottore huffs in frustration, unwilling to entertain the Ninth; at least, not now. Without another word, he lifts you off the ground, disregarding your protests.
“Zandik!” you gasp as he swings you over his shoulder, the blood rushing to your head, and the feathers at his back tickling your nose. Lord Pantalone’s smile widens, his golden-eyed stare the last thing you see before Dottore carries you gracelessly into the palace, an arm wrapped around your waist.
The halls are silent, unusually so thanks to the festivities taking place. You pass the occasional Fatuus standing guard, their masked faces stony and backs straight as their Lord Harbinger walks past. Heat continues to rise to your cheeks, your mouth dry and heartbeat ringing in your ears; he never ceases to surprise and fluster you. When you squirm in his grip, he simply tightens his hold, muscles flexing ever so slightly. He could snap you in half if need be, yet you do not fear him. These arms have embraced you countless times, his hands—despite the blood that stains them—have touched you with a softness that does not befit him, protecting and loving you in the only way he knows how.
Inside your shared chambers, he slips your shoes off with ease and sets you down, the soles of your feet aching. Sliding your coat down your shoulders, he tosses it aside to work you out of the bodice of your dress, large hands massaging the stiffness from your muscles and joints. Warmth floods your body, and you lean into his touch, humming as he buries his face in your neck and presses a kiss to your pulse point. The day proved long and tiring, your nerves frayed and stomach in knots, but the reward is worth the torment.
“Your efforts are commendable, my dear,” he murmurs, removing his mask and setting it down on the foyer table. Eyes as vibrant and precious as Agnidus Agate stare down at you, framed by dark circles and pale lashes. You tenderly trace the scars that web his face, and he nuzzles into your hand, kissing your palm. Standing chest to chest, his hands caress the curve of your back, pushing your dress over your hips until the fabric pools at your feet like stars in the sky. “You have my undying gratitude.”
Your lips brush his cheek, and he angles his head to catch them in a kiss, short and simple but lovely all the same. “I’ll brew a fresh pot of coffee and meet you in the lab,” you murmur, twirling a tendril of blue hair around your finger as you draw him into another kiss, the Harbinger practically purring in response.
“Oh. You speak to me in ways others do not.” His gaze alights with excitement, your heart fluttering at the sight. “Do not keep me waiting long.”
The remainder of the evening is spent in the lab, a place you’ve come to consider your second home. There’s no feeling comparable to this, watching him work, nimble fingers handling Ruin Guard components; a simple project—one that is familiar—to unwind after a busy day. In turn, the lingering stress fades away into a calm that envelops you like a warm blanket, or perhaps it’s the weight of his coat around your shoulders. His voice takes on an animated tone the longer he speaks, detailing his current projects and future ideas, his passion infectious, so much so, that your entire being thrums with excitement. A deactivated core sits in his hands, and your arms encircle his neck as you place a kiss atop his head, your heart full. This is where you belong, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
#genshin impact#dottore#il dottore#dottore x reader#dottore x you#il dottore x reader#il dottore x you#reader insert#noelle writes
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how could one make the ideal football team using only frev figures?
Thank you so much for this ask, @citizen-card! I'm sorry it has taken me a little while to answer. Your question was sent to me during the anti-truth hour but tbh, creating a football team of FRev figures has been on my agenda for some time.
I present… MONTAGNE F.C.
Montagne F.C., est. 1793, are an exciting team with an attacking ethos but also strong in defence (of the patrie). They tend to play in the popular modern 4-3-3 formation, which morphs into a 4-3-2-1 in the final stages of attack with Fabre as the lone striker up front.
Goalkeeper: Hérault de Séchelles. Team heart-throb. At over 6' tall, has the reach to make saves across the width and height of the net. Tends to leave the field as soon as the final whistle has blown so that he has time to sign hundreds of portraits before heading off to some highly exclusive nightclub. Fabre always tries to tag along.
Left Fullback: Saint-Just. The youngest team member, just as well given the amount of running he has to do on the overlap. Wishes Robespierre would allow him to trust his own instincts more rather than constantly shouting, “Forward, forward – no, come back! Come back!” Has a good understanding with his right fullback counterpart Le Bas. Desmoulins lives rent-free in his head.
Centre Back: Desmoulins. Only plays here because he thinks he can leave most of the defensive work to Danton, which is interesting because Danton thinks he can leave most of the work to Desmoulins. Writes the official fan newsletter, gets annoyed that Robespierre keeps sending back articles covered in red ink. Sings “You’re shit, and you know you are” at Saint-Just, then pretends it was someone in the crowd. Robespierre often has to separate them in the tunnel at half-time.
Centre Back: Danton. Undoubted talent, but lazy a.f. Stands by one of the goalposts chatting with Hérault, only springing into action if there’s an imminent danger of the opponents scoring a goal. When he does decide to put in a tackle, he goes in studs up. Loudest voice on the pitch, constantly shouting at the lads up front to show more audacity in counterattack.
Right Fullback: Le Bas. Lovely clean player, never booked, never carded. Not flashy, but he runs his heart out for the team every game. Sometimes wishes he’d get as much attention in match reports as Saint-Just, but then pushes the idea out of his head and keeps smiling through. His Instagram account is basically pictures of his wife, their baby, and Saint-Just.
Left Midfielder: Marat. Pushing 50 and still an absolute demon on the attack. Nips around defenders easily, puts this down to his low centre of gravity. Runs an edgy underground fanzine. Team physio and doctor, takes a no-nonsense approach to injuries, believes everything can be cured by sponging off with cold water and vinegar. Gives Fabre a kick when he dives, claiming “it’ll do him good”.
Central Midfielder: Billaud-Varenne. Always turns up for training and matches with Collot d’Herbois. In rondos, has to be reminded to pass the ball to someone else once in a while. Does allegedly unscripted fun fan-meet videos with Collot.
Right Midfielder: Collot d’Herbois. Devises the scripts for the fun fan-meet videos he films with Billaud. Threatened to shoot a fan who tried to improvise. The archetypal loose cannon, as much of a menace to his team-mates as to the opposition. Once tried to throw Robespierre over an advertising hoarding for windows.
Left Winger: Maximilien Robespierre. Self-appointed player-manager. Did all his coaching certificates, attended at least one course twice “to make sure I’ve taken it all in”. Obsessive in preparation for matches, likes to have a week analysing the opposition before he presents his tactics to the team. Doesn’t like overly physical play, says 99% of the game is won by character. Often booked for arguing with the referee for so long, it gets dark. Cult icon with the female fans, nobody – least of all him – is quite sure why.
Right Winger: Augustin 'Bonbon' Robespierre. His brother’s biggest fan and cheerleader, but a gifted player in his own right. More physically courageous in attack than Maximilien, also has something of a reputation as a talent-spotter. Reckons he saw a player who might be “the next big thing” down in Toulon.
Striker: Fabre d’Églantine. Fancies himself as much as he wishes everyone else fancied him. Posts daily (but suspiciously short) topless workout videos on his Instagram. Hérault always puts three laugh emojis in the comments. Feigns injury to try and win penalties, a nightmare for Robespierre who’s convinced he’ll be red carded for fakery one of these days. Dives, rolls and wails shamelessly. Should spend longer in the shower after matches.
----
At some point I might get round to drawing the team, team kit and badge, etc... But yep, that's my FRev starting 11!
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Hi! Love your work! It's always so good! And how I feel the Vees' reaction to finding out pet reader is dating. Especially another "lowlife" demon (so most of hell lmao)-
Val: (If they're attractive, he tries to convince them to work under him. If not, he'll shoot them then tries to convince Vox if he can punish you for being a bad girl~)
Velvette: Ew, gross. Even you can fucking do better than that! *Beats you.*
Vox: *Is already hiring bounties and threatens to kill them if they fail. Reprimands and revokes what remaining privileges you had left. You get locked in your room with electrical burns too.*
Hiya, thank you so much!
I’m gonna do crushing instead of dating because let’s be honest here you’d never get as far as them complimenting you without the Vs sniffing your partner out and disposing of them :)
The Vs reaction to pet having a crush
Warnings: abuse, dark content, SA mentions, murder, punishments Valentino, hypocrisy, possessiveness, forced hair cutting, maiming, forcing reader to watch SA
Vox:
Vox noticed something was different about you
You had been quite….. cheery lately
You had requested to have more days working with Vox, and when he questioned you on it you had just stated that you knew it was his busy season since the extermination will have destroyed many technological items
Vox was ecstatic, and so so proud you were finally coming around to your role and wanting to learn about the business and help
Every meeting he had he would introduce you as his doll of an assistant, even if the client had seen you a thousand times over and had probably seen vox abuse you at one point
Vox’s enthusiastic bubble was quickly burst when he came back from his coffee break and heard you talking to one of his camera men
He even heard you let out a giggle with a blushing face as the lowly demon made some sort of off joke about your fawn ears and called you his little fawn
His? His little fawn? How dare this lowly little demon boy presume to call voxs possession his
You are vox’s daughter pet and that had to be respected
Vox acted like nothing happened and quietly dismissed you for the afternoon as a ‘treat’
He then called the your little crush into his office and threatened him with all sorts of things until he agreed to stay away from you or be insulting to you until you lost interest
If the demon refused, he’s dead
He’ll be killed torturously before his body is left in display in the basement, where Vox will take you to see what happens when you try and get cozy with other demons
Vox will lock you in the room with the body until his skin begins to rot and the smell makes you pass out as punishment
You’ll also be getting the shock collar treatment for a few months afterwards, just to remind you of your position at the company
After that, he’ll lay you in bed and strokes your head while he tells you that that demon didn’t want you for anything other than your body, just like the men and women from when you were alive
He places a fatherly kiss on your forehead as he tells you that he only does this stuff to teach you your lessons, and to make sure you remember that your owned and can never exist outside of him and the Vs
You’ll be watched carefully after that, to make sure you don’t get anymore ideas about having crushes on demons who weren’t worth the dirt under your shoes
Velvette:
She thought you must be an idiot or insane to think you could form a connection with a demon outside of her and the Vs
She assumed you wouldn’t be that stupid
But imagine her shock when she sees you blushing bright red as you talk to one of her newer models
She even heard you let out high pitched giggles at the models pathetic jokes
And she practically saw red when she saw the model use her filthy fucking hands to touch you and move a strand of your hair behind your fawn like ears
She lost it at the sight and demanded that everyone but you, her and the model left the room, and they all scurried out like rats to avoid her wrath
She berated you for trying to outsmart her and crushing on a lowlife demon who wasn’t worth anything
She hit you over and over again until she say you in the chair and turned her attention to the model
She made you take hold of some scissors and forced you with threats to cut all of the models hair off, and after fear got the best of you, you did it
You cut off her hair, but that wasn’t good enough for velvette
She took the scissors from your hands and slashed across the girls cheek, leaving what would be a deep scar as she claimed that no one would want to take her on now
She grabbed your crying figure by your shoulders and laughed about how you could ever let yourself be attracted to such an ugly lowly demon, you obviously did not laugh along
You had to wear her collar for the next few months with the lead attached, velvette claimed it would stop you acting like a bitch in heat and costing her more models
Velvette never liked to share anything, even her pets weren’t an exception
So it’s fair to say that whoever your crushing on at any time will be destroyed by velvette, mentally and physically
Valentino:
Valentino had hired a new camera man for his newest videos, claiming that he needed a fresh eye
So it was one of the rare occasions that Vox allowed you into Valentino’s studio during filming since Valentino had tasked you with showing the new guy around as he was far to busy with his little angel dust
So you had done just that and showed the new guy around, you just didn’t think he’d be this handsome and charming
His words melted you like butter and he practically had you wrapped around his finger
At first it was amusing for Valentino to see his little pet so lovestruck and foolish when he returned from his little play date with angel
But it quickly turned into a jealous annoyance as you gave the demon genuine smiles that Valentino had yet to receive after you working for him and the Vs for many years now
He squeaked in annoyance whenever he’d see you laugh at the camera man’s jokes or you’d smile at him while looking at him with lovestruck awe
So when you went off to do your daily tasks, he approached the camera man and stated that he had a new offer
He offered the camera man a job to film a video with him being the star and Val being his co-star
The camera man was extremely against the idea but after a lot of money was offered and coercion from val, he eventually accepted after much pressure was applied
So the camera was in a gruelling filming session and after it was done, he couldn’t look you in the eyes when you passed him in the hall
You became very confused on why he was avoiding you, and you became even more confused and dread filled when Valentino had called you into his office for an impromptu editing session for his newest video
You were disgusted as you watched your crush be practically assaulted as Valentino forced you to use your ability to edit the sounds
You threw up multiple times, but Valentino still forced you to watch and edit
After you were done, Valentino caressed your face and stated that only he and the other Vs would care for you as everyone else just care about money or fame
He patted you on the shoulder before handing you over to a very pissed of Vox for a punishment for your lovesick actions
Any punishment Vox gave you felt like nothing compared to having to watch the person you had made a connection with get assaulted by your abuser and having to edit the sounds
You stayed away from Valentino’s workers after that, you even avoided angel for a few months after the incident
You feared what a jealous rage might do to them, and to you
Taglist:
@the-faceless-bride @perkypeony @sparkleyfishies @lilyalone @ivebeenthearchersstuff @rerarlo @cherryflavoredblood @idontreallyexistyet @repostingmyfavs @buttercupfangirl @corvid007 @fandomaddict505 @hazbinhotelxreader
#alastor hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin charlie#hazbin vaggie#hazbin angel dust#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin husk#hazbin hotel#yandere hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin lucifer#hazbin vox#hazbin adam#yandere vox x reader#vox x reader#vox#hazbin hotel vox#yandere velvette x reader#hazbin hotel velvette#hazbin velvette#yandere valentino#hazbin valentino#hazbin hotel valentino#valentino x reader#alastor x you#yandere alastor x reader#alastor x reader#alastor#vs pet#charlie morningstar
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The Trial of the Golden Flower: Chapter One
In which Manwë and Námo begin a debate. 665 words.
The Golden Flower sleeps in the Halls of Mandos, unaware that he is dead.
It is a quiet place, and dark too, so that the dead may rest quietly without disturbance. It will be many, many years before they are woken.
"He must not be woken, Manwë," Námo says sternly, fixing him with a warning look. The two Valar linger just outside of the sleeper's chamber, Námo barring the Elder King from passing.
Manwë can only catch a glimpse of the Elf's golden curls around the corner, as still and bright as the metal it brings to mind. He is not breathing; his body perfectly still, now only a vessel for a dormant spirit that, if Námo has his way, will not stir until Arda is healed. Manwë pulls his gaze back to Námo, his brow furrowing. "So he is to be left like this - a corpse in a hall! He deserves more than this, for his valiant deeds. He deserves to be revived."
"It is against the laws of Life and Death to bring a dead soul back to life," Námo insists. "What you are suggesting is a cruelty, not a kindness. Please, leave him - he may wake if our disturbance is too great."
"What do you imagine he would say if he knew his life hung in the balance?" Manwë retorts.
"It is not his life that hangs in the balance, but his death," Námo reminds him. "Would you rob him of his rest, of the peace that he has earned, and thrust him back into that painful existence?"
Manwë's wings flutter agitatedly, and he glares at Námo - but the Lord of Death's pure white eyes stare back without a hint of relenting. "Why do you think he ought to be sent back, among all other heroes? His friend Ecthelion has recently found his own place here, yet I do not see you argue for his life."
Ecthelion drowned in a fountain, Manwë thinks sullenly, but of course he would never say this. "...Never before has a Balrog been slain by an Elf," he says. "Not even Fëanor could manage it. The Elves have suffered long at Melkor's hands, and perhaps we ought to send them a warrior who can protect them, one who is not so limited in the ways he is permitted to interfere."
"So to send them that warrior, you would break your own limitations to interfere."
Manwë hesitates. "Yes."
Námo looks long and hard at him, weighing his words carefully; Manwë has always been the heart of the Valar, but Námo is its mind. Though Manwë may rule them, he has always listened well to Námo's counsel, for he too saw the value in logic.
But sometimes, thinks a small part of him, the head must bow down to the heart.
He sighs. "Manwë, what you are suggesting has never before been done, or even considered - but since you are both my friend and my King, I will do as you ask and reembody this Elf before the Great Healing."
He lets his sentence drop like a gavel in the air, and Manwë smiles brilliantly - but his exultation quickly fades into confusion when Námo does not step away from the door.
"Well?" Manwë asks, gesturing his taloned hand toward the sleeping Elf behind them. Here Námo smiles, though his skin is so transparent that Manwë can hardly see it.
"On one condition," the Lord of Death says, raising a glassy finger. "You must convince me that this Elf is worthy of a second walk upon Arda."
Manwë's face twists. "Haven't I already?"
"You have persuaded me to consider your proposition, but now the battle moves from my heart to his." He turned to the still Elf in the chamber. "Make me want to revive him."
For a moment, both Valar glare at each other, light and dark, neither willing to give in.
"I accept your challenge," Manwë finally says. "Now ... Where to begin?"
Here is my first piece for @glorfindelweek! I know it's late, I was really pressed for time, and also had to think of something quick. Think of this as a prologue to the rest of my works, which will be about Manwë and Námo deciding whether or not Glorfindel should be revived - as the only Elf this has ever happened to (I believe) it is a very big decision!
If you'd like to be part of a taglist, let me know! I hope you enjoy!
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After The Tower Falls
Here is the secret:
eventually, the ache stops,
the devastation quickens
and then slows,
the anger arrives
righteous and in want of a reckoning,
and then, it turns back to shadow,
suddenly,
as if had not been burning
a moment before,
and in that empty space,
there is quiet,
and in that quiet,
there is relief,
like cool water
from a soft stream, your heart
is no longer howling,
and the pieces of the past
all around you
no longer feel like destruction,
but a fresh start, flowers
growing out of the cracks,
a bright song of possibility,
and you know you survived it,
the worst thing,
the impossible thing,
the heartbreak
didn’t break you after all—
breathe.
#poem#poetry#poet#just for fun#a reminder that the darkness always passes#that you have survived all your bad days#The Tower#tarot#tarot cards#tarot poem#ali trotta
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[ * 𝗗𝗔𝗦𝗛 : 𝚂𝙿𝙴𝙻𝙻 𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝚄𝚁𝙻 𝚄𝚂𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚂𝙾𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙸𝚃𝙻𝙴𝚂. 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙽, 𝚃𝙰𝙶 𝙰𝚂 𝙼𝙰𝙽𝚈 𝙿𝙴𝙾𝙿𝙻𝙴 𝙰𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝙻𝙴𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂 𝙸𝙽 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝚄𝚁𝙻 ]
𝗕 - black betty by ram jam.
𝗨 - under pressure by queen and david bowie.
𝗥 - rebel yell by billy idol.
𝗡 - nothing else matters by metallica.
𝗘 - easy lover by philip bailey and phil collins.
𝗗 - dream on by aerosmith.
𝗨 - under the bridge by red hot chili peppers.
𝗣 - paranoid by black sabbath.
𝚃𝙰𝙶𝙶𝙴𝙳 𝙱𝚈 : saw this somewhere and stole it
𝚃𝙰𝙶𝙶𝙸𝙽𝙶 : i have no idea who has done this yet or not but heck @plateup / @greenelight / @loneheir / @starmore / @famegod / @gunbash / @hightabled / @be4tdown ♡
#I ⋅* NAVIGATION ] : INBOX & PROMPTS.#there's a version of this were i tried to give songs that are like - descriptive of adam#but then very quickly the muse took over and said that was bullshit this isn't therapy time we don't have time to unpack that#and instead here are songs he'd listen to#OR could always be relied upon to belt at karaoke in the old days#was close to putting dancing in the dark for d but couldn't pass on aerosmith#special shout to easy lover for being a song adam doesn't realize allies to him#time to remind everyone that Adam Can Sing with capital LETTERS
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we live on a mountain
right at the top
there’s a beautiful view
from the top of the mountain
every morning i walk
towards the edge
and throw little things off
like car parts and bottles and cutlery
whatever i find
lying around
it’s become a habit
a way to start the day
i go through all this
before you wake up
so i can feel happier
to be safe up here with you
i go through all this
before you wake up
so i can feel happier
to be safe up here with you
it’s early morning
no one is awake
i’m back at my cliff
throwing things off
i listen to the sounds they make
on their way down
i follow with my eyes
until they crash
i imagine what my body would sound like
slamming
against those rocks
and when it lands
will my eyes
be closed or open?
i go through all this
before you wake up
so i can feel happier
to be safe up here with you
i go through all this
before you wake up
so i can feel happier
to be safe up here with you
#to me this song has always been#about that part of yourself that is incapable of being happy#basically about depression#and how for me anyway#growing up as a girl#i always hoped that i’d meet someone who’d love me and that would just#fix everything#and the cruel realization that#depression does not work like that#improving your life can fix some problems but#if you have this sadness#sometimes it will still surface#even when everything is going ok and you’re otherwise happy with your situation or life#some days you will find yourself unwittingly standing at the edge of that cliff#peering down into that dark void#and wondering to yourself#if this pain will always be here#and if it will#then what’s the point continuing on#and doing what you have to do to remind yourself that things are good#and that these feelings are just feelings#and they will pass#realizing this while you’re peering over that edge is barely a comfort in the moment#but all it takes is a whisper of hope#to slowly draw you away from that edge#and bring you back into yourself and who you are and how you truly feel most of the time#idk i know a lot of people probably find these lyrics sad and disturbing#but as someone who’s lived with this depression my entire life#it feels hopeful#i feel like i can return from the cliff and be ‘safe again’
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fear
- gojo satoru x reader
his best friend’s defection is still a hard topic for him to swallow, and it leads into an unexpected argument that spurs you to leave, only to unlock a new fear in him when you get into an unfortunate accident afterwards.
genre/warnings:
angst, gojo being mean, one scene with a worried nanami *wink*, injured reader, hurt/comfort, fluff in the end
notes:
*sigh* my coping mechanism is still gojo’s past arc, which is why this piece takes place on that timeline. just a little context: reader is in the same class with nanami & haibara and was in the same mission that took haibara's life. this is probably the longest oneshot i've written so far sooo… enjoy! :)
series masterlist | oneshot masterlist
A year and a half had passed since Suguru embarked on his path as a curse user. In that one year and a half, Satoru had finished his last year at Jujutsu High, and now was in the halls of his alma mater, speaking to the newly appointed headmaster who was none other than his teacher.
"You're applying to become a teacher?" Yaga asked again with a frown. He still couldn't wrap his head around it. Granted, he was his most troublesome pupil. "Why, Satoru?"
"If I said it's because I want to train young sorcerers to be strong, would you believe me?"
That was not a lie. It was actually 50% of his main reasons anyway. The other 50% was to repent what he missed with Suguru when he chose his dark path—his contempt with the current system of this jujutsu world.
"I would," Yaga responded gruffly. To him, Satoru was irritating, but he also knew that he was also extremely capable, and thus everything he did wasn't just out of nowhere. "But you still have to submit your applications. We can't make an exception even if you come from a prestigious clan."
"That's fine with me," he grinned. "Thanks, sensei."
On summer days, he'd get reminded of Suguru and silly things they had done together. Eating shaved ice, cycling together, driving either you, Shoko or Nanami mad. Satoru missed those days, it hadn't been the same ever since. Not knowing if his best friend was alright—if he was still alive at all—was exhausting.
Sometimes, he felt like he was the only one who was affected by his departure, the only one who stayed right where Suguru left him. Shoko didn't seem ruffled, if anything she just went to more bars and pachinko parlors as of late. Nanami was always a recluse, he never disclosed his feelings. You mourned him, but it was clear that most part of you would always be more focused on Haibara's death.
Satoru understood that he couldn't force anyone to feel what he felt, and he had no right to. But sometimes, he just wanted someone to connect with at his level. Someone to get him just like Suguru did.
And so when he got back to his condo that night—just right next to the one he rented for Megumi and Tsumiki, since he had moved out of his dorm—to find his girlfriend there with a big smile and a tray of cupcakes, unaware of everything and anything, he merely scoffed to himself.
"Satoru, you're back," you acknowledged, beaming like the sunshine you were. "I just baked these for the kids. Do you want some?"
Usually he'd smother you, throw some pickup lines here and there and say yes, but today, he just felt drained. "No." And with that, he stalked away to the bathroom, not glancing back at you.
It was wrong. But tonight he just wanted some peace and quiet, and so keeping his silence seemed to be the best choice as he didn't want to start a pointless argument with you. But you weren’t anything but observant, and definitely noticed that something was amiss with him.
"Are you... alright?" You approached him warily after he came out of the bathroom with wet hair. "Where were you today?"
"Just somewhere," he replied curtly. Afterwards he turned on the hairdryer, drowning the whole place with the noise even as you stood behind him with a visible question mark.
But you were still there after he dried his hair. "Is something bothering you?" you asked with a tilt of your head, concerned. By all means, you mean well. You just wanted to know if he could use your help at all.
When you pulled that expression, he couldn't help feeling annoyed, like he wanted you to take a hint, but you just didn't. "If you know, then just shut it."
It was probably the first time since the two of you got together that Satoru actually said something harsh. But you still tried to be reasonable though, bless you.
"Satoru, I don't know what got into your nerves like this, but I think sleeping through it might help. Have a rest."
"Why are you talking as if you know it?" he snapped, finally turning to you with his cold gaze. "You might not know anything, so don't be a know-it-all. Just mind your own business."
Now you were frustrated with his reply. "Once again, I don't know what happened to you. But if you're taking it out on me because I'm the closest you have—"
"Who said that?" Satoru didn't know where he got all this venom from. It was just at the forefront of his mind and he just got the urge to spew it. "You're considering yourself closest to me? Where did you get that big head from?"
You were aghast, and you blinked a few times to get your bearings. "Let me guess, it's about Geto-san, isn't it? Or the higher ups. Either of that must be what causing you to blindly place your anger on me."
"So what if it was? It isn't like you'll understand anyway."
"Satoru," you started, trying to even your breathing. "What happened to Geto-san isn't your fault. I've been telling you this. It can't be helped—"
"Can't be helped?" he jeered. "Do you know why it has come to this?" his tone took a dangerous edge as he stepped closer. He reached for you, grasping your wrist.
"Maybe because I was too blind back then. If it weren't for you—if only I didn't spend that much time on you, maybe he would still be here."
Did he just say that? Did he just imply that he had regretted the two of you getting together?
You felt your lower lip start to tremble and something seemed to obscure and blur your vision, making it hard to see him clearly. "You... don't mean that."
"Really?" the corner of his lips curled into a disparaging smile. "You never know. Before you know it, this can be over already. After all, I could have anyone out there that I want. Maybe someone less nosey than—”
That did it. You wrenched your arm out of his grip violently, as your first tear fell. His smirk vanished too, replaced with a total stillness to cover his sudden panic that was followed by a sudden sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach.
"You selfish, self-obsessed jerk," you hissed through watery eyes. He was taken aback, even amidst your anger and possible fear of him, your still managed to throw daggers at him. "Fine. You have it. I'll see myself out."
Satoru never wanted you to leave. Honestly, he would've made you stay. But he wasn't in the right state of mind and it was too late to take back what he said. He didn't want to mess this up even further.
You left the cupcakes, even throwing it away just to spite him. Driven by pain and humiliation, you choked back your sob and didn't spare a glance at him as you shut the door.
Peace and quiet. There he had it, he thought as he clenched his fists, at the cost of everything else.
Leaving that condo, every step you took felt like needles piercing your shattered heart. You wiped your tears roughly. No, you refused to cry over such asshole. He made it clear, didn't he? Whatever it was that you two shared, it was at the cost of his best friend leaving him. So now the blame was on you.
If you were thinking clearly, you would've understood that his words were likely a result of his own pent-up pain and frustration that he had kept to himself for some while. But you had no patience for that or even pinpoint what you felt right now—anger, disappointment or dread, or perhaps all three. You just felt wrongly accused.
Your feet brought you back to your dorm in the school. Now it wasn't as bustling as it once were. After Satoru and Shoko's graduation, you didn't really get close to anyone. There was Ichiji, but he treated you more like a mentor rather than a classmate.
As you sank into the comforts of your bed, You replayed the events, trying to find where it went wrong—and found nothing. After all, you had already said all that could be said. It wasn't just him who lost Geto, but you, Shoko and Nanami did too, but it was more convenient for Satoru to blame everyone else rather than trying to understand that they too shared this pain.
Nevertheless, you were disappointed. You didn't expect half of what he spouted, and it got you doubting everything you had.
"You've royally fucked up."
Satoru exhaled, glaring at Shoko through the corner of his eyes. "Yeah, maybe."
The reverse cursed technique user threw him a blank stare, taking in everything from his disheveled hair to his wrinkled trousers. "Gojo, as much as I can’t care less about your sorry ass, I'm saying this not out of concern for you, but rather for Y/N. You are an asshole."
The puff of smoke she blew expanded to create a cloud-like shape. "Yaga-sensei was our teacher. His student is now a mass murderer and wanted dead. Can you even imagine how he feels? And I can't believe I'm saying this—but weren't there three of us?"
A week had gone by and instead of doing the right thing like trying to get into your good graces, Satoru was in Shoko's infirmary in the headquarters instead. He didn't exactly know what he was looking for by going here. Maybe some lingering taste of his happier student days, and Shoko was the only one remaining.
Three of us, huh... she was right. That was precisely why he came here after all.
"You're just sulking because it seems no one cares about your best friend being the best there is. But have you thought about how our juniors also lost Haibara? Right in front of their eyes? Haibara was our friend too."
He was wrong, of course he was. Satoru realized that now. But it felt wrong to ask for your forgiveness now, not to mention the disrupting thought he had—should he let you go for good altogether?
The phone suddenly rang with such fervor that made Shoko utter a swear word. She was on call duty for the rescue team today, and it was supposedly a peaceful day until Satoru decided to barge in to become her company. "Hello? Ichiji? What—speak clearly, I can't hear you."
She switched it to loudspeaker. "...iri-san! Ieiri-san—h-help—please—"
It was noisy, and blaring at the same time, and Ichiji was... Sobbing? Choking? His voice was terribly muffled and—
"L/N-san!" he cried, and Satoru remembered at that moment that you should be in a mission with Ichiji, he remembered you telling him before.
"Hic—s-she fell... hic—she fell! B-blood! She i-is bleeding so much! I-Ieiri-san—hic—s-send help! Please!"
"Hey, stay awake. Breathe. Just breathe."
Everything hurt. Most notably, your head. You could hardly think straight when all you felt was blinding pain and how your breaths came in short wheezes.
Your vision was blurry. The numbness had started to set in and chills ran up and down your spine. You couldn't make out who in front of you was. Was it Ichiji, who went with you in this mission? The only thing that glared was blue.
"You can't sleep, you hear me?" the voice was commanding, willing you to do his bidding. It was familiar, but usually his tone of voice was much lighter, happier.
Satoru.
But why was he here? He wasn't in this mission. It was supposed to be a mission for you and Ichiji.
You remembered getting the cursed spirit after manifesting your domain expansion, until in its last ditch attempt, it went after Ichiji. You had no choice—even when your cursed energy had burned out, you still shoved him away at the cost of being flung from the top of a building.
Not again. Not after Haibara. You’d gladly pay the price if it meant you didn't have to see anyone die in front of you again.
"I..." You managed to croak out—breathing hurt, and you felt your hands being grasped tightly.
"Hey, just breathe. Y/N. Look at me.” Through your blurry haze, you focused on that cold blue, and you saw him. Satoru's sharp eyes, pursed lips and frown. He's really here.
Satoru always said that if there was a cursed spirit apocalypse, then Ichiji would be the first to die. You used to scold him for that, but now as you a laid here possibly dying in your own pool of blood, you found it to be true.
Yet at the same time you knew that with him here, Ichiji must be safe already, and it gave you reassurance so great even when you were on the verge of dying. "I... can't..."
"Yes, you can. Just look at me," he firmly rebuked, his voice came out in a hiss. For all the time you had been with him, you had never heard him so forceful. "If you close your eyes now, I won't forgive you. So please, just hang in there."
It was a struggle to take in any air and darkness encroached on your vision as your consciousness began slipping away.
And everything faded to nothingness.
Satoru honestly thought he had no fears. His worst fear had fully realized after all—Suguru going away into the darkness. What more could he possibly fear?
But when he heard Ichiji's distress call for rescue team, about how you fell from a rooftop of a building and unconscious, he realized that it was a fear he didn't know existed. His mind got disoriented and he teleported to the scene on impulse. He just had to see it for himself. With their petty argument still lacking closure, he felt even worse.
And the sight before him gave him so much fright he never thought was possible.
It was a mistake, he should have brought Shoko along.
You had laid there like a broken doll, your eyes dimmed, and not been able to breathe. He desperately tried to keep you awake, his presence beside you, yet it didn't seem to matter. He watched helplessly as you passed out in his arms.
Satoru felt nothing. The panic that had set in was suddenly gone as your limp body slumped against him, replaced by incessant ringing in his ears and tremor wracking his nervous system. It wasn't long until the rescue team came to retrieve you and even then he still felt numb. He rejected the idea that you might possibly die on him.
That went on until Shoko, who assisted in the emergency treatment, came out of the surgery, sweat on her forehead.
"It's even worse than the aftermath of the guardian deity mission last year," Shoko explained with a grim expression. "Her brain has sustained damage and it affects everything. It may take her quite a while before she can go back to the field."
When she said that, Satoru felt terror washed over him again. You almost died—was all he perceived.
The two of you had no contact for a week just because of his ego. He could still recall that day with vivid clarity, feeling a burning ache in his chest. If someone were to ask him what heartbreak was like, now he certainly would he able the to tell them the two instances in which he experienced them. What he felt now mirrored the same stinging sensation he had felt when Suguru left him.
He visited you when he was allowed to, and you were still unconscious, with many machines connected to your body. It was a sight he still couldn’t bring himself to get used to. He had seen you injured before, but never seen you in your own pool of blood, so this made him feel sick to his stomach.
"Stupid," he whispered, gently rubbing your forehead. His eyes remained fixated on you as you rested, his insides still churning with emotions. "You're not weak, and you're not hopeless." Once upon a time, Satoru might have thought of you as weak, but now he knew better.
"So why you always pick the worst decision?" The more he thought this could've been avoided, the more irked he was. The thought that he could have done something to prevent it intensified the sting of guilt, and he continued to punish himself with it.
And the more he dwelled on the idea that he had hurt you prior to this, the tighter his breath became.
But that was who you were. Self-sacrificing to a fault. And he loved you for that. There was no way of him letting you go now.
It astonished even himself—that he was capable of this love thing. At first it was an attraction, but now that you had been going on for more than a year, it felt like it was no longer a silly infatuation after all.
"Hurry and wake up, will you?" Satoru gently brushed your hair aside, his eyes fixed on you. He didn't know it even as his gut twisted, his frown deepened and his touch quivered, that he was worried sick. "I have a lot to make up for."
And he left you with a tender brush of his lips against your forehead.
Nanami Kento was the first person you saw when you awoke from coma.
You struggled to regain your senses, still feeling absolutely broken. The dull throb on the back of your head was still there, and as if you had found yourself trapped in a fog, you were only able to move sluggishly.
"You're awake?" his gruff voice greeted, laced with concern. In his hand were a bucket of fresh flowers and fruits basket, which he soon placed at the table next to your bed.
It was unexpected, because ever since the tragedy that costed Haibara's life, the two of you had been drifting apart.
You nodded, and let out a hum in response—all you could manage at the moment.
"Thank God." Nanami sounded relieved as he pinched the bridge between his eyes, and you were moved that he had shown this degree of concern.
Your remaining classmate, who suffered the burden of Haibara's life just like you. He was always quiet or brooding somewhere, hiding his own feelings.
You felt tears pricking the corner of your eyes. The fact that he visited you meant that he hadn't decided to cut you out of his life yet.
"Gojo-san is out today, but he'll be back by afternoon," he said, mistranslating your tears as some sort of a want to have your annoying—ex?—boyfriend at your side.
The two of you were still not on talking terms, weren’t you?
You so badly wanted to say thank you to him—and tell him that no, you weren't looking for Satoru—but it came out hoarse and barely above a whisper.
"Huh?" Nanami then realized what you were trying to say, and a faint smile graced his lips. "Just... get well soon, L/N. Have a good rest."
Just before you drifted back to sleep, you could hear him sigh and mutter, "Hello, Gojo-san? L/N has awakened. Just letting you know is all.”
You weren't sure how much time had passed when you woke up the second time, but the curtains were already drawn and only darkness came from the window. Your body felt lighter, but you still felt like a mess and and couldn't help but groan in discomfort.
Satoru was there, he perked up at the noise you made. And you realized that it was the first time in about a week that he faced you after that disasterous almost-breakup.
He walked up to you, his expression was more hopeful than you had ever seen him before, like a kid whose wish had been granted. He slowly shifted to sit beside you.
"Hey, welcome back." His voice was soft. It was a change of pace for him, as you were used to seeing him all loud and silly.
Now your voice no longer sounds like a lead. "Hey."
"How are you feeling?" he asked and you took a moment to look at him. He was smiling, but exhaustion reached his bright eyes, dimming them. "You know, with the whole you passing out and almost dying thing?"
His words were almost humorous as he spoke, like he didn't know what else to say except try to lighten the mood, but there was also a strain on his tone, like he was holding back.
"I'm quite fine now, I suppose..." You still felt the lingering pain and dizziness as you slowly sat up. Satoru reached out to steady you—and you realized how his fingers trembled when they made contact with your body—as his brows furrowed with worry when you winced.
"You don't look like it though." His voice dropped and the humor was gone, replaced by this haunted look. You blinked. It was probably the first time you had seem him this ruffled.
He immediately pulled you into a hug, cradling your head to his neck gently, as if to protect and shield you from the world altogether. Exhaling heavily, he leaned on you. "You scared me, you know that?"
You wondered out loud if you really had that hold over him. "Did I?"
"You can't do that to me, you hear?" Satoru stroked your hair, nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck. His voice quivered. “Don't ever do that again.”
He pulled you tighter against him, but still careful not to crush you.
You let out a snicker, letting go of everything you felt during this horrible week. "Heh, afraid to lose me, huh?"
"Shut up,” he grumbled. “What were you thinking anyway? How did you calculate that freefalling is better than letting that cursed spirit attack Ichiji?”
"He was defenseless. He could die, you know that."
"And you also can," he quipped, upset, pulling away enough to look you squarely in the eyes, his eyes devoid of any expression, yet filled with a raging wave that you could only interpret as undiluted concern.
The emphasis in his tone made you recoil and feel guilty. If you were in his shoes, you probably would've said the same thing and so you had nothing to say to that.
But the more pressing agenda in the list was the unspoken silent treatment the two of you saw fit to use against each other for the last few days. Satoru was the one who decided to address it first.
"About that night..." he faltered, looking away. "I didn't mean what I said. I'm sorry."
Satoru always had trouble processing emotions. This time too. He must've a hard time dealing with the anxiety caused by the possibility of him losing you for good, no matter how much he tried to be unaware of it.
"..." You wanted to respond, to make him understand your point, but somehow right now you were just too weary. And he sensed your reluctance. So you blurted the first thing that gnawed at your mind.
“You said you could have any other women out there—”
"No, really—" he started to panic, and it was blatantly too, which surprised you. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Us. I don't regret anything. I’m not breaking up with you. Being with you is the happiest I've been ever since Suguru left."
“That's...” you blinked, before letting out a small sigh. “Okay. Fine then. Let's just put it behind us for now.”
“I—” he almost wheezed, his bright blue eyes were overtaken with sheer urgency to explain how wrong everything had been that night. “You must know that I didn’t mean any of it. And that I hate hurting you the way I did. I won’t—”
"Satoru, I understand," you let out another sigh, fidgeting with your fingers. "Sometimes when I’m reminded of Haibara, I also get sad. I don't want to presume but I think I know how you feel. Just next time, maybe," you shifted your gaze on him, seeing how you had his attention fully. Gojo Satoru, the strongest now, was looking at you as if you had his fate in your hands. "Just tell me if you need space and I would have understood."
"Yeah, okay, sure," he responded immediately, relieved, before a lopsided grin appeared on his face, turning him back into your dork slash boyfriend. "So, am I forgiven now?"
"A thank you would be nice."
In the end, he chuckled, seemingly resigned. "You should sleep more."
He positioned himself into bed next to you, and you let him pull you into his chest again. You could feel how his taut back started to relax upon the contact. He pressed his lips on your forehead in a fleeting kiss.
"Promise me you won't pull that stunt again.”
You smirked. "I can't. What if Ichiji—"
"Then just let him die."
You swatted his arm playfully, pressing your head to his chest as he continued to run his fingers on your hair. He cushioned you carefully, and you felt the tension in him slowly melt away with each breath you took. In your mind, you figured he needed this closeness more than you did, if anything, for the sake of his sanity.
“I love you,” he whispered by your ear, kissing it lightly.
“Mmhm.”
As you felt Satoru's calming presence, it helped ease you into slumber. You soon found yourself in a deep sleep, comfortably held in his embrace.
Epilogue
Ichiji gulped as Satoru stared him down, sizing him up as if he was the most despicable creature on this planet.
Okay, he might be. He was a coward, all he could do was trembling in the face of evil. But he had come in peace, even bringing fruits as an offering! He felt bad too that he was the partial cause for you to be this injured.
He was used to Satoru terrorizing him—calling him names, slapping him, and whatnot—and he could take it. Just this time, he really looked like he could murder him on the spot if he wanted to. A small part of Ichiji mourned that you were his girlfriend, because that pretty much sealed his fate that Gojo Satoru could indeed murder him on the spot because he had a valid enough reason to.
"You are—"
"No! I'm sorry, Gojo-san! I'm sorry for my incompetence!"
"Hah?"
If he was mildly irked before, now Satoru was visibly irritated.
"You're not cut out to be a jujutsu sorcerer," he started. "You're useless. You just get in the way most of the time."
Ichiji kept his head down. No, no. He can't cry!
"Get your driving license or I'll slap the shit out of you."
"Oh?" and before he knew it, Satoru had stalked away, leaving him in the dust. How rude! But...
Get a driver license? Quit the jujutsu work?
Hey, that sounds like something I can do!
#jujutsu kaisen#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru angst#satoru gojo x reader#jjk x reader#jjk angst#jjk fluff#hurt/comfort#gojo satoru#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk fanfic#jjk gojo#gojo fluff#gojo angst#jjk x you#jjk imagines#jujutsu kaisen imagines#gojo x reader#jujutsu kaisen fanfic#nanami kento#jjk gojo satoru#jujutsu kaisen x you#gojo satoru imagines#gojo x you#jujutsu kaisen fluff
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Minotaur!König x Ariadne!Reader
Theseus is dead. You’re escorting the Minotaur, more beast than a man, out of the Labyrinth. The problem is, he seems to be more interested in what’s between your legs than in his mission of killing the notorious king of Crete… (12 k. Minotaur is not an actual hybrid in this fic. Reader is Hecate’s initiate. Part 1 here.)
Tags/warnings: Shameless smut mdni, dubious consent, extremely possessive behaviour, abduction, first time (König & reader are both virgins), hugs & cuddles, washing blood off your monster boyfriend, awkward flirting, semi-rough sex, shifting power dynamics, sexist insults & slurs (the citizens of Crete do not approve of your choices), implied cannibalism, fluffy ending. Mythical AU.
The candle goes out before you reach the surface.
To someone else, it would be the end of the world: to you, it’s only a hindrance, a nuisance, mostly.
You’re not easily distressed. If you were, you wouldn’t be in the service of the greatest goddess of the Underworld. And you’re not mourning losing the sight of your warmly illuminated beast... You’re only worried about what he will do once the darkness descends. Whether he will forget about his vow, whether the baser instincts take over him once the darkness falls.
And darkness is not capable of making you lost: you can always follow the string in your hand. But without light, it’s difficult to predict the Bull’s moves: whether he decides to maim or fuck you against the wall, you can never tell. He hasn’t lived in the real world among people; he doesn’t know what’s right or wrong and what’s expected of him. Even the best of men can succumb to the demands of the flesh, so what power would a Bull Man have against his animal wants? No one ever taught him to respect the gods, let alone the maidens who serve them...
Then again, if a simple candle was the only thing that kept you alive, then what’s the point of lamenting the loss of it? Your life was already forfeit when you chose to descend here.
So you let it go: as always, the greatest lesson in life is to simply let go. Of control, of judgment, of fear, of hope.
He doesn’t say a thing when the light flickers, then fades. The candle goes out in silence, and you let it drop before the remaining wax burns your palm.
And it’s not the absence of light, but strength, that forces you on your knees before even an hour has passed. There’s still a long way to go, and the yarn is like a thin string of hope in your hand, but you’re too exhausted, too worn out, too hungry and too tired to go on.
The Bull Man doesn’t object to your suggestion to lay down and sleep for a while. He has walked behind you in silence the whole day. Or night… You can’t tell the difference; you lost count somewhere along the way down here. The air is stale and humid, and there’s no torch, not a single candle anywhere and even if there were, you wouldn’t do anything with them without a flint.
The horror is kept at bay only through your numerous exercises with the goddess who introduced you to darkness many, many moons ago. You were initiated during the dark Moon, the new Moon, the blood Moon, introduced to the mysteries of the maiden, mother and crone, to the secrets of both the living and the dead. You’re not afraid, but your body still warns you of danger: you just don’t know if it’s a memory from childhood or a reaction to the Bull, panting behind you – out of lust or exertion, you don’t even know. Someone who wasn’t a maiden probably could tell… At times, you curse the fact that there hasn’t been a single phallus inside you because men too possess knowledge. Taking a man into your bed would have initiated you to a different set of mysteries, but now, you are poking blind.
The Bull Man is an animal, you remind yourself. The longer you stay in his company, the more he starts to resemble a human, even if he is a man of few words. How he even remembers them is another mystery: you thought he was sent down here as a young boy. He speaks oddly but eloquently, a remnant of his noble descent, perhaps. Or perhaps he has listened to the people speaking in the Labyrinth, eavesdropped his victims an hour or two before killing them. Whatever the reason, you have to constantly tie your tongue because there’s simply no point in talking to a beast. The less you know about him and his past, the better.
You ready yourself for sleep, but the cursed cold of the tunnels keeps your body awake. Your flesh is human even if your mind is forged to withstand hunger, thirst and pain. Endurance against cold was never your strong suit, and you miss the heat of the sun, the warmth of it on your skin, even the ample light it gives. You, a lover of the moon, missing the heat of Apollo… It’s a joke, surely.
On the stone floor, it’s even colder, the rough, damp ground making your very bones ache. How on Hecate’s name has the beast survived this place?
“Bull Man,” you speak into the darkness, thick like an impenetrable wall and thin like a virgin’s veil.
“Maiden,” he echoes with a dark, low growl, slightly amused by the name you’ve selected for him.
“Are you cold?” You whisper.
Perhaps he doesn’t quite understand the question or why you asked it. It doesn’t matter: you have to swallow your pride and ask for his help if you’re going to survive this dark prison.
“I don’t get cold,” he finally responds.
“Good. I need your heat.”
The silence drags on, and you fear he has misunderstood you again, but then he speaks again, with the same slightly amused tone as before.
“Come take it.”
You’re not sure if you’ve completely lost your mind, crawling to him through the uneven floor of the Labyrinth. Who knows what he will do to you once he gets those arms of iron around you? You’re placing your maidenhood, your whole body at his mercy. And you’re not even sure if it’s a he, if this thing is human at all.
Human or animal, your hand meets the bull’s head on the way to him. He has taken it off, then... It’s not a part of him, just like you suspected. Maybe he is just a giant, daunting man, born from whatever forbidden desire Pasiphae had. Who knows if she only went to a foreign lover’s arms when her husband was at war? Who knows if King Minos has trouble getting his phallus up… These things happen: women get pregnant from their lovers, they do desperate things to pacify their husbands. And you don’t need a bull to get yourself an heir...
You feel his heat before you feel his skin: the Minotaur is verily blazing. He has gotten used to the cold, it seems, his body like a small bonfire in the clammy tunnel.
“Cold little female,” he comments when you snuggle towards him shyly, thoroughly aware of the uninviting chill of your body.
You settle next to him, every muscle in your body tight like a bowstring, your breaths shallow when he gives you a welcoming rumble. Goosebumps prickle across your skin and your throat goes dry, the thick swallow in the tunnel echoing around you like a thief.
Arms like iron go around you, and his body is taut, just like yours, but for a whole different reason entirely. He’s not afraid or nervous; he’s just… big. Pure muscle, his whole body thick, the stock and heat of him remind you of the sun. A miniature sun down here in these dark tunnels, but while you start to slowly soften in his arms, a different threat is already emerging. It doesn’t take long before his cock stiffens against you, and with the scarce clothing you both have, you can feel its every excited twitch.
Artemis… Protect me from this beast. Turn him into a dog if he tries to penetrate me. Let him rip my throat instead…
You’ve never prayed to the Virgin Goddess; you don’t know if she can even hear you from down here. But Hecate would only laugh if this Bull decided to breed you. No mercy would arrive from that direction: she would either send a disease of blisters upon the Minotaur for touching her chosen or then she would cackle like an old woman, thousand times raped.
“Thank you,” you whisper, hoping your kindness will distract him from what’s happening downstairs.
“My pleasure,” he grumbles, mimicking the words he probably heard as a child in his father’s great hall.
It sends a chill down your spine and butterflies into your heart to hear him speak like a polite man of court. And again, you think of asking him about his childhood... His mother, his father, the things he remembers from the surface. How he survived here without water, if there are underground springs here somewhere. Whether he eats humans like they say... If he ever embraced the dead women he killed.
“Can you do it again,” he rumbles against you, cutting you away from your grotesque thoughts.
“...Do what again?”
“Touch me… With your hand.”
His words are blunt now, his speech clumsy. But the way he says it is not an order. It’s an odd beg, more like. Laced with hope and wishes far away from greed. This Bull is never greedy, per se… He’s just lacking. Starved, for so many things that you fear there’s not enough time nor kindness to give him what he needs.
Your pulse flutters when you slowly lift your hand and caress the strong cords of muscle that make his neck. The rumbling returns; it turns into a low purr as the beast relaxes under your touch. Something softens inside you when he sighs from relief. His unbridled happiness tugs at your heart, trying to yank open something forbidden. It’s the softest violation you’ve ever felt: to be held by a giant killer having a roaring erection, while the said killer clearly enjoys your caress like it’s the touch of Aphrodite herself…
You even stroke his face. His jaw, unclenching under your touch; his cheek, covered with what you suppose is simply a wild, overgrown beard.
“Your hand,” he groans softly, “makes me sleepy and warm…”
The cold, uncaring goddess recedes. The burdens of past, present and future dissolve. Softness takes place in your heart; the iron locks give in like brittle brass. A smile plays on your lips as you continue to pet him softly, lulling you both to sleep with your voice.
“Then sleep, Bull of Crete...”
…
You wake up to his cock pressing against you.
Not against your stomach like when you went to sleep – that you could do with – but against your cunt, barely veiled by the thin linen of your dress.
The panic is soon wrestled down with reason: you tell yourself it’s just a cock. It’s just him. You’re simply in the Minotaur’s arms, and he’s sound asleep still; there’s no reason to buck and jerk and scream.
The darkness feels like a safe womb now, but with nothing to lock your gaze to, you have to take a moment to ground yourself into reality. And the first thing you ground into is a thick cockhead, pressing fast into your nether lips. He’s practically at the gates, and you’re lucky he’s still asleep.
It’s perhaps your fault this happened in the first place: you notice you’ve dragged your thigh over his hip; as if wanting him to fuck you in your sleep… You embrace him like Helen of Troy, and he holds you through his sleep like a man in love, perfectly content with napping on the cold ground with you.
“Mm…” The beast stirs, probably noticing how the female in his arms is tense as a rod. “You smell like you want to fuck…”
“No I don’t,” you hurry to whisper.
Gods curse this man’s ability to smell everything from miles away. Blood and humans and, apparently, a woman at her most receptive.
What if he can actually smell the wetness between your legs?
“We need to go,” you slowly remove your leg from on top of his waist, hoping it would go unnoticed that you were clutching him like a lover. You have no such luck: he grabs your thigh and draws it back, sets it safe and snug around his waist while adjusting his grip on you, now hugging you entirely like a lover would.
“I want to mate with you,” he says softly. “You want to mate too. Why go?”
He sounds so adorable when he’s still in the process of waking up to a new day. Drowsy and sweet, voice husky from sleep, body warm as can be, the hard-on between his legs happy and stiff.
“I thought you wanted to kill the king,” you try to point out.
“This is more important,” he gruffs. “Urgent.”
The cock pushes further up and against you, now spreading your folds under the dress, trying to penetrate into your heat. Your eyes go wide as thick need pools down to meet his greed. His body, his cock makes your head go dull for a moment; you feel like you’re not even capable of thinking actual thoughts.
“No, it’s not. We need to get up.”
You stiffen in his arms, push yourself away, and to your surprise, he actually lets you go. Reluctantly and with a hollow grunt, but he lets you go.
You rise with a wobble, and adjust your dress, your head spinning from his advances. You swear he becomes more man-like every day, every passing hour, even. Or is it just you who’s changing…?
The Bull Man is up before you get to ponder on that thought for too long. Your heart and head struggle to find their footing for a moment, your legs are so weak you feel like fainting. He catches you before you fall, the warm, thick arms closing around you with stout affection.
“You need more heat?” He asks softly.
You look up out of habit, even if you can't see his eyes, covered by the carcass again because his voice is muffled.
“No… I’m hungry.”
He’s silent for a moment, probably thinking what he could do to help the situation. You fear he will suggest you go back to visit his “pantry” and eat whatever horrible, half-rotten man-flesh he might have in store there, but he only holds you close to prevent you from sliding back to the ground.
“Hmm. No mice up here,” he ponders.
“You eat mice…?”
“Sometimes.”
You leave it at that: you don’t want to know what he’s had to do to sustain himself down here. You don’t even have a fire to cook the vermin, even if you would be ready to eat even those after another day or two without food.
“Not a long way up,” he says. “We will reach the sun soon. Then I’ll find you something to eat.”
“How do you know that…?”
“The air smells different.”
You sigh and search for the string, your lifeline to the outside world. You can’t wait to get out of here, and with both hurry and an odd dread, you hike for what seems like another whole day. Tension, hunger and thirst distort your thoughts, and you’re sure by now that the time flows differently here in the Underworld. With no small amount of pride, you feel accomplished to have survived this place so far. Even gods have had to do some tricks to escape the nether worlds: it is no small feat to charm the Minotaur and then walk out of here unharmed.
To your knowledge, you’re the only one who has ever escaped the Labyrinth. You haven’t even had time to think about what you will unleash with you… The demon that walks on your heels will take his revenge, not only on the king but on the city who threw him here.
Well. It’s their problem now. Minos and Pasiphae simply have to deal with their successor. The world will simply have to deal with the Underworld’s wrath.
And oh, how Hecate would laugh if she saw this monster prince of Crete escape his prison because of you – the feared Minotaur set free, only because he’s mesmerized by a woman. You suspect he would have his cock jumping for any girl, though. It's not because you're an exceptional sorceress that he follows you: it's your cunt he's after. And it shouldn’t make you feel jealous that he probably gets distracted the moment he sees a better offer walk by.
But it does. In your darkest wishes, you would keep the Bull Man all to yourself. Get him a leash, perhaps... Feed him with your own hands and let him grope you in the dark, watch him go wild from lust when you finally give him access to your cunt.
Many would hardly think you’re a virgin if they took a peek inside your head. But the things you’ve seen and done, the white bulls you’ve slaughtered for the dark Goddess, adorning them with cypress wreaths before slashing their throats open, would turn any woman bleak and twisted like this. For once, you would like to save the bull from slaughter.
When you see the first evidence of light, your body lets out a sigh it has been holding ever since you arrived here. Seeing the sun gives you more strength than any food or meal, and you pick up your pace while the Minotaur behind you begins to hesitate.
“It’s too bright,” he says before you’ve even walked out of the tunnel, now turning into a vast cave, the entrance to the Labyrinth.
You turn around to look and stop in your tracks when you see the fear in his eyes is acute. It’s mixed with wonder, the curiosity wrestling away doubt slowly but surely. He only needs a little nudge, a gentle pull, an enticing little smile and eyes that he can trust.
“You’ll get used to it soon,” you extend your hand.
He takes a step, then another, then another, until he reaches your outstretched fingers, and hand in hand you walk out of the Labyrinth and into the bright morning sun, burning over the kingdom of Crete.
He’s only a breath away from panicking, but covers it well. You wonder if it’s truly the light that’s too bright or if the feeling of being so exposed is what makes him so afraid. Clearly, the vast space opening up before him is intimidating.
There are grassy plains as far as the eye can see, little hills that dot the horizon, and skies so expansive and bright it must hurt his eyes. Goats are grazing under the sun, trees are bending in the wind, the rustling of leaves and the sound of birds calling him to look in all directions as he tries to make some sense of his surroundings.
“It’s alright,” you give his palm a soft squeeze, and the way he looks there under the sun, so big and powerful and able, and still so utterly lost, is giving you heartache you haven’t known since you were a child.
“There’s… so many colours,” he says, looking at the blue summer sky, the deep olive greens, the dirty whiteness of the goats, the flowers upon the grass. A butterfly, flying past, yellow like the citrus that people harvest from a few miles from here. A big blackbird with an orange beak, swooping down to catch a cricket, the slate grey pigeons flying so close to the sun that he has to shield his eyes even if they’re already safe and sheltered under the bull head.
Seeing his wonder and awe makes you look at the scenery so differently that it burns, it actually hurts: there’s so much beauty in the world, and you have always taken it for granted. Cursed the rain and the storms, cursed the droughts, cursed the gods for sending down another famine, when in truth, the world was filled with abundance, of colours, of life and joy… And all you’ve done is worship darkness. Now the darkness is out: it’s standing next to you, watching the view of your mundane everyday life like it’s nothing short of a miracle.
And when you turn back to look at him again, his eyes are upon you.
“What?” You ask, freshly caught in your moment of weakness.
“You are pretty,” he says, eyes wrinkling with delight under the mask.
Gods damn him…
He doesn’t know that human men don’t act like this, talk like this, or if they do, there’s usually something vile involved behind it all. He doesn’t know how to play games, he was never introduced to the lies and deceit of the world.
The Bull of Crete only looks at you with soft fondness in his stare – he doesn’t understand that he should cover that softness as well if he intends to win. Any woman could put a leash on him before another moon has passed, but he doesn’t seem to care. And it’s not even heat or hunger that makes you weak this time... It’s those eyes, looking at you with more and more warmth.
“Nonsense,” you huff without a voice, and turn towards the old road with an adoring bull on your heels.
The cold sigh of the underworld is quickly left behind you as you walk up the old carriage road, nearly grown in with weeds. The Labyrinth is located miles away from civilization, but the people living in these hills are used to the cold cave by now. They trust that the Minotaur will never escape and only turn away their heads and close the doors of their huts when the screaming, crying human sacrifices are delivered to the mouth of the cave. Little do they know that the monster is now looking at their little hills and goats with delight, not bloodlust.
For the Minotaur is fascinated with your world: he has to touch every leaf, every tree, every blade of grass, it seems. The goats are afraid of him, but one small nanny is bold enough to come and sniff his hand. Perhaps it remembers that beings walking on two feet give her apples sometimes, and the giant studies this small white animal with gentle curiosity, allows the goat to smell his hand, only chuckles when the goat gives out a little scoff when she notices there are no treats to be found there.
The vision is more adorable than when you’ve seen children play with kittens, and no matter what you do, you can’t turn your heart into ice anymore. You were taught that the Minotaur is a monster who enjoys torturing his victims, creatures far more helpless than him. Now you see him watching the she-goat with warm curiosity, rumbling softly inside his helm, far from the ravaging beast that approached you in that tunnel what seems like months ago.
You watch him with tender sadness as he marvels at the sky and remembers how he used to sit in the shade of an olive tree when he was a child. He goes to sit there now and examines how the sun filters through the massive branches of the tree as if trying to recall the memory.
He asks questions like: “How can you humans stand this heat?” or “Why is there only one road?” and listens to your answers carefully.
He says he can smell the sea, even if the salty water is miles and miles away, and gets curious about what’s behind that hill, or that one, what about that one… You wonder if he’s even interested in killing the king anymore and suggest that he could just forget about this cruel place and buy himself a sea voyage with that expensive sword. He could get rid of his helmet and ask if anyone needs a goat herd or an able-bodied man to help at construction sites or stables; he could get work from the docks any day, sail to Athens or some other big city, forge himself a new life.
But he doesn’t want to.
He says he has to avenge his mother who always cried when he was little.
More wretched tugs pull at your heart as you approach the city. The lovely summer’s day turns into a nightmare once people see who’s on his way to the heart of Crete.
You don’t understand their screams, not anymore, while only a few days ago you knew they preceded death. The Minotaur doesn’t kill anyone, mainly because he doesn’t have to. Everyone flees before his wake, people rush to their homes and bar the doors, even soldiers slip away to be with their loved ones or run to warn the king if they have any loyalty left.
You’re left to walk through the marketplace in settling dust and tense silence as the Bull Man explores the abundant samples of food on display. He has to have a taste of everything from all stands, but only after he has offered figs, olives, grain, grapes, grilled meat and fish to you first.
“Eat,” he says and shoves a handful of pine seeds your way. “You were hungry?”
“This is not the way to–” you ignore the food only through sheer willpower. “This is not right. People own these things. They sell them at the market, you need to pay for these.”
“Pay? With what?”
He looks at you for a moment, unable to recall what money is and how these things are supposed to work. He probably had his mother’s servants bring him everything he needed as a child anyway, so how could he know?
“They will take your hands for stealing,” you try to explain with softly building despair.
“I will take their heads before that.”
“The next king will hunt you down and punish you,” you rush after him, and when he won’t listen, you seize his hand and finally get him to halt. He looks down at the weak palm around his wrist, then raises his gaze to you.
“Bulls don’t have kings.”
Your attempts to tame him are futile. The things they’ve taught him to be are now being used as a way to escape responsibility, and while it’s none of your business, you refuse to let him believe that he is nothing more than an animal.
“You are not a bull,” you wail in frustration. “You’re a man.”
He hesitates, only for a moment; the gentle, loving gaze makes your legs weak.
“You’re the first to think that.”
Then he rips himself away from you, softly but sternly.
He doesn’t need directions to the palace: he knows he has to head for the most prominent building in the city to reach the king. The grandiose heart of Crete, white-chalked and beautiful under the burning midday sun is the pride of every citizen, even if it houses another monster.
You sigh as you watch him go: the Bull Man, the demon of the underworld, the one you thought would rape you bloody before you get to crawl out of the Labyrinth. The fact that he wanted to kill his father more than he wanted to be born again into a new life wasn’t a surprise, but that he chose to bloody his sword rather than his cock is somehow... insulting, almost.
What actually haunts you is how your insides coil and turn when you rush back to your temple. It’s not like you thought the Minotaur would take you with him. Board some trade ship bound for distant shores, and ravage you ever so softly in the belly of the creaking hull. It’s not like you dreamed of petting him to sleep while you two embark on a new life. But the way your heart twists and wails inside your chest makes it clear that losing him is even more painful than losing Theseus and the life he promised you.
You never even wanted Theseus; you only wanted him to take you away from here. His affection would have been the result of ample witchcraft at best.
He’s practically already dead, and your heart turns to stone far more slowly than you would prefer. It’s just your luck to first have the golden hero of Greece look down on you in disdain, and then witness even the Bull Man walk away from you like you never meant anything to him. Men killing each other is the oldest story in the world, and you want no part in it, but something in this beast has stirred you awake from a long, cold slumber. It’s infuriating that you can’t dispel a simple animal from your heart. Oldest story in the book, that one, too…
But oh, how you now yearn after some cruel, lowly, dirty beast… The Minotaur already owns you, and he never even had to plunge his sword inside you to prove that. Besides, you would’ve been perfectly willing had he decided to take you on the green grass, under the vast sky, while some noisy goats graze around you. You realize that that’s what you expected to happen, and when it didn’t, you’re left more than disappointed: you're left completely hollow. You always find out these things a little too late, it seems… The Bull is headed for the palace and will likely get killed after he slaughters his cruel father. There’s at least thirty spears in that building, and more will arrive when called.
You arrive at the temple, panting and with your body flushed and weak. The maidens at the entrance share a quick glance with each other before turning their fearful gazes back to you. They’re the youngest arrivals, not even initiates yet; one of them hardly even bleeds.
“The King is dead,” you announce without bothering to even greet them, and the girls huddle up together like they’re a bunch of slaves about to get slapped.
You realize you must look like an animal with your dirty robes, dishevelled hair and your wild, alive stare. No wonder they look like they’ve seen a ghost... You basically are one, coming back from the dead like this.
“What?”
A priestess arrives at the threshold like an image of Hecate herself, dressed in robes as black as the midnight sky, but you don’t shy away from her like you used to.
“Or he will be. Soon. The Minotaur is here.”
“How did you… How did it...”
You’ve never seen the priestess in disarray. She’s always composed, cold and distant, but seeing you like the wraith that you are, freshly escaped from the Labyrinth, spat back from the bowels of the earth like the dark gods didn’t even want you there, makes even the greatest of Hecate’s servants a little uneasy.
She gathers what’s left of her dignity and finds her most commanding voice. Sadly, it doesn’t have the power to shake the ground anymore.
“Where is Theseus of Athens?”
“Disemboweled… is my best guess,” you say in a listless voice, then turn your head toward the smell of fresh fruit.
Normally, you would walk these halls with dignity, but now, you simply barge in and grab the first piece of food you find. You ought to get whipped for your insolence, but no one dares to raise a hand against you. The maids and priestesses stare in shock as you eat and drink like a starved prisoner. You’re a living Hecate in certain aspects, your arrival the first toll of the bell of doom as the palace guards sound the alarm.
So…
The Minotaur has reached the king.
…
The priestesses deem it only logical that the King finally pays for his sins: the gods have been offended by the number of human sacrifices sent to the Labyrinth, and this is their way of exacting revenge. You were only an instrument of their will.
After a quick wash and some more food, you begin to feel like a human again. The maids bring you a new chiton, flowing and white: your old clothes are burned in a brazier as if that would help you forget.
And this might be the only place you don’t get blamed for unleashing a monster. You were at a crossroads with the Minotaur, and anyone would have done the same: try to talk him out of his killing spree, calm him down, entice him with a gift. No one expected that the beast could even speak, so your approach was unusual, perhaps, but it worked. Hecate guided you through the tunnels, even when the candle went out, she stilled the Bull’s loins until you reached the sunlight where the beast got distracted with other things. You leave out the Minotaur's attraction to birds, bees and butterflies because your story is unbelievable enough as it is.
But the Minotaur will be slain after he has done his deed: Minos is the one who should be punished, not the city of Crete. And it is only just to put down this beast, a mercy.
So when he appears between the pillars of temple, this time wholly covered in blood, people are bound to scream. Even the priestesses who are used to seeing blood, shriek like widows when the Minotaur steps inside the holy shrine of Hecate.
“Where is the maiden of the crossroads?”
He came back for you, after all…
The boom of his voice is familiar, and yet, you cower on the bench when you hear it. The Minotaur sounds like he’s an envoy of Hades himself, and while you’re not among those who scream and yell, it still sends shivers down your spine to hear him speak like that.
Or is it the excitement, a tiny flame of hope that makes you quiver like this?
“We all belong to the goddess,” someone peeps, the Minotaur now descending down the stairs.
The massive head turns, gaze like razor sweeping across the marbled shrine. You’re so far back that he can’t catch you, sitting behind many bodies and faces, and before you can force yourself to rise, the main priestess, the oldest, most crooked of the crones, steps forth to meet this beast.
“This is a House of Hecate,” she speaks. “No man is allowed to enter unless they are Death.”
The black carcass turns, but the priestess doesn’t waver. If anything, her spine turns into unbreakable metal before this man’s gaze.
“I am Death,” he says, far more gently than anyone would expect. Then he walks past the crone like she’s just a harmless elder. No one does a thing, because even the head of your temple is powerless now.
“She had a red string and a candle. Where is she?”
He grabs the first woman he sees, and you rise up before he decides it’s time to thrust his blade into someone to loosen the tongues of these women.
“Please,” you take a hesitant step towards your Bull. “I’m here... I’m the one you’re looking for.”
The Minotaur lets go of the frightened initiate the instant he sees you. She’s shoved aside with little interest, the blue eyes behind the corpse now solely fixed on you. The way they soften into hazy ice makes your knees weak – that’s the stare of someone who recognizes their loved one among a thick, dull crowd…
“Come with me,” he extends a hand when he reaches you, strong legs swallowing tiles like he’s in a hurry to get back to you. You open your mouth, close it, and look at his hand, the rough, enormous palm held out for you to place your own little hand in.
“You belong to me,” he says with great weight when you don’t speak. It should spark the ire of the goddess for him to dare to talk to you like this… But mostly, your body sings. It tells you to take a step and take his hand: to let him have you, once and for all.
“My place is here,” you utter, all power gone from your voice. All your dreams, all your fears are offering their hand to you with his, and the maidens, mothers and crones of this hall look upon your exchange with the Bull Man in stupefied silence.
“You were sent down to me,” he presses on. “You are mine now. You belong to me.”
Your body is singing, singing, singing.
It’s not a request… Or a proposal.
It’s a god, taking what’s his.
…
You swallow with nothing in your throat and look at the head priestess with helpless misery: she looks back with the eyes of a noxious Medusa, wholly dispassionate to the problems you brought upon yourself. And what could she even do? She’s unarmed against the claims of Hades: Death is now in love with you, and there’s nothing you or anyone else can do about it.
He doesn’t want to stay in the city, as enchanting as it is, saying that it stinks and that he’s tired of the screams. No one wants him here; he already knows that, and the task he was meant to do is done. He doesn’t seem to be much moved by it either, only asking you if there is a place where he can wash the blood off himself.
People become more bold when they see you walk out of the city. Not even the sight of a crimson demigod makes them watch their tongues. Insults and slurs follow you through the streets, shouts such as “Kingslayer!” and “Beast!” are accompanied with curses such as “You are an abomination!” and “Go back to your lair!”
No one treats him as their prince and savior, no one sees him as the man he truly is. And because hatred thickens in crowds, you get your share of the insults as well.
What kind of a woman would follow a beast like him? Have you sold your soul to the demons of the desert, or has Hades himself forced you to be with this monster? Are you behind the murder of their king?
“Must I remind you?” You turn on your heels, standing tall and proud with the posture of a queen. “According to the old laws, the one who slays the king is the next to rule.”
“You led him out of the Labyrinth, didn’t you?” the voices ask.
“Gave him your cunt, too,” they sneer.
“You’re worse than the bloody Gorgon,” they mock, but you have a thick skin: if anything, you take it as a compliment to be referred to the mighty slayers of men.
What cuts through your heart is the filth and hate they spit at him, the man who has known nothing but loath since he was born.
“Hecate’s whore… I should kill you first,” one soldier shouts with spit running down his chin.
The citizens of Crete would never hail the Minotaur as their king, but none can say the deed didn’t prove great strength. Some would even call it justice. He is the queen’s son, after all: he’s more royal than any of these dung-stinking peasants will ever be. He should never have been sent down to those tunnels in the first place.
Before you know it, the Minotaur swoops past you in haste, diving towards the screaming crowd with hunched shoulders and a fiery breath.
“Stop,” you say, and he halts immediately, gaze still directed to the one who called you a whore. The soldiers back away along with the peasants and tradesmen, these poor, humble Cretes who act like they never meant to be so mean.
“Let us go in peace,” you command, voice unwavering and stern. “Or I will curse you all. You and your families, down to the seventh son and seventh daughter.”
That manages to shut them up. The threat of a curse frightens these poor beasts even more than the enraged Minotaur breathing fire through his helm. No one wants rot and puke to follow them wherever they go; no one wants to doom their offspring with illness, death and sorrow. They disperse in all directions and only hiss and whisper as they go.
You spit on the ground as your last gift to these people, leaving the city of Crete with the ever-adoring Bull at your heels.
“You’re even prettier when you’re angry,” he says while walking next to you, voice thick with genuine passion and awe.
You roll your eyes: any man would cower before Hecate’s curse, but this one? This one only gets more horny.
“Perhaps you are part bull after all,” you retort dryly.
“It takes more than one spear to kill me,” he boasts, but you don’t need more proof of his prowess. Surely, people have tried to kill him in the Labyrinth, but he’s survived every single attempt on his life – for that alone, he should be a decorated hero.
The only thing that makes you annoyed, however, is this childish need to prove he could’ve taken the whole city by himself just because some man happened to call you a slut.
“Mother said I’m a monster instead of a man,” he says, completely unaware that your snap wasn't meant as a compliment. He says it like he’s partly proud of it, and you finally sigh and turn.
“Your mother was heartless. And wrong.”
The Minotaur only looks at you with a building passion that goes straight to your loins.
“But you’re not.”
“...What?”
“Heartless.”
You feel stripped naked before him, the way his eyes seem to burn away your poor dress. But the fact that he unearths your most guarded secret, just like that, is a catastrophe of a far wider scale.
You’re not sure who’s tied to whom anymore… Or if you’re tied to each other, the gods now laughing in their wine as they look down at you two: a fierce and bloodied giant following the maiden he stole like it’s you who took him and not the other way around.
You reach the roaring waters of a waterfall in silence, the night wrapping the lands inside a dark blue veil. Stars will be visible soon, and with the moon creeping up to the sky, you won’t be needing candles tonight. The silver mistress gives plenty of light for you to admire your beast, and compared to the thick darkness of the tunnels you emerged from this morning, it feels like a generous blessing.
You sit on the banks of the small, clear pond, utterly exquisite at nightfall. The sun’s heat has turned into a warm, caressing breeze, and you submerge your feet into the water, giving out a satisfied sigh as the cool pond embraces your travel worn feet. The Bull sinks to a crouch some distance away from you, curious about your obvious moment of pleasure.
“Did you meet her…? Your mother?” You ask from the cool water lapping at your feet – how can a simple man make you feel so restless and shy?
“Did you… kill her?”
“She cursed me,” he says, sullen and wholly unsurprised. Time and time again, you are shocked by the hatred his own kin shows him. How can a mother be so cruel?
“How could I kill my own maker?”
“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “For everything.”
You swallow before such unwavering love. The same man who cursed the gods yesterday honours the womb he came from so much that he won’t raise a hand against it, not even when his own mother spits curses at him. You don’t know if it’s his greatest strength or biggest weakness, but sometimes you wonder if he’s more human than humans, this beast.
“I’m not,” he retorts immediately. “The king is dead. Mother is safe. I have you... This is the best day of my life.”
You turn to look at him. Time and again, the lack of lies and deceit in this man catches you off guard. It’s more painful than any wound, to see how the Minotaur has no protective skin against the corrupted human nature, that he is human nature before it was defiled.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” you falter.
The chiton pools around your ankles, and you wonder if the man even breathes anymore. You know your skin is glowing with the last rays of the setting sun, you’re aware that the water and moonlight play upon your skin and make you look like an illusion, powerful in its own way.
When have you ever faltered…? Back when you were a little girl, you reckon, the notion euphoric and eerie in your bones.
You rise up and undress before him nonchalantly, trying to ignore the fervid stare of your admirer. Unclasping the brooches holding up your white linen dress, you let it fall down and set you free, secretly reveling in the downright carnal stare now glued to your skin.
Ripe for plucking, you think while stepping out of the pile of cloth and into the thin evening air. His gaze feasts on you: the plump breasts no one ever loved, the vulnerable navel down below, the dark triangle between your legs, the secret power it holds.
Heat pools into your core as you watch him: everything in your body turns warm and soft when you take in the utter heftiness of him. The mean, swelling phallus between his legs, the near inhuman strength those shoulders and chest possess. Your body is the complete opposite of him, ethereal, almost, compared to the absolute brute strength before you.
His eyes linger there the longest until he rises too, stiff and dreamy, a beast entirely taken by a thrall. The loincloth is practically torn away, as if it’s only a nuisance he must get rid of immediately. His eyes never leave your shape while he bares himself, and the phallus, you notice, belongs to a human. It’s thick and wondrous, fully erect, adorned with dark curls and accompanied by a set of balls you’ve mainly seen on horses. Big, full and round but unlike animals, they’re covered in dark fur, almost black here in the evening light. Thick seed beads through the slit of his cock from simply seeing you, and the way his chest heaves makes it clear that this man is ready to mate as soon as he’s allowed to do so.
“You need to take off your helm,” you lift your chin, thoroughly aware of your power over him, even if it’s laughable, a miracle that he doesn’t fuck you on the spot like the animal he is. “You’re a man, not a bull.”
His eyes don’t betray any kind of hesitation. He doesn’t seem to be interested in whether he wears his mask or not. He just blinks as if he’s indeed under a spell and nods.
“If you say so.”
The broad muscles flex as he takes it off, and what is revealed to you from underneath the head is both a surprise and a disappointment. There’s not a monster under there, only a man, a stoic, boorish, shaggy male who’s in desperate need of a wash and a comb. He’s somewhat handsome under all that facial hair and knots, actually, not bad at all – if you like your men rugged and wild.
He lets the head drop to the ground with a thud as if it was never a part of him at all, and follows you into the pool like you’re his mother and he’s your cub about to get scrubbed clean.
He seems to dwarf you, even when half submerged in the pond, leaning back with a sigh not unlike yours. If you’re afraid, your body has a peculiar way of showing it: even in the clear, glossy water, you can feel yourself get wet. Never have you seen such strength, not in any man: in horror and awe, you realize he could be a descendant of Zeus himself. As if providing proof to these claims, he looks up to the sky, mesmerized by the myriad stars dotting the vast, unattainable blue.
Using this momentary distraction to your advantage, you reach to pluck a handful of moss from the bank. With this soft little sponge in your hand, you hope to make it clear that this is indeed a bath, not foreplay.
“They’re stars,” you say softly while slinking closer to him. “Have you ever seen them...?”
“Yes,” he rasps with his head lolled back, throat completely exposed. It always hurts your heart to see that he trusts you so fully. You are no threat to him – even if the gods changed the moss in your hand into a weapon of some sort, you wouldn’t pose any kind of challenge. And still, the way he allows you to creep towards him and wipe his rough hide with the makeshift sponge without so much as flinching is heartbreaking.
“I have forgotten…” his voice drifts off as he examines the night sky, eyes filled with distant, glass-like delight.
“Beautiful, aren’t they...?”
“Your world is pretty,” he brings his gaze back to earth and to you. “But you’re the loveliest thing I’ve seen so far.”
You almost freeze upon hearing that. His compliments always catch you off guard, but this time, something forbidden and long forgotten comes undone: a lost want, no, a need to hear such simple words of shallow praise.
“You do not scream... You do not run. Why?”
Your eyes are liquid, glass about to break as you set yourself on the task of scrubbing him clean. You refuse to get emotional in front of him: an initiate of the dark goddess, shedding tears when a horny man calls her pretty? What utter nonsense.
But then he grabs your wrist: not to seize back power, but to prevent you from escaping this fragile moment.
“You are different,” he agrees calmly, then releases you, but you reckon it’s mostly because he misses the soft rubs you were giving him.
“Perhaps I’m crazy,” you breathe while looking at the damp curls on his chest.
Yes… That’s the only explanation for this madness. It has to be.
“Is that why you took me?”
“I took you because you’re mine. I want you.”
“You can’t just take what you want,” you warn softly.
“Why not?” His head tilts a little to the side as he’s trying to make sense of you and the manners of your world. “Don’t you want to be mine?”
You lift your gaze and risk a look into his eyes, stripped from all facades as always. You even catch a passing wave of worry there: he had counted on you being as fascinated with him as he is with you. The hunger behind that want, the need to be something special to you, is a whole another issue that must wait until your head is more clear. Way more clear…
“Perhaps,” you confess.
“I have nothing to give you,” he shrugs, eyes looking slightly past you this time, out of shame or anxiety. It takes a while for you to understand he’s liking you to the goods at the market and thinks he’s expected to have money to be able to keep you.
“You don’t need to pay for me,” you smile, trying your best to disguise the soft amusement in your voice. His brows only furrow as he tries to calculate and think.
“I don’t understand the rules of this world,” he finally shakes his head.
“I’ll teach you.”
For a while, he only looks on with fascination how you rub his arms and belly, basically massaging him with the wet moss. His eyes drift closed when you scrub the back of his neck, the stout erection only getting thicker under the cool water. You’re careful with his legs, not because you’re afraid he’s ticklish but because you try to avoid touching the huge cock already jutting up from happiness. It gives a few excited bounces when you wash his inner thighs, hopeful to get its needs satiated soon.
“I can hunt for you,” he suggests. “Bring you food… Protect you.”
He’s visibly excited when figuring out a way to give you something in return. He wants to provide offerings for your company, your lore, and eventually, your cunt, too. You might be a virgin, but you’re not stupid: of course he wants the soft, wet prize between your legs. A pair of lovely tits to squeeze at night... Ears to groan hushed confessions into, thighs to nibble, bite and suck until you cry...
“What do you think?” He asks, breath heavy from the bliss you’re already granting him by simply giving him a bath. “I could give you my heat. Please you...”
“You know how to please women?”
“No. But you could teach me.”
The way he says it is not shy. Only tentative. A bear, walking on ice and hoping it would carry his weight. One wrong step and the ice will swallow him, spitting out his bones only in spring.
And then…
“Do you know how to fuck?”
The ice holds, mainly because you’re too shocked to even slap or ridicule this man. His eyes bore into you with such unbridled greed that you have trouble keeping your precious pride intact.
“Of course,” you hear yourself whisper like it would be an insult to your intellect if you didn’t.
“Teach me,” he says, ever more greedily.
“I…”
Your jaw is left open, but not a word comes out. A strong palm closes around your wrist again, this time to bring you flush against him. The water laps at your skin, a distant crow cackles somewhere. Your hand is brought to his phallus, but he doesn’t have to wrap your fingers around it: you do it all by yourself, breath locked in your throat as you feel how hard and blazing he is.
“You want my cock,” he says, mouth only an inch from yours. “Don’t you...?”
You wet your lips – a mistake, because his half-lidded gaze darts to your mouth the instant your pink tongue lashes out. You’re in a predicament, but on the other hand, what else did you expect, taking your clothes off in front of a touch-starved bull?
“I’d give it to you happily,” he insists. “No female ever wanted to spread her legs for me.”
Or a leash.
Your fingers tighten on their own, they mould around him. Like a bond…
“Really?” You breathe. “What fools they were...”
The cock gives a full throb inside your palm, exalted to be yours. But only a moment later, the dreaded Minotaur moves.
You find yourself under him before you can even gasp for air: the soaked, hot body of a giant now pinning you on the grass and crushing you under it with ease. The weight of your error is fully pressed against you: he was never tamed, and you were a fool to think you could put him in chains.
The raw scent of earth and musk fills your nostrils, making the stars above you spin. His cock is trapped between your bodies, giving another rich pulse against your thigh. Gods, if he were throbbing like that inside you…
“You make my skin burn,” he growls into your ear, the heat of his skin now unbearable, the coarse hair prickling your skin from neck to thigh. “My loins, ache…”
“Are you a witch?” He asks, and you finally allow yourself to breathe.
If he only knew… But hexes and charms are of no use for you now: the only thing you can do is moan, apparently, as he dives for your neck, planting barbarous kisses on your skin.
Down, down, down he goes, pure avarice driving him to feast on every part of you. You’re too weak to stop him when he searches for the source of your intoxicating scent. Discovering it between your thighs, he dives nose-first into your sex, meeting your core with a hungry grunt.
Your back arcs with pleasure, your nails sink into his back: a funny thing to do when he’s already as close as can be. The trail of crude kisses leads him to your breasts, and you try to keep your whimpers in control, but a gasp erupts when he drags a hot tongue across your nipple. Massive palms close around your tits while you squirm in his hold: he doesn’t seem to be driven by the need to please you; rather, he wishes to study you first, examine how your body reacts to his groping. He leaves your breasts aching and sore, every bite and suck managing to make you wetter and wetter, your cunt screaming for attention by now.
“Gods...” you wriggle on the soft earthen bed, not expecting him to take you with his mouth first.
He withdraws, only a little, but his voice is surprisingly soft.
“Do I hurt you...?”
“No… But this is not mating…”
“Even I know that much,” he says darkly, and grabs you by the waist, moves you around like a doll until you find yourself on your belly.
He looks at you from between your thighs, demonic and keen. The broad shoulders force your legs wide apart when he’s seated there, waist-deep in the water, with you hauled to the shore like a siren.
Not a moment is wasted as he pulls you back to him by the hips: you’re drawn to all fours, a hot streak of cum dragging on the inside of your thigh from the cock that meets your skin. He grabs and steadies it with an annoyed grunt, and the fat tip is shoved straight into your folds, your nether lips parted with brute force almost.
“Guide me.”
His voice is demanding, impatient as he drags the fat head up and down the entrance of your hole, coating his cock with your slick in the process. You wonder if it’s instinctual, if he knows that this is where he should poke and that it will hurt you less if he’s well-oiled. He’s about to rut you into oblivion the instant you tell him where to shove his cock, and the prospect only sends more sap flowing down your thigh.
“There…” you stutter when he finds it, the aching spot that’s leaking profusely. He pushes the head in, not by teasing but by bullying, almost forcing it inside from how tight and unreceptive you are.
“Tighter than my fist,” is his only comment, and it makes you shudder. “I will not last long…”
You wince from the burn, but the rest of it glides in like a dream, and suddenly you’re filled, to the capacity, one could say. He grunts just from the way your womanhood is hugging him, not sure what this foreign object inside you is – is it a good thing or a threat?
“Easy then,” you breathe a huff into the sweet night air, filled with fireflies and night birds who know nothing about the fucking you’re about to go through.
He doesn’t move – inside you, that is. Outside, he crawls forward until he moulds around you, heavy body enveloping you completely. The hairs on his thighs tickle the back of your legs, his chest scrapes your back just so as he demonstrates how you belong to him in every way. But when your cunt starts to squeeze him again, he swallows thickly.
“Does this feel good to you too…?”
You catch faint confusion and concern in his voice, astonished that such a soft, frail body like yours can take his cock just like that. Little does he know you’re still adjusting to his size, thanking all the gods that he doesn’t move yet.
“Yes,” you confess because it does feel good: his thickness inside you, stretching you both gently and violently, studying how it feels to be inside a loving, wet heat.
“Then I will fuck you every day,” his lips come to brush your ear. “Many times...”
You hear yourself whimper, more humble now than ever. No man would dare to take you on all fours, but here you are, like a bought bride about to get stuffed…
He withdraws a little, asks, “Like this?” when he returns with a rough, nasty thrust. The balls meet your mound, heavy on the tender nub you’ve flicked when you’re lonely, covering your mouth while you do it. Both your hands are planted on the ground now, your legs spread before this beast, cunt filled to the brim with his cock.
“Not so rough,” you warn, and he heeds your instructions to the letter until he’s moving in and out with a slow, delicious pace that allows you to feel every thick bump of him. Soaked now down to your thighs, the sounds of your mating is utterly sloppy and slick, and of course he’s curious.
“Are you always like this…?”
“Like… what,” you huff in between the slow, torturous thrusts.
“Soft,” he rasps. “Tight… Wet like rain.”
“No. It’s just when…”
“When you want to fuck?”
You whimper for an answer, mostly because he starts to slip from the agreed sluggish pace. His cock invades you with more urgency, chasing the eruption that must be generous from those thick balls that should belong to a horse.
“I knew it…” he says dreamily behind you. “Some women want to mate with bulls...”
He punctuates his newfound pride with a full, deep thrust, and you wince.
“You’re not a–”
“Keep telling yourself that, little maiden.”
He exhales a hot smile next to your ear, and you’re neck deep in love. Your mouth hangs open, your lids half closed and fluttering from the way he pounds into your poor, abused cunt. Heavy balls slap your swollen nub with careless abandon, making you squeeze his thickness every time he hits the end of you. His grunts become more animalistic with every thrust, and your cunt is a wild thing, leaking and weeping and throbbing until you fear there’s something wrong with you – no woman is supposed to be this needy for a beast…
I’m going to come… You realize in horror as the slick sounds of fucking overthrow even the coursing roar of the waterfall. The knowledge shoots your body full of dark, hot ink; it explodes inside your core like a liquid star, throbbing through your cunt currently being ploughed like you’re nothing but a needy, sloppy hole for him. You’re swimming in so much pleasure that it’s almost painful, the revelation some secret of the gods, no doubt.
He growls when you moan, heavy arm snaking its way around your middle to keep you in place for him. The purr is eager and low, the rumble erupts from his chest like a thick, loving volcano, a statement of how perfect you are. He nuzzles his nose into your neck and rubs his scent all over you while fucking you through it, the divine rapture that leaves your throat dry from moans.
He doesn’t need to be told what it means when you’re crying like that: he doesn’t need to be explained that his cock is giving you ample pleasure. It’s so desperate, how much he wants to both fuck and please you, just own you and fulfill you, that you start to shake, your frail body not capable of handling the orgasm he just gave you.
Your strength fails, and you find yourself on your elbows, cunt even more exposed to him now, the cock pistoning into you with a relentless pace. He’s like a titan upon you, taking pleasure from your quivering, weak frame and the tight wet hole that belongs to it. You’re still in rapture when he starts to sound like broken, wounded man.
“You were made for me,” he huffs. “You were made...for me…”
His voice evaporates along with your thin, adoring mewls, just before he fucks himself over the edge. You can feel the hot, thick spurts, filling you as he roars into your hair, balls pressed flush against your sex, thighs meeting yours in a moment frozen in time.
They can probably hear him all the way to the city, hear what a cunt like yours does to an invincible beast like him… But his cries are only met with silence; the night sky looks back with disinterest, the birds continue their songs when they notice it was only the roar of a mighty beast that filled the land. Before long, he’s groaning above you, using your hole more softly; loving it until the last drop is milked.
When he stops, his whole body is trembling from release, but you’re not given a moment of reprieve. He forces you to the ground with him on your back, the rough, thick body never leaving yours. Coarse beard chafes your neck, his body trapping you completely under him, he even opens his jaw to take your shoulder between his teeth and bites you while his cock is still pulsing fat inside you.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he pants into your ear, angry, almost.
“Good,” you breathe a smile, but he’s not satisfied.
“You couldn’t get enough of me too… I noticed.”
“You gave me pleasure,” you agree. “Lots of it.”
“That was a lot of seed… I haven’t spilled in days.”
He huffs into your ear, astonished and proud that he could do such a thing. You feel him shift to take a better look at you, fingers arrive to graze your temple as if to make sure you’re real, as if having his cock inside you wasn’t enough proof of that. They’re a little shaky, a little uncouth, but the touch is gentle enough, and sweet.
He's boasting again perhaps, you don’t know, but you give him a soft laugh, notice how he stops breathing momentarily when hearing the bright sound.
“I am filled to the brim with you, yes… It will take a while before I can take more.”
“...You have other holes in you,” he offers after a while, quite seriously, in fact.
“Get off me, you beast,” you huff and squirm to get out from under him, but there’s a luscious grin on your face, a smile that tells him you would more than approve of his obscene ideas later.
“This feels good,” he murmurs into your hair. “This feels right...”
He allows you to leave from under him, only whines when his cock gets exiled from your cunt. He misses the wet heat like a newborn child misses the womb, but you need to recover from the recent invasion. Seed gushes out from your hole, making a mess on the ground as he pulls you against him, wanting to cuddle you next.
You wonder if he even knows what cuddling means as you lie there with a sticky mess between your legs and the heat of an entire sun on your cheeks. You smile into the coarse, sweaty body hair tickling your nose, deciding it doesn’t matter whether he knows or not: the most important thing is that he wants to hold you like this.
“Yes,” you smile. “This feels right…”
Something blooms in your chest. An odd flower, persistent and sweet.
The stars above are cold but motherly as they look down on you two: born again into a world that doesn’t want either of you. The only things that accept you now are flowers, birds, the wind and the rain, bees and salty sea, but that’s aplenty. That’s more than the whole of Crete could ever give you.
“Are you thinking about your hero,” he asks above you.
“What? No…”
“Good,” he rasps, so softly now that you start to fear he’s about to cry.
You are more than capable of lying, but Theseus hasn’t crossed your mind in hours: the last time it did, the memory was received with loath and disdain. Thinking about Theseus while you’re draped all over your Bull, his seed flowing out of your womb... What a ridiculous idea.
The reason for his hardly disguised anger is laid out plain before you: he's just jealous like any other man. Somehow, it makes you feel even more glowy inside.You’re my hero, you want to say, but have no courage to spill out the words. He was balls deep inside you mere moments ago, but telling him this intimate truth seems to be too much.
It never occurred to him, then, that you would enjoy copulating with him. He fucked you with the impression that you needed thoughts of another man to make you wet… That perhaps with the help of the image of Theseus in your mind, you were able to come with his cock inside you.
“My Bull,” you whisper. “Tell me your name. You must have a name…?”
His breath stops only for a moment, the heart in his chest gives an arduous beat before he answers.
“Asterion.”
Starry one…
Of course.
All monsters have names, usually the opposite of what they’re claimed to be. His birth is in heaven, in the stars; he belongs to the company of heroes and gods.
“Asterion,” you whisper it out into the night air while the animal an man both find their new home in your arms. “Your birth is written in the stars. Did you even know…?”
“Does that make me a hero?” He snorts, more old wounds torn open right before your eyes.
You wriggle yourself out of his hold, but he avoids your stare. You lift a hand to bring those beautiful Olympian eyes back to you.
“It makes you immortal.”
Perhaps you should’ve known he would be enticed with an apple instead of tethers and deals. Or with a palm, held out with no intent to strike…
It’s lovely, how he blinks every time he’s confused. You’ve yet to see him shy, but if he ever is, this might be the moment… You even catch him swallowing under that wild facial hair, an awkward blob right after that blink when his birthright is acknowledged.
But even more dumbfounded he becomes when he realizes you’re truly and veritably admiring him. When you whisper it to him – you’re my hero – and watch something shatter in him that was supposed to wrench itself free, that’s when he’s truly granted divinity.
Perhaps it was all about becoming animal again, allowing the other to have a sniff. Baring your throat and embracing the instinct to trust. Marrying your wild soul… The deepest magic of all.
#könig x reader#könig cod#könig x you#konig x reader#könig mw2#konig x you#könig smut#könig fanfiction#konig smut#cod könig
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Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader
Simon needing to hold you after a bad day.
The tiny apartment was completely silent as Simon unlocked the door and stepped inside, head hung low and shoulders tense. Lights were turned down, tv was off; you were most likely already asleep by now. It was late, much later than he had told you he’d be back, but he had been struggling with the weight of his thoughts again today and had barely made it in. He would have let you know that he was going to be late… it was just…he couldn’t find the will to even shoot you a quick text.
It wasn’t like him to be concerned about who knew where he was or what he was doing, choosing to distance himself from everything and everyone that could potentially catch a glimpse of him cracking behind the mask, but right now all he wanted was to get back to the place he called home before he fell apart and the world would swallow him whole.
As quietly as he could he set his things down beside the door and continued on through the flat, catching little bits of you everywhere: your shoes lying scattered by the wall, the blanket you’d just been curled up in tossed haphazardly in a bundle on the sofa, a mug on the coffee table that had the remnants of your drink stuck to the inside. Scattered bits of you everywhere across his life as little reminders of what he had that waited for him here and for the first time all day it felt a little easier to breathe to know his angel was close by.
Passing near the kitchen, Simon spotted a piece of paper with his name scribbled on the front waiting for him on the countertop, your familiar handwriting obvious to his eye. He picked it up and unfolded it.
Hey baby,
I really tried to stay up, I promise, but you know how work has been kicking my ass lately. I thought maybe I could just take a nap until you got in, but I was worried that if I laid down I wouldn’t wake up, so I thought I’d leave this here for you to find. Didn’t want you to think I forgot about you. Just wake me when you get in, alright? I don’t care what time it is, I want to see you!
Love you.
P.S. I left some dinner in the fridge if you haven’t eaten yet. We can reheat it and eat it together. XOXO
Christ, what did he do to deserve all this?
Always looking out for him, always making sure he had a place back in the real world whenever he came home. He held that piece of paper between his hardened fingers, the note more significant than it should have been after the type of day he had. You were the closest to heaven as he could get, more than he ever thought he would get to have and that’s why it was you he was trying to break down that wall to come to for comfort.
His sight flicked to the fridge where you said you’d left him something; he was definitely starving, but just the thought of the effort it would take to eat right now was too much and the knot that rested in the pit of his stomach made him too nauseous anyway. There was something that would fill him far better than food could and he knew just where to find it now.
Moving on to the living room, he set himself down heavily on the couch and began to remove his boots and the outer layers of his clothing along with his mask, stripping away all the bits of his life as the stone cold sniper now that he was safe here in his little sanctuary. Stripped bare until he was down to his boxers, Simon gently crept towards the back of the apartment hoping he would make it to the bedroom before this feeling took him.
Closer and closer he walked towards the other half of his heart.
The door stood slightly ajar to invite him inside and as he stepped up to it, he caught the hushed, rhythmic sounds of your breathing as you slumbered. It sounded so peaceful that he could have stood there in the dimly lit hallway and listen to it all night long. Just a few more steps, barely any distance left, and he would truly be home.
The room was completely dark save for the small crack in the curtains that let in just a bit of light from the streetlamp outside, helping him to find his way through the maze of darkness. As those brown eyes adjusted to the lack of light, Simon turned his attention to the bed and his heart skipped a beat. There you were: the outline of your body silhouetted under the covers, your head buried in your pillow, all cares left behind as you slept.
No sound did he make as he crept to the edge of the bed and lifted the sheets so that he could climb inside and up against your body laying in the center. One strong arm slipped up under your pillowed head while the other wrapped around your waist until you were encircled and he pulled you slowly so that your back rested up against his chest. His body molded into yours still warm from being wrapped up tight.
You stirred awake gently at the feeling of that familiar large body suddenly laying beside you. “Hey you,” you whispered sleepily, a smile on your lips as your eyes fluttered as they worked to open. “Tried to wait up, but I got so tired I had to go lay down. I’m sorry, but I’ll make it up to you.”
Only silence greeted you as a response. No chuckle at your predictability, no picking remarks about how you couldn’t even stay up to see him, just the sound of labored breaths in and out as he lay there in the darkness curled up against you.
Silence only meant one thing and you knew it well.
“You okay baby?” you asked, but again there was no answer. Only the squeeze of his arm around your waist pulling you in tighter to his chest gave you any sort of reply as Simon’s nose nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his eyelashes brushing over your skin.
It was clear just from the silence that he was far from okay, that he must have been bottling this up for God knows how many hours so that the world would not see that he was not always the tough, put together soldier he was supposed to be. But he could not hide it from you...he didn't want to hide it from you.
You heard him inhale deeply, trying to capture as much of your scent as he could until it filled his head: your natural musk mixed with the smell of the sheets and added hints of shampoo and body wash. That comforting scent that belonged to only you that he couldn't ever get enough of, the one that helped to relax his troubled mind. Instantly the tension he had been carrying like a boulder upon his shoulders all day finally released him from its stranglehold.
Gentle, exploring hands tentatively went up under your baggy shirt, one of his old worn ones you loved to wear to bed to keep him close even when he wasn’t there, as he just wanted to make contact with all that delicately soft skin. He traced over curved paths he knew by touch alone: it was soft, it was familiar, it was safe and his heartbeat slowed as the ache in his chest dissipated enough that he could finally talk.
“Bad day,” he whispered finally, warm breath against your shoulder. "Really fuckin' bad day... again."
You rolled over in his arms until you came face to face with those sad auburn eyes, moved by the shame in his tone. It broke your heart that each time he had one of these days he felt such guilt about it, as if he simply should have been over it all by now, as if he wasn't human, but you were not about to let him overthink the struggle. There was nothing to be shameful about.
“I’m sorry baby. These things just happen, you know, but its alright; we'll get through it together, ” you said quietly, fingertips gently running over the line of his eyebrow, down his cheekbone and further to his jaw in soothing circles.
Together.
Simon closed his eyes and eased into your hand as you traced patterns across his temple and through the cropped sides of his hair, letting the vile, churning thoughts rummaging around in his brain to fall away. No one else could ever see him like this save for you, no one else's touch he craved more than anything to bring him back into himself after the day had brought him down so low.
He brought his hand up and placed the tough palm over top of yours to hold it firmly against his cheek as if to make sure that all of this was real, that you were not simply a mirage cast by his broken mind.
“You’re home now, baby,” you reassured him as he took deep breaths in and out with his eyes closed, only wanting to feel you. “It’s gonna be okay, I got you.”
Home, still such a strange word for him.
Wherever you were that was home. Not a place, but a person, one who made certain that no matter how far he drifted she would always pull him back in. Simon had never had such a tether before, but fuck did he need it. He could feel it like medicine running through his blood, when you held him he could feel the chemicals rush to soothe the gaping wound in his heart.
Pulling your hand off his cheek, he brought it to his mouth and pressed his lips to the surface before leaning in to give one to your gentle lips. You embraced him back with such tenderness as if to remind him of that promise you had made to each other that neither of you would have to traverse the hell of this world alone.
“Home,” he repeated the tender word in his gravely tone, letting the emotionless second mask fall away. "I hope ya know... that you are my home, sweetheart."
You smiled. "You're mine too, Simon."
He took a deep breath, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat. "Bein' near ya is the only fuckin' thing that seems to help quiet the shit in my 'ead these days."
Pulling him back in, you gave him another kiss. "Then get nice and close," you said softly as you squirmed up under him more, setting his arm back over you.
Securing his arms around you again he moved over top of you so that his head rested against the middle of your chest, ear pressed in against your sternum to listen to your heartbeat rhythmically thump inside. With his hand still inside your shirt he drew his fingertips along your bare hips, not wanting anything more than your company tonight.
Your calming fingers ran through his short hair and over his scalp as he counted the beats of your heart until he melted into your body. Discussion could happen later if and when he was ready, for now this was all he needed. However long he wanted to cling to your torso, you’d let him.
You were his life raft, pulling him back in and no matter how far he drifted and it was because of you that for the first time in his life he didn’t feel like he was going to get lost.
#simon ghost riley#simon riley#call of duty#ghost cod#ghost mw2#cod mw2#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simin ghost riley#ghost simon riley#simon riley fluff#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost x you#ghost#cod ghost#ghost call of duty
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Your Touch
Ghost x Reader
Ghost likes getting his back rubbed at night.
SFW, Extreme Fluff, Back Rubs, Cuddles, Pre-established Relationship, Hurt and Comfort, Touch-Starved!Ghost, Ghost is soft and vulnerable in this, Drabble, Scarcely Proofread
How about some fluff amidst all the smut I've been working on. 💞
Masterlist
"I don't quite know how to ask this, but..."
Simon's eyes dipped down quickly from yours, back towards the ceiling, a sudden rush of shyness and vulnerability running through this large, deadly man like a tidal wave. Once a suitable amount of seconds had passed, he turned his body to face you, the entire bed shifting against his form and tugging at the covers.
"...Could you rub me?"
Your lips curve into a crooked and playful smile as you turn on the bed to face him, your hands resting comfortably sandwiched between your head and your pillow.
"Rub you?" You say, fingers playfully beginning to sift through the covers towards his lower half. "Your wish is my command, Si'."
Your hands have just reached the waistband of his sweatpants when you suddenly feel a strong grip gently take hold over your wrist.
You hesitate at first, immediately fearful that you've suddenly overstepped a boundary or done something wrong; since beginning your relationship with Simon, you've done the most to be respectful of his pace. If he wished you to stop then you would, no questions asked. But you catch his eyes -- dark brown orbs half-lidded and wavering. You knew this had been something else.
He could have you continue; go on with feeling your skin slide against his before you've found the better parts of him you'd been yearning for. Have your small fingers dance and tug at him until you've pulled the night-time exhaustion he'd been looking for out of him. He could have that happen and have no complaints at all. He knows he always could.
And yet he holds your hand back, keeping your touch as far away as his brooding gaze had suddenly become.
"Not that," he says. "Not tonight at least, love. I meant rub me like..."
Like the first night you ever rubbed him. A night spent longer than most together in bed wrapped in one another's arms. Your breathing was a soft tune his ears could follow along to as he rested, your arms better than any blanket he could have.
As he laid on top of you, an innocent gesture on his part, your hand slipped beneath his shirt. Before long he had felt your fingers softly glide over the most neglected parts of his back, tracing small lines and circles.
Touch never came gentle to Simon; it has always been a sick and harmful thing. To feel a touch now so sweet and with care, without even having to ask, the man had felt unworthy by nature. And mostly he had felt sorrow, in many degrees beyond its own self.
If this is what a loving touch had truly felt like -- like safety and peace -- it turned his stomach at times to be aware that he never felt such a thing in his life until now. Not from anyone beyond his mother. A short-lived time that left as quickly as it remained. But nothing had been this. He knew that the moment he felt you.
He remembers not wanting that night to ever end. And he remembers how fast it had put him to sleep as well. Since that day he's silently enjoyed your hands running against him innocently, never quite finding the strength to ask you outright to do it more often until now.
What had made tonight different, he couldn't say. But even now, with your hands in his, patiently listening to him, he just wanted you to touch him more. Extend your body out to him and remind him of his own humanity.
"I don't know how to describe it..." Simon says, though he'd partly been lying. He could describe in full detail what he wanted if it didn't make him feel so frail doing so.
But you smile, seeing the bashful glint in his brown eyes and understanding the man's hesitancy to be more upfront. "I understand."
You slip your hand from him and gently curve it over his body beneath the covers, scooting your way over until your short arms finally manage to reach his back.
Your fingers gently comb over his skin, grazing him faintly with your nails, as you've begun to let your hand trails up his spine from the lower half of his back all the way up to the base of his neck. You let your finger pass each link of his spine beneath his skin, feeling the goosebumps you had risen over his entire body.
Simon lets out a gruff groan and sinks into your arms, letting his head begin to nuzzle into your chest, and giving you a better angle to rub him. "You're too good to me love," he says.
His continued little adjustments only make you laugh. "It's the least I can do for you, Simon."
A/N: I'm participating in Kinktober somewhat, but I might mix in more fluff and angst pieces as well. Just to throw in some variety ^^
#ghost x reader#ghost simon riley#simon riley x you#simon riley x reader#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley#call of duty#modern warfare ii#call of duty modern warfare ii#mwii#mw2022#call of duty modern warfare 2#ghost#simon riley#Spotify
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☆ GHOSTING — GETO SUGURU X READER
summary: after being made aware of your long term ex boyfriends plans to 'fix' the world, you knew that you had to try and stop him. but seeing him for the first time in a decade; all the love, the hate, the heartbreak comes right back to you both and you realise you care about him a lot more than you thought.
wc: 4.7k (of pure goodness....)
cw: afab!reader, mdni, angst to fluff (kinda) cult leader ex boyfriend!geto, kinda sorta canon (its the day that geto yk...) he eats you out like its his last meal, half hate fucking, full making love, and a whole lot of geto being culty and cunty. this one has a plot people!!
authors note: guys yk I love a good exes to lovers fic so the argument in this one hits different and the whole idea of you and suguru breaking up just before he runs off to run his cult really gets to me, so I hope you enjoy this one.
geto suguru hasn’t seen you in years, in almost a decade, and is still reeling harshly from how you left him when he needed you. but somehow he finds himself rushing to meet you when he gets the four word text from your number—which is still saved in his phone under ‘my girl’— saying, ‘we need to talk.’
he knows exactly what you want to speak about, he could easily put together why today of all days you’d want to see —after vanishing him for just over a decade. he figured gojo probably gave word to you, as from when you’ve been young and growing up together, you’ve all known that if gojo couldn’t get through to him, you could.
he opens the door to your apartment, knowing that you wouldn’t have locked it—you always had a habit of leaving it open for him. and there you are, standing in the dimly lit room, waiting for his arrival. the years have etched subtle changes onto your face and in your demeanour, but the essence of who you are remains unchanged. time may have separated you, but in this moment, it feels as though it has never passed.
“you can't do this,” is the first thing you say, your voice steady despite the unexpected surge of emotions upon seeing him again. you didn't think seeing him after all this time would affect you, but it did. his hair is longer, his frame more imposing, but that unmistakable smirk remains, a haunting reminder of the man you once knew.
“wow right to the chase,” he chuckles bitterly, his presence taking up the room as he enters the room further, “i forgot you never really had a thing for beating around the bush.”
you meet his bitter chuckle with a steady gaze, your resolve unwavering. the years of separation have done nothing to diminish the intensity of your connection, the push and pull between you two.
"it's not the time for games, suguru," you reply, your tone serious. "you know why i called you here."
he sighs, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. the weight of his plans, the burden he carries, is evident in the lines etched on his face. "i figured you'd call sooner or later."
the room seems to shrink as the gravity of the situation hangs between you. the man you once knew, the one who could make your heart race with a smile, now stands before you, shrouded in darkness.
"i won't let you go through with this," you say firmly, your eyes never leaving his. "there's another way, suguru. there has to be."
for a moment, his façade cracks, and you catch a glimpse of the person he used to be, the one who believed in a better world. but then the hardness returns to his eyes, and he steps closer, his presence overwhelming.
"you always were too idealistic," he mutters, almost to himself. "but i can't turn back now. the world needs this change."
"what happened to you?" you snap out, your words laced with a bitter edge that hangs heavily in the air. it's a question that carries the weight of your years of frustration, anger, and confusion. but you knew what happened to him; everyone knew.
his reaction is immediate, and the room seems to tremble with his anger. his gaze narrows, and the atmosphere becomes charged with tension. "you don't get to ask that," he spits out, his voice dripping with bitterness. "you left, remember? you abandoned me when i needed you the most."
“it wasn’t like that,” you argue, leaning forward, your body tense. “by the time i left you were already gone, being physically present in a relationship doesn’t mean anything if your mind is fucking checked out all the time. at that point i was just dating a shell of you.”
“is that how you justify it?" he retorts, his anger unabated. "you think leaving was the solution?”
you clench your fists, your own anger rising to meet his. "i did what i had to do to protect myself, suguru. you were spiralling, consumed by your own darkness. I couldn't save you"
his eyes blaze with a mixture of fury and hurt. "you think i needed saving?
“you still need saving,” you scoff gesturing to him standing right in front of you, “just because you couldn’t save—”
“don’t even go there,” he interrupts, his hand raising to stop you. he knew you were talking about riko, “i’ve made peace with that.”
“oh have you?” you accuse, “since it seems to me, you’ve been on a killing spree, ever since.”
“other people died y’know,” he hisses out, “remember haibara? he was your fucking friend, but you weren’t even there.”
“this isn’t about me,” you say disregarding his comment, regret seeping through you, “you think i haven’t kept tabs on you since i’ve been away. who have you become?”
he glares at you, his anger evident. "i've become what the world needs," he snaps, his voice heavy. "someone willing to do what it takes to change things."
"and is killing a village full of people the way to do that?" you challenge, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and sorrow. "killing your..." You pause, overwhelmed by the thoughts and images of what he's done. "was killing your parents worth it?"
his expression hardens, and for a moment, you see a glimmer of regret in his eyes, but it's quickly masked by his resolve. "i had to make sacrifices," he says coldly. "it's a small price to pay for a greater cause."
“you can’t truly think that,” you say, taking a step closer to him, your fists still clenched at your sides. “how did it feel killing them then? to take away the lives of your own parents who were innocent?” you probe, you knew that there was some part of him that must feel bad.”
“you’re about… ten years too late to be trying to have this conversation with me,” he shrugs, the turmoil that geto felt when he first set out on his mission has ceased. the guilt he felt for killing his parents, even the grief he had for something that he caused, wasn’t a factor for him anymore.
your frustration boils over as you press him further. "so, you've become heartless, then?" you challenge. the room seems to tighten around you as you await his response. "a cold-blooded killer who's convinced himself that the ends justify the means?"
geto's gaze narrows, his patience dwindling. "it's not about being heartless. it's about doing what's necessary to achieve our goals."
"your goals," you emphasise, "not mine. and not the goals of the innocent people you've hurt along the way."
he sighs, exasperation creeping into his voice. "you always had a way of making everything so complicated, questioning every choice. you left because you couldn't handle the real world."
you shake your head, unwilling to accept his justifications. "no, i left because i couldn't stand by and watch you become a monster."
“so i’m just a monster, yeah?” he retorts, stepping towards you, his anger evident across his face, you could see your words triggered him, and as he gets closer you could feel your facade faltering.
your heart races as he approaches, and you raise a hand instinctively, palm out, to signal him to stop. "don't come any closer," you warn, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and anger. there was no rational reason to be scared of him, you’ve known him for years, and despite everything that he’s done —what he’s become— there was still a part of you that believed that he wouldn’t hurt you.
but geto ignores your plea, his determination unwavering. he grabs your hand firmly, his grip surprisingly gentle despite the intensity of the moment. his dark eyes bore into yours, and he speaks in a low, taunting tone, "why? are you scared that with me being this close, you're going to realise that you loved a monster? that you're still in love with him?"
you grit your teeth, refusing to let him get under your skin. "suguru, you don't get to manipulate me with your twisted version of love," you retort, your voice laced with defiance. "i won't let you use my feelings against me.
his words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you're torn between the conflicting emotions swirling inside you. the memories of the love you once shared, the pain of his transformation into something unrecognisable, and the lingering attraction between you all crash together in this charged moment.
you try to pull your hand away, to regain control of the situation, but geto's grip tightens, preventing your escape. his face inches closer to yours, and despite your better judgement, your breath hitches. “manipulation, huh?” geto muses, his mouth so close to yours that you feel his breath faintly brush across your lips. you look up at him through your lowered eyelashes, and in that fleeting pause, so small that it’s almost imperceptible, you find yourself considering the gravity of your actions, if only for a moment.
the feeling of doubt is short lived, as you press your lips against geto’s, his mouth immediately moulding into yours. the kiss is searing, as you push your bodies against each other, he releases your hand from his grip, his hands move to cradle your head, holding it in place as he deepens the kiss, bruising your lips with his.
everything about geto is familiar, the taste of him, the warmth of his mouth, the way he consumes you. his tongue explores yours, wrestling for control as your arms scratch at him trying to tug off his robe. you wanted him to feel you, all of you—your touch, your lips, your hurt, your anger, the love that you still have that you thought was small. but after seeing him, kissing him, you realise is still an overwhelmingly large part of you.
you pull apart to catch your breath, staring hard at each other, but there’s barely a moment wasted before your back on eachother. kissing each other feverishly, as you rip off each other's clothes, he pushes you hard, your back slamming against the nearest piece of furniture as his mouth latches onto your neck. his kisses cascade down your body, stopping at your breasts as he unhooks your bra, tossing it aside.
“i missed these,” he murmurs, as his lips descend onto your tits, his face nuzzling at your chest as he sucks and pulls at your nipples with his teeth. “and i missed this,” he continues to mumble, his hands cupping your clothed pussy, his finger lightly caressing your slit.
you arch forward into his touch, wanting to feel him more and chuckles saying, “even after all these years, you still respond to my touch just the same.” his fingers plunge into your panties, brushing against your clit and he smirks as your lips part a stifled moan escaping your lips—proving his point.
“s-shut up,” you hiss out, as you slowly start to gyrate against his fingers. although it was obvious from the way you were already soaking your underwear, you didn’t want to admit how good he is actually making you feel—you just couldn’t give him the satisfaction. geto raises his eyebrows at you in amusement, as he watches you bite your lip trying to contain your moans, as his fingers inch into your inviting pussy.
geto’s body moves down yours as he removes his lips from your tits, continues to press kisses down your stomach, as he drops down to his knees —his eyes level with your cunt. he presses a kiss to your covered pussy, before sliding off your panties. his mouth is just about to latch onto you but he pauses looking up at you, his gaze unwavering, “you want this right?” you nod slowly, your anticipation brewing as your eyes lock onto his, “use your words.”
you release an exasperated huff, but he remains steadfast, his raised eyebrow a silent declaration that he won't act until you tell him what he wants to hear. the room seems to pulse with tension, the growing desire between you mounting with each heartbeat.
your hands slide it’s way into his hair, pushing your fingers through his scalp, as you grin, you voice is low and sultry as you say, “i want it.” his mouth envelopes your pussy and you push his head into you deeper, forcing your nose into your arousal. he inhales you, taking in your scent as he presses his face in your cunt.
“such a pretty pussy,” he mutters lowly, you could feel the vibrations spread through your pussy. his tongue strokes down your slit, before pushing into you, he twists and slurps at you trying to suck out all of your juices.
geto nibbles at your clit, tugging at it with his teeth before bringing his fingers back to cunt. shoving two fingers in roughly. you pull his hair harshly, the feeling of his mouth sucking on your clit leaving your mind blank. “ah f-fuck,” you cry out, as geto’s strokes grow more intense.
“c’mon let me hear you more,” geto prompts, pulling away slightly from your pussy, his lips plump and coated from your wetness. he grabs one of your legs and hikes it over his shoulder, the angle allowing him to force his fingers into you further, curling them up in your pussy as he goes back to shoving his face in your sobbing cunt.
you grind your pussy in his face, working with him in getting you off. both of your movements were frantic, geto is eating your pussy with such eagerness, hungrily trying to drink all of your cum. “i’m close s-sugu i’m—” you choke out, feeling yourself slipping down the wall you pressed against, but geto holds you upright, his large hand keeping your thigh hooked over his shoulder and roughly pushing you up against the wall.
geto grins against your cunt, your moans and cries is a sound he didn’t realise how much he missed until he heard them now. you laboured breathing, stammered sentences told him that you were reading cum, but he just had to push you further. so he adds one more finger, sending it straight to your spot, twisting and pushing it in your pussy so hard that tears brim your eyes. he was so relentless, you always loved that about him, how he knows your body in and out, he knew exactly where to touch, and just how far he should push to have you becoming a mess for him.
you couldn’t take him anymore, so you cum, hard. your pussy releasing ropes and ropes of cum, all over geto’s fingers and his face, and he laps at it, munching all your cum with excitement. “i know you can give me more than that,” he muses, pressing his thumb down on your clit, rubbing at it aggressively as you cum. your eyes roll back, as he repeatedly flicks at your cum, and before you know it, you're squirting all over his face.
geto’s eyes widen, and he doesn’t stop playing with your pussy, until you bow your head in submission, worn out from all the cum you’ve released over him. your hands slide out of his hair, as you try and catch your breath and geto peppers your cunt and your thighs with kisses finally letting your thigh come off his shoulders. “damn your pussy’s still as sweet as ever.”
“stop with the talking,” you mumble, as you pull him up to his feet, your lips forcing their way back onto him. your hands frantically explore each other's bodies as you drag him to your bedroom, pushing him on your bed. “i can’t fucking stand you,” you mutter to yourself, your denial evident, as you straddle him, pulling his dick out of his boxers.
you pause briefly at the sight, his thick, long dick staring at you. you hear geto chuckle at your reaction, your eyes meet his with a challenging look exchanged between you, he raises his eyebrow at you, a silent dare on whether you’ll actually be able to get the control that you’re aiming to have.
you hover over his dick, your pussy still dripping, geto bites his lip in anticipation as you tease him, slowly edging yourself down onto him. your pussy greedily, takes in his dick as you force yourself down on him as immediately fills you, stretching out your cunt with one push. you start to ride him, hard and fast, rocking your body forward as you bounce up and down on him, your hand pressing down on his stomach to keep you steady.
geto sits up, stifling a moan as he feels your cunt clench around his dick with everyone of your movements. he tries to thrust up into you, but he just can’t match the relentless rhythm you had, “f-fuck,” he exhales, a moan escaping his mouth, and you smirk —you have him just where you wanted him.
“you alright there suguru?” you mock, the grin spread across your face unmissable as you grind yourself down against him, tightening your pussy around his pole as you slid up and down. the bite on his lip hardens as he pulls it further between his teeth to suppress another moan.
but geto doesn’t submit for long, his hand slaps you across your tits and his fingers pinch your nipples, twisting and tugging them, causing you to arch your back as you wail. “d’you r-really think you run shit here?” he groans, flicking at your nipples with every word, “you’ll never be in control, not with me,” he taunts.
“oh really?” you retort, as you still continue to move your ass, meeting his hips. you can feel him start to pick up his pace, trying to match yours, his hips slightly thrusting upwards, his dick pushing into you deeper.
“yeah,” he says confidently through gritted teeth, one of his hands pulling away from your nipples and onto your ass, harshly grabbing one of your cheeks to steady himself as he drills into you further, “because you’re still my girl.”
you still at his words, you knew he didn’t mean it but you couldn’t help but react to the name that he always used to refer to you as. geto could see your eyes become vacant, as you think back to the memories when you were truly his girl. you used to revel in that —the feeling of being his. he takes advantage of your pause, your rhythm halted as he takes over, now setting the pace as he charges his dick into you, stuffing you further.
“suguru f-fuck you’re so—” you sob out, as he breaks down your wall, his strokes hitting your spot perfectly. your body buckles, crumbling at the force that geto was using as he repeatedly thrusts into you, his hand pushing you in further so his dick can get an even better angle in you.
“i’m so what?” he retorts, knowing you wouldn’t be able to string an answer together from the way he is fucking you dumb. geto couldn’t deny that he is getting some joy out seeing you all drunk on his dick, reduced to nothing but moans and incoherent sentences, he liked being the one to break you down. “am i still a monster, someone you can’t stand being around?”
you sloppily nod your head, trying to keep some resolve, but your efforts are pointless since all the insults and accusations you were spouting earlier are now futile, you lost your care in getting him to do the right thing, all you want now is for him to stay like this — inside of you.
“s-shit i can’t take it a-anymore im gonna cu—” you force out, clenching yourself around little his dick hard as you feel your orgasm building up. but geto’s movements stop for a second as he pulls his dick out of you, flipping you over, your back landing hard on your bed. he leans over you, his focus fixed on you, but at this point, his eyes don’t hold the same heartache, and hurt that they did when he first stepped into your house. the geto that is looking at you now, is the one who’d always look at you everyday, ten years ago —with love and longing.
he strokes his dick down your aching pussy, teasing you with it, but just before he puts it in, his hand caresses your face cupping your chin as he says, “when i said you were still my girl, i meant it y’know?” and your lips part in surprise at his admission. “although it hurt me, when you left me, you just never stopped being my girl.”
“suguru i-i don’t know what to say,” you stammer, and you didn’t realise until he swipes under your eye, that you were crying. there was so much more to your relationship with geto than just some highschool romance, you loved another, and no one could tell you otherwise.
“tell me that you are,” he prompts, now pressing kisses to your tear stained face, his lips moving down to yours, “tell me that you are still my girl,” he finishes in between kisses. his hopeful eyes still remain on yours, and you could feel him slowly inching his dick into you.
you wrap your legs around his back, your arms hooking around his neck as you pull his head next to yours, your mouth near his ear as you whisper, “i am still yours.” he pushes his dick back into you, his strokes deep and slow. it was different from before, there was no competition or hate between you as you fucked, you didn’t have a point to prove other than the fact that you still loved each other.
geto’s moans are loud, he has nothing to hold back as he growls lowly in your ear. the way he holds you, and takes his time kisses you and fucking you as if he was accounting for this potentially being his last ever time doing so. “i’ll never get enough of this.”
“then don’t go,” you whine, and your words hold a deeper meaning that you both knew but won’t acknowledge knowing it is pointless to discuss any further. you pull him into you deeper, your thighs clenching around him as your hold tightens.
the feeling of you pulling him in, has him clenching his eyes as your pussy takes him in, his mouth takes yours in a powerful kiss, before he mumbles “you gonna let me cum in you, leave you with every last bit of me.” you don’t even respond, just deepening the kiss, your head shaking in agreement.
you both cum together, geto spraying your walls as he sinks his face into the crook of your neck, sinking his teeth into your exposed flesh as he continues to shoot ropes of cum inside of you. you claw at his back as you feel all of him enter you, your cum mixing with his as you cry out in full pleasure.
his forehead rests against yours, as the last bits of his cum enter you and neither of you say anything, all that can be heard is just heavy breaths coming from the both of you. you didn’t know what was to happen now, there was still so much left unsaid, unresolved and things have changed now that geto is literally stuffed inside of you.
geto is about to pull out of you finally, but you stop him muttering a faint, “stay,” and he does. he knows he had somewhere to be, things to do that are bigger than the both of you, but he just couldn’t leave when you ask him to stay. he manoeuvres your body so that you now lay atop him, comfortably cockwarming him as he thumb brushes gentle strokes down your arm.
“y’know i’ve got these two girls, who i think would love you,” he muses.
“what? did you manage to become a father whilst i was away?” you tease.
“something like that, yeah,” he mumbles, a small smile forming on his face as thoughts of nanako and mimiko flash through his mind — they’re a bittersweet reminder of the new life he’s built without you, one that you wouldn’t be able to fit in. it wasn’t that long ago that you’d have thoughts about geto fathering your own kids, dreams of somewhat of a domestic life that you’d now never get to have with him.
“well maybe i can meet them,” you say non-committedly.
“yeah maybe…” his voice falters, as you both know that it would never happen.
“do you enjoy it then?” you ask, “this ‘new’ life of yours.” you could tell just by the brief mention of nanako and mimiko and the way he carries himself that he does enjoy his life, but you were hoping that he’d still answer no.
geto hesitates for a moment, his gaze drifting to the ceiling as he contemplates your question, “i…” he begins, his gaze returning to yours, “i won’t lie. it’s different, and there’s moments i find true solace in it, this has been my life for a long time now, so it’s just something i’ve really gotten used to.”
“and you’re happy to go back to it, after this?” your question is loaded, and you feel dumb for even asking but when you did call him over to get him to not go through with his plans, of course your motivations have slightly changed, but your goal is still the same.
“i don’t think you should ask me to make a choice, knowing that im not going to choose you,” he grits out, he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings, but
“you’re not gonna win you know, satoru wouldn’t let it happen,” you couldn’t help yourself, the rejection he just gave you stung, and you wanted him to feel what you felt.
but geto doesn’t bite, he knows you’re hurting—that he’s the cause of it, so he lets you hurt, his hold tightening comfortably as you sulk in his arms. geto places a kiss on your temple, ignoring your comment as he concludes, “let’s just not, okay?”
geto stays with you until your breathing settles into a steady rhythm, and you don’t notice him slipping out of you. he cleans you up and tucks you into your bedsheets, giving you one final stare as if he’s trying to keep a mental image of how you look when he’s last seen you. his lips meet yours in a final, chaste kiss and he mutters a promise that he didn’t think you’d hear, but you do, stirring awake as his lips leave yours, “i’ll see you again… eventually.”
you wake up to an empty room, the warmth of geto's presence replaced by a stark emptiness. the realisation hits you like a wave of cold water – he's gone, leaving nothing behind but soiled sheets and a hollow ache in your chest. there's no note, no message, no trace of his ever being there, except for the lingering scent of him that clings to the air. you know that someone will eventually inform you of the outcome of the night, but deep down, you already suspect that his last promise to you will end up being broken.
AN: first like proper proper real juicy fic that ive written in a long time imo and its just like this took me so long since im soooo sensitive about my geto fics and im just like overly critical about my angsty and fluff and plot fics and my smut and JUST EVERYTHING but I managed to get it all done and I think some parts of this really hit hard. the ending is ofc bittersweet since if we go by canon, he goes and yuta beats his fuckinggg ass and he dies wtf but... the true ending is really up to your imagination. (not really) like dont even think about the ending just focus on the fact that they NEVER TELL EACHOTHER THAT THEY LOVE EACH OTHER BECAUSE UR SO IN LOVE THAT YOU ADMITTING THAT UR STILL 'HIS GIRL' IS ALL THE CONFIRMATION HE NEEDS. my finished an are sooo long why because I FUCKING CAN SO I HOPE YOU ENJOY, PLEASE LMK UR THOUGHTS AND SLAY ALL DAY also thank you @kazushawty and @biscuitsngravie for reading and supporting me 🥹🥹
#stampedwithanE★#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#geto x reader#geto smut#jjk angst#geto angst#jjk fic#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru smut#geto suguru#jujustsu kaisen x reader#geto x you#geto suguru x you#jujutsu kaisen angst
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sticky fingers | c.h./the ghoul
➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader
➥ word count | 4.5k
➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; mildly dubious consent, dirty talk, degradation kink, fingering, squirting, rough sex, size kink, standing doggystyle, overstimulation, teasing, choking, dacryphilia, cooper howard is his own warning (he nasty y'all), canon compliant - takes place around ep 7, a grab bag mix of the show and the games
➥ summary | “Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal.”
➥ notes | i love my men like i love my beef jerky 🫠 i wrote this over 16 fevered hours after finishing the finale. hope you enjoy~
minor edits 4/22/24 | x posted to ao3 | masterlist | feedback is always appreciated ❤️
feel free to send in thots, questions, requests!
It begins, as most things in the Southwest Commonwealth do, with a fight for survival.
City life is tough to be sure, but here on the outskirts of pocket civilizations where there’s nothing but long stretches of desolate wasteland - arid, sunbaked earth and scorched shrubbery - for miles around?
Well, if the ferals, fiends, and super mutants don’t get you in the night, then the desert itself will. During the day the sun burns overhead so nuclear hot, heat glimmers on the horizon in dancing waves.
Unforgiving, relentless as blink-and-you-miss-it mirages are swallowed by ever shifting sands.
It’s easy to get lost.
Even easier to boil alive in your armor if you’re unprepared.
Far too many travelers from the Eastern Commonwealths have met their demise here, where shade is sparse, and water even moreso. The rain - if it does blow in over the mountains - brings rad sickness.
If you’re lucky enough to still be alive, the only reprieve from the heat is in the stooped bones of bombed buildings and ramshackle shacks... where you're just as likely to catch a knife in the back from a chem fried addict as you are relief.
Because here, in the Wastes, danger lurks in sand and shadow alike.
You don’t trek out into the flats half-cocked: a fact all locals know. And if you do decide to? Well, you learn one way or another.
No, only the truly ignorant - or the desperate - dare to tempt man and nature.
Consequently, as you dust off the crumbs from the last half of a Fancy Lads Snack Cake and suck a melted smear of icing from your thumb, you're of the latter half.
You tried holding off for as long as you could. But once the shakes started, you knew you couldn’t put off eating lest you pass out and wake up in a slaver camp.
Well, shit, you think as you rattle a dented canister of purified water. This fucking sucks.
Almost going cross-eyed, your tongue hovers under the rim as you watch the last lazy drop fall free. You catch it with a grimace, smacking your lips. The water tastes metal warm in your sour mouth, barely enough to wet your whistle - let alone your thirst.
You began rationing the last of your supplies days ago, and it’s been a battle against light-headedness ever since. Pretty soon you won’t have the strength to defend yourself, scavving be damned.
Come on. Think - gotta think. What can I scrap for caps?
Not only is Filly more than half a day away, Ma June isn’t one for charity cases. The fact she offered twenty extra caps last time for some burnt books and bent bobby pins was as close as you were ever going to get to a Wasteland miracle.
Sunken cheeks and pleading eyes can only get you so far; everyone’s gotta eat.
"Fuck..." The palms of your hands grind into your eye sockets until you see stars. "FUCK!"
There are two unspoken laws in this otherwise lawless land: steal or starve, live or die. A grim reminder that surrounds you in old bleached bones, empty bullet casings, and scraps of cloth fluttering in the breeze.
Someone always has to be top dog. If you’re lucky, they might be willing to share their spoils.
It’s as you’re considering what pieces of yourself you’re willing to barter that you see them. On the horizon, coming from the west, are two dark blobs.
Stark against the flat plains - a shining beacon of salvation - is a man in a ratty duster and cowboy hat. The saddlebag tossed over his shoulder bounces with his steps while a dog trots beside him, its sable coat rippling with muscle.
Pay dirt.
Making sure to keep low and distant, you stalk them. Watching, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.
When the sun dips low, the sky a swath of pale pink and gold, they make camp at a blown-out Drumlin Diner. Off in the distance, thunder rumbles and sickly clouds gather.
Dark and roiling, acid green; a Radstorm brewing.
Electricity cracks at your skin, stands your hair on end. You scrub your hands over your arms, huddling into yourself for warmth. Meanwhile, the stranger seems to luxuriate in the budding promise of rad rain.
He lounges under an awning, his back pressed against a defunct Nuka Cola fridge. He gazes in the direction of the oncoming weather while mindlessly running his fingers through the dog’s fur as it curls up against his legs.
Occasionally, its ears twitch, and its eyes crack open.
Whenever it glances in your direction, you hold your breath and squeeze your eyes shut but it never gives any other indication that it notices your presence.
A small mercy you’re thankful for.
While you’re a pretty good shot, your body is weak with hunger. Besides, you have quick hands and light feet. There’s no doubt you can stealth your way in and out before he realizes his pack is lighter than he left it.
You’ll only take what you need - not interested in causing any more trouble than is necessary. Some food, maybe something to drink if he can spare it, and something to pawn. Just enough supplies to get you sorted in Filly.
Anyway, he certainly isn’t hurting for it by the look of things.
Any guilt you felt was short-lived when he settled down after dropping his pack inside, walking out with an inhaler of Jet in one hand and a can of Cram in the other.
Watched, greedy, as he cracked it open and picked at the tin of meat with lazy fingers. Salivated as he sucked them clean in between deep pulls of chem.
Soon, you decide, licking your lips as he chews, swallows. Soon.
However when push comes to shove, the stranger proves far more keen than you give him credit for.
The world spins like a hit of Daytripper, a kaleidoscope of color as your skull bounces off the wall with a loud crack. Air rushes from your lungs as something huge - hot and heavy - slams into you from behind.
Pins you against the wall with ease as your ears ring.
Something rattles loose; your teeth too large and your tongue too thick. Warm metal floods your mouth as the side of your face throbs in time with the rabbit fast stutter of your heartbeat.
Pain sparks and your stomach rolls.
"Wha's?" you slur, thoughts dripping like wax. "Wh-at's..."
Meanwhile, a gloved hand lassos around your throat like a collar. Brute fingers squeeze the tender flesh of your jugular until you hear your pulse in your ears. Senses struggling - sluggish to adjust in the encroaching night - as tiny cavities eat at your vision, little pockets of darkness.
“Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal," a gruff voice mocks. “Betcha thought you was real slick, huh? Tch. You ask me, you’re dumber than shit, Darlin'.”
Trying to regain your bearings, you shake your head only to groan. “I don’t - ‘m not -” It’s difficult to concentrate, a throbbing tempo taking up residence in your temples. The words come slow. “Wha’d you mean?”
He whistles, long and low-pitched, "D’ya have any idea who you're fucking with?"
“N-No…”
“How’s about I show you, then?”
Warm breath puffs over the shell of your ear, a tongue sliding out to trace along the lobe. You jolt, squirming in discomfort as he crowds closer.
“Tasty lil thing like you, wrapped up all nice and pretty just for me." He chuckles. "Why, it must be Christmas.”
What the hell is he talking about?
It’s hard to breathe with his heavy weight suffocating you; the scent of gunpowder and bitter smoke clogging your nostrils with every labored inhale. His lips - ragged - scrape over the nape of your neck.
The grip on your throat squeezes once, twice; leather sticks to your sweaty skin.
You squint your sore eyes, taking in the faint flickers of firelight that spill through the open doorway. The desert chill of night has settled in, creeping through the busted out windows to dig beneath your padded armor.
Thunder rumbles directly overhead as lightning follows in flashes of acid green. It’s only a matter of time before sheets of rain come pouring down; the air sticky with humidity, trembling with energy.
The Radstorm has finally arrived.
You’ll undoubtedly get sick if you leave the shelter of the diner - might even die from it if you can’t afford or find any RadAway. But as the stranger’s chest digs into your shoulders, and the dog curls up in the corner - uncaring of your plight as its nose tucks into the whip-thin tail - you think you’ll take your chances.
Tilting back to glance at him from over your shoulder through damp eyes, you say, “Look--”
Only his hand moves, viper quick, as it slides from the front of your neck to the nape. Strong fingers clamp down like a vice, like scuffing an unruly dog.
He grinds your face into the wall, rough metal shredding your cheek.
You cry out, a soft, pained little thing that echoes through the empty diner.
“Now why’d you gotta go an' make me do that?”
A phantom glimpse told you all you needed to know; broad jaw, thin lips, a hollow nasal ridge, creeping radiation burns and cracked skin. Ghoul.
“Let’s try this again, Sugar.”
His free hand - sans glove - creeps over the curve of your hip to splay along the swell of your belly, fingers tucking up under the hem of your shirt. You shiver at the stroke of roughened skin.
“Don’t take another peep or I might jus' have ta pluck out those pretty eyes of yours.”
Dread pools low in your gut, a leaden ball.
Everything in you screams: RUN, RUN, RUN.
Alarms blare but you freeze. Stare straight ahead at the featureless wall, eyes wide and unseeing. Through the foggy mire of your thoughts - half formed and shapeless - you have enough presence to understand the precarious nature of your position.
Heart hammering, you plead for mercy, “Please, I’m - I’m sorry.”
"Aw, ain't that real sweet?" He remains impassive, unmoved. "The little thief does got some manners after all."
Without warning, the sharp toe of his cowboy boot kicks apart your feet. In the ensuing empty space between your thighs, his leg slots into place. Spurs dig into the tender meat of your ankle, little kisses of pain, as his hips rut forward against your ass.
You choke on your spit, pulse jumping in your throat.
"H-Hey, that's..." You attempt to shove at any part of him you can reach to no avail. Built and broad with compact muscle, it's like trying to move a brick wall. "I said I was sorry, okay!"
He ignores you, burying his face into the space behind your ear. A deep inhale sounds next to your head, the expansion of his chest against your back so firm you're not sure you won't fuse together.
The whiskey rough groan he releases does wicked things, makes your mind wander to places it shouldn't. Full of grit and gravel as his cock twitches against your backside, a burning line of heat.
A shiver ricochets down your spine.
He grunts, says, "Mm, you smell good enough ta eat."
The cap of his knee nudges up against your clit with a sudden jolt, shocks of pleasure electrifying your body. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and a sob threatens to scrape its way up from the depths of your throat.
You swallow, mouth desert dry. "Come on, let's just forget all about this, yeah?" you reason. "No harm done. I'll even give you whatever I've got left so - so..."
He makes a noise in the back of his throat, the vibration rattling through your chest. "So?" he prompts, plucking at the waistband of your trousers.
"So let me go?"
"Now why would I go an' do an asinine thing like that?" he replies. "If you think you can buy your freedom, think again, Sweetheart."
Rain pings off the metal roof, the smell of pungent ozone and rusting metal wafting in through busted windows and open doors.
“'Sides,” he pauses to turn your attention outside, “I’d hate ta have you yakin’ before the fun’s even started.”
There’s no way to misconstrue his meaning when he punctuates the statement with a teasing rut of his hips. Those rugged fingers tug open the clasp of your trousers, yank until the material goes slack and pools around your ankles.
“Hey, wait--!”
You jolt, hands scrambling for purchase as he slides his leg against your core. The friction of his pants through your thin cotton underwear makes you ache.
Ripping through your bottom lip, blood beading to the surface, you choke on a high-pitched whimper. "I..."
There's no way he can't feel your reaction.
How quickly you're getting wet as he drags you along the length of his thigh while yanking your hips back into the cradle of his pelvis. You meet him in a slow grind that boils your blood and steals the breath from your lungs.
It’s been - shit - far too long since you’ve felt anything other than hunger, thirst; the animal drive to keep pushing forward.
"You like this, don'tcha?"
You hear the dagger-sharp smile hidden in his words.
He croons, "What would your fellow smoothies think, huh? Here you are lettin’ a ghoul get you all hot n bothered - and you’re lovin’ it. Ain't you?"
You throb in response, heat stealing its way into your cheeks as you turn your head away in shame. His dark chuckle lets you know he felt the squeeze of your thighs, the rock and dip of your hips against his knee.
"I - I don't..." you stutter, struggling for a retort. “I’m not--”
A tremble works its way through your body, crushed as you are between the rad warm burn of his body and the wall. Completely at his mercy as you try to figure out where it all went wrong and what you can do to worm your way out of this one.
Terrified of what'll happen if you stay, terrified of what'll happen if you go; stuck in limbo as what was meant to be a simple grab-and-dash devolved into this confusing cluster of shame and lust.
You loathe the embers of desire kindling to life low in your belly.
"You really outta start bein' more honest, Sweetheart."
A large hand dips beneath the worn band of your underwear, and you wait with baited breath. Helpless as calloused fingertips brush over the swell of your mond.
Your inner thighs are uncomfortably sticky with slick, and your eyes burn in humiliation. Your throat trembles around all the words you want to say.
"Didn't anyone teach you lyin' was bad?" he asks rhetorically as his fingers slip down to play with the swollen bud of your clit, tapping lightly.
You keen, low and wounded.
Short nails dig into your palms as you flex your hands for want of something to grab onto.
“I am being honest,” you bite out through grit teeth. Sweat dapples your furrowed brow. “Just lemme go, please.”
"I find that hard ta believe," he replies. "Sorry to say, but you're shit at lyin'. Just look how hungry your lil cunt is for me."
It’s the only warning you get before those long digits plunge deep inside, two becoming three as they stretch you wide. Hollow you out; knuckles massaging your entrance as the tips prod along the sensitive front wall of your cunt.
You clamp down with a strangled moan. “Shit!”
This is a horrible idea - but it’s been forever and a day since you’ve felt anything other than your own touch.
Whether it be the bone-deep loneliness you’ve been shoving down for months or the sudden, inexplicable need for contact, you long for a reminder that you’re still alive.
That you’re not some wrath of the Wasteland filled with sand and blood, doing whatever it takes to survive in a place that would rather see you fail.
“I - I’m not sure.”
He snorts but offers no council or reassurances, using his free hand to yank at the back of your head in impatience. While it might’ve been a fairer fight if you weren’t in such bad shape, there’s no denying that he’s proven himself to be more adept.
Stronger, quicker.
This is going to happen either way.
And that turns you on - even though you feel like it shouldn’t.
If you give in, if he forces you to give in, it’s not really your fault then, is it? You can enjoy it because you have no choice.
Fuck it, you think, closing your eyes and tilting your head to the side in submission.
Like a doll with cut strings, all the fight drains from your body and you’re left sharing space. The ghoul is a furnace of heat behind you, barely any space to breathe he’s crowded so close.
His cock thickens where it digs into the soft fat of your ass, as large and intimidating as the man himself. “Now stay still for me.”
The or else goes unspoken.
Then he’s stepping away, a rush of cold air filling the empty space at your back.
You shiver, tempted to turn around. Maybe make a run for it. The only thing stopping you is the awareness that his threats aren’t so idle. In your experience, it’s far better to befriend the monster than to anger it.
So you comply, waiting an eternity as your senses strain to pick up on anything other than the murmuring hush of rain, the rumble of thunder, as the Radstorm continues to blow its way through.
Though just when you think he might’ve left, ready to chance moving, you hear the clink of a belt buckle clicking open. The scuff of boots across the linoleum before broad hands shove up under your shirt, scarred palms bare as they settle on your hips.
You tense before forcing yourself to relax.
“You ain’t as stupid as I thought,” he says. “Good girl.”
A test.
You breathe a sigh of relief.
“I can listen,” you mumble, keeping calm as his hands explore the plains of your stomach, pluck at the waistband of your panties. “Promise ‘m not gonna do anything else.”
Learned my lesson the first time. Got my skull cracked open for it.
“That’s what I like ta hear.”
Without warning, your panties are being ripped from you, scraps of fabric fluttering useless to the floor. You squawk in indignation but then a heavy hand settles between your shoulder blades.
He presses down, and you follow without complaint, finding yourself bent in half.
And then the fat head of his cock is right there, teasing at your entrance. He plays with your cunt, slipping the shaft between your wet folds. Dragging up the length of you to tap at your swollen clit.
Jerking in his hold, you whine and try to bear down with all your weight. “Please,” you squirm. “Please, c’mon…”
His grip remains firm, bruising as he exhales next to your ear, a pleased little grumble. “Thatta girl. Now tell me, who’s my pretty lil thief?”
Every hard ridge of his body bites into the softness of yours, your stiff nipples dragging against the rough material of your shirt. Zings of pleasure shoot through you; bursting in your bloodstream, fizzy like warm Nuka Cola.
“I-”
“Go on now, Sweetheart: say it.” Fingers dig into your hips so hard your bones ache. “Or I jus' might be tempted ta take a bite outta your pretty lil backside instead.”
He’s bluffing, you think, half delirious, … Right? He wouldn’t--
You swallow, throat clicking, and squirm against him.
Is that a chance you’re willing to take?
No, no it’s not.
“Y-Yours - I’m - I’m your little thief.”
The unexpected flare of satisfaction in his voice is almost your undoing. A hand pets down your flank, swatting the outside of your thigh playfully.
“Good girl.” He demands, “Say it again.”
Sharp hip bones kick forward against your ass as he lines himself up and starts to bully his way inside.
“I’m - YOURS!”
Your soft, gummy walls flutter, squeeze until giving in with a pop under the hard pressure of the fat head. His cock stretches you out, thick and girthy.
Ridges of scar tissue and patches of rough friction pockmark his shaft, massaging tender places as he fills you up, fucking you open.
He feeds you inch after inch… until he can’t.
“Wait!”
Accommodating his girth is a struggle, your cunt filled to the brim by the time he’s halfway inside. No amount of slick could make him fit, so he makes do with harsh little jerks of his hips. Forces himself deeper and deeper until he glides home nice and smooth, sheathing himself to the base with a sigh of satisfaction.
You clamp down hard with a hiccupy whine, walls furtively trying to push him out. “A-Ah!”
“Goddamn,” he huffs, hands kneading your ass, “You’re a tight fit.”
Tears prick your lash line, your hips shifting as you try to stop him from moving. Begging for a moment of reprieve. You’ve never taken something so big and thick, so textured before.
Coupled with the minimal foreplay, it feels like he’s punched his way through your body. Hollowed you out to make a home for himself.
Pussy aching, a low burning tightness creeps over your lower belly as tender flesh pulses uncomfortably around the unforgiving heft of his cock seated deep inside. You swear you feel him poking your belly button.
“Please,” you pant, heat settling into your cheeks. “J-Just wait a sec-ond! I can’t - oh shit.”
“Aw, look at you.” Fingers reach around to brush over your cheeks, gather the tears that’ve slipped free. “Didn’t mean ta make you cry,” he lies.
The sound of him sucking his fingers clean reaches your ears. Your stomach swoops, and your clit throbs. Dazed as you wonder what his mouth would feel like on your pussy.
"Hah - too much, you're - fuck - you're too big."
He snickers. “Can’t be helped, I guess.” Body rippling in a shrug, his hands re-settling on your hips. “But that’s all right - I like it better when they cry.”
Before you can retort, he pulls his hips back.
Your toes curl in your boots, feet squeaking across the linoleum floor as your sweaty forehead grinds into the cool metal of the wall. The texture of his shaft burns as it slides through your swollen folds, dragging against sensitive spots you didn’t even know existed.
You can’t tell if it’s the best you’ve ever felt or the worst, but you nearly sob all the same, nerves alight with liquid fire. Want him as deep inside as he can go; a frenzy of desperation that needs him to stuff you so full you choke.
“See for all your whining, you’re takin’ me so well. What did I say about bein' honest?”
You sniffle, blurry eyes creaking open to stare out the window.
Your body throbs in time with your pulse, your pussy so stretched out you can’t clench down when he thrusts in deep. The fat mushroom head teases your cervix, a faint whisper, before he’s drawing back again.
“T-Too fast,” you stutter, head rolling back to rest on his shoulder. Your thighs tremble, knees going soft. “Slow down, slow down.”
“Sh, you can take it. I know you can.”
With a grunt, he surges forward. Wasting no time in starting up a brutal pace that rattles your bones. He drives you hard into the side of the diner; tits crushed and face smashed, a disgusting mixture of tears and drool wetting your cheek.
“Just like that, Sweetheart.”
You do little more than hold on, all thoughts driven from your mind as he fucks you swollen and bruised. Cunt a sticky mess as your slick eases the way, clinging to your inner thighs and dripping down his heavy balls.
Every thrust punches little sounds from you, and he grunts. “Fuck!”
Your hands cling to the sides of his hips, focusing on the shift of muscle beneath heavy fabric. “I can’t,” you slur, eyes cloudy as you glance up into his, gazes meeting for the first time. “Please, I - ah!”
His thrusts turn punishing, even more so than they already were, hips meet your ass with enough force to leave bruises. “What did I say about sneakin' a peek?”
While the words sound threatening, his voice is heated and breathy. For all his talk, he doesn’t look away. In fact, his hips slow into languid rolls, grinding close. When your eyes slide from his, he reaches down to pinch your clit between his fingers.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he chides. “You keep those eyes on me.”
Pretty, you think, dazed.
Glinting in the slants of firelight like wet sand or a Nuka Cola bottle in the sun; bourbon warm as they peer at you from beneath a heavy brow bone.
“That’s it, there’s my good girl."
Eyes fluttering when he flexes his hips in reward, the tip massaging along your g-spot, your mouth drops open on a whine.
“O-Oh! Right there, I - fuck, please don’t stop. ‘m so close.” F-Feels s'good.
His bare hand reaches up to curl around your jaw, gnarled fingers pushing their way past the open circle of your swollen lips. They compress your tongue as they gather saliva, stroking along your tastebuds.
Gritty, rough; he tastes of dirt, blood, and gunpowder.
You sneak a kiss to his scarred knuckle when he pulls free.
“Shit, I’ll be damned. You’re just a nasty lil freak, ain't you?”
You moan in response, stretching up on your tip-toes and arching your hips to change the angle. Your palms rest beside your head, docile.
A crazed grin cracks the corners of his lips, his teeth bared like an animal. “I like that,” he husks. “Now be a peach…”
Then those soaked digits are finding their way between your thighs, ghosting over your skin to smear spit onto your abused clit. The tender bud throbs beneath his fingertips, swollen and begging for attention.
He hitches his hips forward to feel you jerk, pulsing beneath his touch as he resumes a fast, jolting pace that has you smacking into the wall.
“And cum for me.”
A deep rumble escapes his throat, the sloppy, wet sounds of him fucking you ringing loud in your ears. Your hips roll, unsure if you want to press forward into the swirl of his fingers or back into the rut of his cock.
Tears stream down your cheeks, your chest heaving with weak sobs.
“Please,” you whine, his shaft pinching your walls uncomfortably. You feel swollen, rubbed raw. “A-Almost there.”
A nip to the ear is all it takes.
“Hhaah, I’m--!”
The liquid heat that’s been pooling low in your belly - building and building - finally bursts in a gush of slick that soaks his hand. Darkens the crotch of his pants as it drips down your thighs to splash against the tile.
You sob, a full body tremor zipping through you like bottled lightening.
In the aftermath, your cunt twitches in time with your heartbeat. Hands numb and head full of cotton as cramps bloom between your hips. Sharp little stabs shoot up behind your navel.
“Shit, I’ve got myself a gusher,” he laughs, a nasty little smirk tugging at his lips. “Look at the mess you made. Now if you ask real sweet-like, maybe I’ll let you clean it up with your tongue.”
You sag, too boneless to be ashamed as electric aftershocks tingle along your nerves. All the while, his pace never falters, quickly fucking you into overstimulation.
Your clit twitches pathetically when the fat head of his cock drags along your g-spot. "No more," you mumble weakly, letting him maneuver your body how he likes. "Please."
“Heh, let’s see if you can do that again.”
You whimper, “Oh, oh, please n-no. I - I can’t. You’ll break me.”
“That’s real cute,” his lips, harsh and rasping, drag over the shell of your ear, “but I wasn’t askin’.”
The grip on your hips tightens to the point of pain, digging in and marking you up.
“Now, why don’ we have some real fun, Darlin'?”
#cooper howard x reader#the ghoul x reader#fallout smut#the ghoul x you#cooper howard x you#the ghoul#cooper howard#fallout#fallout fanfic
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