#and take a fucking knee for the KING
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if there was a torchwood/spn crossover, jack would get shot in the head so much. i know he already dies a lot, but he’s going to die so many times during this crossover. keeps getting bullets unloaded into him. they stab him with silver and steel and copper and none of it keeps him down. he’s gonna get squirted with borax and that one’s not gonna kill him but it is going to ruin his coat, which is materially worse for him.
#also gwen cooper would wrestle dean to the ground and beat him half to death#ianto is going to get himself possessed. im not saying he doesn’t take every precaution he knows how to against it. im saying he does and it#doesnt work <3#i think sam and tosh could be friends :) (<- actually means they’re just both stuck in ‘make this conversation go as smoothly as i can by#masking so fucking hard. so that i can leave sooner’ mode.)#and i think owen would kiss dean on the mouth because it would make him so uncomfortable and owen can and will use his ability to be an#asshole without regret for the good of the team. especially if this moment is directly a result of like. Dean hitting on Tosh while she’s#clearly not into it. Owen is going to kiss that man at the risk of getting shot just like jack has 17 times in a row just so that he’ll#fuck off and leave tosh alone. and this will work because dean winchester will immediately malfunction upon being kissed by a man because#now he doesn’t know whether to direct his homophobic impulses at owen (<- unaffected by anything he could say.) or himself (<- guy who#believes being gay works like cooties.)#and in the background you can see jack sort of gently put his hand over toshiko’s and she releases a pen she was holding onto very tightly#and this is the part where you realize Oh She Was Going To Stab Dean In The Knee With That If He Didn’t Stop.#i also think Jack should get to kiss Crowley. i think they’d both be into it and it’d be funny. i think they should reference that they’ve#been off-and-on lovers for years actually. (gwen: you’ve been sleeping??? with the king of hell???? || Jack: see i don’t know why this is#surprising to you.) (ianto has been standing there with his mouth slightly open for a full minute. long enough for crowley to comment on it#and for owen to jokingly try to shut it for him. (cue short impromptu slap fight as ianto bats his hands away and then owen gets too into#defending the honor of his poor slapped away hands.) but anyway. <3 ianto you’re into guys you really need to come to terms with this at#some point sir. jack is *not* your exception this is an all day job.)
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Last Young Renegade
Summary: A war on the continent is looming. A Death God approaches, his curse slowly unravelling. A firebird screams through the night.
And Elain Archeron can see it all.
Read More: AO3
Chapter Summary: You want me to go where? With who?
Thumpthumpthumpthump
Elain woke to the sound of a too-familiar heart beat and the reminder that Ferye wanted her to talk to him. Him. Mate. Lucien.
Thumpthumpthump
She could hear his heart beating through the stone no matter where he was in the house while he was freed of her presence, her heart, her everything. Blessedly, Lucien remained gone for the majority of the year but today–now–he’d been called back.
The whole city was on lock down with the arrival of that starborn female. Bryce, or whatever her name was. Elain hadn’t been invited to meet her, which was just as well. She’d heard from Nuala that Bryce did not speak their same language, causing Rhysand and Amren to translate. Still, it irked her that for all her trying, she was sheltered, shut away and kept out.
Only when Lucien arrived was she expected to do something.
Be nice, was what Feyre had asked. Elain understood the meaning beneath the words. Give him a chance. She sighed, kicking the blankets from her body angrily before yanking on a rose colored dress. Sit still, be sweet, smile at all the males, placate with pretty words. Well, what about her? Elain was staring down immortality and it looked boring. Dull. Utterly joyless. Just centuries of entertaining guests and gardening.
She might as well have stayed human. Elain swallowed her anger and hurt and resentment to walk through the familiar sand and ivory halls of the River House, ignoring the pretty art on the walls, the beautifully potted plants, and the tastefully decorated furniture.
Thumpthumpthumpthump.
There he was, sitting casually in the drawing room pretending like he didn’t notice she’d come in. Feyre was already there sitting just beside him, sparing him from being openly rejected. Feyre was always so quick to consider his feeling, wordlessly reminding Elain that she was cruel. Not that Elain would have sat beside him—to do so was to tempt the bond between them constantly begging her to touch him. Elain said primly across the room, smoothing her skirts over her knees. Lucien, his hair tied off his face and his blue jacket buttoned to his jaw, glanced over with tight eyes.
“You look well,” he offered after a moment, crossing one booted leg over the other. Elain didn’t look again.
“Thank you.”
She could hear Feyre grinding her teeth. Offer him a compliment, Feyre’s teeth seemed to chomp but Elain had said all she needed to. The three lapsed back into silence and then Elain, unable to stand it, jumped back up to her feet. “I’ll get tea.”
“There’s no—” Lucien didn’t get a chance to finish before she all but ran from the room. She heard Feyre sigh.
“Well. I tried,” Feyre grumbled softly, her words lingering as Elain escaped to the kitchen. She knew how to drag this out, to waste time picking a pot and filling it only to dump the water due to some imagined imperfection. Steeping tea could take just as long before it was finally added to the little porcelain pot. Elain took her time arranging cups and cakes before finally returning, ideally just in time for Lucien to leave.
He was standing, arms crossed over his muscular chest when she swanned back in. He didn’t look at her at all as she set the silver tray onto the wooden coffee table, eyes pinned to Rhysand.
“It would take me weeks to build that sort of trust,” Lucien was saying, a muscle working furiously in his jaw. That perked her up. Rhysand leaned against the mantle, his eyes stormy and dark.
“Months,” Lucien added, “Is more likely. Who do you even know in Rask?”
“But it’s possible?” Rhysand asked curiously. “That kind of magic is elusive.”
Feyre shifted in her seat, her black clad legs hidden beneath her sweater. She toyed with the ends of her braid, blue eyes burning with curiosity.
Elain studied Lucien for a moment now that no one was watching her do so. She always forgot how big he was. Tall and muscular, like someone who’d been bred to cut lumber rather than dance around in court. Not that he wasn’t elegant—he was, in a rough sort of way. More rake than anything. Had he been human, she would have avoided him anyway. His look made him seem the sort to ruin a lady’s good reputation.
“With my eye, it’s possible,” Lucien conceded. “Assuming they have aligned with anyone but their own greed.”
“Mor seems to think they have,” Rhysand murmured. “Or are at least considering it. They border the mortal lands most closely. Vallahan and Montaserre would need to lean heavily on Rask if they were going to try and grab any of that land for themselves.”
“It would be smarter for Rask to absorb those territories before turning their eye to Scythia,” Lucien replied wryly.
“I want you to go. Be my eyes and ears in their court…convince them not to go to war, however it takes.”
A furious muscle worked itself in Lucien’s jaw. “You overestimate my skills.”
Rhysand shook his head. “You are right for this given your relationship with both Vassa and Beron. You know how he thinks…and you have lived with the mortal queen. No one else understands the players in this game better. I want you to go. Make yourself indispensable to them however you must.”
“On my own?” Lucien scoffed. “Any courtier worth their salt will see through the ruse. Let me at least take Feyre—”
“Feyre stays,” Rhysand interrupted in clipped tones, his eyes shifting to Elain. “Take Elain.”
Both Lucien and Elain went utterly still. The only person who moved was Feyre, a Cheshire’s grin on her face as she unfurled her legs.
“An excellent idea,” Feyre said, staring Elain down. “You were saying last Solstice how you wished to help.”
“I know nothing about court politics,” Elain gasped, her own heart drowning out the sound of Lucien’s.
“That’s not how I remember it,” Feyre insisted. “You seemed to have no problem as a human—”
“That was hardly the same!” Elain protested, twisting her fingers in her lap.
“I ah…I could ask Jurian,” Lucien amended, shifting on his feet.
“Jurian needs to remain in Scythia,” Rhysand rumbled softly. “Vassa’s time is nearing an end and Scythia needs a stable ruler in her absence. They trust the general…and we may need him if war is coming.”
War. The word clanged through her, reverberating through her bones. It was selfish to beg to stay when everyone else was leaving. Even as Lucien asked, “I would ah…is Nesta unavailable?”
Feyre shook her head, as if she could not believe her friend's audacity. Elain, too, looked at him with stunned surprise. Nesta? Since when did they talk?
“Nesta has her own project. I’m not asking you two to get married. Just to work together for the time being. Elain can be incredibly charming when she needs to be. This is the sort of mission that should not end in bloodshed and I don’t trust Nesta to hold you accountable. No killing,” Feyre added pointedly, as if it were Elain who required the reminder. Lucien hardly looked as if he were riding out to war in his finely tailored pants, though she saw the glint of metal tucked into his boot. How many other weapons had he carefully hidden among his person? What sort of danger did he expect to find in Velaris?
Lucien turned the full weight of his gaze on her, pushing her further into the couch. He sighed with exasperation, clicking his teeth at her unease. “Wonderful. We leave in the morning, Lady Elain.”
Lucien strolled from the room, Rhysand just behind him. Elain waited for the High Lord to close the drawing room doors before she spoke.
“You cannot be serious,” Elain began but Feyre wasn’t having it.
“You’re going.”
“Feyre!”
“No,” Feyre held up her hand. “Everyone is contributing. Nesta and Cassian are hunting the fourth trove, Azriel has managed to infiltrate Autumn and you continue baking pies.
“Well, what else am I supposed to do?”
“Help Lucien,” Feyre retorted hotly. “He shouldn’t do it by himself and everyone I trust is otherwise occupied.”
“You go.”
“I would,” Feyre hissed, “Were it not for the baby that requires my attention. Otherwise I would be out the door, delighted to do this. I am not asking, as your sister, but telling you as your High Lady. You will go to the continent tomorrow and you will do exactly as he requires of you. If I learn that the mission failed because you were difficult, I…” Feyre didn’t finish her sentence. She did not need to. Elain could guess.
“You will not be welcome back,” Feyre finally finished, her voice hard. “It is time to do something, Elain. Aren’t you tired of sitting around waiting for life to happen to you?”
“Do not pretend you are not trying to foist this bond upon me,” Elain whispered, rising from her place on the couch. Feyre walked to the door.
“You should make a decision about it,” she said with a shrug. “Lucien is a good male. The kind, if nothing else, other females want. Why should you keep him from living his life? If you truly have no interest, it will be no problem to break it when you return.”
“It’s none of your business.”
Feyre merely turned to look at Elain with disgust before strolling from the room. She snapped the door shut loudly, making her displeasure known. Feyre and her friendship with Lucien—Ferye and her new life. Of course she’d choose his side. It wasn’t as if Feyre had ever really liked Elain.
Elain put her face in her hands, alone in the drawing room with her cooling tea and this new job she didn’t want. Elain would have begged and pleaded to go with anyone else. She wanted to be useful. If it had been Cassian asking her to go to the continent and play lady, she would have said yes without hesitation.
But Lucien…Elain forced her heart to steady. She was drawn to him and didn’t want to be. There was nothing about him she’d ever liked that wasn’t a reaction to that magical pull. He’d never once given her something that felt genuine, had never once said something to her that interested her. He kept coming around, expecting her to one day fall at his feet because he was handsome and her body was drawn to him.
Lucien was everything Elain had abhorred as a human. Other girls were forced into arranged marriages but Elain’s father had loved her, had allowed her to wait, to choose for herself. All that ruined in one terrible moment. Lucien hadn’t even had the decency to keep the mating bond a secret—he’d announced it to the entire world, claiming her the very moment she fell from the Cauldron. Mine. You’re mine. Mine.
She’d never forgiven him for it. Perhaps if he’d kept it a secret, had visited her privately and allowed her a discussion she might have considered him. But that moment coupled with his own infuriating entitlement ensured that Elain would never accept the bond on principle alone. She’d rather spend eternity by herself than with Lucien.
Elain packed all her nicest clothing and jewels for the occasion, forcing herself to think only of the task at hand and not what they would likely have to pretend. After all, a man and woman appearing in court were hardly an inconspicuous thing. She’d be forced to bolster Lucien’s reputation, to stand beside him with hearts in her eyes and love in her heart. She was angry Feyre had foisted this task upon her even as nothing about her person betrayed her feelings. She folded neatly, tucking everything away in a large bag. There would be an opportunity to get more once she arrived if necessary. Elain had no idea what the fashions were on the continent.
All the while, his heart thumped in her ears.
Mate.Mate.Mate.
LUCIEN:
Lucien sat on the bottom stair as dawn began to crest over the horizon. He was ready to go, would have preferred to already be barging down the door of the inn so he could get some sleep before Elain inevitably caused problems. In their haste, Rhysand had been forced to concede a few days. Lucien could have let Elain stay in Velaris, could have gone back to Scythia to spend the last few months with Vassa trying desperately to break the curse on her. He knew, as Rhysand did, that Elain would weasel her way out of the task and he’d be on his own. Hardly unusual and yet…some stupid part of him wanted her to change her mind about him. He hadn’t asked to be mates but fuck, at least he was trying. It was better than her sulking, silent presence at any rate.
Lucien waited for Feyre to slip from her bedroom, feet padding softly down the steps before she sat beside him. Feyre looped her arm through his, resting her head on his shoulder.
“I’d go with you if I could,” she murmured with a heavy sigh. “We would have such a good time.”
“Don’t make Elain do this,” he asked gently, pressing his cheek against Feyre’s hair. “I’ve made my peace with her dislike.”
“She doesn’t have to like you,” Feyre insisted softly. “But she should get to know you. Besides, I stand by what I said—for a mission like this, there is no one better suited than Elain.”
“Why not put her in Spring Court, then? Tamlin could use the help and Elain would enjoy his court. You could keep tabs on Tamlin while she helps rebuild.”
“I don’t trust Tamlin around my sisters. Not when he’s still so volatile…not when Elain refuses any sort of training.”
“This will only make things worse between us,” Lucien reminded Feyre. “Everyone will want to know what our relationship is…I will be forced to tell a lie.
“Elain had been so coddled,” Feyre told him, squeezing his arm reassuringly. “Treat her exactly like you’d treat me.”
Lucien poked her in the cheek. “You were different.”
Feyre smiled. “I was more taken with your good looks than Elain, you mean? C’mon. I’ll bet if you crawled under her skin she’d lose her temper a little.”
“Why do I sense you’d enjoy that?”
“Because I would. She’s so obsessed with making everyone around her happy that I don’t know if she even realizes she’s doing it. This will be good. She’s got a whole immortal life ahead of her and Lucien, I don’t want her in my house for it.”
He chuckled. “Fair enough. But if she stabs me in my sleep—”
“She won’t. Probably. You can be very annoying.”
Lucien kissed the top of Feyre’s head with affection. “But for the record, I would have preferred if it were us. Tramping about like old times.”
“Making a mess of everything?” she asked with a mischievous smile. “We had fun, didn’t we?”
Lucien’s spine straightened before he registered her presence. How long had she been standing there listening to him and Feyre wish she wasn’t coming? Lucien willed himself not to feel bad about it. Maybe hearing the truth would be good for her, too. It wasn’t as if Elain tried very hard to make friends or be friendly. Feyre looked over her shoulder, her easy smile fading a little at whatever she saw.
“We did,” Lucien said, squeezing Ferye’s hand one last time before he stood. Elain was at the top of the steps, her long hair braided off her face, the tail draped over her delicate shoulder. She was practical, at least, in a safe coat dress with quarter sleeves and silver buttons. Her trousers hugged against her legs, tucked into neat brown boots with matching silver buckles. She had a bag slung over her shoulder and a book tucked beneath her arm. Lucien didn’t know why, but he’d expected her to flounce in looking like a spoiled princess, and lay six bags at his feet. Feyre, too, seemed a little surprised.
Elain, as usual, said nothing at all. She didn’t look at him, either, her brown eyes fixed on some point on the wall just behind him. “Ready?” he asked with an irritated sigh. Elain took a step towards him, eyes sliding over his body for only a moment.
“They know to expect you in two days’ time,” Feyre told him. “Rhys sent over word last night and they responded almost instantaneously. I think your reputation precedes you because it was Queen Hilda who responded and not her husband.”
Lucien smothered his grin when Elain reached the bottom step, her irritation plain. “I hear she married him quite young,” Feyre added with a wink, ignoring Elain entirely, even when Lucien took her bag without complaint.
“Don’t tempt me,” he joked, the words a lie. Maybe in another life, when he wasn’t a mated male, he’d be curious if the famed beauty of Hilda of Rask was truth or mere myth. Her husband, King Gunnar, was at least as old as Beron and just as cunning. It was the extent of Lucien’s knowledge of their court or their home, though he did know it was their borders that contained Koschei. If the death god were going to start anywhere, starting with the monarchs who governed him wasn’t the worst plan.
As for Elain, well…Lucien imagined her flitting about the kitchens like a serving maid until he had to make some excuse for her. She’d embarrass him, of that he was sure. Feyre tossed Lucien a heavy sack of coins with a wink.
“Just in case,” she said, as if she didn’t know her mate had paid Lucien handsomely the night before.
For whatever Elain might need, Feyre’s voice whispered through his mind. At least new clothes.
He didn’t react as he stepped out of the hall, giving Elain and Ferye a chance to say goodbye. Lucien dreaded this entire mission more than anything in his entire life. More so when Elain appeared at his elbow, her eyes suspiciously glassy. Lucien took one last look at her, dressed for traveling and perhaps roughing it a little. Would she murder him when she learned there was only one room at the inn’s he’d booked?
“There are some things you should know,” he began, swallowing his urge to melt into the floor. Elain said nothing, like she always did, head tilted towards him, eyes looking at anything but his face. “While we’re in Rask, we will be pretending to be a mated, married couple.”
She sucked in a breath as Lucien plowed ahead. “Which means you’ll have to act like Lady Vanserra—”
“What is that supposed to mean?” she whispered, crossing her arms over her chest.
“It means my mother would never be caught dead in a kitchen,” Lucien snapped without meaning to. “And she wouldn’t rush off every time she was uncomfortable to make tea or cakes or whatever it is you do. You are more than welcome to hate me privately but I cannot do my job if I am on an apology tour for your behavior.”
She looked at him with such burning, blazing hatred. “So I am to be your doting, submissive wife?”
“Let’s start with besotted before we try obedience,” Lucien grumbled. “I care nothing for your submission so long as you act the part of my wife.”
“I can do this,” Elain told him, her anger giving way to some other emotion he didn’t recognize. Lucien didn’t care to figure it out.
“I doubt that,” he hissed, pushing open the front door of Feyre’s home. “But it will be you and not me who has to explain to the High Lord why the continent hates us when you inevitably fuck this all up.”
Elain clamped her mouth shut, stepping into the early morning sun with him. Lucien wanted her to hear him say that, if only once. He needed her to know he took his job seriously, that he wasn’t some spoiled, pampered prince that could cry his way out of a mess. War was the consequence of failure, not just for the people of the continent but Prythian, too. They could hardly withstand the forces of Montessere, Rask, and Vallahan combined, especially if Autumn aligned themselves with the continent and Scythia fell.
Lucien gripped Elain’s wrist when they were on the bounds of the wards, feet just between the edge of the drive and the sidewalk leading into Velaris. She sucked in a breath as Lucien summoned all of his magic to make the leap.
He gave it all of a week.
ELAIN:
Lord and Lady Vanserra. That was how the innkeeper addressed the pair of them when Lucien, panting and pale, winnowed them in. Well, not in, but close enough. His usual golden brown skin was tinged green, body sagging when his boots hit the mud. Elain hadn’t said a word, his condemnation still buzzing in her ears. Winnowing had sucked everything out of him.
When you inevitably fuck this all up.
No one had ever spoken to her like that and yet she saw it in all their eyes. Elain—useless but pretty. Lucien had merely said what everyone else thought. She might have respected him for it had she not resented him so deeply. What did he know of her abilities? She went to the kitchens to avoid him, first of all, and secondly, what else did she have to do? This was the first job she’d ever been offered but Elain had tried to take others. She’d asked to scry in the past, for all the good it did her. No one thought her capable.
She’d show them, starting right now. Striding into that four story wooden inn, Elain was the one who smiled with ease. “That’s us,” she agreed, holding out her hand for the golden key while Lucien fished out copper coins and paid.
“Breakfast just began if you’re hungry,” the woman, graying and wrinkled and yet still radiant and lovely, told the pair. “Lunch is at noon and supper at six. All just to the left. You get what you get so no complaining. Tavern is next door if you fancy something a little stronger. Doors here close at midnight no matter how much you paid so be mindful of the time. I don’t mind newly weds but we enforce quiet between the hours of eleven and seven,” she added, eyeing the pair of them. “You have the look about you.”
Elain continued to smile. “We’ll be mindful of the noise.” Lucien shifted uncomfortably beside her and Elain wanted to gloat. Now who is fucking this all up?
“Just tonight?” the innkeeper added. “What brings you two in?”
“A honeymoon,” Elain said with a sweet sigh. It was an easy enough lie—it had always been her dream to visit the continent and see the field of tulips. “My mate is taking me to see the tulips.”
Lucien glanced down at her with an unreadable expression but the innkeeper merely sighed.
“Mates. How lovely,” she breathed. “A lovely honeymoon indeed. Enjoy your stay, then.”
Lucien put his hand on the small of Elain’s back, the contact sending a zap of discomfort through her body. She pushed through, letting him turn her towards the winding staircase to the right. They were on the third floor at the very end of the hall and Elain was prepared, when he pushed open that creaking, wooden door, to see only one bed.
“You sleep on the floor,” she told him the moment they were closed in. To punctuate her point, she tossed one of the fluffy pillows and a blanket onto the threadbare red rug that covered the wooden floors. Lucien glowered, gathering the heap in his arms and dragging it towards a little couch in front of the fireplace. The furniture was too small for his muscular frame and yet Elain was grateful he’d decided to sleep away from her without complaint.
“You’re too sweet, wife,” he all but snarled, collapsing heavily onto the beige fabric. “I so look forward to showing you the beauty of the continent.”
She bit back a bitter reply. Seeing the beauty of the continent, as he’d so rudely put it, had always been her dream. She didn’t dare share that with him lest he find some way to use it against her. Lucien’s words were sharp, aimed to wound and Elain hated that she was an easy mark. She lacked all of Nesta’s shields. When it came to working courtiers, sweetness had always been Elain’s favored tool. A well-remembered detail about someone went much further than a cruelly barbed word. Especially when it came to men.
Except Lucien, who she knew nothing about. He became silent, head resting against the back of the couch and too late, she realized he’d fallen asleep. Winnowing had been difficult…and she felt a little bad. Not that she’d been mean—Lucien deserved far worse for what he’d said. It was her own ineptitude that shamed her. Had Feyre come, he wouldn’t have had to carry them both. Feyre likely had learned to winnow the moment she became faerie, had probably mastered her magic within weeks, perhaps months at most. Even Nesta had made better progress than she had.
Elain left Lucien to his nap in favor of breakfast. The inn was hardly busy though it was strangely scandalous in its patrons. The big hall was illuminated with dirty windows dotted around the three walls and a heavy iron chandelier with flickering faelights. Tables with little benches were arranged about the room where primarily men sat, not making eye contact as they shoveled down their breakfast. Unease crept through her…perhaps she should wait for Lucien to join her.
The idea of sharing a meal with Lucien made Elain want to vomit. She wasn’t helpless and she didn’t need her mate, pretend or otherwise, to rescue her. None of the men—especially the ones with half naked women in their laps—looked at her at all. Elain made her way to the front of the room where a long table of trays had been set up. She took some eggs and breakfast meat to a table close to the door, just in case she needed to escape.
It was too much to hope that no one would bother her. A youngish man dropped his plate on the bench across from her, his blue eyes alight as he sat. “All alone?”
“My husband is upstairs,” Elain said a little too quickly, noting the way his eyes immediately shot to her hand. No ring. Stupid. She could see he’d caught the lie, unaware there really was a man upstairs sleeping, who could be roused with a rough pull on the cord she was always ignoring.
“Of course he is,” the dark haired man replied, his brown eyes settled on her face. There was something familiar about him, though she couldn’t put her finger on it. Had he been lingering outside the tavern when she’d walked in, or did he merely remind her of…Gray. His eyes were a shade too dark, his hair, too, but he had that same chiseled boyishness to his features, the same dimpled smile. It made her heart ache. “You wear him out?”
Elain flushed, eyes slipping back to her plate. “That’s hardly appropriate.”
“My apologies. My name is Nathaniel,” he added, taking a bite of bread. “Do you have a name, lady?”
“Elain,” she told him, wondering if it wouldn’t have been better to lie. Some things were unknown to her and too late, Elain wondered what Ferye would do.
The fae man merely smiled. “Pretty name for a pretty female. If I were your husband, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight.”
“I pity your future wife,” Elain replied primly, earning a chuckle.
“I pity her too,” Nathaniel agreed. “Wherever she is. Perhaps she’s staring right at me?”
“Perhaps not,” Elain replied, careful to keep her voice light. “What brings you here, anyway?”
He shrugged. “I have my business, as I’m sure you have yours. Hasn’t your husband taught you not to ask such questions?”
Elain didn’t like the soft reprimand. She stood, intending to dispose of her dish and return to the quiet chamber of her bedroom. She’d brought a book she wanted to read. It was a perfectly pleasant way to spend the day. Nathaniel reached for her wrist, holding her in place.
“I apologize,” he said as Elain ripped against the bond. The man’s fingers held her just a touch too uncomfortably for her liking. “Please sit. I haven’t had company so lovely in a long time.”
“You should get out more,” Elain replied, slowly sitting. Nathaniel waited a beat, his thumb rubbing the sensitive skin beneath her wrist. It was far too suggestive and she hated the familiar touch. Men–males–whatever, they were always touching when they shouldn’t. As if her beauty ought to make her available to them, as if they were owed something simply for wanting her.
“Oh? Are there more females like you out there?”
“Nope,” came a deep, masculine voice. Lucien dropped to the bench beside her, reaching between Elain and Nathaniel to remove his hand from her wrist with rough, bruising fingers. He tossed Nathaniel's hand back to his lap, his voice casual. “There is no female like my wife.”
Lucien stared down the man across from them, his irritation radiating off him in waves. Elain knew it wasn’t that another man had been touching her so much as she’d already bungled things but it worked all the same.
“My apologies,” Nathaniel murmured, rising from his seat.
Lucien twisted once Nathaniel vanished, his golden eye swiveling over her even as his russet one narrowed. “Did you get enough to eat?” he asked softly, lip curling over his teeth. “And are you done flirting?”
“I wasn’t—” she spluttered. “I didn’t ask for that.”
“Of course not,” Lucien retorted, grabbing her plate and walking it towards the kitchen while she trailed behind him. “You just decided to come down here alone and see what might happen.”
“So I’m not allowed to go anywhere without you?”
“First of all,” Lucien began, hand on her elbow to guide her back towards the stairs. “Yes, in places like these, you are exactly correct. But secondly, and don’t lie to me, would you have ever dared to go into a human tavern by yourself?”
Elain felt the heavy weight of his words settle in her stomach. “No,” she admitted.
“Then why would you think you could do it here?” he hissed, all but shoving her back into their shared room. “When fae males are twice as territorial and far trickier? If a human man could drag you out back and have his way, what do you think your breakfast partner was imagining? Did you not scent his intentions?”
Elain sat on the edge of the bed, falling silent. She didn’t know what to say to any of it, couldn’t stand to look at him and his righteous anger. Lucien’s laugh was mirthless.
“I thought not.”
And that was that.
LUCIEN:
Lucien had to bite back a million furious words throughout the day. Elain had all but terrified him awake with her violent pull on their shared bond, the first she’d ever done. He’d assumed she must be dying and had panicked. Finding her in the dining hall with another male reeking of arousal had merely pissed him off. Of fucking course she’d stumbled into the first bad situation she could find without thought. Lucien knew exactly what that male was thinking, what he’d imagined he might do when she slunk off. Had she not called for Lucien at all, he might have found her clothes shredded and forced him into an ugly duel.
Females on the continent belonged to their males. There was no choice, not like in Prythian. A mated male could claim his female whether she wanted him or not. It was the only leverage Lucien had in keeping her safe and he intended to wield it like a sword.
But other males would be thinking the same. She did not wear his scent very well, did not reek of a mating bond that might repel others. Lucien forced himself to swallow his anger, if only because Elain very clearly did not care. She picked up her book, laid on the bed, and spent the majority of her day reading to the exclusion of all else. He could have reprimanded her until he was blue in the face and knew she’d merely look up at him with that blank expression. She’d been trained for humans who were, at best, incredibly stupid. Elain was not cut out for the violence and scheming of the Fae courts.
Rhysand would forgive him for his failure but Lucien would not. He didn’t want to sit on the sidelines as war drummed closer and certainly didn’t want to be put back on the frontlines. This was his contribution and Elain was wrecking it with her lack of care. It burned him, how spoiled she was, how blithely uninterested Elain was in even learning something. He wasn’t going to teach her.
“Dinner,” Lucien grumbled when night all but poured into the room, making it difficult to see. There were no faelights up there, only candles and firelight that his magic was keeping alight despite his fatigue. Elain looked up, her face neutrally blank even as she nodded. Feyre swore Elain could do this and yet Elain could not even feign interest.
Back in the dining hall, Lucien found the once sparsely populated room now bursting with noise and filled with people. He ordered Elain to sit while he went for food only to immediately regret it. Elain was beautiful and every single male in the room had noted it the second she stepped in. The bench across from her was filled with hopeful males that would, if given half the chance, drag her up to their bedchambers and do every wicked, depraved thing they could imagine. It was not often a female of Elain’s caliber walked into a place like this.
Grinding his teeth, Lucien grabbed their food before strolling back, irritated to find Elain smiling at her admirers, leaning forward so her breasts, hidden beneath the fabric of her coat dress, were resting on the table. Lucien snarled at the male sitting beside her, sending him skittering away.
“Sweetheart,” she began, her tone so falsely syrupy Lucien might have gagged on it, “Did you know Rask imports diamonds?”
Was that what the males were telling her? From the amused curve of Elain’s mouth, she seemed to recognize the falsehood for what it was. Lucien reached for her hand, almost brushing his mouth over her knuckles. He didn’t dare actually do it, half afraid he might like the taste of her. “Oh? Are you asking for more jewels, my love?”
“He says he keeps them in his room. Perhaps you could pick me out a pair of earrings?”
Lucien turned his eyes to the only male left at the table, so obviously sweating. Lucien raised his brows.
“Well? My lady wants a pair of earrings.”
“My apologies, Lord, I ah…”
Lucien waved a hand and the male all but scattered, tripping over his own worn boots to escape Lucien. It was far more fun than he’d had in a while, this little game of hers proving a decent enough icebreaker when they were finally alone with their steaming plate of meat and vegetables.
Elain pulled her hand from his with a sigh. “Men don’t change.”
“No?” Lucien replied, putting a small amount of distance between her body and his so he could eat without elbowing her in the face.
Elain arched a delicate brow, her brown eyes sweeping over the room with pretty disdain. “They make silly promises if only I might join them in their bedchamber. As if I am too stupid to understand what happens behind closed doors.”
“I didn’t think ladies were allowed to know such things,” Lucien all but teased. Elain’s eyes cut to him sharply.
“How could we not, when men take an interest the moment we are old enough to take our hair out of braids?”
Lucien only shrugged, shoveling food into his mouth inelegantly. He hadn’t eaten all day, denied by his exhaustion and then his irritation. Elain was all too happy to end their conversation there, her point made well enough. She wasn’t totally inept. It didn’t mean she was ready for the scheming brutality Lucien was certain waited for them in Rasks’ royal court but it did bolster him, if only a little.
He’d need her help, after all. And Lucien knew all too well how far a pretty face could take someone. A well placed touch, a lingering look…and Elain’s beauty could likely bring even King Gunnar to his knees if he believed her to be guileless. Lucien cleared his throat.
“There are some things we should discuss,” he began once Elain had cleared half her plate. His own was empty, his stomach full. He was exhausted and was tempted to crawl back up the steps to his too-small sofa and collapse into sleep. “About tomorrow.”
Elain said nothing, setting her fork primly to the table, hands clasped in her lap. “We’ll be at another inn…nicer than this one. I wanted to show you the capital city Volta before we go. You’ll need clothes and shoes but it would be good to see the people and experience some of the culture. Rask is not like Prythian and Volta is so unlike Velaris…I question why Feyre wanted you to come at all.”
“Because I’m so inept?” Elain asked as if she’d read his every thought. Lucien cleared his throat.
“Because you are used to a certain level of autonomy that does not exist for females on the continent. Between you and I, you may keep it but when we are in court, you will be expected to defer to whatever male is in the room.”
“Is this why we’re married?” she asked and for the first time, Lucien wondered if she thought he’d done that to try and shove her in a corner regarding their mating bond.
“Yes,” Lucien agreed simply. “And mated. I have a band for you to wear and you’ll need to keep it on. Males will respect you because they respect me. You will not be Lady Elain Archeron but Lady Elain Vanserra and no matter how much it angers you, causing even one male to doubt your loyalty or fidelity will cause a fight I very much do not want to have.”
Elain blinked. “There is no need to fight on my behalf.”
Lucien curled his hand into a fist. She was so maddening. “Then you can stay in Rask with your new husband and I will return to Prythian without you.”
Her eyes went wide. Lucien only shook his head. “I am not toying with you, Elain. If you want to be petulant, be my guest. This isn’t the place to play childish games.”
Elain took a breath. “You are so content to imagine the worst of me. I meant there was no reason to fight on behalf because there is not and will not be. I have been dancing around suitors my entire life…I understand my part well enough. It is you, I suspect, who will struggle with the aspects of being a doting husband. Not me. It was my entire purpose in life, to be someone’s wife. What could you possibly know about that?”
Lucien ground his teeth. Nothing, but he had no intention of admitting that to her. Elain pressed her advantage. “In fact, I would guess if a duel was challenged, it would be over my honor and your abominable behavior. I have heard of your reputation, Lord Vanserra.”
“My reputation was put to bed the moment I met you,” he retorted too hotly. “You don’t need to worry about me—”
“Then extend me that same courtesy,” Elain snapped. “And trust I would do nothing to embarrass the illustrious Lucien Vanserra.”
“Fine,” he all but spat.
“Are we done? Can I go to bed?”
He almost made a snide comment about the bed they would be sharing once they reached Volta but Lucien had angered Elain enough for one day. He could see it in the red bloom of her cheeks, the bright fire of her eyes.
“Yes,” he agreed without ire, rising from his place at their table.
And as Lucien plodded back up the steps, a pace behind his pretend wife, it occurred to him that he’d spoken to Elain more that day than he had in nearly five years.
He didn’t know what to make of it.
ELAIN:
Elain woke before Lucien by mere moments. She’d slept terribly under a musty sheet, having given him the heavier blanket since he’d been sent to the couch. Lucien looked miserable, his face screwed up in anger, his large body folded in on himself. Lucien started awake, eyes wild, his copper hair a tangled mass around his face. His gaze fell on her before he looked at the door, his relief palpable and for the first time, Elain wondered what his nightmares consisted of.
“Breakfast?” he asked, running a hand through his long hair with a heavy sigh. Elain looked down at her dress, crumpled and sweaty from a night of tossing and turning.
“Is there a place I can bathe?”
Lucien grimaced. “Can you wait until we reach the next place?”
“Why not now?”
“I’d rather not stand over you,” he mumbled, his cheeks flaming. “It's a shared space.”
“Oh fine,” she retorted, turning so he could see her embarrassment, either. “Can you winnow today?”
His eyes narrowed to slits. “Can you?”
“Very mature, Lucien.”
“Yes, I can winnow, Elain. Pack your things and we’ll be on our way.”
He forced another breakfast on her before they finally left, their things slung over Lucien’s broad shoulders. He was just as disheveled as she was, hardly the refined gentleman from two nights before. They could have been roughing it in the woods for all it mattered and perhaps would have had a better night if they had. Elain was curious what Lucien made of their previous night though she didn’t dare ask. He’d made his opinions on her well known.
Hand in his, too late they both seemed to realize he’d forgotten to give her the ring. He winnowed with a soft curse, spitting the pair of them out in ankle deep snow that made Elain yelp. Everything was covered in snow despite the cheerful sun glimmering high in the sky. While Lucien fished in his pocket, Elain drank in the beauty of Volta. Set high in pine forest covered mountains, Volta was a winter wonderland. Pristine snow covered everything but carefully plowed streets and sidewalks. Houses were built against the mountain side made of white stone and wood peaked rooftops adorned in white powder. Her eyes followed the winding road upwards to the opalescent palace she imagined they’d be living in the next morning. Sunlight bounced off the moonstone, cascading rainbows of light over the city below and drenching the bustling city in magic. Elain wanted to leave Lucien behind, to bound into the frosted glass shops until she was dizzy with delight.
Lucien caught her, sliding a ring over Elain’s finger without prompting or preamble. Elain had expected a plain gold band which would have been more than enough. She certainly hadn’t been prepared for the delicate gold adorned with a circular opal stone placed in a sunburst setting. Against the tan of her skin, the ring seemed to glow softly. Lucien glanced down only for a moment, his expression unreadable. He had a thicker band on his own ring finger, with three red stones set against it. She supposed it made sense for who he was to have something nice and yet the sight of the two rings on their hands made her stomach flip nervously.
She didn’t dare ask where he’d gotten it. It was nothing, she told herself. Something cheap he’d grabbed in Velaris before they left and she was making too much of it because of how the gem glittered beneath the morning light.
The inn they stood behind was clearly meant for wealthier patrons. Lucien pulled open the rounded wooden door, greeting them with a blast of warm air. Gone was the filth and stench of vomit and sweat. There were no topless women, no men grinding their bodies on whatever moved. In fact, Elain had the sense that her and Lucien were the roughest looking people in their rumpled clothes and sleep mussed hair. He moved like a lord, his powerful body effortlessly graceful as his gleaming boots stepped onto the furlined carpet to the shining mahogany desk.
“Lord Vanserra,” he said easily, reaching into his pocket for a pouch of coins. The woman behind was immaculate and lovely. Pale blue eyes snapped to his face, her icy blonde hair twisted into a braid worthy of Nesta.
“Welcome,” she murmured, glancing towards Elain with an easy smile. There was no hint of jealousy—only interest. “Lord and Lady Vanserra.”
Elain suppressed her shiver, taking the key offered to her as Lucien paid. He signed a contract agreeing to pay for any damages incurred with rather lovely script before nodding. “Can I get you anything?”
“My wife wants a bath,” Lucien said smoothly, his smile blinding and lovely. “Our last stay wasn’t half as hospitable.”
Elain plastered a smile on her face despite his possessive usage of the words my wife. She bristled, irritated he was laying claim even after he’d warned her it was necessary. Surely not here, not now. Not in front of this woman?
“I’ll have food sent up,” was her chirruping response, allowing Lucien to gesture for Elain. There was no dim hall for eating, no kitchen where they deposited their plates. Only gleaming, immaculate wood floors and white and blue patterned wallpaper set against gold trim. Fae lights glimmered from large chandeliers overhead, bathing them in light. Lucien didn’t seem to notice any of it as he led her up a curved, polished staircase.
The room was a suite. She could have wept at the largeness of it, of the cerulean linens, the marble fireplace with logs already ignited. A set of double doors led to a white curtained balcony overlooking the city and the couch was certainly big enough for Lucien’s body. Elain went to the bed, already eyeing the darkened bathing chamber off to the side, to gather pillows and blankets for him.
“I’m sleeping here tonight,” Lucien informed her, walking around the other end of the bed without meeting her eye.
“No you’re not.”
“I am,” he replied. “And I will be in the royal palace as well.”
“You’re sending me to the couch?”
“No, I’m sending you to sleep beside me because you are my wife,” he gritted out that word, as if it pained him to say it, “And servants talk.”
“So?”
“Come, Elain. I thought we were beyond this? What good is looking at me with your loving eyes if in private you can’t stand my touch?”
“You are not allowed to touch me!” she all but shrieked, earning a rather bored eye roll.
“There will be no touching but there will be a shared bed.”
Elain grabbed another coat dress from her bag set on the bed, the only thing warm enough for the bite of winter wind outside, and stalked to the bathroom. She slammed it loudly behind her so he knew she was angry with him, even if his plan was sound. Elain knew very well how servants gossiped and how that gossip always spread to the ladies of court, who then in turn told their husband while laying in bed. It would be embarrassing for them both to put on a show in public only for everyone to know they couldn’t stand each other in private.
No matter how true that assessment was.
Elain was grateful for hot water and fluffy towels, along with complementary bath soaps and oils and salts that smelled of eucalyptus and mint. She scrubbed herself before refilling the tub just to lay in the sudsy water and float, her legs outstretched pleasantly in the warm water. She could forget what she was doing, of what tomorrow might bring. Her and Lucien would have to find common ground eventually if they were meant to truly work together. She had the sense he wanted to do far more than just gather information. She’d seen how he listened when he came to Night, how he was always carefully watching, storing things away for later. Perhaps he imagined he might prevent Rask from invasion at all.
She wanted to help.
Lucien replaced Elain without slamming the door when she returned, her hair drying in a towel and her body clad in a navy blue coat dress. He took his time just as she had, running the water twice from behind that closed door while Elain sat at the vanity, twisting her wet hair into another braid if only to keep her from having to find a way to dry it. Nuala and Cerridwen had always done it for her. She supposed in Rask there would be servants to do the same. She could take another day of living easy, especially when Lucien strolled out, his hair immaculate and dry, his body clad in a back buttoned jacket and white pants. He had a sword hanging casually from his hips and had she not seen him saunter in wearing suspenders, she might have thought he’d just left a very important meeting with Rhys.
“How did you dry your hair?” she gaped, twisting in her chair to watch him slide socks and boots over his feet. Lucien frowned.
“My hands.”
“What do you mean, your hands?”
Lucien raised a large, golden brown hand and ignited flame over his palm. “You don’t know anything about me.”
Elain shook her head. “Your magic is bright,” she insisted. She’d seen it more than once, in both person when they’d been trapped in Hybern but also in a vision. Lucien’s magic was akin to daylight, hot and bright like the sun. It wasn’t the small flame flickering around his fingers.
“Yes,” he agreed, extinguishing the heat. “Because it’s fire.”
Elain frowned. She knew she wasn’t wrong. Her visions, fragmented as they so often skewed towards, weren’t wrong. Lucien was sunlight and she’d always associated him as such. It had endlessly infuriated her given how much Elain craved bright, warm light. There was no use arguing with him in the moment, not when he was so smug and irritating. She didn’t want to provoke a fight.
Not when Lucien reached behind him for a velvet bag of golden coins and tossed them to her. Elain held them in her hand feeling strangely touched. “You’re going to let me pay?”
“Absolutely not,” Lucien said quickly. “But the coins are yours. I wanted you to see what you had so you didn’t feel as if this were some act of charity.”
Elain threw the bag back at him, openly delighted when it smacked him in the chest. “You are far too generous, husband.”
“Don’t I know it,” Lucien agreed, rising from the bed. “This is, technically, Rhysand’s money. If we spend it, he’ll be forced to give us more so don’t hold back.”
“That’s terrible,” Elain chided, though she couldn’t help but mirror his smile.
“Ah, there she is,” he teased, gesturing for her to follow. “I knew we must share some common interests.”
“What is that, then? Spending Rhysand’s money?”
“Pissing off the High Lord of Night,” Lucien amended. “He will be terribly annoyed by how expensive it is to host us.”
“He should have sent Azriel and Morrigan then,” Elain replied, following Lucien into the emptied hall. Lucien’s smile shifted, tightened around the eyes.
“Ah, I don’t believe for a moment Azriel couldn’t outspend us with all his hair gel.”
Elain couldn’t help her laugh. “It is a little too effortless, isn’t it? His hair, I mean.”
Lucien’s smile relaxed again. “I could not picture Azriel dancing among the courtiers the way we will. Does he ever smile?”
Elain had seen him once or twice. “He would hate the attention. You know who might enjoy themselves though? Cassian. I could imagine it. Maybe not dancing,” she added, thinking of his clumsy steps beneath the mountain when Eris came to visit. “But wooing, certainly.”
“The ladies would love him,” Lucien agreed easily, holding open the door to lead her outside.
“And you?” she couldn’t help but ask. Lucien glanced down at her, brows furrowed. His expression seemed dark and unreadable and she wondered, for the very first time, if he didn’t loathe the mating bond between them just as much as she did.
“I’m married, remember?” he said, showing the ring around one of his long fingers. “The females know to stay away.”
The spell around them shattered, leaving Elain more than a little disappointed. That ring was a shackle as close to the cord around her ribs as anything.
And from the look on his face, Lucien knew it too.
LUCIEN:
The brief moment of levity between Lucien and Elain had helped him get through a rather boring day of trying on clothes and shoes and cloak and coats. Elain went from one store to the next, dutifully trying on beautiful gowns and heavy dresses. She bought sleep clothes and underwear, blushing furiously when he handed over the coins wordlessly, as if somehow he owned them now. Lucien hadn’t dared to look at what the shopkeeper folded no matter how hard the female winked in his direction. He’d see it all soon enough, if only for a moment when Elain ducked beneath the blankets. It would give the servants something to giggle about, if nothing else and he appreciated Elain’s willingness to preserve his reputation as a good lover.
When she was laden with bags and boxes, Lucien paid to have them sent to their room well aware he’d pay twice as much to have all her things sent back to the palace. He’d have to teach her how to winnow if she wanted to bring any of it home with her.
After clothing he took her to more than one jewelry store where he learned Elain had a rather muted sense of style. He appreciated that. Any other female would have adorned herself in diamonds but Elain had a good eye for understated pieces that accented her beauty rather than overshadowed. His mate.
He coaxed her into purchasing things for her hair, not willing to admit that Elain’s long golden brown hair was the altar on which Lucien might be convinced to worship, should she ever give him any reason to think she might appreciate that sort of thing. He’d always been too fascinated by the waist- length loose curls that tumbled down her back.
He did his own shopping, purchasing more pants and coats and shirts, if only to ensure he looked half as nice as his pretend wife. After everything he’d said to her, Lucien couldn’t be the one who embarrassed Elain at court because he didn’t know how to dress.
He took her to eat where Elain offered stilted conversation, her eyes drifting towards his hand and the ring on it. It wasn’t cheap—Lucien had the ring made years earlier when he’d been too hopeful after the war, when she’d invited him to live in Velaris. He’d just assumed she was asking to be courted. The ring on her finger was a product of that, not that he’d dare tell her so. Elain and her love of sunlight, the ring so carefully crafted by the finest jewelers in Prythian, only for it to sit buried in his sock drawer. He’d spent nearly a century's worth of coins on it and had called in endless favors to find that rare sunstone.
Lucien didn’t dare spend too much time looking no matter how much he liked seeing it on her hand. It was a strange juxtaposition between his irritation that she was his mate and wanting to please his mate. Instinct warred against his good sense, purring rather loudly in his chest at the sight of Elain claimed as best he could manage, even as her silence and bratty mannerisms irked him.
Night was another beast entirely. Just as he’d suspected, Elain darted from the bathroom to the bed in what he gathered was a semi-sheer night dress that hung to her knees. Males might own their females on the continent, but the same attitudes around body and sex still applied. She’d be hard pressed to find anything heavy and thick like the clothes that existed in the mortal lands.
Lucien was irked he had to sleep in not just pants, but a shirt, too. He was uncomfortable and overly warm, too used to sleeping nude. Lucien focused on the book in his hands and not Elain unwinding her hair into long, thick waves that smelled so strongly of honey and mint despite the way his body ached at the sight pouring through his periphery.
“No touching,” Elain warned before turning her back to him, creating a seat of her hair floating over her pillow and his.
“You make it sound as if you are so tempting,” he grumbled. “I require a sweet word before I begin seducing a female.”
Elain didn’t bother to respond, no sweetness to offer which was just as well. He might have been tempted and fucked things right to hell before they ever even reached the palace. Still, as Lucien rose to turn off the lights, he let his eyes drift to Elain in the large bed, body covered beneath the thick blue blankets. In another life, perhaps they liked each other. He might be greeted by this sight every single night only when he padded across the dark floor, she would have looked up at him with those liquid brown eyes and offered him a smile. Might have scooted closer, not further away. Would have welcomed his touch.
Lucien very desperately missed touching someone. He didn’t dare, turning his back to face the opposite wall, eyes scanning the darkness for any threat before he drifted to sleep. Lucien immediately passed out dreamlessly, woken instead by the feel of small, cold hands pressed against his back. He jolted, twisting in the night to see it was merely Elain with her cheek now gliding over the side of his body. The room was freezing, even under the blankets. Lucien couldn’t blame her for seeking him out given he was the only warm thing left in the room. He flicked a hand at the fireplace, igniting it again before settling against the pillow. He’d move her once the room was bearable but for the moment, he let himself revel in the feel of her body against his.
Experimentally, Lucien brushed a piece of hair off her face. Silken strands slid over his fingers before falling back to the bed, hiding her face from view. He liked her this way, he decided. She trusted him enough to keep her warm—perhaps some part of her subconscious understood he would not harm her. Or maybe he was reading far too much into a simple gesture because deep, deep down, Lucien wanted what Cassian and Rhysand had. He wanted a mate who looked at him with love and not suspicion, who chose him despite the bond that corded between them. It was bitter knowing that in the morning, Elain would wake angry over his perceived touching and distance herself.
The room warmed and as carefully as he could, Lucien moved her back to her side of the bed so she faced away from him. Already he felt colder–emptier. Lucien remained on his back, certain he’d never fall asleep. He did, back to dreamless dark and to Elain, who despite the warm room, still wiggled her way across the bed until she found him. The blanket had slipped around her waist, revealing the rather sheer night dress tangled around her arms. Her small breasts strained against the lace top, nearly falling out. Lucien almost wished they had even as he untangled himself from her body. A gentleman wouldn’t let a lady find herself wrapped around a male the way she was. Elain could preserve her dignity, hidden beneath the blanket he tucked back over her.
Lucien kept the memory, all the same.
#elucien#elucien fanfic#elucien fanfiction#okay everyone promises to let me take a nap#so i can finish the absurd chapter of wonderland#thelonelybarricade sent me so much smut inspo#but i am too dead in my brain to make the words good#elain x lucien#elucien as courtiers#elucien being sassy#elain bringing a king to his fucking knees because shes so hot
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this is a little insane of me but i want modern au characters to have american ibuprofen cuz i want them to have nice things (cheaper and stronger than ibuprofen in japan and also comes in huge bottles instead of blister packs) but i also want everybody to know this is an intentional creative choice i made. so wtf do i do like slap an entire footnote on a little drawing. i have so much autism
#i am NOT making kohei even TOUCH a blister pack. i care him. im giving him a bottle he can hold it btwn his knees to open it#and yes tsurumi gets bulk packs of ibuprofen shipped frm america. high lvl of chronic pain kings in the 7th#of course tsurumi and kohei both also take opioids cuz im fucking normal about pain meds :/ but might as well have an nsaid on hand#and tsukishima primarily takes ibuprofen 👆 so theyre getting this stuff anyway. might as well keep a couple extra bottles#my intense ibuprofen lore. no i barely know anything else abt my modern au. but by god do i know each characters pain management systems#NO i havent figured out exactly how all of them got disabled yet. but i will never never undisable a character in a modern au#if you ever make a character less disabled you go to hell before i personally come to your house and kill you. btw#og post
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𝝑𝑒 SYNOPSIS. sukuna is shameless—not caring if anyone were to ever catch him righteously claiming ownership over his favorite concubine in the garden.
wc. 1.5k-ish
tags. true form!sukuna x concubine!female reader. smut, pwp. exhibitionism. size difference. dumbification \\ objectification. has two c.ocks. hair pulling. use of spit (yeah ik i wouldnt write for it but its sukuna). breeding themes. overstimulation. reader gets called ‘little girl, slut’. sukuna’s a menace and loves to create drama between his concubines
“shut up. i don’t care if they’re here or not,” sukuna grunts, tightening his grip on your fleshy thighs as his lower cock slams in and out your sloppy cunt without much thought. the sound of pruning shears cutting off branches is easily overwhelmed by the lewd noises of skin slapping against skin.
you feel sorry for those servants who’re just doing their job tending to the garden. none of them dare to look your way. they’re sweating, eyes solely focused on the branches they’re cutting, acting like they are not hearing the sinful moans and grunts in the distance. if they look, they’re dead. that much is known.
everything is blurry to you. all you can manage to do is let out a string of pleasure filled whines. your body is easily overpowered and held up against the harsh wood of the nearby wall. your thighs are spread in an awfully painful way, your knees up to your chest. quite literally folded in half.
“i said eyes on me, y’ fuckin’ slut,” sukuna barks. he does not have the patience today. you breaking the intense eye contact with him only worsens his mood. one of his veiny hands tug at your hair. the others hold you up—not allowing you to even think of getting back on your feet until your tight cunt is done milking him for what he’s worth.
you gasp and sukuna takes the chance to grab your jaw with yet another free hand. “open y’r mouth,” his hips do not still for even a second. they roll and ground against yours, the surrounding skin near his pelvis stained with your wet juices. he could smell it. just as nasty and dirty as he wants it to be.
you part your lips and keep them like that, not wanting to piss sukuna off even more. he grins at the sight of your red tongue instinctively rolling out like the obedient little girl you are. he spits right into your mouth, “swallow.”
you do so without second thought. the warm liquid trickles down your throat. sukuna watches in satisfaction, drilling into you until your insides are complete mush. you’re drooling over yourself already—clearly having lost control over your rationality.
you sniffle and try to hold onto sukuna’s biceps. your small fingers curl around the shape of them, nails digging into his flesh. every time you think sukuna’s finally letting up, he only increases his inhuman pace. “my l-lord, ‘s too much,” you cry out. your body could only handle so much pleasure before it’d break down. your pussy is convulsing around his girthy cock, feeling his other sliding back and forth over your sensitive clit.
the king of curses shuts you up with a hiss. his bottom set of eyes is focused on the impressive scene of your tiny pussy swallowing his cock so easily. he’s feeling proud of the fact that he’s molded you into the perfect concubine for him and his carnal pleasure.
sukuna has fucked you silly enough times to know how to get you under his spell. his fingers brush over your hard nipples, grabbing the squishy flesh of your tits as they bounce with each of his thrusts. he leans his head down towards yours. his rough, raspy voice makes your body heat up, “no, no. it’s never too much for my little girl, right? she can easily take ‘nother load f’me.”
your breath hitches and sukuna realises it worked. he knows just what to say to manipulate you into giving in. so he can fuck you senseless for how long he wants. you’re a sucker for the fact that he calls you his. that’s what you are—you’re his woman. only his and no one else’s. the claim of ownership makes your pussy clench.
“y-yes, my lord. i can take another, i can,” you breathe out, head swaying from side to side, not mentally able anymore to keep up with sukuna’s intense libido. yet, your body is still active, squeezing around sukuna’s dick as he promised you more of his precious cum.
the king of curses snickers, amused by just how fast you gave in. “that’s what i thought, hah,” he’s realised that his hold on you knows no bounds. you’re his little toy. the only one he wants to ravish these days. and the only one worth of carrying his seed.
you’re still thinking about the way he’s called you ‘his little girl’. it’s driving you closer to the edge. you start to get louder, completely ignoring your inner thoughts that begged you to have some decorum; to try and hide the fact that you’re getting slutted out in the courtyard.
there’s not much hiding it anyway since the servants have a clear understanding of what’s going on behind them. “mghh, please—please need more!” you mewl and sukuna listens. his red eyes darken with desire as you get into it. he loves to experience that lust driven side of yours. a complete opposite to your usual formal and shy self.
“louder, c’mon. let them know i’m fucking you good,” sukuna sneers, enjoying the mind games he is playing with you. you’re too cockdrunk to even notice. the them in his sentence refers to his other concubines. he knows that you’re secretly craving to get revenge on them and show them just how well you get dicked down by him every single day.
unlike them, who rarely get graced by his touch. that is, when you’re unavailable.
you do as told and increase the volume of your erotic moans, letting everyone around the estate know what you’re getting up to. not like anyone could interfere. sukuna wouldn’t dare let them live a second after.
“that’s it, yeah,” the sorcerer grunts and rams his length repeatedly into you, cursing at the way you’re gripping him so tightly. you’re so dripping wet that he slips out of you for a second. he moves his hips, angling them better to slam back inside of you.
however, you’re one step ahead. your shaky hand reaches down between your legs and you quickly guide his tip to your entrance, urging him to push between your moist folds again. “nasty fuckin’ girl,” sukuna scoffs at your desperation, though secretly thrives off it. he switches cocks and shoves the upper one into your cunt.
you gasp. you’re so used to him to the point that you could sense the difference between his dicks. the upper one has more veins and is a tad bit girthier. you hiccup and nearly choke on your own moans and spit from the change of pace and dicks. “ngh, ‘tis so deep, my lord—” you whine loudly and your hands move to hold your breasts, stopping them from painfully jiggling around in every direction.
sukuna hums in content as he continues his rough thrusts. he can feel his balls twitch and clench, ready to shoot his sperm all up in your womb like you deserve. though, he doesn’t want to end this moment too quickly. he wants to extend it.
“c’mere,” sukuna grumbles and stops pounding your poor, aching cunt. he stills his dick inside you and allows you to cling onto his tall stature, lifting you away from the wall. he silently urges you to wrap your legs around his waist so he could carry you.
the robes of your kimono get left behind on the patch of grass near the wall of the main house. there’s a few droplets of white liquid that’s stained the grass, right where sukuna and you were standing at seconds ago.
you don’t think about anything anymore as you babble about how full you felt with his cock all the way in you. the fat tip brushes against your cervix with each step sukuna takes towards his next destination.
“keep talkin’ to me, doll. tell me how good it feels to take my cock,” he grins smugly as he carries your little body like a trophy into the main building—not paying mind to any maids who he passes by. they’re shocked by the sight of their lady in such a state, though are only able to bow at the two of you.
sukuna finally stops in front of the dinner table. the same table you always have dinner at with him and his other women. he places your back against the surface, big hands holding you down by your hips. “there we go,” he coos mockingly, seeing how you’re completely fucked out, yet still needing more of him.
the king of curses has his own twisted reasons of bringing you here. looking outside of the window, you notice how the sun is starting to set. that’s also the moment you realise his hidden motive.
the other concubines will sooner or later gather at the dining hall to eat supper. they’d expect a peaceful meal, though instead, they’ll be greeted by the sight of their dear lord screwing his favorite. it’ll be a painful blow to them.
which is exactly what the ruthless man wants to achieve.
sukuna licks his lips and all of his eyes focus on you solely, “gonna enjoy my dinner a bit earlier t’day, yeah?”
CR. STTORU 2024
#sttoru writes.#jjk smut#jjk x reader#sukuna smut#sukuna x reader#jjk x you#sukuna x you#jjk x y/n#sukuna x y/n
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can't stop thinking about king!gojo who is so strict and intimidating in his court. the whole kingdom is scared of him. when he walks in the room, the chatters immediately silence as if you could hear even a pin drop clearly. when he speaks, everyone holds their breath and only exhale when the king is done with his sentence. his voice is not loud or hoarse either. it's mellow and alluring. but people know behind that sugar laced voice, is someone who shows no mercy who does him wrong. people have seen him behead his enemies within five seconds in the conversation. he spares none. he is ruthless. but you...
you are his weakness. his queen. no one knows what happens behind the castle's door. no one knows how he gets on his knees, kissing up your ankle to your thigh as he slowly lifts your night gown. no one knows how he is pleading you to let him have a taste of you. kissing it and licking it. nobody knows how their ruthless king has your thighs choking him as he eats you. the same voice that sends shivers down everyone's spine is now begging you to make a mess on his face. if someone were to glance at your window, they'd see his pale face glistening in your juices in the candlelights, blood rushed to his nose and cheeks like he has taken an aphrodisiac. your hands tugging his white strands. you take your hand back before you pull too hard and hurt him but he yanks your wrist forward, placing them back on his head. he looks up at you, parting his face from your core.
"pull till you see tears in my eyes. it is an order."
fuck. king's order. what choice do you have despite following it.
#i should stop yapping about gojo tbh#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#gojo x you#gojo x reader#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#writers#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x y/n#royal au#jjk drabbles#jjk#jjk x you#jjk x y/n
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size kink!King Simon Riley x virgin!reader.
Simon's never fucked a virgin before. never had an appetite for them, really. the type he prefers are easy prey. the ones who'll let him rut his fat cock into them until he cums, who always marvel at how big he is. everywhere. who wimper through the stretch, brows pinched tight and fists balled up, but can't fight the victory in their eyes when they reach the bottom, taking him to the root. proud, then, that they conquered this particular beast. he's fine with what he has. really—
but then he finds you. and it's over when your little fawn eyes fall on him, bringing this massive beast to his knees.
the only problem is. he's too big. much too big for you.
he can't fuck you properly so he pushes his cock against your slit, squeezes your thighs tight together, and ruts you like this. a pale imitation of the real thing, of course. but he gets off on how small you look under him, how he pushes out from between your thighs with each stroke, leaking precum all over your belly. marking you.
sex with you is him breaking your pussy in on his thick, rough fingers. one has you wincing, teeth clenched tight. like you've never been touched before. fuck. sweet as pie, aren't you? then two. a tight fit, but he makes it work. suckles on your clit until you gush around him, pussy knotting up around his knuckles like a vice. three is evidently more than you can handle. you howl into the sheets as he forces another finger inside, tongue laving over the stretched skin of your cunt. makes it up to you by wringing out several orgasms with his fingers pressed inside of your cunt, his tongue glued to your clit. his jaw, chin, and neck are drenched, and he basks in tang of you while you wimper against his chest, little sniffles dying out as he cuts his big palm over your pussy, holding you like that. owned. claimed. (almost) all his.
when he isn't fingering you, or spreading you over the sheets, thighs stretched wide over his shoulders as he buries his face into your sweet, sweet pussy, he likes to tap the head of his cock against your slit, admiring the sheer vastitude of your differing sizes. his cock slides between your thighs in a way that it almost garish to look at. awful. strokes his cock the sight of it as he makes you suck on his fingers, and play with your nipples. cums all over your chest, your face. makes you cum all over his, too. it's only fair, after all.
or it's just the tip—literally—because that's the most he can push inside of you before you're whining his name, little fists pounding his chest, pushing him back, trying to get this battering ram out of your sore, stuffed pussy. so he settles for working you open on three fingers, his tongue. loosening you up as much as he can before pushing the head of his fat cock inside of you until you start whimpering out his name. too much, too much, too much—
and then he leans back on his haunches to watch as your hands stroke along his shaft, letting just the head of his cock shallowly fuck into you, stretching your cunt out around him. it's obscene. lewd. he thinks he can smell brimstone clogging his nose, flaming licking his skin, with each inch he forces you to take. gets off on the sight alone, of him greedily giving you another inch. and then another. another. can already see the bulge in your belly. the heavy outline of his thick cock splitting you apart.
he cums inside of you like this. just the tip, fuckin' hell. cumming in your pussy as you masterbate his cock and whine at the too full, overstuffed feeling of him filling you up.
he can't help but to imagine what it would be like when you finally give in, when he pushes the full length of himself into you, splitting you apart around his considerable girth—
feels his cock pulse in response, spitting more spend out into your drenched cunt, plugged up nice and tight around him.
Simon knows you were made for him (and him alone). it's just that some toys need to be broken in before you can play with them. he'll see to it that you're broken in just right.
#idk where this came from but w/e#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley#simon riley x you#ghost x you#simon riley
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When it comes to sex with you, Simon Riley doesn’t fuck you- he worships you.
Fucking is for the people who’d come before you. Emotionless one night stands, with people he never gave a second thought. Trysts that never meant anything beyond the bedroom. But you? Oh no, he doesn’t fuck you.
He’ll kiss you, deep and slow, his mouth moving against yours in an agonizing way. His tongue will explore your mouth, tasting you, groaning against the feel of your lips against his.
His eyes will undress you before his fingers do. His deep brown irises will take down your entire body, burning the image into his brain before he has his way with you.
He takes his time with you, his hands and mouth exploring every inch of your body as he undresses you- memorizing the feel, and taste of you it like it’s the back of his own hand.
He pays special attention to the spots that rile you up- the spots that have your pretty eyes rolling into the back of your head. He’d be lying if the sight didn’t make his cock twitch every time.
He’ll never let you cum around his cock first- oh no. He wants, no needs for you to come undone around his fingers, or his tongue before he’ll put his cock anywhere near that tight little hole of yours.
He’ll lap at you like a man starved, addicted to the sheer taste of you- never not leaving you a moaning mess beneath his tongue. You’re his to savor, and he’ll gladly fucking do it every time.
His eyes will never leave yours as he thrusts himself into you. He needs to watch what your reactions. It’s a fucking drug and one he’s beyond addicted to. He’ll groan, moan, whimper whatever sound he can muster at the time to let you know JUST how much he enjoys your wet hole clenching around him.
He’ll always make sure you cum first. He’s a man of great stamina and will be damned if his baby doesn’t cum around him first. The sight of you reaching your release always being what sends him over the edge.
And he’s the KING of aftercare. Always massaging your sore limbs, kissing the forming bruises that now litter your skin, and holding you closely as you drift off to a peaceful slumber.
Simon will never tell you this, but at times when the man’s feelings particularly feral, after you’re asleep he’ll lean down, his face close to your hole as he watches your combined juices leaking out of you.
To him, you deserve to be worshipped. You are the love of his life, his muse, his holy fucking grail, and you deserve to be treated as so. And if that means getting on his knees for you and making you come undone in every way possible- goddamn will he do it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: apologies for the spam posts the last few days. cod has once again engulfed my brain.
#simon riley imagine#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#cod imagine#mw2 imagine#ghost x reader#ghost mw2#simon ghost riley mw2#simon riley smut#simon riley#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley#simon ghost x reader
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on my knees begging for some Lucifer smut. Hes such a dork I need him biblically 😭
OMG LITERALLY SAME I LOVE HIM SO MUCH I WANNA EAT HIM UP 🫶🫶
anyways i’m obsessed with him so i’m gonna do nsfw hcs and a little drabble at the end bc bestie i need him too
art by hellpple_hz on twitters
❀˖° So let me just say, if been a long time since he’s gotten laid so he’s probably so nervous about it.
❀˖° I could see him being a switch but never really a hard dom, more of a sevice top. Like when he tops it would be all about your needs.
❀˖° He definitely loves, probably prefers, when you take control and treat him. He loves feeling cared for it’s so sad.
❀˖° Has a huge praise kink, giving and receiving. He just likes to know he’s doing well.
❀˖° “good boy” “pretty boy” “pretty baby” are his favorites because he really wants to feel appreciated by you.
❀˖° If you call him on of those during sex he’ll probably whine on the spot because he’s just pathetic like that.
❀˖° Intimacy while doing it is a must. Like please hold his hand when you tell him you’re close. He wants to feel as connected to you as possible.
❀˖° I’m pretty sure Lilith canonically pegged him so… yeah he’s very into that. Being fully taken care of by you while you’re fucking your strap into him.
❀˖° He’s the king of hell and he’s probably very stressed all the time so not having to think or make decisions would make him very happy.
❀˖° When he tops, I feel like he also praises you a lot. I also don’t see him being too dominate and rough.
❀˖° His style is definitely more gentle and caring as he fucks you. He fucks you like you’re made of porcelain, not wanting to break you and only wanting to let you know how perfect you are.
❀˖° I don’t think he’s extremely kinky but I do think he’s SUPER VOCAL. Have you heard his voice? he just sounds like he whines.
❀˖° If you praise him too much he probably tears up under all the attention. Lovingly fucking him and telling him he’s perfect? He will actually cry.
❀˖° When he goes into subspace he’s actually so cute. He just begs you to tell him how well he’s doing and that you love him. To the point where he doesn’t even understand anything else if it’s not praise.
❀˖° Also very sweet during aftercare! Definitely makes breakfast for you the morning after.
“Just like that baby, you’re doing so good for me,” you cooed as you rode lucifer into what be another orgasm of the night.
“My love, nngh, please,” he whimpered and threw his head back. His face was puffy from crying and his hair was in shambles from all the attention.
“So pretty like this, sweetheart. So pretty, letting me use you as a toy,” you smile as he lets out a broken whimper from the praise.
A tear rolls down his cheek and he lets out a soft whine when you roll your hips and pick up the pace.
You lean forward and breathe into his neck, “you’re doing amazing, Luci, you’re taking it so well.”
He half sobs and arches his back. You pepper kisses all over his tear-covered as your hands lovingly trace his body.
“Please…” he whispers pathetically, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Please what, baby?” You say sweetly as you continue to milk him dry with your pussy.
“Please,” his brows furrow tightly as if he’s trying to remember how to speak under all the pleasure, “please let me cum.”
You smile and ride him faster, starting to loose composure yourself now.
“Whenever you want, Luci,” you sigh and let your head fall slightly back as you feel your own climax approaching.
Lucifer whined loudly and bucked his hips up into your cunt.
“My love, nngh,” he moaned uselessly as his eyes filled with more tears. You picked up the pace and Lucifer arched into your touch, chasing his orgasm.
“Good boy, making me feel so good, baby.”
That was his breaking point. With your climax following soon after, he moaned loudly, finally releasing and falling back onto the mattress, chest heaving.
“Oh my goodness,” he panted, “Th-thank you, my love.” He shut his eyes and softly smiled, exhaustion finally setting in.
“You did amazing,” you say softly, leaning down to kiss his cheek before picking yourself up off of his overstimulated cock.
His eyes fluttered open slightly when he felt your hand slowly tracing down to the base of his cock.
“But we’re not done yet.”
a/n: real men say ‘oh my goodness’ after an orgasm
remember that
#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel#lucifer morningstar x reader#lucifer hazbin hotel#lucifer morningstar#lucifer x reader#dom reader#hazbin hotel smut
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✨His Queen✨
Short drabble I wanted to write because I am unwell for this man…
Lucifer x f!sinner reader
Summary: Your first time with the King of Hell, and he might be even more nervous than you are~
(I don’t even have a set up for this, I’m diving in head first like I would for Lucifer. This is just porn without plot 🤷🏻♀️)
Tag list: @trashbin-nie
@yellowsubiesdance
@j-jinxee
@stevensdickrider
@airwolf92
@mrssabinecallas
@myhornybrainonlyknowsthis
@bee-sinner
@thesoccerenthusiast
Warnings: 18+, smut, humping, pet names, oral (m & f receiving), fingering, p in v, service top!Lucifer
All throughout, the only thing that could be heard in Lucifer’s home was the sound of your lips crashing into his relentlessly. Your nightgown draped over his legs while sitting in his lap for at least an hour now, on his throne, no less. You’re breathless, your lips are swollen, and you can’t get enough. You haven’t pulled apart in what seems like an eternity, Lucifer moaning into your mouth as your tongues intertwine. However, you’ve become increasingly more aware of the bugle that’s growing between your legs. Ever so slowly, you start to rock your hips back and forth. Lucifer instantly freezes from the sudden sensation, inhaling sharply.
“I’m sorry,” you apologized sheepishly, “I didn’t mean…”
Lucifer cut you off with another kiss before you could finish your sentence. “Please don’t stop, love,” he whispered.
Blood rushes to your cheeks from hearing those words. You felt Lucifer’s hands travel down the sides of your body, stopping at your hips. You start rocking your hips again, eliciting such sweet moans from him. He was so sensitive and you knew it, you knew you could make him putty in your hands and that excited you!
“F-Fuck, sweetheart…,” Lucifer moaned, “this is…this feels amazing.”
One of his hands slid down your thigh at an agonizingly slow pace and you continued your motions. His hand stopped when he felt the soft cloth of panties. He tried to hide his small smirk from you, but you caught him. You knew the fabric must have been wet, and it’s clear from his reaction that he noticed too.
“May I, my angel?”, Lucifer asked softly. You nodded your head wordlessly. You stood up almost too quickly as Lucifer reached for the hem of your panties. You felt them get dragged further and further down your legs until they finally touched your feet and hit the floor. You resumed your potion, straddling Lucifer once more.
He reached down to press his fingers at your folds for the first time. You felt your face heat up, it was something you’ve been wanting for so long. Lucifer exhaled heavily, his painted cheeks flushing a different shade of red. You could feel his hand trembling against you.
It’s been a while since he’s been intimate with anyone, Lilith had been gone for so long. Lucifer had been so alone during that time, never pursuing another lover. Until you, of course.
Noticing his hesitation, you brought your hands to his cheeks, cupping his face. His shining red eyes stared into yours as you leaned in for another kiss. “It’s alright, Luci, take your time,” you soothed him.
“Thank you, love,” he smiled. After a deep breath, Lucifer finally began to tease your entrance, running his fingers up and down your slit. You grabbed onto his shoulders as if you were hanging on for dear life. His thumb found its way to your clit, circling it slowly. You couldn’t help but let out a moan. His fingers began to push up into you, thrusting them in and out of you at an even pace.
You rested your forehead on the crook of his neck, your cries were stifling and your checks were burning. “O-ohh my God, Lucifer, you fee-feel so good.” Lucifer placed his lips on your neck and began to bite and suck every inch of it. Your knees were becoming weaker and weaker, you felt a tightening in the pit of your stomach with every motion of his fingers.
But suddenly, Lucifer removed his fingers from you, making you whine in protest. You pulled your head up to ask why he stopped, but it became very evident. He brought his fingers to his mouth and began to suck on them. You pushed your face back down into his shoulder to hide your reddened face.
“Mmmm, you taste absolutely delightful, darling, ” he murmured in your ear. “I need more.”
Without warning, Lucifer scooped you up in his arms and carried you to his bedroom right across the hall. You always forgot how strong he was considering his stature, but it never failed to amaze you. Once he reached the side of his bed, he laid you down as gingerly as possible, positioning your head onto his pillow.
“Wait,” you said, pulling yourself upright and positioning yourself on your knees. You reached for Lucifer’s shirt and began to unbutton it hesitantly. Lucifer said nothing, only nodding, letting you continue your work. His face became flushed once more, you couldn’t help but smile at the way you made him feel. Almost prideful. Almost.
You made your way to the last button and gently push his shirt off his shoulders, letting it hit the ground. He was beautiful, his pale skin was mesmerizing like a marble statue. But he was warm, very warm, you noticed as you ran your hand down his chest. “Beautiful…,” you said to no one in particular. But Lucifer had impeccable hearing.
“My love, nothing compares to your beauty,” Lucifer sighed. “I want to devour you. Please, let me see you?”
With some hesitation, you reached down to the bottom of your nightgown to pull it up over your head. Your body now laid bare before him. You went to cover yourself with your arms, but Lucifer held your wrists before you could.
“Don’t cover yourself, darling,” he pleaded, “you’re the most intoxicating creature I’ve even had the pleasure of laying my eyes on.” He leaned into you again and planted a passionate kiss on your lips, you couldn’t help but moan into him. He pulled away, looking longingly into your eyes. But only for a moment. His eyes couldn’t resist trailing down to look at your chest, his face turning beet red.
“My eyes are up here, Luci,” you said jokingly.
“Forgive me, sweetheart,” Lucifer apologized and snapped his head back up to look at you once more. You chuckled and pulled your hands away from his loose grip to grab his instead. You placed each of his hands on your breasts, almost making Lucifer lose his composure. “So soft…,” he murmured as he began to softly knead at your skin. “Lay down on your back for me, love. I only had a small taste of you, I have to have more…”
You gulped hard, doing as he says. You untucked your legs from under you and rested your head against his pillow once more. You stared at the ceiling, too embarrassed to think about what was happening. You felt Lucifer’s sharp hands on both of your knees, snapping you out of your trance and forcing you to focus on him.
“Open up, angel,” Lucifer asked sweetly. Whenever he spoke like that to you, it was impossible to say no. With a shaky breath, you part your legs, exposing your glistening pussy to him. Lucifer’s shaky breathing echoed in his large bedroom. “S-Shit,” he choked out, “forgive me for this.”
Lucifer’s head fell between your legs in an instant, his hands resting on the inside of your thighs. You let out a strangled yelp at his tongue began to lick up and down your wet folds. Fuck! It felt better than you could have imagined. His tongue darted in and out of you, his lips vibrated against you and he moaned and hummed from lapping you up.
“L-Lucifer, f-fuck ohmygod!,” you cried out. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop!”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, my dear,” he responded coyly. You could feel a smile creep across his face as he continued to eat you up. Lucifer took one of his hands and placed two of his fingers right by your entrance, it was almost painful waiting for him to put them in you. “I need you to cum for me, I’m not stopping until you do,” he whispered before plunging his two fingers into your ruined cunt once more. That alone almost sent you over the edge. He began to pump his fingers in and out of you, faster and faster, while his tongue tortured your clit. He continued at a relentless pace, never giving you a chance to relax. Your mind was beyond foggy, you couldn’t even tell him to stop even if you wanted to. Which you didn’t.
“Luci…L-Luci I’mgonnacumFUCK,” you nearly yelled. The tightness in your stomach was threatening to snap. You gripped his soft and silky blond hair as he brought you to the very edge.
“Promise?,” Lucifer responded while pushing a third finger inside of you.
That was it, your head snaps back and a breathless scream escapes your lungs. Your orgasm hits you like a freight train. You feel your walls start to pulsate around his fingers which refuse to slow down. Lucifer devours the mess your soaking pussy made while letting you ride out your high. You finally come back down to earth (so to speak) and are able to breathe again, beads of sweat pooling on your forehead. Lucifer retreats his fingers from you and takes one last taste of you from his now cum-soaked fingers.
“Mmmm, fuck sweetheart, never tasted anything more enticing than you in my entire existence,” Lucifer praised. You brought your hands to face to cover up your cherry red cheeks. His words never failed to make your head fuzzy.
“Luciferrrrr,” you whine playfully, “you can’t just say things like that!”
Lucifer chuckled, “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, love.”
You propped up onto your elbows. Lucifer had straightened up and was now on his knees in front of you. Your eyesight trailed downward and it was obvious how hard he was. His cock painfully straining against his pants. He noticed your stare sheepishly looked away.
“Your turn,” you said as you crawled towards him, only stopping an inch away from the large bulge he had in his pants. It lit a fire in you. It was his turn to be devoured.
“Y-You don’t have to do that, hon, I’m alr-”
You cut him off by placing your hand on his clothed cock. Lucifer immediately tensed up. “You’re right, I don’t have to,” you said looking up at him with ravenous eyes, “but I want to.” You heard Lucifer audibly gulp. “On your back, Luci,” you coerced.
Lucifer nodded and did as you said. He made his way to his pillow and laid down, holding his breath. You began your ascent, crawling and hovering over him. He looked so adorable beneath you. Your hands made their way to his belt, pulling it off in a flash with a clank to the floor. The button and zipper were next. Carefully you undid both with ease. You reached for the hem of his white pants and eased them down his legs. All that remained were his briefs. And my God, they left little to the imagination.
It didn’t occur to you until just now that you’ve never seen Lucifer’s dick before. It drove you wild just seeing the outline of it. He was huge. You bit down on your lip without thinking, Lucifer looked away from you in embarrassment. It was then that you noticed the large wet spot on his briefs from his leaking tip. He was an absolute mess, all because of you. A wonderful sight to behold, for sure.
You couldn’t wait any longer. You reached up to pull down his briefs, setting his cock free at last. It was impossible to look away, you knew you had to eat him up immediately. His dick continued to leak precum onto his stomach, Lucifer’s hands gripped the sheets beneath him as he watched you inch closer and closer to his cock. You placed your hands on either side of it, massaging everything around the one area he needed you to touch. He bucked his hips up at your touch impatiently.
“Please,” you heard Lucifer beg, “pleasepleaseplease!” The sounds of his desperate pleas sent waves of pleasure through your body, it drove you mad. Not wanting to torture him any longer, you took ahold of his cock and placed his tip into your hot mouth. You heard a broken moan escape from him as you lapped and sucked on the head, licking up every drop of precum that had leaked out. It was salty, but you didn’t mind. He tasted divine.
You began to bob your head up and down on his shaft, taking in as much of him as you possibly could. You knew you would choke otherwise. Your one hand remained on his hip to keep him from bucking up into your month while the other hand pumped his cock in tandem with your mouth. You figured it might be fruitless to try and hold him down since he could overpower you in an instant, but you knew he wouldn’t ever hurt you.
You saw that he was unraveling quickly, but you didn’t want this to end so soon. His staggered breathing and wanton moans were music to your ears, you’d do anything to keep hearing them. You trailed a long lick up from the base of his shaft to the head were you peppered a few kisses. One of Lucifer’s hands flew to his mouth to keep himself from being any louder than he already was while the other white-knuckled the bed sheets. It was an absolute dream to see the King of Hell be undone by you.
You felt him throbbing in your mouth, you knew he was close. But all of a sudden, two hands flew to your shoulders to push you off. “Wait, wait, wait!,” he pleaded as you let go of him completely.
“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry! Did I hurt you?,” you asked ashamed.
“No, no! Of course not,” he reassured you, placing a hand under your chin. “You…fuck, you felt so good, my love. But…”
You didn’t even know what happened until you were on your back now looking up at Lucifer hovered above you. You noticed his eyes had turned a haunting red and yellow, with black slit irises piecing your soul. His horns had burst from his head with torn flesh wrapped around the base of each, adorning his snake-shaped halo with a burning flame below it. His angelic wings sprouted out from his back, enveloping the entire bed in shadow. His tail had popped out as well, whipping back and forth behind him as if he were a predator on the hunt. You were his prey.
“I’m having a really hard time keeping it together, darling,” he spoke quietly, almost ashamed at his lack of control. His more demonic form caught you off guard, but you weren’t afraid. You smiled at him, reassuring that you were alright. He smiled back, showing off his large sharp teeth. It made you shiver. God, you wanted him. And you wanted him now.
“I-I need…shit…c-can I…,” Lucifer fumbled over his words, struggling to form a coherent sentence. You cupped his face in you hands and planted a soft kiss on his lips. You reached one hand up to stroke one of his wings, curiosity getting the better of you. You could have sworn it was the softest thing you’ve ever felt, you were entranced. Lucifer let out a low hum, his wing leaning into your gentle touch.
“Yes, you can, Lucifer,” you murmured into his lips. “Fuck me now, please, I need you…”
His composure broke completely. His lips crashed into yours with a vigorous force. You wrapped your hands around his neck to bring him as close to you as he could possibly get. You felt the head of his cock graze your entrance. You whimpered at the sensation. Lucifer looked at you expectantly, only for you to silently nod your head.
All you felt next was his cock sliding into your pussy until he was fully sheathed inside of you. It took a few seconds to remember how to breathe again. He stretched you out, filling up every inch of you completely. Lucifer couldn’t help but bite down on your shoulder, desperately trying not to cum right then and there. After only a moment or two of getting used to his size, your body started to relax around him.
“Please move, Luci,” you moaned.
Lucifer retracted the grip his teeth he had on your shoulder and placed his forehead onto yours. Ever so slowly, he started to shift his hips, taking his cock out just to pump it back into you at a rhythmic speed. But of course it didn’t take long for him to pick up the pace, his thrusts becoming more and more staggered and uneven.
You could have sworn you were seeing stars. Or perhaps it was the light bouncing off the tears forming in your eyes. It was a pleasure you’ve never felt before. You felt whole. That new knot in your stomach was tightening once again, and was threatening to release with more force than before.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Lucifer whispered, clenching his teeth and screwing his eyes tight. “Gonna cum, love…gonna cum, FUCKFUCKFUCK!”
Quickly you wrapped your legs around his waist, making sure he stayed in place. “M-me too, sshhhiiit,” you managed to choke out. “Cum in me, pleasepleasepleasecuminmeLucifer!”
Those words made him incoherent. He held your hips down as he thrusted into hard and fast. At last, you felt him throbbing inside of you, emptying his load into your waiting cunt. You screamed as that sensation pushed you over the edge as well, your newly painted white walls pulsating on his cock.
Both of you could hardly catch your breath, your orgasms finally fading away. He stayed inside of you for only a minute longer before pulling out. Your body mourned that sensation already. Lucifer fell down next to you in the bed, his demon form receding. You watched as his chest rose and fell at a slow and even pace. He turned towards you and smiled, he tucked some hair behind your ear that had fallen in your face.
“Thank you for that, my angel,” he spoke softly. “You were perfect.”
You couldn’t help but smile. You scooted your body closer to him, nuzzling yourself into his chest. Still so warm. “No,” you said, “thank you, Lucifer. That was heavenly…no pun intended!”
He chuckled. “Funny you say that considering where we are, my little duckling.” He grabbed you by the waist and ever so gently placed your body on top of his. He let his wings spread once more, wrapping them and his arms around you in a soft and tender embrace. “I love you so much, sweetheart.”
You smile and gave Lucifer one last small peck on the lips before your body collapsed from exhaustion. “I love you more, my king.”
~~~~~
I’m not seeing the pearly gates after this one, lads!!
But please let me know what you think of my very first NSFW fic, I was nervous about writing about something I’m not well versed in 😅
I had fun though and that’s what matters!
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel smut#hazbin hotel x reader#lucifer morningstar#hazbin hotel lucifer#hazbin lucifer#lucifer x reader#lucifer morningstar x reader#lucifer smut#my writing
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TAKE OFF YOUR PANTIES, HUH .ᐟ
ft. jjk men & their reactions to your new lingerie set <3
cw : highly suggestive. cursing. mentions of oral f!r, fingering, squirting. allusions to s3x. petnames ( angel, baby, sweetheart, my love, doll, good girl ). @sinugu @vegazm for youssss !! :>
ᰔ˚⊹ — GOJO
satoru thinks nothing in this world could ever top the sight of you in pretty white lace. you look like an angel, he’ll say. when he comes home from a long day at work, you’re his darling deity here to rescue him from his stressful life. satoru will stare at you, clad in your cheeky white panties and silky laced white bra. and maybe, he’s the devil to your angel, because he’s ready to ravage you like a wild animal as soon as he walks through the door. he rips your brand new set ? that’s alright, he can always buy you a new one.
“ all dressed up f’me ? fuck, s’pretty. c’mere angel, promise i wont bite. ”
ᰔ˚⊹ — GETO
suguru swears under his breath the moment he walks into your shared room and sees you all dressed in pretty pastel pink. he’ll pretend to be all nice and calm at first, but don’t let the good guy act fool you, because as soon as he reaches the end of the bed where you reside, you’re absolutely done for. he’ll make you keep that set on when he’s licking a stripe up your panties, only letting you take them off when you’re practically begging for him to stop teasing. that’s only the beginning of it, because you’re still clad in your pink bra 3 orgasms later, and he’s still nose deep in your pussy.
“ oh ? s’cute, baby. now lemme get a taste of those new panties, yeah ? ”
ᰔ˚⊹ — CHOSO
choso is almost as flustered as you are. walking in to see his precious girlfriend, all dressed up in periwinkle lace and frilly hems. oh, you just look so cute and so tempting he cant help but grow hard almost immediately upon entering the room. his cheeks will grow into a furious blush, face red and hot as he compliments you and your stunning new lingerie. but be careful, because once choso has you, you might not be able to get away. he’ll beg you to keep the whole set on the entire time, sucking around your plush tits and running his fingers over your soaked panties, completely desperate and eager to have you all to himself.
“ you look so beautiful, sweetheart. can i touch you ? please ? wanna feel you so bad... ”
ᰔ˚⊹ — SUKUNA
ryomen gets cocky from seeing you all dressed up, and it’s just for his eyes only. his hands will explore every crevice of you they can, finger hooking on your red bra strap to chuckle at the way you whimper when it snaps back. he’ll have you sat on his lap, holding you still at his mercy on his kings chair. oh, and you might want to get yourself another set of garments, because those panties are going straight into his pocket for later when he’s done with you.
“ yeah ? got all prettied up f’me ? come sit on my lap like a good girl, you deserve a throne. ”
ᰔ˚⊹ — NANAMI
nanami thinks that this is just what he needed. coming home to his pretty girl after a days worth of frustration, eager to let out his stress on you. and god, that lingerie looked so good he practically fell to his knees the second he made it through the door. he’ll have you pressed up against his chest, shushing you as you whine and squirm in his hold as his fingers drill into you at an unforgiving speed. he’ll keep going, pleasing you to no end until you’re bucking your hips and squirting all over his hand.
“ so gorgeous, my love. such a good girl f’me. let me show you just how much this means to me, hm ? ”
ᰔ˚⊹ — TOJI
toji believes that he’s just won the lottery, and you’re his shining prize. all fancied up in sleek black lingerie, lace and mesh covering the expanse of your desirable skin. he’s ready to give you exactly what you want, if you’ll let him have you. and don’t be upset if he rips your pretty fishnets, because he’ll just fuck that cute pout off your face. he’ll pound into you mercilessly from behind, obscene hole ripped into your tights so he can fit inside you just right.
“ aw, how precious. don’t worry, i’ll treat ya nice. face down, ass up, doll. ”
©KISSINKOU — do not copy, steal, plagiarize, take inspo from without consulting, or translate my work.
@/nyyrami has plagiarized this work of mine. please beware !!
#gojo satoru#gojo x reader#geto suguru#geto x reader#nanami kento#nanami x reader#toji fushiguro#toji x reader#ryomen sukuna#sukuna x reader#choso kamo#choso x reader#jjk x y/n#jjk x you#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jjk#choso smut#nanami smut#gojo smut#toji smut#sukuna smut#geto smut#jjk scenarios#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk gojo#jjk geto#jjk toji
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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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Poly 141 x Reader
Home is where you are
"What ye think she made this time?"
Johnny mumbles, dropping his head back against the seat behind him. Blinking tiredly up at the ceiling of the truck, a daydream clear in his eyes. Simon next to him stares out the window, sweat seems to practically seal his balaclava to his face.
"We'd be lucky if anything. It's three in the fucking morning.."
Kyle says from the passenger seat. Pursing his lips a bit.
"She should be sleeping.."
Price chuckles from the driver's seat, hand on the steering wheel, paying close attention to the road.
"She knows we're on our way home. If she made something. We'll be thankful."
His other hand is resting on Kyle's knee, his thumb rubs slow circles against him.
Simons foot taps on the floor of the car silently, brows tight together. The man just wants to go home, shower, eat whatever heaven you cooked and sink into that california king mattress. With all of you, all five of you together.
"Steaks."
He mutters.
"Hm?"
Johnny questions with a hum, Simon clarifies.
"On days we come home.. it's either steak or shepherds pie. She made shepherds pie last time so it's gonna be steak."
They all salivate at the damn thought.
"It's tha little things with ye huh Simon?"
Johnny smiles warmly, leaning on his shoulder.
It was another thirty minutes driving before they finally pulled into the secluded driveway. Their safehouse. Their home. Where you are. Filing out of the truck, bags over their shoulders. Covered in grime and dried blood, they didn't even let themselves clean up at base before going home to you. Walking forward, Simon slings an arm around Kyle's shoulder. Tucking the sargeant into his side as they walk to the house. Both Johns walking behind them, Price giving the younger a good slap on the back.
"Home, boys. Let's enjoy it while we can."
Price comes forward to unlock the front door, pushing it open for the four of them. Mumbling out a reminder to take off their shoes inside. Leaning down with a grunt to pull off his boots. The others doing the same. They can already smell what you're cooking, Simon was right. The smell of steaks is pretty clear, garlic butter, some kind of steamed vegetables and spices.
The house is clean. Warm. Low lighting, some candles lit. Everything about it screams home. John opens his mouth to call out for you, but he can feel his spine practically melt hearing you hum in the kitchen.
Johnny is the first stumbling forward, hopping on one leg as he throws off his remaining shoe. Eager to get back to you. Grinning as he comes around the corner into the kitchen. He melts. Seeing you there, in your chair dishing up their plates of dinner.
".. Hey lass.."
He mumbles, feeling like all the air left his chest.
You turn your head when you hear him, the brightest smile spreads across your face. Tossing the fork down from your hand as you turn towards him.
"Hey soldier-"
You beam. You don't even get another word in before Johnny rushes towards you, you let out a puff of air as he crashes into you. Laughing against him as he squeezes you to his chest, his face buried in your hair.
"Fuckin' missed ye hen.."
He whispers. You return with one of your own.
"I know baby.. I missed you too.."
You lift your head, kissing the scar on his chin.
"This bloke botherin' you love?"
You already know that voice immediately, smiling as you turn to look at Kyle. Who is quick at your side with Johnny, his hand cups the back of your head. Pressing a long kiss to your cheek. Taking a deep inhale of your scent through his nose. You smile warmly, your hand finds his bicep, giving a soft squeeze.
"There you are Kyle.."
You murmur, turning your head to press your own kisses across the bridge of his nose.
"Always here."
He chirps, kissing on your skin. His eyes bore into you, drinking you up. Johnny huffs, mumbling something about stealing all your attention. Earning a small tug on his mowhawk from you.
"Alright you two- showers. The both of you. You need it-"
You chuckle, giving them both a hug. Giving Johnny one more kiss on the jaw. Letting Gaz get one more kiss on your face. Watching them head past you down the hall to the bathroom. Kissing on eachother, bumping into walls. You shake your head at them with a smile.
Eyes flicking back to the entrance. You find Simon staring at you, his shoulders slack and sinking. Eyes half lidded and tired. The rest of his face under the balaclava. Your eyes soften, holding out your hand to him.
"Oh Si.."
He takes the invitation. Coming over to you. He would tower over you in height. But instead he falls to one knee in front of your chair. Hands resting on the arm rests of your chair. Your hands immediately cradle his head. Leaning forward to press your head to his.
"You're home.. it's alright now .. no more Lieutenant.."
You whisper against him. Your fingertips lift the edge of the balaclava, pulling it over the nape of his neck. Over the back of his head, nails dragging soothingly up his scalp as you take the fabric away. Making him shiver in vulnerability. Putting his mask aside on the counter.
Seeing your Simons face eases the both of you, cupping his jaw and lifting his head.
"I know doll.. I know."
He mutters, you kiss his temple. Caressing his skin. Threading your fingers into his hair.
"Go shower with the boys sweetheart.. I'll be in there soon."
You coo at him. He chuckles deeply, kissing your head between your brows as he gets up. Bumping your foreheads together one more time before walking to the bathroom.
"You're not gonna say hello to me John?"
You joke, turning your head to watch said Captain. Who was holding his hat in hand, leaning against the wall watching you. He's been watching you the whole time.
"Just seein' you with our boys darlin'.."
Pushing away from the wall he walks over to you. His eyes full of exhaustion, longing, warmth. Tossing his hat on the counter behind you. He leans down, callous hands hold your cheeks. Bringing your lips to his.
He's not as sneaky as he thinks. You know of his little demand to the boys. He's the first to kiss you. Each time they come home.
You kiss him back feverishly, as much as you've been calm and steady for them. You missed your men like hell. Your hands find his shoulders, squeezing them tightly, beginning to work on the knots of tension in them. Emitting a deep groan from John into your mouth. You smile against his lips, feeling the scratch off his beard.
"Everyone's alright?"
You whisper against him. He nods, his hands finding your hips. Slightly lifting you from your chair and towards himself.
"No one's broken. .. Kyle's a little stressed. Y'know how he is.."
You nod, eyes still closed, continuing to brush your lips together.
"And you?"
"Just tired.. But I'm home. That's what matters."
John mumbles, kissing you deep again. Dipping his tongue past your lips, a soft sigh slipping out of you. Arms pulling him closer.
"Taking good care of our boys John.. You always do.. Making sure you all come home to me again... Our strong Captain.."
You can feel him sinking at your praise. The older mans knees want to buckle at your voice.
"Let's get you in the shower baby.. Hm? Get you washed and relaxed.."
You mumble against him.
You yelp as your lifted into the air by his arms, laughing openly as he carries you like a bride. Burying his nose to the crook of your neck. Carrying you down the hall, to the bathroom door. Where you can already hear the chatter of the men in the shower waiting for the two of you. John is grumbling against your skin.
"We need you darlin'. "
"Our boys and I need you bad.."
#disabled reader#cod x reader#call of duty x reader#cod mw x reader#johnny mactavish x reader#simon riley x reader#kyle garrick x reader#john price x reader#poly 141 x reader#taskforce 141 x reader#simon ghost x reader#johnny soap mctavish x reader#kyle gaz x reader#captain john price x reader
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fav concubine trying to top but sukuna is... sukuna so he fucks her full nelson <3
𝝑𝑒 SYNOPSIS. trying to show lord sukuna that you can indeed be on top of him in bed ends up backfiring almost immediately & results in you nearly passing out.
wc. 1.2k
tags. true form!sukuna x concubine!female reader. smut, pwp. size difference. full nelson position. degredation. objectification. mention of (almost) passing out. reader gets called ‘doll, little girl, woman.’ beta read? nope
“i can do it, my lord,” you huff stubbornly. you don’t know where you got the courage from to be so assertive tonight. maybe it’s because of sukuna’s earlier words—those mocking words that he uttered to get a rise out of you. or to see you scared, perhaps.
‘y’re gonna need to do a lot more to keep me entertained, doll. gonna get bored of ya if y’ don’t.’
the sentences repeat in your head like a never ending chant. on one hand, you know sukuna was simply trying to play with your emotions, but on the other hand, you’re afraid that there might be some truth to his words. so, you take up the challenge.
“y’ can’t do shit, little girl,” sukuna rolls his eyes as he sees you climb onto his lap. his thick thighs are spread, his broad back against the headboard of the bed.
he doesn’t even try helping you like he usually does, with his hands guiding your hips. if you’re stubborn enough to try and be on top of the king of curses out of all people, you’re going to get minimal help.
“yes i can,” you mumble with a sense of uncertainty in your voice. you’ve never really done any of this. you’re usually on the receiving end, having sukuna easily move and bend your body however he sees fit. you’ve never imagined being in his place, “just watch me, my lord.”
you’re desperate to please him. you’re scared to lose your position as his favorite. you let the words get to your head—just like sukuna expected. the fact that you’re so gullible makes him stifle a condescending laugh.
“all ‘m seeing is you struggling to ride me,” the tall man clicks his tongue and his eyes lazily watch your attempts to sink down on his two, hard and dripping cocks. the contact his leaking tips makes with your cunt is enough to make sukuna grunt.
he’s trying hard to not slam you down on him fully. he’s used to take control—too used to it. seeing you struggle to even start is making him impatient.
“i-i’ll get it eventually, my lord,” you hiccup, nervous because of the fact that you’re on top of such a huge man. he’s staring at you menacingly, all his arms crossed over his chest. your hips tremble as you slide one of his cocks into your warm pussy, both of you hissing at the direct contact.
you try to fit the other in the same hole, but you simply cannot handle it at the moment. his upper dick slips right out and bumps against your clit instead. you clumsily fumble with the same one, trying to make place for it in your cunt.
sukuna can’t hold it in anymore. having you clamping down on one of his massive cocks, his girth stretching your small canal to fit all of it to the base and your face contorting in both discomfort and pleasure is making him lose it. “this isn’t gonna work. need to fuck you properly, doll.”
you’re not even one minute in and he’s yanked your small body off his lap, forcefully turning you around until your back is pressed against his chest and your head is rolled back to rest near his shoulder. sukuna’s upper hands hold your legs up by the back of your knees. his bottom set of hands wrap around his cocks and pushes one through your sensitive cunt whilst he fists the other.
“fff— mhhh! my lord! nonono,” you tear up. partially because the sudden intrusion hurts your insides and the stretch is unexpected, but mainly because you’re scared that sukuna’s angry with you. you don’t wish to lose his interest in you, “i’m sorry, let me try again.”
the king of curses slaps your clitoris harshly after that comment of yours. “that a demand? foolish woman,” he scoffs and his hips thrust upwards against the fat of your ass. squelchy noises fill the chambers and spill outside of the room—it’s loud. the bed creaking is unmissable as well with how fast he’s pounding you.
sukuna bites into your shoulder and holds back his grunts like that. he’s relentless, drilling into your cunt so hard that you’re getting numb. your body is limp in his beefy arms and your rationality leaves your mind. you’re more than overwhelmed.
“sorry, ‘m sorry,” you whine and try to babble about something, but it’s all incoherent. you’re feeling lightheaded due to how much you’re taking of him. it feels amazing, soul ascending, but your emotions are in the way. even when you try not to show any attachment to the man you swore not to like.
sukuna ignores your pleas. his focus is on your slutty cunt swallowing every inch of his lower dick like its nothing. you’re used to it—he’s made you used to it—and somehow you’re still as tight as the first time. that and your submission to him is exciting. your adorable noises. the form of your body as it fits perfectly against his like you’re made for him.
you are made for him. your purpose is to please him, submit to him and give him what he deserves. that’s why he keeps you around.
“stop y’r whining,” sukuna grumbles. your knees are forced up against your ears and your tits are bouncing with each harsh thrust. “y’r a dumb fucking thing,” the king of curses presses down on the bottom of your stomach, increasing the pleasure for you, whilst also pleasing himself by knowing how deep you’re taking him, “do you think ‘m actually going to let you go?”
your eyes widen as sukuna picks up on your internal worries. you know there’s no hiding your feelings from him, even if you don’t talk about them to him. it’s like he can sense them. or see right through you with those piercing red eyes that leave you shivering for days.
“y’re too delicious to let go of. i don’t intend on letting anyone else get a taste of this pussy,” sukuna smirks and his tongue rolls out to lick your left ear. you gasp at the feeling and moan right after. you don’t try being quiet. you don’t care if anyone hears you. the reassurance was all you needed.
everyone around the estate knows you’re getting your guts rearranged by the same lord they serve. it’s the same routine every day.
“y’re mine,” sukuna grumbles and speeds up his thrusts until you’re seeing stars. you’re not sure if you can hold out for much longer. you can already feel your orgasm building up—and judging by sukuna’s tight grip on your thighs—he’s close to emptying himself deep inside you as well.
you try your best to keep up with everything, but your human mind can only focus on so much at once. you mumble some words in agreement as your head tilts to the side, your vision turning blurry and fuzzy, “all yours, m’lord.”
sukuna grins mischievously. he’s completely won you over. he’s got you wrapped around his finger. you’re easy, even if you think you’re the complete opposite. the skilled curse knows just what to say to make you all putty in his hands.
you’re gullible. easily manipulated. a perfect target for his mockery and teasing. that’s why he always has fun with you—whether it’d be in bed or not. his comment earlier was just to mess with you.
and expected, you walked right into his trap. you’re his favorite. his favorite to play around with. his favorite human.
“all mine. only mine.”
#sttoru writes.#jjk smut#sukuna smut#jjk x reader#sukuna x reader#jjk x you#sukuna x you#jjk x y/n#sukuna x y/n
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DP X DC PROMPT BECAUSE FUCK SLEEPING I DON’T NEED OXYGEN
It’s a hard summoning. A horrible summoning. The very worst Constantine’s ever been part of, he was expecting a rough ride with an entity of this power but surely this is excessive?
The Ghost King has been known to accept deals for centuries, and yeah the terms are shit but the world is full on ending and the Justice League are out of better options
When the magic lashes out and takes Doctor Fate to his knees, he begins to doubt what they’re doing
Is this really the better option? Really? Sure, Pariah will take the souls of all their enemies into his army for conquest, but if it costs everyone anyway…
**
Danny wrapped arms, legs, and teeth around the telephone pole in Amity Park, growling against the pull
Of COURSE this had to happen three days after he made a joke about “being the only entity John Constantine hasn’t tried to sell his soul to” to Clockwork
He’s not fucking losing the bet about making it to the end of the week
#dp x dc#dpxdc#dc x dp#dcxdp#dpxdc prompt#justice league dark: ho boy this is the hardest summoning ever the magic is going totally crazy the ghost king is so powerful!!!!#danny (feral gremlin): NOPE NOPE NOPE I AM NOT BUYING CLOCKY NASTY BURGER FOR A MONTH IT IS A MATTER OF PRIDE
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This is my first time requesting something but HEAR ME OUT, "Slow Cuddle-fucking with og Sukuna while he is holding (and caressing) Reader (His wife) tightly and praising her (with him having size(difference) and breeding kink) oneshot please please please PLEASESSS😭
୨୧⋆ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 ⎯ trueform!sukuna x reader, smut (mdni), unprotected sx, brèeding ķink, softdom!sukuna, established relationship, implied size difference,
୨୧⋆ 𝐚/𝐧 ⎯ ANONN?? THIS IS SO GOOD. I js fell to my knees in the middle of Walmart.
Sukuna was not a soft man—that was obvious. He was often rude, harsh, and did anything that would bring him even the slightest amusement, even if that caused someone else pain.
Well, that was expected for the king of curses.
But it seemed however harsh he was, you seemed to always shift his demeanor. Even know he’s frowning as you wrap your arms so sweetly around him, pushing your smaller form flush to his. Surely this would tarnish his reputation if he was caught like this, all soft, but he just couldn’t say no to you.
“‘Kuna,” you smile, a bit mischievously, pressing your ass against him. “I want you.”
And again, Sukuna Ryomen found himself unable to say no—unable to resist that addictive urge to fulfill every wish you bestow upon him.
He sucked in a breath through his teeth as he instantly bottomed out, pressing a peck to your neck. This was so unlike him.
His Four hands roamed your body, caressing every part with attentiveness and admiration. Hips ramming into you, cock kissing every sweet spot inside you, he found the slight bulge in your lower stomach where he could feel himself moving. And—god, Sukuna never wanted to stuff a baby into you more in his life.
His pace quickened, though he was still soft, and his arms wrapped around your body to take ahold of your tits, fondling with them. “You feel..good,” he sighed in your ear, his body shivering at the moans that slipped from your lips. “Want you to bear my child,”
The only things that went through his mind at that moment were the thoughts of stuffing his wife with his child, finally able to show off to other men how you’re already taken with how swelled your belly was.
You mewled and rocked your hips back on his, opening your legs wider to give him more access—you wanted that too.
There had always been a size difference between you two, with Sukuna being freakishly tall and all—but now was your chance to finally show that you could take it, no matter how huge your husband was.
“Stuff me, ‘kuna, give me your children,”
#ꔫ : ˚ ͙۪۪̥◌⎯ 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈’𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍#jjk fic#jjk smut#gojo smut#jjk x reader#jjk fanfic#jjk headcanons#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk x you#true form sukuna#sukuna ryoumen smut#sukuna x y/n#sukuna x you#sukuna smut#ryomen sukuna#sukuna x reader#jjk sukuna#sukuna ryomen#sukuna#jjk#jujutsu kaisen x reader#sukuna ryomen smut#jjk ryomen#ryomen x reader#jjk drabbles
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I have no idea where this came from I’m all icky sicky today and needed some Nanami comfort. ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა♡
tags: a bit of smut, mostly fluff, domestic king Nanami Kento
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Nanami isn’t ever a boyfriend he literally starts acting like a husband from day zero.
Nanami finds out your favorite flowers, because he asks u like a grown ass man, and he is getting you flowers every 2 weeks on the dot as soon as the old ones are needing to be thrown away.
Nanami is making sure he’s got the kind of soap/lotion/toothpaste you like at his place for when you sleep over. Nanami loves watching you do your nightly skincare routine, sitting up in bed barely paying attention to the book in his hands because he’s just so enamored with you.
Nanami is truly addicted to the pussy. He spends hours down on you, lapping and sucking and fucking his thick tongue into you. From the jump, too. He’s eating your pussy the night of your first date. He’s getting you off more than once that night— the first one wasn’t for you, not even the second, those were just for Kento, because he is a greedy man. By the time he’s rolling a condom on to fuck you, you’ve cum more times from just his tongue than any other man has cumulatively.
Nanami’s learning your love language and showing you his own. He’s big on acts of service and quality time. He prefers a quiet night in and cooking a meal together. He likes ordering in on lazy Friday nights. He likes going grocery shopping with you. He likes the way your fingers brush his as he hands you a dish to dry. You dry, he washes. The soapy water would chip your manicure.
Nanami asks your friends to figure out what kind of engagement ring you want. He wants it to be a surprise but he also wants to ensure you get exactly what you want. He proposes on the beach, the same one you walked barefoot on after your first date. He gets down on one knee where you stopped him that night to admire the sunset and pulled him into a kiss. Kento took a mental note as to exactly where you were standing because in that moment he knew he was going to marry you.
Nanami is a wife guy, through and through. He is at his best when you’re beside him. He takes care of you, but never gets in the way of your goals. He dotes on you but knows you are his equal and his partner. He asks you for your opinions when he’s got a big decision to make at work. He is vulnerable with you, he’s patient, he’s so kind.
Nanami ensures that you are dressed to the nines, as a couple, at any work parties, friends wedding, fancy dinners. He always wears something that compliments the dress you pick out. He’s always there to zip you up, moving your hair delicately to the side and putting it back after. He insists to lean down and help you into your heals before walking out the door.
Nanami, of course, opens every door for you, he always has a hand at your back to keep you steady. He always introduces you as his wife with so much pride. And he’s always going to drape his suit jacket over your shoulders before walking outside, even if it’s not really that cold.
Nanami is fucking you deep and raw the second you mention you think it’s a good time to start trying for a baby. He’s got you almost upside down when he’s cumming in you, to make sure you’re pregnant asap. He knocks you up on the first try and is fucking you good throughout your entire pregnancy. One because you swollen and round with his baby makes him feral and two because regular sex and frequent orgasms are important for a healthy pregnancy.
Nanami is committed to his work, but is never home a minute late. Especially after the birth of your first child. As soon as he walks through the door, you’re clocking out and taking a nice luxurious bubble bath while Kento gets some 1:1 time with your infant. He knows how exhausting it is being a new parent, especially when he went back to the 9-5 a few months after your daughter was born and you’re at home with the baby all day. So he leaves work and clocks in for the night shift, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder if you try to get up when the baby’s fussing, telling you that he’s got it. It’s his turn. You’ll cook dinner together while Kento has the baby strapped to his chest. Because the golden rule in Kento’s head is ensuring equitable partnership, making sure that the brunt of childcare doesn’t default to you because of some tired gender-norms, and of course spoiling you and his baby girl every second he can, for the rest of his life. ૮꒰˶ฅ́˘ฅ̀˶꒱ა
#nanami kento smut#nanami smut#nanami fluff#nanami x reader#nanami kento x reader#nanami x reader smut#nanami kento x reader smut#babble.dollie
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