–tw. Mentioned false information, size difference, dub con, measuring, stomach bulge, cervix fucking, creampies, slight yan, rough sex, pinned down, bondage, overstimulation, dacryphilia, big cocks, pussy job, cuteness agression maybe(??), this will be ooc for some characters listed, mating press, fem reader,
ღ ~ You were currently tied up(only your hands) by your quote on quote, "oblivious" boyfriend. He claimed he wanted to measure you and your body parts but you don't understand why he needed to tie you up on the bed. It's so you wont squirm too much, baby he says. You sigh and roll your eyes and wished to get this over with.
He climbs on top of the bed and sits beside you. You looked at him but he was busy with a stupid smirk on his face, looking down towards your lowerhalf. He hooked his finger onto the waistband of your shorts and panties and slid them down, a string of slick connecting with your panties and he threw the clothes somewhere in the corner of the room . “What are you doing?!”. You yelped and tried using one of your legs to cover your pussy. He sat in front of you, grabbed your thighs and slung them over his shoulders. You look at them, tears welded in your eyes as you gritted your teeth with flushed cheeks.
Your cunt was soaking his torso by now. You wiggled your hips trying to get away but got stopped when squeezed it and split your legs apart, your pussy on full display for him and only him. He unbuckled his pants and fished out his cock that he knew you loved. It was already thick, long, and painfully hard as it bobbed up and down right by your womb.
“I'm gonna do an experiment on ya, baby.” he moved his hand to stroke his dick as a bead of precum formed at the tip.
“You see where this is?” he points to your belly button and you nod. ”I've heard, that a woman's cervix, is right beneath.” he finishes as he dragged his finger a bit down from your belly button. You felt yourself blushing and looked away.
“Considering how big I am, I might just burst through your womb.” he emphasizes on the big. He has a weirdly built ego that makes you wonder how you even got together.
“But I don't think I needed this information considering i've fucked your womb countless times.” he was right about that.
He bent your calves so he could rest his hands on your knees to balance himself as he leaned over you. His dick plopped right over your cunt, slick covering the base of it. He rocked his hips back n' forth, stimulating your clit in the process. He noticed your panting getting more harsh. You whined, desperately trying to get out of this predicament.
More of your juices covered the underside of his cock. He seems lost in pleasure as his eyes were closed and he seemed to shudder and drool. He opened his eyes only to be locked with yours. If you look closely, you could see the hearts in his eyes mixed with lust. His pupils were slightly trembling as they stared back at you.
You looked away as the loving stare was too much for you to keep eye contact with.
A smirk was etched on his face. He moved himself back so that his thick tip was prodding at your soaking entrance. He moved his hips forward, pushing his dick up into your cunt.
His cock was covered in your juices and cream. The deeper he went, it felt like what he said was true. He would be able to burst through your stomach. He went down to your face and pressed his lips against yours. He bit your bottom lip for entrance to which you granted. He tongue quickly sped into your mouth, entangling itself with yours as he continued his thrusts up against your womb.
Your hands were desperately grasped at the ribbon holding your wrists together. Tears were streaming down your cheeks then he leaned down to lick them and slightly bite at your cheeks.
He spits out grunts and slight whimpers while a string of moans and mewls comes from you. He soon settled his cock deep inside you which made you cum with a cry as he hit that spot that you love. “Wow baby, came on the spot huh?” he gave slow thrusts but leaned forward so your calves were touching his. back
You tried to move your hips away but his veiny hands grasped harshly at your waist that it would surely leave marks and pull you on his cock so it can reach a deeper part than before. His thrusts got faster that so much so it hit your cervix with brutal thrusts. Your cervix felt as if a mouth was sucking the tip of his dick. “N-noo.. you're too roUGH!” you tried to push him away with your binded wrists but was unsuccessful from his brute stature.
You felt the coil in your stomach tighten. The bulge in your stomach signed how deep his was in your womb. You close your eyes tightly and let out a wanton moan followed by a mewl and whine.
After a few thrusts into your small womb, he released his seed into your womb, your stomach becoming slightly bloated. You closed your eyes in exhaustion. He moved himself back not pulling out. He looked down at your form and saw your body glistening with sweat and you lower half shining from the juices you and him produced together by pleasure each other.
His hand pressed down onto your bloated stomach which made his cum dribble out of your cunt like a waterfall. “Look at that, wasting my precious cum,” he says with a tsk and shakes his head. “Don't worry baby, I'll just fuck it back into you.” he leaned towards your face with a crazed lovesick look in his eyes.
“And I'll keep fucking it into you until I deem you as full enough to produce my child.” ღ
CHARACTERS IN MIND: Childe, Kaeya, Itto, Ayato, Scaramouche, Jing Yuan, Sampo, Aventurine, Boothill, Gojo, Toji, Sukuna, Nanami, AND YOUR FAVS
DO NOT PLAGIARIZE, COPY, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE MY POST W/O PERMISSION. DO NOT COPY MY LAYOUT. YOU MAY TAKE INSPIRATION BUT MAKE SURE TO CREDIT ME.
a... glory hole? that was a new concept for Sunday, but well, as the Oak family boss he should personally check whether the new Penacony entertainment establishment met the requirements.
what he did not expect was to get absolutely addicted to you. who happened to be the destined girl to give Mr. Sunday a little test, a little trial all free from charge, a gift from the owner himself.
the room being wiped clean from all unwanted eyes, all but the man himself, and the round hole where your pretty mouth could wrap around his cock. hesitation is what mostly existed in Sunday’s brain, although it quickly shut down when the pink tip of your tongue darted out to taste him, almost making his hand slam against the thin wall separating you both.
a pleasure like no other is what you’ve made him feel, turning him into some lust driven being where he aggressively rutted his hips against the wall, balls almost slapping with your chin if it weren’t because of the separation, but eons... how desperate Sunday needed to see your face, what expression would you have? blissed, cock drunk? perhaps even surprised or fearful to find yourself sucking Sunday’s cock, although the mere thought was enough to make him cum down your eager throat.
the establishment was approved in less than a day.
although Gallagher enjoyed his job, serving drinks, chit chat with patrons who were more than eager to share bits of personal or interesting information and creating new, innovative drinks, he couldn’t deny the thrill and eagerness that surrounded the man upon the arrival of his shift’s end.
mindlessly playing with the lighter on his hand while his steps were casual and light through Penacony’s streets, steps that always guided him to one place, the gloryhole.
Gallagher had a favorite, of course, you happened to immediately capture his heart — and cock — merely from watching you bent and spread, that pretty pussy slick and almost begging for him.
he doesn’t really care if he’s fucking your throat or cunt, both are more than welcome for as long as you continue to make those tiny, muffled mewls. he likes to think you do them just for him, that you have somehow memorized the shape of his cock, the way each vein rubs against your pussy walls, the taste of his precum staining your tongue and gliding down your throat.
it’s a nice entertainment and stress reliever, but besides from a selfish reward, he does really enjoy how you silently cream his cock every single time.
Gepard knew this wasn’t a good idea, he knew he should not have listened to the other guards speaking about this new underground club, but he was the captain, it was his duty to check whether all permits were in order.
big mistake. the blonde should have first asked Bronya about the paperwork instead of just rushing to the said place, and second of all, he definitely should have checked if it was indeed a club, not a gloryhole.
his cheeks are as pink as the neon lights outside, thinking he shouldn’t be there, he shouldn’t be intently staring at your exposed pussy and his cock definitely shouldn’t be drooling precum into his pants, twitching and straining against his pants. but he’s there, and somehow, back a few days later, wearing daily clothes now and thankfully the lady at the front counter didn’t seem impressed at the sight of the guard, perks of working above the surface.
it takes him a few days to build up the courage, to finally do more than just rub his thumb on your clit until you cum, to slide his condom wrapped cock across your slit, teasing himself until the tip accidentally catches against your hole, and then he just gives in, messily humping into your soft cunt that wraps around his cock just so prettily, so perfect and warm, you’re like heaven, and Gepard can’t help but wonder if you’d like to go out with him.
Jing Yuan is really not ashamed of his sex life, but of course, as the general, he must still keep some appearances.
the subtle looking establishment is always ready to receive the silver haired man, with an extra tip to keep the hostess quiet about his whereabouts, and another extra so he gets to meet with you, his favorite girl.
never in his life has Jing Yuan been picky, but ever since he got a taste of you, — more like you got a taste of him — he couldn’t just give up on you so easily.
and you know it’s him, of course you do, he doesn’t need to speak, but his low, throaty chuckle and deep groans of pleasure are enough to give him away, besides, you always knew a man like the general was well packed, considering how easily he made your toes curl and eyes roll in sheer bliss.
he fucks like he fights, with all he got, with his hands on your hips almost leaving bruises, precisely thrusting into your soaked cunt that seemed to ooze more slick the more his cock drove into you. but there were times when he fucked deep but slow, almost making you sob and convulse around the fat girth of his cock, begging and sucking him deeper into your walls.
mentions: post-urbanshade fic, no use of y/n or pronouns, u are his partner <3, hallucinations, grief/mourning, non-sexual intimacy, touch aversion, hurt/comfort, ooc sebastian probably, i took creative liberties with his mom and siblings, tentative reconnecting :), check masterlist for fic summary
a/n: this is something i decided to write after scouring ao3 and tumblr for anything like it and finding nothing. i was just- (thanos voice) "fine i'll do it myself." hope you guys enjoy! i cant believe im simping for a roblox fish man in the year 2024, literally who am i.
word count: 9.5k+
masterlist
ao3 link
When your husband was executed for a crime he did not commit, you decided to move out to the seaside.
It was a way to just… get away from everything. Start fresh. His face was plastered all over the news after his death sentence. Everywhere you went, it felt as though people were staring at you. Judging you. Hushed whispers followed you just as much as the haunted look on Sebastian’s face when he’d taken his mugshot. It was—unbearable. You needed to get out and away from all the people who only saw you as the partner to a murderer.
His presence lingered everywhere, back at your tiny apartment in the city. From the framed pictures on the wall, to the green toothbrush next to yours, and the faint smell of cinnamon attached to your bedsheets. It was—overwhelming, in more ways than one. You itched and itched with the urge to get out. You stayed only as long as you needed to after his death to go through the process of moving out. It took a couple of weeks. The you from the future would applaud you for lasting longer than a few days, you were certain.
You didn’t know what to do with all of his things. You sold his expensive belongings unclaimed by his family, like his laptop, electric guitar, and gaming system. The more materialistic items were packed into bins to donate to charity—his old textbooks, binders of sheet music, clothes he seldom wore. The rest you separated into two boxes. One had some things you figured would be appreciated by his mother. The album of his family he kept tucked away in his desk. A small teddy bear he’d had since he was a toddler. Some of his favorite shirts and jewelry he’d been gifted from his siblings.
The other had things you could not bring yourself to part with.
You spent a while hovered over that box, tracing the worn edges of a red and black flannel that he always wore around your apartment. There was a small panda plushie that you won at an amusement park on one of your dates and decided to give to him when he said it was ugly-looking. A sketchbook he doodled in from time to time that you didn’t have the heart to open, but knew you would regret giving away. A crumpled piece of paper with hastily scribbled vows on them. Each and every item in the box held some amount of sentimental value—you wondered if it would ever haunt you, keeping them. Part of you already knew the answer.
When you dropped off Sebastian’s things at his mother’s house, you couldn’t help the way your heart sank deep into your chest when she opened the door. Maria was a beautiful woman, and you saw traces of Sebastian in her every time you saw her. The warm honey of her skin, the crinkle of her blue eyes, even the way she smiled. It made your eyes sting and ache with something fierce. Agonizing, even now. Especially now.
She looked at you with a sad smile, gratefully accepting the small box you offered her. “Gracias, sweetie,” she said, hands tightening on the edges of the cardboard. “I appreciate you coming out all this way.”
“It was no problem,” you told her, shifting slightly on your feet. You hadn’t seen her since—well… You cleared your throat, doing your best to ignore a pang of guilt and this ever so tightening feeling in your chest. “How are you doing?”
She hummed, a weary thing that matched the dark circles under her eyes and the new streaks of gray in her hair. She looked down at the box. “No buena,” she murmured, “but who would after losing a child so wrongfully? I can only hope it gets better to handle with time.” Her gaze lifted up to meet your own. “What about you, hm? Almost done packing?”
Blue eyes the same shade as his. You looked away, staring down at your shoes and her slippered feet. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “Just gotta put a few more boxes into the car.”
“I do not blame you for wanting to get away,” she chuckled. “I would too, if I could.”
As though on cue, there was the sound of a crash somewhere behind her, immediately followed by raised voices. Sebastian’s siblings causing havoc, no doubt. Maria whipped around to shout into her house. “Isidora! Lucas! ¡Comportarse!” After she got two distant apologies, she turned back to give you a look. “See what I mean?”
You could only manage a stiff nod, not quite trusting your voice. That feeling in your chest was growing by the second, and you were not sure how long you would last. Maria didn’t deserve this, but you couldn’t help it. You felt like you were being stifled under a large, unforgiving pillow.
You could feel the way she watched you—that same probing stare that Sebastian often wore when he could sense you weren’t feeling well. You continued to stare resolutely at the ground, not wanting her to crack you open like a book to see the way you just couldn’t stand being here right now. She sighed, and you had to suppress a wince.
“Well, don’t let me keep you,” she finally said, turning slightly to head back inside. “No seas un extraño, you hear? You are always welcome here.”
“Right,” you whispered, and when you finally managed to pull your gaze back up to her face, she only gave you a small, melancholy smile before gently closing the door. You stood there for a moment more, heart beating in your throat as you cursed yourself for being a coward.
The drive down to the seaside was only a few hours. It was relaxing, in its own way, as you passed by concrete buildings that slowly melted away into wide, open fields. Rolling hills and staggering cliffs. You could almost taste the change in the air the closer you got. The stale, musty scent of the city was replaced by a fresh, salty breeze. If you listened close enough, you could hear the distant roar of the ocean as its waves crashed against rock. And once you arrived at what would be your new home for a long, long time, you took a moment to just stand outside and breathe.
One breath in, one breath out. The seaside air felt cool on your heated face. Out here, you felt like everything could be put behind you. A breath of fresh air to chase away the way you hurt inside. You could finally shed the layer of muddled emotions and thoughts that had surrounded you for weeks.
If only it was that easy. Still… Baby steps, you reminded yourself.
The cottage you were moving into was a quaint thing, with just enough space for you to live comfortably on your own. It was more than a steal, and you were thankful that you’d managed to snatch it up before anyone else could—and at a reasonable price, too. It sat near the top of a small cove, overlooking miles and miles of open water. If you walked down to the shore—away from the cove—there was a small dock that jutted out into the sea like a pirate’s plank. It was old, though, covered in mold and made of rotting wood that creaked ominously in the breeze. You didn’t dare risk venturing out on it.
It took you most of the rest of the day to bring all your belongings inside and unpack everything. You stood in what would be your living room, a mess of boxes scattered all around you, and felt a mixture of emotions that you couldn’t make heads nor tails of. Your eyes landed on that small box of Sebastian’s things, and you turned away with this twisting sensation worsening in your gut.
Getting properly settled in and starting your new job in the nearby town’s clinic took up most of your time. Your energy and thoughts. But at night, when it was just you laying in a too small bed in a too small room, your mind wandered. The moon peering through the small, curtained window into your bedroom bore witness to the way you stared and stared and stared—unblinking at the popcorn texture of the ceiling. Always twisting the gold band that remained on your finger in absentmindedness.
There was a gnawing ache in your chest that waxed and waned, but it never truly disappeared.
You thought about those final days a lot. They didn’t let you see him. All you got was a single phone call, sometime before his scheduled execution. The contents of that call would follow you no matter how far you tried to run from them. How hard you tried to forget.
(The phone felt locked in your grip—your fingers tight and stiff. There was a silence that was broken by your name spoken on the tailend of a choked breath. Your teeth clenched so hard you felt a muscle spasm in your jaw.
“I-I didn’t—” Sebastian’s voice stuttered thickly, hushed into the microphone. Something sank down to the soles of your feet, then continued on in an endless spiral. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t.”
There was something so devastatingly helpless about talking to him like this. Divided across miles and miles, nothing but a thin connection between you and him. Your words his only comfort.
“I know, baby,” you told him miserably, raising a hand to palm at your wet eyes. “I know.”)
You couldn’t even host a proper funeral for him. His body was never released to his family—for what reason, you were unsure. It felt as though you never had any proper closure. You could scream and cry about the injustice of it all, but… no one would listen. It was done. It was over. There was no getting him back. It was a grim thought that you grappled with on the daily, always present at the back of your mind. At the front of your mind. Suffocated you in gallons and gallons of grief. You did your best to work through it all over time, but sometimes it felt like your best just wasn’t enough.
And then… a couple of years after his death… you got a call.
You were lounging around in your little living room after a long shift at work, a book splayed out on your lap as you relaxed. Your phone was sitting right by your legs, just out of sight. So when it buzzed with an incoming call, you did not bother to glance at the screen before you answered it.
It was Maria.
The tremble of her voice made you instantly freeze.
You couldn’t understand what she was saying—so rushed and stifled through choked sobs. You sat up, both your hands gripping at your phone.
“Maria— wh-what—” you stuttered out, a sinking feeling slowly making itself present in your gut. You stood up, barely registering your book falling off your lap and onto the floor. “What’s—”
“They— they were wrong,” she hiccuped out, breathless and hysterical. “We knew they were and they— they—”
“What are you—” You tried to make sense of her words, but she quickly dissolved into more incoherent crying. You swallowed thickly, a cold sweat erupting along your back.
It took you a few minutes to calm her down enough so that she could strangle out a “Check the news.” Your eyes snapped to the darkened television sitting against the wall across from you.
Your throat felt drier than a desert. The remote was wedged between the cushions on your couch, and you fumbled around for it before finally managing to press the power button. Channel twenty-one, the news. You punched it into the remote.
There was a picture of Sebastian on the screen. His mugshot, actually—black hair messily scattered across honeyed skin, dark eyes that glistened in the dim lighting, thin lips downturned into an unsteady frown. A ringing sound erupted deep within your ears, drowning out all else as your gaze narrowed in on the bold headline.
Innocent man wrongfully convicted for murder of nine.
A short, disbelieving laugh escaped from your lips. This was how you found out? They didn’t bother to contact you first? You almost couldn’t believe it. Two years after he’d already been imprisoned. Two years after they’d decided he should die via electric chair. You laughed again, and your phone slipped right from your fingers as you dropped onto your knees. You barely felt the impact—barely heard Maria’s questioning sniffle above the racing of your heart.
You laughed and you laughed and you laughed and you laughed because wasn’t that just the funniest fucking thing? They found out the truth after what had been done to him could never be taken back. After you and his family had fought so desperately to prove his innocence.
Funny! It was funny!
You bit at your bottom lip to suppress the way it violently quivered.
Years passed and you continued to live on without Sebastian.
You thought time would help you heal—would dull the ache you experienced at every waking moment of the day and night. But there were times where you just felt infinitely worse. It was awful. It was so utterly miserable, and you were tired. You were just… tired. You couldn’t think about him for too long before you’d feel that familiar sting to your eyes. So you tried not to think about him at all.
It didn’t work.
You were plagued by him. Awake or asleep—it did not matter.
“You’re still up,” he murmured into your ear at night as you laid curled up on your side. Like this, you could face the window of your room—where the moonlight filtered gently through your thin curtains to brush against the walls like the hand of a ghost.
You hummed in response, face partially buried in your pillow. You tried in vain to ignore the presence you felt at your back. Making the hairs prickle on your nape. If you closed your eyes, you could almost feel light breaths against the side of your face.
“You’ve got work in a few hours, you know,” he said, matter-of-fact. His voice lowered, gentle and calm. “What’s bothering you?”
There was a pause. Distantly, you could hear the waves of the ocean as the tide rose and fell along the shore. A constant source of white noise.
“Nothing,” you eventually whispered back, closing your eyes momentarily to breathe in the faint smell of cinnamon. “Nothing at all.”
It wasn’t real, you told yourself. Over and over and over again. He wasn’t real. He wasn’t.
He didn’t stop there.
He sat across from you at your little dining table in the kitchen, grinning at you as you forked spoonfuls of pitiful dinner after dinner into your mouth. He was in the bathroom, sitting on the lid of the toilet as you showered or brushed your teeth. He was in the living room, sprawled across the floor in front of you as he gazed at you with his face propped atop his palm.
He accompanied you to work, a pair of blue eyes staring at you in the rearview mirror of your car as you drove. He lingered over your shoulder as you pushed paperwork or chatted to other nurses. Close enough to touch, yet never crossing that line. Always present. Sometimes silent, sometimes not. You weren’t sure which was better.
He was haunting you, and you could do nothing about it.
The only place where you seemed to have any kind of reprieve was down by the little cove or the shore. You liked taking walks along it—when the walls of your cottage seemed to loom too close for comfort. It was refreshing, being able to just… breathe in the sea air and take in the rolling waves from the sand. A healing balm for your enervated soul. It became a habit no matter the weather, every evening after work. Soaking in the sun, basking in the mist, watching dark clouds grow closer on the horizon. You were oftentimes alone, but occasionally you’d pass a few people also enjoying the fresh air. They never bothered you, so you never bothered them.
Once you returned home, however, he would be waiting for you at the door—all warm smiles and crinkled eyes that made your insides ache like they never have before.
You contemplated going to grief counseling many times. But something held you back. You just… didn’t have the energy to pick yourself up and go. Didn’t want to come to proper terms with it all, you supposed. Or maybe you were desperately holding on—afraid of letting go completely when you could look in a mirror and see him standing somewhere behind you. It hurt. It soothed. It was a push and pull that you learned to deal with as time went on.
You often caught yourself staring at the tiny closet in your room—where you’d buried that small box of Sebastian’s things so deeply, it would never see the light of day again. Most of the time, you could drag yourself away from it, pushing it to the back of your mind once more. But one night… you couldn’t help yourself. You caved. You just… needed to.
You pulled the box out from the depths of your closet and sat on the floor, eyeing it warily as you clutched a pair of scissors in your hand. It was just as you’d left it—flaps tightly sealed with packing tape. You hadn’t bothered to label it. You knew what was in there and that was enough.
You took in a deep breath and stabbed the point of the scissors into the box’s top to pry it open. Then, you stared down at its insides.
It simultaneously felt like you’d packed his things away in this box just yesterday and a hundred years ago. In any case, the tender ache at seeing it all still persisted.
The panda plushie, which you picked up gingerly and ran your fingers over its short fuzz before setting it off to your side. It used to sit on a shelf, back at your shared apartment, picked up only occasionally when he wanted to throw it at you to bother you.
(“Sebastian!” you shouted, startled out of your focus on your book when that goddamn panda nailed you directly on your face. You glared at him, setting your book to the side to snatch up the plushie when he laughed hard enough that he doubled over.
“Oh my god, your face!” he wheezed, swiping a finger under his eyes to wipe away an imaginary tear. “Come on, you didn’t see that coming? You’re losing your game here, babe.”
“Shut up, you ass! I was reading!” you fumed and stood up to pelt the plushie at him. It smacked him right on the arm, and he only laughed even harder.)
The sketchbook, rarely ever seen by your eyes because he was so protective over it. Abashed, more like, you came to realize a while ago. And for a good reason, you supposed, your lips twitching as you flipped open the thick cover.
There were some landscape drawings at the start—places you recognized at your old university. The café near the library, the statue at the center of the main quad. A few students walking around or sitting outside on benches. Some components from his engineering projects—designs with their associated dimensions, fluid mechanics calculations, free-body diagrams. You saw a handful of drawings of Lucas and Isidora, either fighting or sleeping against each other—gaping mouths and all.
And then… once you hit a certain point in the book, there were drawings of you.
He’d been so embarrassed when you caught him sketching you one day, though he’d tried to play it off. It was before he’d asked you out, you remembered. You’d thought it was flattering—at least what you could glimpse on the open pages. He’d slammed the book shut pretty quickly once he’d realized you were peeking over his shoulder.
It wasn’t until years later that he’d finally let you flip through the sketchbook properly.
Doodles of you sitting around campus, doing homework or looking at your phone. A sketch of you walking down the street or staring out a window. Upper body shots of you smiling, or laughing, or talking to one of your friends. The level of detail always blew you away—he managed to capture details about you that you never quite paid attention to yourself. The crinkle of your eyes or the pull of your lips.
You gently brushed a finger over a rough doodle of you and him—sitting back-to-back as you did your respective work—then closed the sketchbook to set down next to your legs.
Next was the crumpled, smudged paper of his vows—that you lingered over for a moment, reading it briefly with a small smile.
There were the silly ones, where he promised to be the best pain in the ass you could ever ask for. To make fun of you for being shorter than him or annoy you to smithereens everyday because he loved the face you made when you were mad.
Then there were the sincere ones, promising to always love you unconditionally. To take care of you whenever you were sick, or encourage you to be the best version of yourself you could possibly be. To hold your hand whenever you were scared. To always be by your side, no matter what.
You wiped at your eyes with your sleeve, sniffling slightly, and let the piece of paper flutter down to the ground.
And finally… you picked up the flannel.
Even after all this time, the material was still soft in your hold. You squeezed it between your fingers, tracing over the lines where patches of black met patches of red. If you closed your eyes and imagined hard enough, you could almost feel a warmth coming from it—like it had just been shucked off a warm body. Raising it up to your face to take a deep breath, you could faintly smell that familiar cinnamon. A comfort. A heartache.
“You know,” Sebastian started, and you lifted your gaze briefly to glance up at him standing a ways in front of you. “I’ve always liked how you looked in my clothes.” He wore a sharp grin that made his cheek dimple on his right. He winked down at you. “Always liked how you looked outta them too, but that’s neither here nor there. Go on, put it on.”
You rolled your eyes, but found yourself complying anyway. You stood up and slipped the flannel over your arms, fixing it properly over your shirt. Closing your eyes, you wrapped your arms around yourself.
You could almost imagine him embracing you. Something in your stomach twinged.
“There you go,” he whispered, a breath of air just barely out of reach in the fragile twilight of your room. “Just look at you.”
You only smiled sadly at the ground and hugged yourself tighter.
In recent years, the small dock by the shore was stripped down and built anew.
You saw them doing construction from your cottage’s window when the project was first launched and spent many nights fantasizing about dipping your feet into the water from the dock’s edge. And once it was finally complete—after months and months of waiting and watching—you did just that.
Your evenings were kept mostly the same with your walks along the shore or within the cove. But now you could trudge out onto the now sturdy dock and embrace the ocean in its entirety. You could let the tips of your shoes protrude off the far end of the dock as you breathed in and out. Salty air. The hint of rain in the distance. The spray of water against your face as the waves ebbed to and fro. It was refreshing. The perfect way to let the incessant buzz of your mind die down in preparation for a quiet night.
The dock, from what you could see whenever you were at home, was mostly used during the bright hours of day. A couple of fishermen during the afternoon. Teens from the town who wanted to jump off and swim to the shore. Either way, by the time the hush of evening fell as people prepared for bed, the dock was empty and perfect for some alone time.
It was nice, being able to sit down and soak your feet in the cool water when the weather was warmer. You liked watching the sun as it sank beneath the horizon, painting the sky in shades of burnt mandarin and dusty magenta. The last vestiges of gold light would make way for inky darkness that sparkled with hundreds and hundreds of stars. You were never able to appreciate the night sky in the city—so you took every chance you could to sit and stare up at it. Trying your best to identify constellations or just admiring it all until you got too cold to stay out for much longer.
Sometimes you ate your dinner out on the dock while you chatted with Isidora or Maria on the phone. Sometimes you brought along a book or sketchpad. You missed listening to Sebastian strum away at his electric guitar at times—always filling your apartment with music—so you impulse bought a ukulele and sat by the sea plucking awkwardly at its strings. The dock became a place to pass time. It became a habit that you stuck to for many years.
You were familiar with it all after spending evening after evening after evening out on its wooden platform. You could count the number of planks it was made of, the number of nails you could feel under your hands. You learned how to read the sea—when it hinted at an oncoming storm or calm night. In a way, it became a safe space for you, away from the stifling walls of your cottage.
So naturally, when something disrupted it, you noticed almost immediately.
You were sitting on the dock, half a sandwich on your lap that you’d scrounged up for a late dinner. Your feet idly swished through the water, cool against your heated skin. The dock was high enough that it only submerged your feet up to your ankles, but you did not mind.
You took another bite of your sandwich, then felt an odd prickling sensation on the back of your neck. Pausing, you noticed the hairs on your arms were standing straight up. It… felt like you were being watched. You glanced around—at the wide ocean before you, then the sandy shore behind you. There were a few stragglers in the distance, but they were far enough that you were sure they were not the cause for your sudden unease.
You swallowed your bite and decided it was probably nothing.
The following evening, however, it happened again. Then the next evening. And the next.
Like clockwork, almost, every time you sat down on the dock to relax after your shifts at work. It did not matter what you were doing, or how late you were there. Even for how long. You would always feel that prickle along your nape, and it would not leave until you walked back down the dock to make your way home. Sometimes it followed you up until you shut the door to your cottage.
You tried testing to see if you would still feel this way walking along the shore, or lounging on the sand of the cove. But even if you completely avoided the dock, you would still feel that familiar prickle of your hairs standing on end. It was… stupefying. You wondered if you were being paranoid. Or maybe you were losing it, just a little.
“If it’s any consolation,” Sebastian said one night, watching you with half-lidded eyes as you both sat at your tiny kitchen table. “You might have already lost it, sweetheart.” He only grinned at you when you told him to shut up.
After weeks of enduring this strange sensation, you decided it was best to just pretend it wasn’t there. You could ignore a little unease if it meant your routine would remain undisrupted. So you sat at the dock and minded your own business. Stared out at the rolling waves, read a book, laid back to stargaze. You were able to find peace again.
Then, one night, you noticed something.
It was by chance, really. You were staring out at the sea, watching as the waves crashed against an outcropping of rocks in the far distance. It was dark, the only lighting coming from the moon and the stars. It caused the waters to turn black—void-like, almost, if not for the gentle moonlight. Maybe that was what had ultimately allowed you to see it.
There, just behind the rocks jutting up from the sea like a jagged line of teeth, was this teal glow above the water.
It hugged along the wall of rock, barely visible from your vantage point. You paused and found yourself squinting at it, trying to make out what the hell it could possibly be. The moment you stared at it for a second too long, however, it ducked under the water before disappearing out of sight.
You were confused, yes, but you brushed it off as some sort of reflection. Maybe even a marine animal or bioluminescent plant of sorts, though you weren’t sure what.
You saw it again some nights later, this time just under the surface of the calm waters by the outcropping. It was oddly hypnotizing, in a way, even muted under the deep, navy waves. A constant presence, throughout the entirety of your time on the dock. You could even see it from your cottage window if you squinted.
The underwater glow became another upset in your routine that puzzled you to no end. You tried to ignore it like you ignored the prickle along your nape, but it was almost impossible to do so when it was so blatantly present in the water. No matter where you looked, the glow always lingered in your periphery. And it wasn’t like it stayed in the same place either. Some nights, it stayed near the rocks. During others, it seemed to draw closer. Farther. Closer. Closer. Farther.
Definitely not a plant, you concluded one night as you warily eyed the teal glow as it lingered several meters away. A trick of light? You cast a glance up at the vantablack sky dusted with twinkling white. But no, that would be impossible. It showed up no matter if the night sky was clear or cloudy.
Maybe you were imagining it after being on your own for so long. You grimaced as you thought about your cottage and the inhabitant waiting for you to return to it. Him. As real as your mind could make him.
In any case, the glow was not a priority. Not with the way the days cycled on—a twisting, gnawing feeling soon growing in your chest that you were well acquainted with by now. Though you wished desperately that you weren’t.
You woke up tired.
Not atypical for you, by any means. But this was a different kind of tired—that lingered deep within your muscles and tissue, even your very soul. It made every single motion feel as though you were lugging along hundred pound weights. You were slow in getting out of bed for this reason, taking a few moments to blink wearily up at your ceiling and rub at your temples in a vain attempt to ease the headache you could feel trying to manifest. Already you were not off to a good start.
Steadily, you sat up and immediately spotted Sebastian looming in the far corner of your room. Smiling at you with his hands shoved into his pockets. He opened his mouth to say something, but you lifted up a hand to stop him. Your throat felt like it was lined with cotton.
“Not today,” you told him, voice barely over a whisper. You closed your eyes, then reopened them to give him a weary look. “Just… Not today.”
He only closed his mouth and continued to smile at you.
Once you picked yourself up and trudged over to your bathroom, you took a second to regard your reflection in the small mirror. Dark circles that lined the area under your eyes. A small wrinkle between your creased eyebrows. A dullness to your complexion and a hollowness to your cheeks. You rubbed an eye and sighed, a deep thing that didn’t make you feel any better. The day must go on, as much as you didn’t want it to.
Your coworkers knew not to pester you too much once they saw you arrive at the clinic, so you were granted the relief of a somewhat quiet day. But that did not make things any easier for you—forcing you to be with the overwhelming spiral of your thoughts. You kept yourself busy with work around the clinic, but by the end of your shift, you somehow felt even worse than you had before.
On the drive home, you stopped by a store to pick up a couple of groceries you needed. And once you returned home and unpacked everything into their proper places, you whipped up a quick dinner and spent some time sitting at your little table poking at it sluggishly. You weren’t all that hungry, despite only having some crackers and water earlier. Your stomach churned, your chest ached. You feared if you ate too much, you would just end up throwing it all up.
It was quiet. You took your time to clean up and shower. Procrastinating, you registered faintly at the back of your mind. You slipped on some comfy clothes, then snagged Sebastian’s flannel that you’d never had the heart to pack away back into the box with the rest of his things. It hung on a hook on the back of your bedroom door, next to your towel. Forever a haunting presence in the corner of your world that you grew accustomed to with time. You slipped it on, the sleeves lolling past your hands.
Making your way back to the kitchen, you glanced out the window over your sink at the steadily approaching sunset. You’d gotten home slightly later than usual, but it was fine. You shuffled over to your fridge to grab a small, two-pack container of cupcakes and pried it open to take one out. You rummaged around in a nearby drawer for a few things, then slipped out your front door to make your way down to the dock.
It was a bit colder today, especially with the sun dipping closer down to the horizon to make way for night. You took a moment to stand at the edge of the dock and breathe. The fresh air helped, if only a little. The swell of the waves eased some of the tension lining your shoulders. You sat down, crossing your legs, and set the cupcake atop the small space in front of you.
Leaning back onto your palms, you watched as dusk bled across the sky until it was overtaken completely by night. The moon painted the waves in a milky glow that highlighted their crests and shadowed their troughs. You could faintly register an ache behind your eyes that worsened bit by bit every time you blinked. You leaned forward and rubbed your cold hands along your upper arms before deciding it was time.
From your pockets, you pulled out a single candle and a lighter. You stuck the candle into the top of the cupcake, then—with a flick of your finger—used the lighter to set it aflame. The tiny, orange bud of fire flickered in the gentle wind and washed its soft glow along your hands and legs. Your wedding ring glinted in its light. You stuffed the lighter back into your pocket and sank into a slouch as you stared at the cupcake.
Faintly, you could smell cinnamon.
Deep breath in, deep breath out. Your eyes stung, unblinking as they were. You swallowed and it was like choking down a bucket full of thorns.
He would have been thirty-two today, you thought miserably to yourself as you stared and stared and stared. The fact settled over you like a particularly suffocating blanket. That fatigue you'd felt earlier came back full force, accompanied by a wrenching feeling in the pit of your gut.
Thirty-two. Your face felt hot and cold all at once. You rubbed at your cheek and your fingers came away wet. You exhaled a shuddering breath.
All those years of missed opportunities and moments. No waking up to his slumbering face or to his gentle kisses on your eyelids. No playful teasing or hugs that stole the breath right out of your lungs with how tightly he squeezed. No midnight dances in your little kitchen, swaying back and forth to an imaginary tune. No being loved by him.
Your heart ached.
“Happy birthday, my love,” you whispered out into the still air, closing your eyes momentarily as your jaw trembled. “I miss you. So, so much.”
You leaned forward and blew out the candle.
Then, you buried your face in your palms. And you cried.
You weren’t sure how long you stayed there, hiccuping into your hands. It hurt, god, it hurt so much. It always did. You were sure even years down the line, you’d find yourself trapped in the same wallowing pit of despair. The pain dulled, yes, but ever so sharp and present when the time lined up perfectly—as much as you dreaded it. Your chest hurt with the way you suppressed your pain.
When you finally managed to pull the shaking pieces of yourself together, everything felt numb with cold. Your head was stuffy, your eyes were bleary. You sniffed and had to choke back another sob. It truly never got easier, even after all this time. You needed some painkillers and a long, long rest.
Sighing, you plucked the cold candle from the cupcake along with its paper wrapping to toss into your trash later. You stood up and hugged yourself, giving the lone dessert another long glance before turning on your heel to head back into the warmth of your cottage. Come morning, the birds will have eradicated all traces of the cupcake from the dock, as they tended to do.
As you walked, the back of your neck prickled all the way up to your door.
In the following days, you noticed the teal glow you’d been seeing underwater was growing closer and closer—even moreso than it had been before.
This would not have alarmed you too heavily—after all, it wasn’t like it hadn’t been going back and forth in terms of distance for a while—but it was getting to the point where it was only a few meters away. You could slip into the water and swim over easily, you mused, as you warily eyed the glow. Just in case, you decided to avoid sticking your feet into the water for now.
You couldn’t kid yourself anymore. It was weird—really weird. Pair up the glow with the ever present prickle along your nape and Sebastian’s haunting presence at home, and you had a recipe spelling out… well… mental disaster. It was all you could do to hang on. There really wasn’t much you could do about it anyways, you figured. These days you were just too tired to care.
Currently, you were sitting cross-legged in your usual spot on the dock, aimlessly scrolling through your phone’s notifications as you enjoyed the night air. You had a couple of messages from Maria to respond to—you’d been trying to get better at maintaining contact with her every so often. It was a work in progress, but at least texts were easier for you to deal with than phone calls.
You thumbed through the rest of your notifications. Lucas had sent you a meme around one in the morning last night that you’d missed. He was in his last year in university, you mulled. How time has flown. You remembered when he was still an annoying preteen, bugging Sebastian to use his no doubtfully expensive guitar. It was difficult to get Sebastian to ever part with it. The thought made you smile slightly to yourself, then you sobered upon remembering you’d had to sell it. In hindsight, Lucas’ guitar phase hadn’t lasted all too long—or maybe he hadn’t wanted something that reminded him of his older brother so much. Sweet memories turned sour after the execution. You sighed and sent him a meme back after liking the one he’d sent. Something about weird-looking cats.
Oh, one of your coworkers wanted to grab dinner in a couple of days. Hmm. You checked your calendar, then sent off a response text in agreement. The distance you were from the nearby town was not large by any means, but it was enough that you rarely sought exchanges outside of work. You really needed to get out more. Most of your other interactions were online, especially after moving from the city and away from everyone and everything. It certainly was not doing you any favors.
As you typed up a comment on one of your older friend’s social media posts, you noticed something.
Just over the top of your phone screen—reflected in the dark water of the ocean. You paused and lowered your phone to stare at it.
It was the teal glow, brighter and closer than it had ever been before. You eyed it for a moment, apprehension taking root in the pit of your stomach. But there was also this sense of tentative curiosity. You leaned forward just enough to peer down at it beyond the dock’s edge, submerged as it was beneath the gentle waves. It was almost underneath you, oddly hypnotizing as you tilted your head at it. You felt as though you could be sucked right into it, lulled into a trance as the glow encompassed all that you were.
Brighter and brighter the glow grew. There was the distant thought in the back of your mind that maybe you should be more wary—maybe you should lean back or stand up to gain some distance. But all you could hear were your steady breaths, feel the way your grip tightened on your phone. Maybe you could see if what you were seeing was really an animal of sorts or just some figment of—
There was a head. Sticking out of the water.
You froze immediately, breath caught in your lungs.
For a moment, you couldn’t process what exactly you were looking at. But then you realized you were staring at a gray-blue face framed by raven hair stuck to its sides. A rather large face, in fact, nowhere near the size of a regular human’s. A… mermaid? You weren’t entirely certain, and even then, there was a lot to unpack with this realization that you were in no way prepared to do.
There was some sort of lure attached to the top of the creature’s head that drooped down into the water in front of it. Two—no, three, you noticed—eyes were trained intently in your direction, pupils indiscernible in a way that made it difficult to tell where precisely it was looking at. The back of your neck prickled.
Ah, you thought faintly as teal light gently washed across the nearly black surface of the water from the creature’s eyes. That’s what that was.
You weren’t sure how long you and the… mermaid… stayed there, staring at each other, but eventually something had to give. You were just surprised it wasn’t you first.
The mermaid’s jaw seemed to tense. It regarded you with an unreadable gaze that you could feel flicking over your face. Then, it parted thin lips to say a quiet “Hey.”
It was like getting punched in the gut—harsh and utterly unforgiving.
It sounded— It sounded just like Sebastian. Raspier, maybe. A little lower in timbre. But unequivocally him. It was unmistakable—his voice so deeply cemented into your mind when you lived day by day listening to him speak over your shoulder. You felt like you couldn’t move a muscle, couldn’t force the air you so desperately needed into your lungs.
He seemed to take in your silence, appraising you for a moment before speaking again.
“I know this has gotta be… weird as shit…” he said slowly, voice stiff and slightly stilted. “But I”—he swallowed thickly—“I can explain.”
You weren’t sure what expression you were making, but you saw the way the skin above his eyes seemed to crease together. You wanted to force yourself to spit out something, anything, but you could not hear yourself think over the rapid ba-dump ba-dump ba-dump of your heart in your ears. The vice-like grip on your insides with how much this mermaid sounded like Sebastian. How it made you hurt. How it made you ache.
What the hell was going on right now?
“You—” you eventually choked out, your eyes taking in what was before you. A membranous fin at the side of his head flicked slightly at the sound of your voice. “You— I—”
He said your name quietly, and it was like another vicious twist of your gut. The sounds of the sea became white noise, distant and weak. “It’s me. Sebastian. You know? Love of your life?” His face scrunched up, sharp mouth turning into a strained grin as he stared at you with wide, imploring eyes. “Come on babe, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already?”
Just like him. He talked just like him.
But that couldn’t be right. That couldn’t be right. He was dead. He was—
Something suddenly clicked in the far recesses of your mind.
“Ah.” The syllable dropped from your lips like a rock from a high place. You slumped like you’d been cut from a few taut strings struggling to hold you up. “I get it now.” You exhaled deeply, willing yourself to gain control of your mind and your heart. You knew exactly what was going on here.
No need to panic. You were in control.
“...Do you really?” he asked warily after a minute or two. You ignored him to focus on yourself.
Deep breath in, deep breath out. You released the tight hold you had on your phone—line etched into your palm from the pressure—and shoved it into your pocket so you could lift your hands up to rub at your temples.
You were tired. Of this, of everything.
“I thought this was supposed to be a safe space,” you grumbled under your breath, your eyes closing in a vain attempt to stave off the building headache you were experiencing. “You had to follow me out here too?”
Sebastian made a sound—a questioning, confused little thing that made you open your eyes to gaze down at him. He looked hurt, almost. “I— What?”
Your hands dropped from your temples, and you leaned back onto your palms so you could look out at the calm sea. A few clouds passed over the moon from above, temporarily casting a shadow over you and him. You eyed him after a moment of letting yourself relax from the previous adrenaline spike.
“You’ve never looked like this before,” you eventually mused as your eyes traced over the shadowed line of his nonexistent nose. The way his skin glistened in the dim lighting. “Did something change from yesterday?” You didn’t think you were capable of imagining him like this. Inhuman. No honeyed skin or rough scar bridging his nose. You wondered why it was happening now, of all times. If maybe it was the result of staying by the sea for so long, alone to deal with everything that had happened.
He opened his mouth as though to respond. But then he closed it and just… stared at you. Observing you. Analyzing you for something you were not privy to. A probing gaze that made something under your skin itch. You watched him back, then found you could not hold his gaze for much longer. You looked away and cleared your throat.
“I’m thinking pasta for dinner,” you remarked casually to fill the silence, eyes shifting skywards in thought. “The alfredo we made last week was pretty good. I got the sauce on sale at the grocery store.”
Another pause. Another moment where your skin prickled with the sensation of being picked apart, piece by piece.
And when he spoke, his voice was barely over a murmur—a grim realization to his tone. “You… You’ve really lost it after all this time, huh?”
You made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Don’t be mean. I’m— well…” You gave him a smile, something melancholy lining your lips. “Doing just fine.” The words were bitter across your tongue. He only gave you a look like he didn’t quite believe you, something indecipherable in his gaze.
“Right,” he snorted. “Like I’m gonna believe that after whatever the hell you just said.” A hand lifted from the water to gesture at you, gray-blue just like his face.
Rolling your eyes, you shifted on your feet and stood up, brushing off your pants as you shoved your hands into your pockets. You hadn’t realized, but there was this twinge building in your stomach with every minute that ticked by. You needed to sleep this off… whatever this was. You sighed, long and weary. “I should not be entertaining you.” But it was so hard to resist—has been, for years now.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” Sebastian muttered to himself, pinching at the bridge of his nonexistent nose with two large fingers. When you only raised an eyebrow at him and took a step in the direction of your cottage, intending to head back to get started on dinner, he lurched forwards in the water. “Wait. Where are you going? Y-You’re leaving?”
You didn’t intend on answering him, so accustomed to ignoring him in your cottage whenever he spoke into the air. But when this Sebastian snapped out your name in a warning tone, you gave him a look. “I’m not leaving, silly. I’ll see you inside, won’t I?”
“God, do you even hear yourself right now?” he rasped out, voice betraying a certain incredulity as he lifted himself up in the water just enough that you could see what looked like a waterlogged scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. That couldn’t be comfortable. “Listen to me. I’m here. I’m real.”
Real, huh?
You closed your eyes and thought about a figure standing in the corner of your living room, watching you with a small grin. You thought about the endless nights of him standing near your bed or hovering just beyond your shoulder, whispering at you to close your eyes and sleep. You thought about a lot. You thought about nothing.
And so you hummed, a distant thing that you did not quite register as you started to turn away, unwilling as you were to continue this. But before you could make it even a couple of steps back down the dock, Sebastian made a noise—ragged and disbelieving. There was the sound of rushing water directly behind you. The roar of a small waterfall, almost. It made you turn back and blink in surprise as your head craned back.
The wood beneath you creaked and groaned in an ominous manner.
“We are not done talking,” Sebastian growled as he loomed over you. Like this, you could take him in his entirety—from the brown jacket covering his torso that was dark with seawater, to the three arms he had that held himself up atop the dock’s surface. The shirt he had on was translucent enough to appear gray in color. If you looked close enough at the sliver of his unclothed body before it disappeared beneath the dock’s edge, you could just barely make out the shine of scales.
This was—like nothing you have ever seen before.
Your lips parted when a drop of water landed on your cheek, startling you for a moment. A glance up at the sky showed clear skies above you. Maybe you’d imagined it. You shook your head slightly and focused back on Sebastian.
Water continued to run down his body, each drop soaking into the wooden planks of the dock, before it eventually eased into a trickle.
“What is there to talk about?” you asked lightly after contemplating his words.
His grip tightened on the dock, enough that you could almost hear something splinter. “Much, in case you were not aware.” He surveyed your open face with narrowed eyes, a soft teal glow dusting across your features. It was like you were being held open like a book, all of your innards exposed for him to analyze. You weren’t sure what he found there, but it made him suddenly soften like butter atop a warm stove.
“I just…” He sighed, something long-suffering that came from deep within his chest. “This wasn’t how I’d imagined things would go, believe it or not.”
You cocked your head at him and watched him slouch from his rigid position. Still dripping water. Still with that raven hair plastered to his face. There was a sort of exhaustion to him that you’d never noticed before. It made something pang in your chest—caused you to clench your hands into fists in a vain attempt to focus on anything else.
There was the pungent smell of fish, raw and metallic.
Not real. This was not real.
Sebastian shifted, and the hand attached to his torso—smaller in size and covered sloppily in stained bandages—raised as though it was going to reach towards you. Your heart nearly skipped a beat at the motion. But then he stopped, staring down at his palm. Big and gray and consisting of four thick fingers with sharp ends. There was the glint of something gold around his fourth finger. Your own hand twitched inside your pocket.
Always just out of reach. Never crossing a line.
His hand clenched into a fist, and he lowered it back to the dock with a quiet thud.
He said your name. “I know this is difficult to hear, but… It’s me,” he whispered, voice strained like it was on the precipice of breaking. “It’s really, really me.”
You swallowed heavily, feeling as though the world was unraveling by the seams beneath your feet.
This was not him. It couldn’t be.
Why would you ever imagine him like this?
“No, it’s not,” you eventually said bitterly, breaking eye contact so you could glance back at your cottage. You closed your eyes, then reopened them as you turned your back to him. And when you spoke again, your voice teetered like you were one step away from falling into a never ending pit. “You’re dead.”
And then you walked away.
Each step you took felt like eternity, something heavy weighing you down. He called out your name. First so quietly you almost didn’t hear it, a tinge of something fragile to it. Then again with frustration lining his voice—louder and aggrieved. There was a sharp crack of something behind you, but you were determined in your march back home.
Deep breath in, deep breath out. Your jaw clenched to suppress the tremble you could feel working its way throughout your body. You refused to look behind you, and you succeeded right up until you stood before the door to your cottage. With one hand on the metal knob, you twisted around to look back at the shore—the dock you could see a ways behind you.
It was vacant, not a soul in sight.
Your lips pursed together, and you opened the door to slip inside with a heavy, grim feeling taking root in your stomach.
Sebastian was waiting for you already, sprawled atop your couch as he grinned at you wide enough that you saw each and every one of his white teeth.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said amusedly, one of his hands raking through the wavy mess of hair on his head. His voice lowered, gentle and sincere. “Maybe take a break from the dock, yeah?”
You only slowly shook your head and moved past him, suddenly feeling queasy and lightheaded and so frazzled that you couldn’t bear being awake for much longer.
Your thoughts lingered on the shore. Teal eyes and the sound of breaking wood that felt so real in that instance. You forced yourself to breathe.
Sebastian solace x gn reader (fem anatomy but like,, they/them pronouns if that's alr,,) smut,,, breeding kink,, or something like that,, preferably with emphasis on size dif and power imbalance,, and perhaps some degrading? PLEASE IM BEGGING SOOOOO HARD
Pairing• [Sebastian ♡ Reader]
A/N• YES!! I originally was gonna do something like this in the first place, so it worked out! I had multiple ideas on how his anatomy would work , like some 𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 ideas. But I decided to keep it tame since I don't know how 𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 you guys are. I still don't know how warnings work, LOL.
Warnings• Smut 18+, breeding, size dif, power imbalance, degrading
Word count• 1.1 K
Discount
Reaching door fifty wasn't the easiest, considering you accidently angered Eyefestation, and you managed to actually survive Pandemonium on a whim. With you being rushed multiple times by Angler and Blitz, you never had the right opportunities to check for data, leaving you with a measly one hundred intel. With a deep breath pushing open door fifty, you're met with the familiar voice of your condescending fishy friend, Sebastian. "Hey, over here." His voice rang through the vent beside you, sounding unexciting as ever. Popping open the vent and crawling through you're met with the tall hybrid, towering over you. As your eyes locked on his bored ones, his fins flared out slightly upon noticing it was you. "Oh! Hello my little minnow, what may you be looking for today? I stumbled upon this black light, it's pretty rare, four hundred Intel for it." A small smirk came on his face as a frown formed on yours. "What's the problem? Couldn't reel in that much Intel so far? Normally, you come in and buy everything, but it seems you're lacking today." A soft tsking noise can be heard from him as his tail flicked. You bit the inside of your cheek, eyeing the black light strapped to his tail. It could come in use against those annoying squiddle later on. "Could you maybe give me a . . discount?" Managing to look back up at him, his gaze still boreing in on you. Silence covered the room as he stared at you before laughing. "A. . A discount?"
His laughter quickly died down as he realized you weren't joking with him. "Awh. . oh.." He glanced off to the side with his eyes squinted, he pops his clawed fingers in a fidgeting motion as he seemed in thought. His esca flickerd for a moment before he turned back to you, "I have a proposition! How about I give you a very generous discount since you're not an annoying parasite like the rest of the little divers they send down here. ." His voice trailed off to something more luscious. "In exchange though, you give yourself up to me?" A patronizing grin formed on his face as he saw the soft blush creep onto your face. Your mouth moved, but nothing came out in protest, just soft stutterd "I. ."'s and "Wha. ."'s fell from your mouth. The embarrassment at the idea picked at your brain. "Are you stupid or something? Did you forget how to speak?" The snarkness in his voice makes your stomach flutter. "I guess. ." Timidly accepting his terms, his grin comes back, briefly flashing his sharp teeth. "Well then, shall we get started, my dear?"
Sebastian is leaned against the wall, he's already ripped off your diving gear, leaving you bare on top of him. With your back flushed against his chest, two of his lower arms hold onto your waist, covering it completely, holding you in place. "Seb. ." You softly mumble out as your head is tilted down looking at how his tentacle like cock slithers out of the slit a bit under his lower abdomen where his tail like body starts. His unoccupied hand grabs your chin rather roughly tilting it up, his hot breath pants against your neck. His long tongue emerges from his mouth licking along your neck before mumbling something incoherent you couldn't catch onto. You feel his cock rub against your stomach in a sort of rutting motion, pre slicked onto your stomach as Sebastian let out a groan. He slowly guided his cock inside you, you gasp at the unfamiliar feeling of the arrow like head pushing its way deeper into you. The stretch making you gasp as he finally lowered you all the way. He lifted you up effortlessly and pushing you back down, using you like you were nothing. You whimpered at the feeling of him biting down on your shoulder to muffle his groans. Your mouth forms a 'o' shape as the head of his cock kisses your cervix and the small bumps on the underside of his member rubbing against spots you never knew existed, making your vision haze with pleasure.
His thrusts pick up, using you effortlessly. "Fuh. . hah.. fucking take it." He groans against the nape of your neck. "Jeez. . humph.. m'gonna fuck you till you're stupid. You won't mind right?" His patronizing tone resurfacing as you respond with choked gasps and whimpers. "Aww you can't even form any words, you're so fucking dumb. My dumb little toy." He harshly groaned against your ear, feeling how you're walls clenched around him as he said that. "Such a dirty, dirty little thing." He nipped against your neck as he neared his climax, your eyes open up slighty as you hear a soft thumping noise. Glancing over you see Sebastians tail wagging against the floor. "Drive me so crazy. . m'gonna fill you up. Yeah?" His voice wavers into soft hitches as you feel him twitch inside you. The feeling of one of his hands dragging down your stomach to the clit, roughly flicking the pad of his finger back and forth, desperate for your release on him. That familiar burning feeling in your stomach quickly builds up. With a few final flicks of his finger you let out a whimper as you reach your climax and cum around his cock. He twitches inside you for a final time before roughly slamming you down all the way on him, groaning against your neck as he stuffs your tiny cunt full of his cum. He holds you down for a few more moments before his grip on you softens.
Both of your soft pants and breaths fill the room as you come down from your highs. Gently lifting you off of his retreating member, he helps you get dressed again in your gear. "And heres your promised discounted item, my sea fireflie." A sofend grin formed on his face as he picked the black light off his tail and handed it to you. "Th. . thanks.." You mumbled as you leaned against the table next to him, having a hard time standing up. "Maybe discounts for you will be more frequent. Don't cha' agree?" A snicker left him as you collected yourself. "Thanks Seb." You mumbled your goodbyes to him and crawled back through the vent. "Goodbye." He said, dragging it out longer than he should.
hiii!! may i please request something similar to this? <3 (i find the concept of reader hiding behind seb SO CUTEEE)
https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPRoEW2En/
𝜗 ˖ ❝ what do you think you're doing? ᵕ ♡
— in which you use sebastian to protect yourself from an angler. ✧
↷ 406 wc 𓈒 sfw 𓈒 sebastian is a bit mean 𓈒 i love this idea hehe
SEBASTIAN's shop is probably one of the safest areas in the Blacksite. No entities can get in—besides Sebastian himself, of course. That doesn't stop entities from coming right outside the shop, though.
After being here for so long, having countless anglers rush past you, that a flight or fight response triggers for you when the lights flicker all around. Sebastian seems to not react, besides a light grumble under his breath. He finally found a good area with lights, and now they were going to break. His esca could only light up so much.
You, however, had a much different reaction. Unfortunately, you've learned to instinctively flee and hide at the tiniest flicker. It helped you not die, so it simply stuck with you.
There were no lockers in Sebastian's shop, so you couldn't hide there. There also was no vent, since you had gotten him in an underwater area. The only other way to hide was to completely shield yourself from it's view.. and there was only one thing in the shop big enough to conceal your whole body.
Sebastian tensed as you quickly hid behind his tail, practically using him as a shield. He blinked, a bit confused: didn't you know that Anglers couldn't enter his shop? Maybe you really were a bit dumb.. He thought about telling you off, but it was also a bit funny to see you crouching behind him like a scared rabbit.
Sebastian huffed as he saw how shaky you were, and moved his tail to loosely wrap around you and help you feel more hidden. As quickly as you huddled behind him, the muffled noise of an Angler's scream rang out from below. He only hummed: the lights in his shop didn't end up breaking, how nice.
You stayed hidden for a few more seconds before perking up, your head popping out from the makeshift cocoon. Sebastian silently stared at you for a few moments before speaking, "You do know that Anglers can't get in my shop.. right?" He teased you, making you pause in embarrassment.
After a few seconds of just staring at each other, you tried to pry yourself off of his tail, but Sebastian wouldn't let you. He tightened his tail's coil around you. "No, no, it doesn't work like that," Sebastian commented, "I protected you, right? How kind of me. And how rude of you to try leaving before you even return the favor."
ᝰ.ᐟ the two of you are private not secret, but when the media starts to speculate that the two of you are no longer together, neither of you are too happy. the best way to get everyone to stop with the breakup rumors? posting something a little bit nasty to the feed to satiate everyone's curiosity. (fem!reader)
featuring tobio kageyama, atsumu miya, tetsurou kuroo, wakatoshi ushijima, tooru oikawa, rintarou suna
content contains breeding kink (atsumu, wakatoshi), pregnant reader (wakatoshi), famous!reader (changes depending on scenario), creampie (tetsurou), hatefucking (not really, you + kuroo just like to antagonize each other but the attraction is there), scratches on his back (tobio), hickeys (tooru), wet n messy (rintarou), possessive!character x possessive!reader (the two of you are obsessed with each other ok), social media references lol
author's notes i'm definitely doing a blue lock version, i'm just seeing if this is a popular premise lol <3 based off this original concept !! these are just silly little drabbles for me to warm up to the idea of writing again haha
౨ৎ TOBIO KAGEYAMA
your fans are speculating: that you and kageyama have broken up. fans are recording footage from you on your latest tour and claim that you're "clearly disassociating" and "somewhere else mentally" when it comes to singing your iconic love songs. you and kageyama have always kept your relationship private because he's not a very open person to begin with, and you don't want to give the media more material to misconstrue. you know that kageyama hates when some random person will annotate your verses on genius lyrics and try to make the claim that your innocent metaphor is you wanting to jump ship and leave kageyama. and you hate how it's your own fans who are making wild accusations of you no longer being with the man all your love songs are about.
you posted: kageyama, with his back turned to the camera so all that fills your camera is the surprisingly broad expanse of his muscular back and shoulders. he's not even flexing, and it's obvious that he's a world-class athlete. he's facing the closet, trying to find a shirt to put on, and it would be a semi-innocent photo, the pinterest-perfect photo inspo for every private not secret relationship out there, except for the fact that there are clearly faint, red lines — scratches — running down his back. you caption the photo with a "monday morning 🤍" (your insane fans spam the comment section to exclaim how they knew you two were still a thing... and to speculate that this photo is somehow an easter egg for an upcoming song/album. well, they're right: you two will always be a thing, and tobio dicked you down so good last night that you could write him a whole album.)
ᯓ ᡣ𐭩
"fuck," the word slips through his gritted teeth, and you can tell that your tobio is still upset about how your fans seem divided. half of them claim no one could ever make them hate tobio (you find those fans to be absolutely adorable), and the other half...
well, the other half are making slideshow posts to audios that go "some boys take a beautiful girl and hide her away from the rest of the world" and the ones that seem to go viral are always the ones that feature you and tobio.
"not hidin' you away." he mutters, never slowing down his thrusts. he admires the expression on your face as he fucks into you, his ego pleased with how receptive you are to his every movement. he has you speared on his cock, your tight little cunt full of him, your eyes getting so adorably teared-up because he's just a little bit too much for you to handle. tobio isn't good with words; he thinks you're the most beautiful girl to exist, but he can't verbalize it. so he just takes in your sweet, fucked-out face, the reaction only he's capable of drawing from you, and it all gets so overwhelming for him.
he has to bury his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet scent of your body wash as he continues to bully his cock into your soaked pussy. "why's it bad if i want to keep you all to myself?" he's practically whining, and you think this would be so cute if only you weren't currently chasing after your release. or rather, tobio's forcing you to cum, whether you want to or not. it's not like you can stop him; tobio devotes himself to always ensuring that you finish before him. he likes the satisfaction of knowing only he can take care of you, and he especially likes the way his cock looks with you creaming all over it.
when he gets like this, all you can do is cling to him, your arms wrapped around his muscular build. when he gets rough with his thrusts, when his body gets just the slightest bit sweaty from the exertion (evidence of just how much work he puts into fucking you), you have to dig your manicured nails (the set he paid for) into the skin of his toned back. otherwise, you'd lose your grip, and your hands would slip off.
tobio relishes the slight stinging pain of your nails scratching down his skin. but the scratches aren't enough. he needs to make you cum. when you get so caught up in your climax, you start clawing at him as you lose control. he loves the scratches you leave on him; it's proof that he's yours just as much as you are his.
౨ৎ ATSUMU MIYA
haters are saying: that you're just using atsumu for content. you're a gold digger. you're not genuine. you're not "wifey material." spectators are claiming that atsumu is playing worse than before because he's too "pussywhipped" for you. well, he likes to cheekily admit to you that he is addicted to your pussy, but they're wrong about everything else. obviously. however, the haters are feeling very vindicated whenever they see atsumu hasn't been posting you as much. (you're traveling for a new vlog series on your page, but no one knows.)
he posted: a mirror selfie. which isn't breaking news. atsumu miya always breaks the internet when he posts a mirror selfie because the only thing worse than a hot guy is a hot guy who knows he's hot. no one is a stranger to the sight of a post-workout, sweaty, shirtless atsumu, who flaunts his tight abs and muscular thighs with a steamy mirror selfie. but this photo? this one is going triple platinum. it's going down in history. this selfie is taken in dim lighting; the curtains in the background are drawn shut, he's got one hand gripping his phone (making the phone look tiny in his big hand), and he's got one arm wrapped around you. it's not an innocent hug, though. he's cupping your ass, and the phone in front of his face does nothing to shield his satisfied smirk. you're clad in nothing but lacy lingerie from a designer who loves to sponsor you, and you're clinging to his side, almost like you can't even stand without his support. it's clear that the two of you definitely were... appreciating the work your favorite designer put in when they created that lacy set.
ᯓ ᡣ𐭩
"what do you think?" you're smiling at him, knowing damn well what he's thinking.
atsumu looks up at you, reflexively licking his lips as he takes in the sight of you wearing a new set of lingerie that you just got delivered. it leaves little room for imagination, and the material looks so delicate, atsumu is already thinking about how he'll have to apologize to the designer for ripping it off of you.
"i think I'm the luckiest man alive right now." atsumu is shameless in the way he's admiring you, the way the setting sun still peeks through the curtains, enveloping your body in a delicious golden glow as you inch closer and closer to him.
in a matter of seconds, he's pulling you on top of him, placing wet, sloppy kisses over any centimeter of your skin he can reach. when you make a move to slip off the panties, he protests.
"leave 'em on f'me, baby. please?"
he fucks you with you still wearing the lingerie set. your breasts are spilling out of the bra, and all he did was move your panties to the side so he could stretch you out with his cock.
"fuckin' idiots, tellin' me you're not good enough to marry. i'll show 'em what a good girl you are, right? gonna put a ring on your finger, and make you my wife." he's fucking his cock into you, making sure that your cute cunt knows who it belongs to. "gonna fuck a baby into you, sweetheart. no one's gonna say shit about our family, huh? 'cause i won't let 'em."
your cunt clenches up so nicely with every comment he makes that atsumu knows he has to make all those pussydrunk promises come true.
౨ৎ TETSUROU KUROO
the tabloids are posting: paparazzi photos of you — the socialite daughter of the man who owns the msby black jackals, and jva's promotion division's golden boy, tetsurou kuroo. it's late at night, and the two of you are clearly leaving a party celebrating the success of another eventful volleyball season. you're wearing the iconic ysl heels with a black mini-dress that honestly should be called a micro-dress. your hair is a mess, you're walking like your knees are struggling not to wobble, and walking three steps behind you despite his longer stride is kuroo; his tie is crooked, his cheeks are flushed, and he has a grin that says something like i just fucked one of the richest bratty heiresses in japan, and i left her wanting more. the amount of blind items that are allegedly alluding to you and kuroo are being spread all over tiktok. one reads, "this sports club heiress was seen exiting a party with this semi-known marketing mastermind who works in the sports industry. apparently, they couldn't keep their hands off each other, and no one can recall seeing them together during the party; everyone only caught glimpses of them running away from the festivities together."
you posted: a photo slideshow on instagram of your absolutely iconic outfit from the party, only these photos were clearly taken before the party. your hair is done, your makeup is perfect, and your caption states don't believe everything you read. the last slide is a screenshot of an online headline speculating about your "new man" with a photo of a grinning kuroo from that night. the reason why this makes everyone go insane is because you're no stranger to a scandal — this is, however, the first time you've ever addressed a headline.
ᯓ ᡣ𐭩
"hurry up," you hiss, your eyes darting from left to right as you make sure no one is nowhere near the secluded corridor kuroo somehow managed to find.
"y'know, i thought girls were supposed to like guys who don't blow their loads prematurely." even when he's bullying his cock into your slicked up cunt, savoring the way your sensitive walls are clenching around his dick, tetsurou has a very annoying habit of still sounding entirely in control. for someone who can't keep his hands to himself when it comes to you, he's irritatingly great at playing nonchalant.
but he's just a man, after all. he might tower over you, his large body shielding you from any prying eyes, and he might know your body so well that he can bring you to completion twice (once with his fingers curling against that special spot of yours, and another one so rudely wrung out from you when he slid his cock in your orgasm-recovering, overly sensitive pussy) in just the fifteen minutes he's been toying with you tonight, but you know that he must be feeling something. you saw him shift his pants the moment his eyes met yours from across the room, when his eyes travelled down your body and followed the way your dress emphasized the curvatures of your body.
"if you don't finish right now, i'm not going to let you cum inside." you threaten him, trying to steady your voice as you bite back a moan. it'd be a major issue if the two of you got caught, with the volleyball association's golden boy being buried balls-deep inside a sports team owner's bratty daughter.
with every sharp snap of his hips, kuroo is only forcing more slick to come gushing out of your pussy. he can't even take the time to admire the white ring you left around his cock; he's too focused on chasing after his release because he didn't get to where he's at by not being opportunistic.
"if i cum inside, you have to keep it in your panties the whole night. you wouldn't want that, would you?" he sounds a little breathless now, his pace quickening as his thrusts get sloppier. he's smiling at you, that damn annoying smile that makes you want to roll your eyes or insult him. but your body betrays you. his grin only widens when your pussy tightens up at the idea of having his cum soaking in your panties while you interact with people at this party. a dirty little secret shared only between you two.
he lets out a breathy chuckle at your body's betrayal. "okay, princess. since you want it so badly, i guess i better give it to you."
you could practically cum again the minute you feel the warmth of him finishing inside of you. you're a spoiled brat who gets what she wants, and while you refuse to admit it, you want him. all of him.
and he's going to give it to you.
౨ৎ WAKATOSHI USHIJIMA
the media is going crazy over: the fact that ushijima is the type of person who doesn't clarify anything because he just assumes that everyone can read his mind. he's blunt, sure, but he's not really the type who does much explaining. after the first game of the season, an interviewer asks him if he enjoyed spending the off-season with you, his girlfriend and one of the most beloved, fan-favorite WAGs of all time. ushijima stares straight into the camera as he states in his usual deep, flat rumble of a voice, "the off-season was successful, but she isn't my girlfriend anymore. thank you." and then he just walks off, like he didn't just drop the most insane piece of information ever?
he posted: a photo of an ultrasound that was clearly taken out of his wallet since it's thrown on the table in the background. he's holding it in his left hand, and the overhead lighting is reflected from the silver wedding band he's wearing. now that he's off the court, he's able to wear it. in typical ushijima fashion, there is no caption, but a picture is worth a thousand words. you're not his girlfriend. you're his wife, and soon to be mother of his child.
ᯓ ᡣ𐭩
"mmph — 'toshi!" you squeal out, your calves burning from the stretch as your beloved wakatoshi has your legs bent and spread for him. he's just so big that you'd never be able to handle all of him, and yet, here you are, bent into a mating press every night since the two of you have gotten married. you try to beg him to slow down, but words escape you as he buries himself into your pussy, letting out a deep, guttural groan as the warmth of your cunt coats his cock. there's no better feeling than this.
even if you could request for him to slow down, it wouldn't have mattered or made much of a difference. your husband has a one-track mind. when wakatoshi is set on a goal, it's hard to break his focus until he sees it to the end. and right now, wakatoshi's goal is to fuck a baby into you, to see you round with life because of the seeds he planted.
he's hunched over you, abs tightening and flexing with every sharp inhale of breath he takes. he's gonna fuck himself empty, going to keep filling your cunt with his seed 'til he's shooting blanks. his eyes glance at the ring he put on your finger before returning to admire your blissful expression and the way your body seems to have gone boneless from all the fucking he's had you endure.
"just a little bit longer." he manages to say, before forcing his cock in even deeper. "just have to make sure it takes."
౨ৎ TOORU OIKAWA
everyone is claiming: long distance relationships never last. when oikawa makes the shocking announcement that he is no longer a japanese citizen, everyone immediately wondered what that meant for the future of your relationship. does that mean it's over? officially? if oikawa is leaving behind his hometown, then by default, is he leaving you behind too?
he posted: a photo slideshow, only most of the images were clearly taken by you. the first one is of him driving; the two of you are in his convertible, and he's wearing a white button down with most of the buttons undone. on the stark white of the shirt are kiss marks; the imprint of your lips lined with cherry-red lipstick are all over the material of his shirt and on his freshly-tanned skin. the other photos are of what you two ate for dinner, the sunset from the beach, and a selfie of you two looking more in love than ever. fans are quick to point out the massive hickey on your neck, and tooru tags you in a reply to the top comment that points it out, and he's saying "you missed a spot babe." you reply back, "i ran out of concealer because you gave me too many to cover"
ᯓ ᡣ𐭩
"i missed you," your boyfriend mumbles into your soft skin. tooru can get so clingy when he goes long periods without seeing you, and you indulge him because he's tooru. he's got his face buried in the space between your shoulder and neck, and his breath is warm against your skin as he speaks.
"everyone is saying i'm abandoning you, but that's not true." he whines.
"i know, baby. i don't care." you laugh softly, absentmindedly playing with the soft strands of his hair. he settles into you, and it's almost sweet, until he starts nipping at your skin.
"tooru, what are you doing?" you can't find it in yourself to chastise him too harshly, but you do have to restrain yourself from pulling back.
"jus' want to show everyone that you're still my girl." he peers up at you, licking his lips. "you'll let me do that, won't you?"
tooru bites and sucks at your skin, sharp canines grazing your soft flesh. he sucks at your most sensitive areas while he works his fingers in and out of your gushing cunt. when he pulls his fingers out and holds them up, so the sunlight can shine and really highlight how much of your juices is coating his digits, he smiles. his girl gets this wet just from him marking you up?
as he sucks on his fingers, relishing in the way you taste, he can't help but be happy to know that no matter how far away the two of you are from each other (for now), you're still his girl.
౨ৎ RINTAROU SUNA
your fans are telling you: suna doesn't care about you. suna doesn't put forth any effort into your relationship. suna literally streams on twitch during the off-season yet he can't seem to ever post you?? suna doesn't deserve you. suna—
suna is a lot of things, but nothing like the deadbeat, ashamed boyfriend allegations. in fact, all your well-meaning fans are so far off on how he treats you that you and him get a good laugh from the outrageous conclusions they've jumped to.
you posted: a photo of rintarou with his head on your lap, and you've got your fingers playing with his hair. it's a sweet photo, really. except for the fact that you decided to pair it with an audio that's a snippet of a song that goes "he's so pretty when he goes down on me" and a caption that reads this song is so relatable 🤍
ᯓ ᡣ𐭩
anyone who thinks rintarou is a selfish lover, a lazy lover, someone who merely tolerates you or is ashamed to be with you... they clearly don't know either of you very well.
because even when he's exhausted from practice, rintarou comes home craving you. craving your sweetness, your warmth, your love — and your pussy. he's obsessed. rintarou suna loves to eat you out, and he does it with such passion, such enthusiasm, that it's hard to refuse him, even if he's been going at it for the past hour.
your juices are leaving a stain on the bedsheets, and your slick is coating your inner thighs. it doesn't help that rintarou is messy with his technique. he needs your legs spread for him, granting him easy access for him to just dig in. he's still in his practice jersey, and when he feels your grip loosening from the strands of hair you're tugging at, he'll slow down his pace, calming down to just tiny kitten licks while he peers up at you.
your head is thrown back in pleasure, and your hips have a mind of their own as they still jut forward, as if trying to bring your cunt impossibly closer to him. no need for that, really, seeing as how he craves to bury himself in your warmth, to suck on your cute little clit and have you humming all over his tongue.
"rinnie." you whine out, still subconsciously bucking up your hips. he smiles before resuming his original ministrations, gluttonous and greedy with how sloppy and hungry he is with you. if you're still capable of talking, then you're not too fucked out to not allow him to get his fill.
Say less, baby! Thank you for feeding me despite your aversion to my pookie. ILYSM
Pairing: F!Reader x Muzan
Warnings: NSFW. Demonic creampie. Degradation. Insults as a love language. Sub!Reader? Dom!Muzan? (Idk I suck at writing dominant men tbh- I'll tag it just in case)
"Ah, you're so wet. And I've stretched you out perfectly for me. My pitiful cock-hungry harlot."
The demon king hurls insults with every second breath as his hips slap against you, thrusting his engorged cock into your aching pussy with such force that if he was human you'd swear he was trying to kill you with it.
You know him well enough to know he's showing restraint.
If he wanted to, Muzan could end you a thousand different ways, but he never would. Not you.
"I can feel your greedy cunt trying to milk me. Oh, you're such a slut for me, aren't you?" His lips curve into a feral grin. "My slut. Mine. Say it."
"I'm... yours..."
You cry out at he grinds his hips against yours, the dense patch of short black curls above his dick creating just the right friction for your overworked clit.
You gasp, "Gonna... cum..."
Muzan laughs darkly. "Again? How utterly pathetic. You can't control your body's response to me. I can feel you... ah... squeezing me... pulsing..." He bows his head and growls as you climax, the veins in his neck and brow straining as he approaches his own release.
He drives a yelp from you as he presses down until the head of his cock is bullying your cervix. His back arches as he sucks in a breath and shivers through his orgasm, filling your overstuffed pussy once more, relishing the way his seed spills out of you and dribbles onto the bed beneath you. Only with you does he lower his defenses enough to allow himself to moan.
"So good..." He whispers the tiniest hint of praise against your ear, as though some part of him is terrified to utter it.
In the moments following release, Muzan is a different sort of beast; tamer, softer... almost human in his uncoordinated attempt at remaining in control. It's only ever a fleeting vulnerability.
The heat of his breaths fans across your lips as he comes tantalizingly close to kissing you. His lips ghost over yours as he regains his composure and resumes his taunting. "Look at you," he whispers, "reduced to nothing more than a quivering, mewling wreck. Mmh, how many is that? Are you still able to count or have I succeeded in fucking all sense out of you?"
"S-seven..."
He grins, "Then you're not done."
"Wait." Reaching up to cup his face in your hands, your thumb glides across the curve of his cheekbone.
Hot breath blows against your wrist as he turns into your caress, grazing the points of his fangs against your wrist. "Is this a plea for mercy?"
"No..." you whisper. "I just... love you."
His expression remains unchanged, but his crimson eyes bore into yours, narrow pupils widening at your confession.
"Is that so?"
You nod. "Yes."
Without warning he hooks his hands beneath your knees and pulls you down onto his cock, throwing your legs over his shoulders so he can fuck you even deeper and harder than before.
It's all you can do not to scream in ecstasy and torment as he slams into you with new, feral intensity, sending shock-waves of painful pleasure through your entire body.
His hips piston against you, forcing a cry from you with every thrust. The only sounds in the vast halls of the Infinity Fortress are your moans, the lewd wet slap of skin on sopping skin, and the words he uses to claim you.
"You're mine," he hisses through his teeth. "Mine."
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