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[buggyeyedfreak]

Heh... This one is requested >:] (Sorry its so short, I've been low on steam for anything that isn't my characters recently lol, lack of motivation ig)

August x reader (The man from the shadow)

Topic; You're bathing together after being freakayyy

Tw; None besides reader being REALLY cut up, and them both being in a bath tub

You thought maybe after nearly getting killed by him, you'd at least be able to relax in a bath privately.

You were wrong.

August was in the water with you, taking up most of the space because of his lanky body, having a bath in the darkest dark you could possibly make in the bathroom. He insisted on coming with you, despite being a spirit, and probably not even having to shower. You had dozens of aching cuts over your body, as he tried to smooth out your hair. "This uhm, wasn't what I was thinking would happen." You said awkwardly, the man still pushing you close to him in the bath. "You thought I was gonna kill you, didn't you?" He rubbed behind your ears, as if he were bathing a cat. "I might've almost had my life flash before my eyes." You shuddered at the pain in your wounds, one of his hands dragging itself down your throat to wipe some of the older blood off. "And yet you let it happen..." He teased, his lengthy hair fallen around his shoulders. "Hey, I can wash myself-!" You batted at him lightly, before he grabbed your chin and squeezed your face. "I thought maybe you'd appreciate the help, after being carved into." He was grinning as you huffed. He was, unfortunately, right. It was oddly cozy, especially with the steam and his hands rubbing you down. He buried his face into the back of your neck, squeezing your torso tightly the second his arms could reach around you. You've never seen him this affectionate before in your life, you didn't even know he could be so soft. "Can I at least ask that you don't stab me next time?" You placed a hand on his arm. "Mmm... Depends, on how much you squirm." You sighed, leaning back into him. "You're impossible..." "And you loved it." "Shut up." He pulled your head down into his neck instead, and sunk you both deeper in the water, with both arms coiled around you.

You two were probably gonna be there for a while.

Lowkirkenly the reader in this story rn

And also yes he does only bathe in the dark, it just makes sense to me

[swatch-on-my-watch-mdni]

Oh sweet dreams...

Summary:

You knew it was all a dream. 

But that couldn't deter you from enjoying this. 

CW: Noncon kissing, swords, cut tongue (NOT CUT OFF, JUST LIGHTLY CUT), August

MDNI

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There he was. This worm, who has been nothing but a thorn in your side, was finally wiggling, his hands scrambling for his knife, where he belonged. Down on the ground. 

His cape, coat and pants got torn in this fight. His hat flew off at your first successful strike across his chest. 

His face, though it was hard to see due to his dark skin, was now dirtied by the streams of blood flowing from his eyes and the dust you two kicked up as you danced your tango. 

He looked up at you with this pathetic look. Was he begging for mercy? Was he planning something? You didn't care. 

You lifted your sword. The tip poked at the most prominent part of his Adam's apple, ready to strike. You could feel how much you were going to enjoy it, the thought of going through the motion already flooded your blood with dopamine. 

"You..." He choked, the word got caught in a swallow. His breathing was quiet, but sharp. It drew a smile to your face. 

The dream allowed you to keep the moment frozen. Allowed you to enjoy it all. 

You stopped when you heard him chuckle, with a smile that mirrored yours. 

"You little pervert." He mumbled, keeping his eyes on you. You felt confused. You know you didn't conjure this up. You didn't want to see him enjoy this too... This could've meant only one thing. 

"What are you..." Your grip on your sword weakened, but you kept it pointed at his face. August looked at the metal and let out an amused hum. 

"You dream of me? You make me blush, Schatz! ~" He returned his eyes to you. He brushed his thumb over the tip of the blade. "And it seems, we are more alike than I thought..." 

You reinforced your stance; the sword now pointed at the area between his eyebrows. 

"Don't ever dare say that!" You hissed through your teeth. The smile faltered from August's face; his gaze returned to your sword. 

"That may be true..." He sighed, lifting his mouth to the metal. "Because unlike you, I never hesitate." 

From between his pearly white emerged his tongue, which was as dark as liquorice, and frighteningly long. To your shock, he dragged its whole back over the tip of your sword. You even saw dark drops of his blood coat the metal. 

You wanted to pull away, but you found that you couldn't move. Panic began building up in you. Once the two tips touched, August gave the blade a kiss and stood up. 

"You know..." He approached you with slow, relaxed steps. "This way you stand. So heroic... so confident." You circled around your frozen form, his cape seemingly wrapping around you more and more. "Is so cute." 

He stopped right in front of you. You could only look up at him. Even moving your mouth seemed to be a big task for you. 

His big hands cupped your cheeks, keeping him anchored as he leaned down to you. 

"It makes me..." He breath fanned over your face. Thank the heavens you couldn't smell in your dreams. "...want to eat you whole." 

His lips were threatening to brush against yours now. Soon enough, you got to taste the blood from his tongue, the taste making you choke from how bitter it was. 

You were sure that he manipulated your mind in a way that made you start to enjoy his closeness. You were about to cut his head off moments prior after all.  

You felt a stream of saliva drip down your chin once he finally let go of you. His hands were now, just like his cape, circled around your body. 

"August..." It came out more desperate than you wanted to. It earned a chuckle from him. 

"Was, Hase?" He asked, now playing with your hair. The area on your face close to the strand burned. Painfully.  

Echoing from the distance, you heard a familiar voice getting louder. 

"WAKEY-WAKEY!" A loud slap and the burning feeling of your whole face followed his screaming. You shot up from the warmth of your bed, instinctively trying to punch back. You failed. 

You blinked a few times before you could make out his figure perfectly. 

"Knocker?" You asked, still sleepy. You rubbed your face, trying to subdue the pain. 

The man before you clicked his tongue, annoyed.

 

"I've been trying to wake you up for the past 5 minutes. What the hell were you dreaming about?" He sat down next to you. You gave him an irritated look. 

"Why did you wake me up?" You asked, ready to pull out the shovel from your inventory. He pointed to your door. 

"You left the door open. Just wanted to tell you." 

-----------------------------------------

Happy April Fools' Day ya'll!

[buggyeyedfreak]

August x reader (the man from the shadow.)

Unprovoked snuggling from august fuck yeah and maybe ooc i dont know, this one is self servicey

Tw; Mentions of reader previously being killed, no more meds, he's kinda weighing you down in bed

ART CRED; https://x.com/i/status/2012883812800135216

You were absolutely fucked. Your paranoia and anxiety had been growing as of late. Why? That fucking monster killed you a week ago when you were cave diving, and you never found your pills. Worse than that, it was starting to get much more bold with everything it did.

It would brutalize you, it'd leave you for hours to a day to make you comfortable and then you'd be surprised with the happy little sensation of a knife brandished at your throat. He didn't rest. He was competitive when it came to what would make you suffer the most.

This night was different, though.

His attacks were less frequent that day. More docile as well. You immediately thought he was up to something. Or he was trying to lure you into comfort! But... He really had only been watching, the whole day. It was getting a little creepy.

Eventually, you went to bed. You were kinda thankful for how easy today was. Your aching body couldn't handle much more. It felt like you'd break under the pressure any day now.

Speaking of pressure... When you were falling asleep, you felt something heavy weigh on top of your hips, like a blanket. Your eyes opened ever so slightly to catch a glimpse of the smile that, I'm sure, you've come to admire. (Not.) You were just about to try getting up, to get away- Before he leaned down and curled his arms around you, burying his face into your chest. "I- I- What-?" Your mind was racing, but he did nothing to answer you. You felt even more embarrassed when you realized that his face was in between your collarbone, right above your breasts. His hands, usually accompanied with a knife, were now familiarizing themselves with your flesh as he dragged his palms across your back, to your shoulder blades. He had rough hands- You never realized how dry they were, because they only ever really touched you when he was trying to kill you. The man slowly tilted his head up to where you could see one eye. It was drooped, usually so wild with blood lust, now looking tired and softened. His voice eventually rang out, snapping you out of your trance. "Wanna know something?" He squeezed you lightly, making you slightly uncomfortable. That was enough to make him smile, at least. That's what you were used to. That wide grin. "You remind me of my wife."

What. He had a wife? Was he a human? Demon? He has a life? Or is it his past-? "I look like your wife-?" You didn't mean to, but you asked out loud, obviously confused. "Spitting image." He leaned closer, staring into your eyes. His hands slowly went back down to slither underneath your shirt, making you blush and panic at the same time. "What are you doing... You... You're not real..." You tried to assure yourself, before he inched closer to your face, until he was all that you could see. "That's cute. Still trying to brush me off like a boogeyman." He dug his fingers into your back. "I'm very, very real. You're sick yes, but I'm not a result of that." You could feel him breathing on you, slowing down as he himself calmed down. "... I hope you like this. Because I'm not leaving for a while." He placed his head back down on your chest, fingers pressing and massaging into your back. "Why are you doing this?" You finally found the courage to say something, staring down at the man on top of you. "..." He didn't really wanna answer that. Truth is, he was starting to like you. A lot. His lengthy hair rested around your body as he laid there, soaking you in. His hands began to trace every scar he left in you, as if reminiscing on the moments he killed you or had you frozen in his arms. Slowly, you started to get a little tired yourself. You watched as he used you as a pillow, eyes starting to become heavy. Eventually, your eyes closed, and you felt sleep take hold of you as you heard a light snicker from him. You weren't even fighting it at this point. You drifted into the darkness, which you found was extremely similar to death after the many times he killed you, and into the nothingness.

[lolahauri]

˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ :Sex With: The Knocker;:

Ship: The Knocker/Reader

Type: F/M, Smut, Long HC's. (MDNI)

Contains: Regular World AU, Stalking Mentions, Unaware Voyeurism, Dubcon. Masturbation, Some Dom/Sub, Humiliation (if you squint), Cock Warming, Free Use, Somno, PiV, Oral, Vaginal Fingering, Mask Kink, Dry Humping, Glove Kink, Choking Mention, Edging, Hand Jobs, Restraints, Dacryphilia, Overstim, Size Diff, Scent Kink, Slight Breeding Kink, Just The Tip, Nipple Stim, Body Worship, Roleplay, Sex Tapes, Primal Play, CNC, Mating Press, Headlock, Full Nelson. 🕊️🪦

Event: Halloween! 🎃

Summary: Smut HC's of my man since there's only like 5 fics of him?!?

~

༊*·˚ Before getting together, he'd absolutely jerk off while watching you through your window. Usually only when you're changing or also pleasuring yourself. He just can't help himself! He'd last a pathetically short amount of time too, especially if you were also masturbating. It'd only be a few minutes at most before he's spilling in his hand and fighting back moans. His eyes nearly rolling back as he plants his other hand on the side of your house, gloved fingers pressing hard into the wood, trying so hard to not give himself away.

༊*·˚ He's still a little pervert voyeur even when you're dating. You can't lie though, you love it. There's nothing sexier than the sight of him on his knees, stroking his cock while he stares at you rubbing your clit with a vibrator. Or maybe fucking yourself with a dildo that's bigger or thicker than him, making him feel even more pathetic.

It's 10 times hotter when his arms are tied behind his back too. Watching his cock twitch and throb while he breathes heavily, his wide dark eyes giving you a look that says "please touch me or let me touch myself, I'm dying here."

༊*·˚ He loves being inside you as much as possible. He dreamt about it for months and months when he was watching you, and now that he actually gets to feel your warm slick cunt squeezing around him, he wants to feel it as much as possible. If you work from home or just spend a lot of time on your computer, he begs you to sit on his cock while you're at your desk. He always regrets offering though when you spend the afternoon purposely clenching around him, just to get him riled up and deny sex until you're done working.

But sometimes he just can't wait. There's been more than a couple times where he's gripped your hips and started pounding up into you without warning, burying his face into your neck and groaning. If he feels especially needy, he bites and sucks on the skin of your shoulders and neck, leaving a plethora of teeth marks and purple bruises.

༊*·˚ The Knocker loves free use too, going both ways of course. He lives for when you randomly come up to him as he's relaxing on the couch, just to push him on his back and climb atop his face, using his mouth to get yourself off.

He takes full advantage of free use too. It's not uncommon at all for him to come up behind you and bend you over whatever surface is in front of you. Sometimes he fucks you for his own pleasure, sometimes he fingers you and plays with your tits until you gush around his fingers.

༊*·˚ Somno goes hand-in-hand with free use. If you're okay with it, he'd love to fold you in half while you sleep and cum inside you till he passes out. Maybe he'd choose to pull your top up and fuck your tits too, making you wake up to cum on your face and sore nipples from being pinched and rubbed.

He loves it most when you use him while he sleeps though. He has the best orgasms of his life when he wakes up to you bouncing on his morning wood, not caring about anything but your own pleasure.

༊*·˚ When it comes to just regular sessions between you, I think he likes it a little rough. He fucks hard and fast, his tip threatening to hit your cervix with every thrust of his long cock. He has an inhuman stamina too, he could go multiple rounds back to back, not stopping till you're 100 percent satisfied.

༊*·˚ Speaking of being rough, I think he can accidentally get carried away when you give him head. He's a bit of a head pusher without realizing it, he just gets so needy and overwhelmed with pleasure, he ends up gripping your hair into a makeshift ponytail before thrusting into your mouth. He immediately stops when he hears you gag, looking down at you with guilty eyes. (You just giggle and give him the go-ahead to continue though.)

༊*·˚ It's not exactly a kink of his, but he also finds it hot when you're wearing lip gloss while you suck him off. He likes seeing the evidence of your act in the form of a pink sticky ring of gloss around the base of his cock.

༊*·˚ The Knocker is a total munch. A real eater. He could spend hours between your legs, licking and sucking your sensitive clit, slipping his tongue in your hole, getting almost dizzy from how fucking turned on he is from your moans and gasps. On occasion he'll slip two gloved fingers inside, angling himself to hit your g-spot each time he enters.

༊*·˚ If you like him, you probably have a mask kink. And he is more than happy to fulfill your fantasies. Want him to keep his usual one on? That's perfect. Want him to dress up as your favorite masked character? Sure, who do you want. Ghostface? Vigilante? Frontman? König? Just say it and he'll do it.

This goes well with roleplay, which I'll touch more on later.

༊*·˚ Dry humping isn't his biggest kink, but he does quite enjoy it with you. It gives him a major ego boost and hard-on watching you desperately grind on his bulge like a bitch in heat, too worked up to even get naked. His eyes stay glued to where your clothed pussy meets his crotch, feeling himself twitch in his pants, just aching to stuff you full. But seeing you enjoy yourself like this? He can wait a little while longer to fuck your brains out.

༊*·˚ He also noticed you really liked his black leather gloves. So of course he had to incorporate them into sex more often. He'll slap and grip your ass with them on; play with your tits; finger you and make you lick them clean; and of course, wrap those nice strong hands around your throat while he fucks you into the mattress.

༊*·˚ Now let's get to more of his kinks.

༊*·˚ Edging. This one goes both ways, though he hates to admit he loves when you tease him like that.

His favorite way to be edged is when receiving a blow job. You'll have his cock shoved down your throat, practically fucking your own face on it, and then when you feel it throbbing in your mouth, you pull away. It leaves him almost gasping for air when he feels the sudden loss of contact. He looks down at you like "what the hell?", but you don't say anything.

Instead you take his cock in your hand, slowly stroking it while you lick and suck his balls, peering up at him through your lashes. He whines and bucks his hips into your hand, whispering please under his breathe. You don't comply though, not until he begs a few more times at least.

And he thought that'd be the end of that for tonight. But when you do it again next time he's close? He knows he's in for a long ride.

But don't worry, he definitely gets his payback every time.

༊*·˚ When it comes to you, he pairs edging with restraints and crying. He LOVES cuffing your hands to the headboard and fucking you till you sob.

He'd be balls deep with your legs wrapped around his hips, hitting your sweet spot with nearly every thrust. One hand holding a vibrator to your clit, the other hand rubbing circles on your nipple.

The three sensations combined has you like putty in his hands, you're hardly fighting back on the restraints anymore. You're just too fucked out to be a brat right now.

Besides the constant moans and whimpers pouring from your mouth, he can feel that you're about to cum. With all the tight squeezing around his cock, and the juices dripping from your pussy.

That's when he decides to stop. Suddenly, and all together. The sudden loss of friction has you whining, pouting up at him.

"What... why'd you stop?"

He doesn't respond. Instead, he just tilts his head to the side, looking down at you through his mask. You can tell by the look in his eyes he's smiling. Jerk.

You groaned, kicking your legs at him and pulling at your handcuffs. "Ugh... pleaseee keep going. Pleaseee."

He huffed out a quiet laugh as you kept pleading with him. But, he eventually gave in. That's not to say he let you finish though, he gave you the exact treatment you'd given him. Only he didn't let you cum until those pretty tears starting staining your cheeks.

༊*·˚ Overstimulation is another way he gets you to cry tears of pleasure. It mostly happens when he's eating you out. He'll have you going round after round after round, cumming on his face the entire night until you genuinely can't hold back the sobs.

༊*·˚ Your size difference is something The Knocker really gets off on as well. He's much taller and stronger than you, and he uses it to his advantage. He often shows off his strength in bed by holding you down, picking you up, or putting you in whatever position he chooses.

One of your favorite moments was the time he pinned you up the bedroom wall, legs over his shoulders as you ate you out.

༊*·˚ Scent. He's been obsessed with you since the moment he began stalking you met you, and that includes being obsessed with every part of you. Sometimes just smelling your natural scent mixed with that lovely perfume you use is enough to get him going.

He also finds himself drawn to your used clothes when you aren't around and he's missing you. If he's horny, he's finding the freshest pair of panties in the laundry basket and sniffing them while he jerks off to your pictures. Maybe he wraps the panties around his cock too.

If he's not in the mood though, he just finds a t-shirt and dresses your pillow in it to cuddle, double the scent of you. :)

༊*·˚ Now, he doesn't actually want to get you pregnant (he wants you all to himself), but he's obsessed with the idea of breeding you. He's just so turned on by the thought of permanently claiming you, tying you to him forever.

So most of the time you fuck, he's doing it raw and giving you a creampie. Whole time picturing how perfect you'd look carrying his offspring, how thick you'd get from the extra weight gain. Sometimes it gets him feeling a little dizzy, and starts to wonder if he should ask you to get off birth control.

༊*·˚ Similar to edging, he loves making you beg for him by teasing you. His favorite way to do this is to get you all hot n bothered, just to only put the tip in.

But first he'd slide his cock up and down your folds, his fat tip bumping against your clit each time he moves up. You gasp and push your hips up slightly each time too, hoping he gets the hint to just fuck you already.

Of course he knows what you want, he just wants to hear you pout and beg for it. When you do get an attitude and go "Ughh, pleasee just fuck me already!" He just hums in response, sliding only his tip into your cunt and fucking you with that.

He probably strokes his cock too just to get you even more horny. And it works, he has you pathetically begging to be used before he actually stuffs his whole dick in you.

༊*·˚ Not a kink, but Knocker is definitely a tits guy. No matter the size or shape, he's loves giving them a lot of attention. Sometimes he'll sneak up behind you so he can snake his arms up your shirt and play with your tits. (You can literally feel his boner growing against your ass when he does this.)

If you're fucking in missionary, best believe he'll always have one nipple in his mouth, and one in his hands.

Tit fucking is a big love of his too, like I said previously, he thinks it's hottest to do it while you're sleeping.

༊*·˚ Body worship! It doesn't happen often, since he's usually more rough and fast. But on nights where he takes his time, he really takes his time. He's kissing and caressing every inch of your body as he slowly undresses you, whispering praises in his low gravely voice. He spends quite a long time on foreplay. Starting with kisses on your neck, then moving down to your tits, finally making his way to your pussy. But before he goes down on you, he always bites and kisses the inside of your thighs.

And only after he's made you cum on his face a few times will he finally fuck you. Only this time he's slow and deep, not rushing or being too rough this time. (Though you'll still end up with bruised hips from how tight his hands were gripping you.)

༊*·˚ Sex tapes! You don't do them often, but he loves it when you let him. He only really uses them when you're away for more than a day, but he still has plenty saved.

༊*·˚ He likes roleplay, it's fun. But he loves it when it's paired with CNC or primal play. Some of his favorite scenarios are...

Pretending to be an intruder who fucks you while you sleep and records it for blackmail.

Dressing as Ghostface, who chases his victim through the house before finally catching her in the basement. But instead of killing, he takes advantage of her before snapping a polaroid pic of the aftermath.

Suiting up as your favorite COD character, hunting you down in the woods and fucking you from behind on the ground, and again against a tree.

༊*·˚ Now onto his fav positions...

༊*·˚ Mating press. It allows him to be as deep as possible, and let's him have full access to your tits.

༊*·˚ He likes the headlock and full nelson for the same reasons: he gets to show off his strength, and these positions keep you pinned against him. No running away for you! 🤭

~

A/N: HAPPY HALLOWEEN 👻 Please have fun tonight but also be safe! I love you all!

[smallfootbababo]

📁 [𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐞 - “𝙼𝚈 𝙱𝙴𝙳 𝙸𝚂… 𝙰𝙻𝚂𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙱𝙴𝙳?” —> 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙺𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛 𝚡 𝙶𝙽! 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛]

[ ! +𝟭 𝗠𝗘𝗦𝗦𝗔𝗚𝗘 𝗙𝗥𝗢𝗠 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥 ! : 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘐 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦. 𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘺 𝘴𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘴. 𝘈𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘍𝘐𝘙𝘚𝘛 𝘍𝘈𝘕𝘍𝘐𝘊 𝘠𝘐𝘗𝘗𝘐𝘌!! ]

-> 📋 [𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗘𝗥𝗬] 📋 : 𝙀𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙢 𝙞𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙝𝙪𝙢𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙚, 𝙝𝙚 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙗𝙚𝙙 𝙖 𝙗𝙞𝙩 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚.

->❗️[𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦]❗️: 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙆𝙣𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙧 (𝙞𝙨 𝙖 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙩𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛), 𝙨𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙘𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜

->❕[𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗡𝗧]❕: 𝙁𝙡𝙪𝙛𝙛 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙨𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝘾𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙠, 𝘾𝙖𝙣 𝙗𝙚 𝙨𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙤𝙧 𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮, 𝙉𝙤 𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙔/𝙉

<—————————————————————————>

The cold air felt nice on your skin as you walked the path towards your house. You had just finished another long and excruciating hunt for ores from a cavern just a couple miles away from where you lived. The mobs were, in the politest way you could put it, very troublesome. From skeletons shooting arrows at you, to zombies and whatever other mobs that thought it would be funny for shits and giggles to just attack you at once. But it wasn’t something that you couldn’t handle.

In the end you got most of the stuff that you needed and high tailed out of there. You now get to enjoy the long stroll back home, only bumping into smaller groups of mobs then before. You were relieved to finally go home, take off the armour and rest in the oh so comfortable heaven you called your bed; that is, if HE wasn’t already there, wait for you on it.

You can’t remember how you had met the knocker, it just sort of…happened? You made the one mistake of look him in the eyes one time and he hasn’t left you alone since. Overall, you could say you have a “love and hate” kind of relationship with him. He’d always be knocking on your doors and windows, attacking you whenever you look for too long at him, leaving not so lovely notes for you outside around your property, and by far, the most frequent thing, is waiting for you in your bed.

You could never forget the first time it happened.

•*————————————————————————*•

You had just gotten home from making trades at the village close by when you had opened your door and entered your home. You let out an exhausted sigh and rubbed your face, hoping to calm down the incoming migraine as you make your way towards your room. You still had some chores to do around the house before you finally rest, so you just planned to put your stuff you got in a chest before leaving the house again.

‘God this migraine is gonna be the death of me. I’ll just be happy once I can finally rest in my bed- what the hell-?!’

Opening the door to your room you pause your train of thought as your eyes settle on the familiar figure you have grown accustomed to, as he sat on your bed in a criss-cross manner, slightly slouched as he kept his gaze on you.

“…”

There’s a long pause of silence as you watched each other, waiting for the other to do something first. You were the first one to break the quiet atmosphere. “Hey..?” You greeted him, though it sounded more like a question rather than a simple hello.

He tilts his head to the side, continuing to stare silently at you before a wicked grin crawled in his face, his body shacking before disappearing, leaving black particles to float softly onto the bed and dissipating into nothing. Another moment of silence passes as you stare at the now empty bed.

“…WHAT THE FU-“

•*————————————————————————*•

Ever since that moment he had made it a common accuracy to wait for you at home; in your bed. Or sometimes you’d just be sleeping and the next thing you know you’re waking up to the sight of him looking over you, breathing heavily before giving you that stupid, face overtaking grin and disappearing once again. You could say it’s become one of your many “pet peeves” as you put it.

You’ve tried everything to make him stop. You’ve tried telling him personally to stop being in you bed, which only earned you a good pinch to the side from him before disappearing once more. Then you tried bribing him with some cake; which then lead to getting a small punch. Hell, you even made him a room and he still picks your bed over it.

You had add some things that you thought he would like, and when you first showed him your room you thought that he would be pleased and leave your bed alone, only for him to instantly teleported away, only to find him in your room soon after.

Your thoughts stop once you’ve reached the doors of your home, letting a long sight out as you open the door, hoping that your bed would be vacant so you can call it a night.

‘Let’s just hope he’s not here tonight’ you thought to yourself. Closing the door behind you, you put your armour back on its designated stand, along with your equipment in the chest next to it, before making a be-line towards your room.

You stop at the entrance to your room when you hear the familiar sound of heavy breathing on the other side of the door. “Of course he’s here…” you sigh out loud, banging your head lightly on the door before opening the door, slowly peaking your head in, then opening it fully with a deadpanned expression on your face.

There he was, in all of his glory, sitting on your bed the same way he did the first time. Staring nonchalantly at you as you grumble incoherent words to yourself, rubbing your face out of exhaustion and irritation before speaking. “Why must you always insist on being in my bed when I’ve made a room just for you?”.

You stare at him, waiting for any sort of response from him. But all you get from him is the usual head tilt and quiet stare. Your eyebrow twitches a little before you just decide to ignore him and head to a chest made specifically for hoarding ore, and begin to put the materials in to it.

As you focus on putting the materials, you could feel his gaze on your back as he watch you silently, you then heard the sound of the knocker teleporting. You thought that he had probably left, seeing as how you might not have given him the reaction he wanted. You had let out a sigh of relief as finished putting the ores you collected away. You could now go to bed and sleep peacefully, or so you thought.

When you turned around to head to bed, you didn’t expect to bump into something wall like. When you get a good look at what you bumped into you let out a small shriek as you see the knocker standing in front of you, A little too close to you for comfort. You can practically feel his hot breath on you face. Your frown deepens, gaze hardening as you glare at him.

“What- what do you want now!?” You stuttered out loudly towards him. He tilts his head for who knows how many times now, before that same spine chilling smile makes it up to his face. You freeze slight in place, a little frightened as a bead of sweat slowly drops down your face.

Though, that doesn’t last long as the knocker extends his arm out you grab yours, making you let out a yelp, before flinging you onto your bed roughly. Your let out a groan of discomfort as you rubbed you arm, lifting yourself up slightly as you turn to ask him what the hell that was for, only to stop yourself as he towers over you from the edge of the your bed, walking slowly closure to you as if you were his pray.

You clench you fist, ready to fight back it you have too. That is, until he grabs your shoulders and pushes you down onto the bed before letting go and… starting to tuck you in?

‘…Okay, what the fuck is happening right now??’ You questioned to yourself.

Once he’s done tucking you in he goes to sit on the other side of the bed, facing towards you in a the usual crisscross manner as he stares at you, patiently waiting for something to happen. You open your mouth to try and speak again, but your cut off once you feel a hand placed on top of your head, lightly petting it as if you were some sort of pet.

Okay, seriously, WHAT WAS THIS GUYS DEAL? Not even moments ago it felt like he was going to attack you and now he’s petting you? Like damn, does he want to kill you or nah, just make up his mind already!

Your pulled out of your thoughts once you hear an unfamiliar voice speak out to you.

“Sleep” a deep, soothing yet unsettling voice said. You realise it came from the knocker himself. Your eyes widen slightly at this new discovery. Not once have you ever heard a peep, let alone coherent words, come out of his mouth. He’d only speak to you through signs or small notes, most of them being words of mockery towards your “lack” of self awareness.

You eyes lids start to grow heavy as he continues to petting you gently, the only response you could make was a quiet human you shut your eye lids and slowly fall into a deep slumber, you had only one thought before sleep took over you.

‘I guess sharing my bed wouldn’t be so bad, right?’

<—————————————————————————>

[dex-x-x]

the knocker x reader. yes i did write this. i noticed there were like absolutely no fanfiction of the knocker, let alone any x reader stuff... so i wrote smth

read if u want!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65903656

[witchofvigrid]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕶𝖓𝖔𝖈𝖐𝖊𝖗 𝖃 𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗(NSFW CONTENT)

𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙺𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚢, dom knocker, AFAB reader, 𝚗𝚘 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚢/𝚗, 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕, 𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎-𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙, no established relationship, 𝚌𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚜, 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚢𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕, 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐? 𝚂𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊?/𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍, 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚝, 𝚠𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚝, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚔 𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚝, 𝚖𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚒𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚜𝚖𝚜, 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍, 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛, author is new to fanfic posting on Tumblr, author has it bad for this guy, 7'001 words.

Snow fell in thick, soundless sheets, swallowing the world in white as you trudged back toward home. Each step crunched softly beneath your boots, the familiar rhythm grounding after hours spent underground. Dealing with constant cave mobs had left you with a slight headache; the second you found some good ore for your needs, they all came at you from the left and from the right. A bucket hung from your hand, water dark against the pale snow, while your pack weighed heavily with stone and ore, still cold from the cave’s depths. Somewhere beyond the hills, past the frozen spruce and the endless drifts, lay warmer land- grass instead of frost, rain instead of snow- and part of you wished you had made a smarter decision.

You absolutely loved the snow, and when you were choosing your place to build and set up home, you decided to live in the snow biome. However, you wished you had thought ahead of time and chosen a warmer climate near the biome instead of just living in it. It had become a hassle, and your dream of joy lacked a good environment for a proper farm. Which meant a lot of traveling and stocking materials and food. You should probably invest in a horse once the opportunity arrives.

The storm blurred everything. Sky and ground blended together, the horizon erased until your little cabin felt less like a destination and more like a memory you were walking toward on faith alone. Snow dusted your lashes and melted down the back of your neck. It was quiet out here. Too quiet. No wolves howling, no crackle of lava, not even the distant groan of shifting ice. Just wind, and your breathing.

You felt it then- that familiar prickle at the back of your mind. Not fear, exactly. More like being watched through the trees, through the snowfall, through the dark spaces between blocks. The Knocker was nearby. You could tell the way you always could, a presence pressing gently at the edge of your awareness. He hadn’t bothered you yet, hadn’t followed or called out, teasing you like usual, so you kept walking. No point in worrying over something that hasn't decided to make itself known today when you're already so tired.

Still… Your grip tightened on the bucket as another sound echoed faintly in the distance, half-lost to the storm. The sound of breathing. You didn't dare look towards it at this point; you figured you'd best not. You had maintained the sanity you had left today just well enough to keep pushing, and you couldn't bear to just throw it all away. That's the thing with him. The Knocker. The thing that had been stalking and messing with you for quite a while at this point. He was unpredictable, and you could never fully understand what his reasoning or line of thinking was.

Sometimes he just watched; other times he would steal items, chase, or jump at you. Toss around or break your lanterns outside your home…sometimes you find him to be a little useful. He made you feel less lonely even if it wasn't a good thing, and other times you found him so annoying. So. So annoying. And of course, there were times when he scared you out of your skin. Just randomly appearing; suddenly jumping at you; the sudden loud knock while you were lost in thought, among other things. It grew tiring sometimes and was not something you felt like putting up with today.

By the time the cabin finally emerged from the whiteout, it felt like a small miracle.

The shape of it appeared first, dark spruce logs cutting through the storm like a shadow, and then the glow of lantern light struggling against the snow. Relief loosened something tight in your chest. Home. Warmth. A door you could close between yourself and whatever was breathing out there.

The front of the cabin was nearly buried. Snow had piled up against the walls and steps, drifting high enough that the door would be impossible to open without some effort. With a tired sigh, you set your pack down beneath the overhang and swapped the bucket for a shovel, already half-regretting the decision to live here.

Each scrape sent up a soft hiss as snow slid away in chunks. You only really wanted to scrape away the snow just in case any ice formed, and you were lucky enough to not fall, but also the snowstorm would pile it on, and you didn't want to get snowed in the next morning. Your fingers burned with cold, numb even through your gloves. The storm pressed closer, wind howling now, rattling the lanterns you’d hung along the eaves.

You heard a sudden knock.

You froze.

Not loud. Just suddenly. Just a single, hollow sound, wood against knuckles, carried unnaturally clear through the storm.

“Not today,” you muttered under your breath, forcing yourself to keep shoveling. Acknowledge him, and he’d only escalate. That was how it always went.

Another scrape of snow revealed the bottom step, then the next. That’s when you heard it, an unmistakable groan, low and drawn-out, drifting from the treeline to your left. You straightened slowly, shovel still in hand. You sighed in slight annoyance. A zombie stumbled into view, its skin almost blending into the snow despite its green hue, arms outstretched as it dragged itself forward slowly thanks to the wind and snow. Behind it, a second shape moved, smaller, quicker. A skeleton, bow already raised, with the faint rattle of bones cutting through the wind. Of course.

You swore under your breath and dropped the shovel, reaching for your sword just as an arrow buried itself in the snow where your head had been a second before. The fight was quick but messy, steel biting into rotting flesh, another arrow skimming your arm before you closed the distance. The zombie went down first, then the skeleton, its bones scattering across the ground like dropped tools. Then you had almost gotten snuck up on by a creeper, the winds almost drowning it out, but your gut feeling saved you. Because of course tonight they would come out more. You rolled your eyes.

After ensuring the area was clear at least at a distance you were comfortable with, you settled for that. Your breath came out in shaky clouds. The storm swallowed the last echoes of the fight almost instantly, leaving you standing alone again, heart pounding. That’s when you realized how quiet it had become. Too quiet. Even with the environment and winds around you, the monsters suddenly went quiet, and you could no longer hear the spiders walking around in the distance. You glanced around a bit, the paranoia seeping in…but you quickly refrained.

‘Just ignore it,’ you told yourself.

The lantern nearest the door flickered violently, swinging despite the lack of wind beneath the overhang. Snow crunched behind you, slow, deliberate footsteps that didn’t match the rhythm of any mob you knew. You didn’t turn. The feeling of a presence pressed close, just behind your shoulder. You could feel it like cold fingers grazing the back of your neck. Now you turned. Holding your sword up as if expecting something. You looked around again when you saw nothing. You huffed quickly, retrieving the shovel you dropped, letting the snow slide off the side as you went back inside.

Oh, sweet relief when you finally shut the door. And the warmth of home sweet home. It was almost liberating to escape the wind biting at your nose and ears. All you could think of was relaxing. And definitely not going back outside for now to do fuck all.

Warmth wrapped around you almost instantly, the crackling fireplace chasing the cold from your bones. For a moment, you just stood there, breathing it in: woodsmoke, wool, bread, home. You shrugged your boots off and let them thud to the floor, the weight gone at last. Tools followed, carefully set on the workbench out of habit more than energy. Your armor came next, piece by piece, metal clinking softly as you placed it back on its rack where it belonged. The silence inside the cabin felt earned.

Changing into softer clothes felt like a small victory. Letting yourself exist without the weight of survival gear digging into your skin. Exhaustion settled deep, but it was the good kind, the kind that meant today had counted. You could’ve mined longer, traveled farther, done more… but you didn't have to waste the day.

You moved about the cabin slowly, almost reverently, tending the fire and setting a kettle on the stove. Intending to make a warm drink, anything to help chase away the remaining chill. Then you heard another knock. You stiffened.

““You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered, staring at the door. The sound came again, soft but deliberate, wood on gloved knuckles. Familiar and yet unwelcome at this moment. Annoyance flared hotter than fear. Of course he couldn’t let you have one quiet evening, not even one. You waited. No footsteps. No breathing. Just the storm outside and that damn knocking, spaced out like he was savoring them.

With a sigh, you crossed the room and peered out the window. Nothing. No shape in the snow. No shadow between the trees. Not even footprints. Not the usual signs you look for when you try to spot him. You raised a brow, scanning the white blur beyond the glass before stepping back. Fine. Whatever game he was playing, you weren’t biting. The cabin creaked then, low and…slow, wood shifting as the wind pressed against it.

You huffed. “Stupid house…”

Turning away, you took a step toward the hallway… Hearing another creak, this time closer, you narrowed your eyes. You could be slow sometimes. But you're not that stupid. You take another step…

and he lunged from the shadows. The axe swung around the corner in a flash of dark metal and motion. You barely had time to gasp before you stumbled back, hands snapping up on instinct. Your palms slammed against the handle, fingers curling tight as you caught it mid-swing. The impact jolted through your arms, teeth clenching as you pushed back against his strength.

“I’m not in the mood for this shit, Knocker!” you snapped, feet slightly skidding on the floor as you forced him back a step with the position, but it was easy for him to push back.

His grin split wide in the dim firelight, eyes gleaming. “You’ve been ignoring me all day.” His voice was raspy and rough, like he hadn't used it in a while.

“I wonder why!” you shot back sarcastically, shoving the axe aside and breaking the hold. Your heart was pounding now, adrenaline burning away the last of your calm. “I was busy. You know, surviving?”

He tilted his head, unbothered, shadows clinging to him like they belonged there. That signature ear -to-ear smile was giving you the creeps at this moment. Why couldn't he have just been decent and behaved well today?

“You didn’t even look for me,” he said. A hint of restraint and amusement in his tone.

“Again, I wonder why!" You spat in that same sarcastic tone, stepping back when you noticed the smallest jolt of movement in his arms; you weren't really planning to get axed to death at the moment. He just had to feel murderous today, didn't he? How perfectly convenient for you. (Not)

He did move. But not like he was trying to kill you.

The axe swung again, yes, but wide. Predictable. Almost lazy. You saw the opening instantly and ducked under it, boots sliding across the floor as the blade sailed over your head and buried itself in the doorframe behind you instead. You didn’t hesitate to reach for the dagger sitting just perfectly on the counter, enough for you to grab.

Your dagger flashed up, and you slashed across his forearm, not deep enough to cripple but more than enough to make your point. You really hoped that he would do that thing where he faded off into a cloud of mist like sometimes, but instead he hissed, more surprised than hurt, and stepped back with a sharp laugh.

“Oh,” he said, eyes alight. “You are cranky today.”

“And you are feeling axe -murder-y today…back off,” you warned, blade steady now, heart hammering. You weren’t playing. You couldn’t afford it as far as you were concerned.

He lifted his hands in mock surrender, axe still dangling loosely from one. “I just wanted your attention. But this is fine too.”

“You could’ve knocked like a normal person,” you said.

He tilted his head. “I did.”

You narrowed your eyes at the comment; even though technically he was right, you lunged. He hadn’t expected that. You drove forward, pushing him back step by step, dagger flicking in tight, efficient movements. Though he seemed more amused than anything. He blocked with the axe handle, metal ringing through the cabin, but you didn’t give him room to breathe. A kick to his knee made him stumble. Your elbow caught his ribs. Not enough to drop him, but enough to remind him you knew how to fight and you're not stupid. Even if you had a good enough chance to put more force there, he could still handle the hit. You know that.

“Hey,” he said, half-laughing, half-interested now. “That’s not how this usually goes.”

“Then maybe you should’ve stayed outside,” you snapped. After having such a long day, you supposed…You were a bit more irritated. But he still broke into your house without warning again. So you didn't feel guilty… He literally stalks you. Why would you feel guilty? You shoved past him and bolted down the hallway. Strategy. You need a strategy at this point. Because clearly he wasn't leaving you alone.

The space narrowed, the walls closing in, familiar turns flashing past. You heard him behind you, boots deliberately slow and unhurried. He wasn’t chasing. He was following.

That pissed you off more than anything. You skidded into your bedroom and spun; the axe whistled through the doorway. You caught it…again. You were doing rather well today in combat. But you could feel he was still playing around. Just not slightly getting more serious, to scare you maybe? Just to pester you and force you to respawn? You don't know. You don't care.

The impact drove you back against the bed, mattress dipping under your weight as you dug your heels in and held. Your arms shook, but you didn’t drop it.

“Still playing?” you growled, teeth clenched.

He leaned into the weapon, looming now, grin back in place but bigger. Sharper.

“I was,” he said. “You weren’t.”

“No,” you shot back, shoving the axe back towards him as much as you could, just enough to make a point. But he pushed back, and you began to see just how much he was holding back strength-wise. Not that you couldn't fight back still, but you could feel the change in force. “I’m trying to make you stop so I can fucking rest finally.” You spat.

That smile was starting to piss you off more. And he suddenly surges forward, pushing the ax again. You grunt as you lose your footing, your back hitting the mattress, your brows furrowing as you look up at him before they suddenly widen in shock. His eyes narrowed at the sight, and he laughed. Suddenly pulling back less of his weight on you.

“That got your attention, did it?" He said, almost teasingly.

You scowl; you want nothing more than to wipe that stupid look off his face. You push against the ad handle, pushing it aside, and he willingly lets you, only to look back down at you with a smug glint in his eye. You grab the collar of his hoodie, pulling him down, and he almost seems surprised. But that signature smile doesn't change. His eyes widen, irises shaking ever so slightly before he calms himself as you open your mouth to speak.

"You just tumbled me on the bed with you, pinning me down after swinging an axe at me; yeah, chances are I would notice that," you growled.

He grips your wrist, tugging it aside, pinning it beside your head, doing the same thing with the other. Your breath hitches in your throat as you glance around at anything other than him before looking back up at him, your heart is beating in your chest, and you almost feel shameful the way heat builds up the back of your neck and face. Great, if he was going to kill you, you hoped he'd just get it over with. Though he's not dumb and he noticed your expression. Just enough to make him suspicious, so he took a gamble with his next words.

"It was fun while it lasted, but I think I should shut down that attitude of yours…"

“You tried to kill me!" You said as if about to be accused of something you didn't do.

“I was just messing around since you wanted to ignore me." He said casually.

He shifts slightly, letting your wrists go, he backs up slightly pulling your legs up higher as he backs up standing over you. You stare up at him, a slight scowl on your face fading into slight shock at how forward he was being.

“But you're not gonna ignore this are you? Well…if you want it.” He said playfully.

Your eyes avert his gaze for a moment, you almost hate how you can feel heat pooling between your legs at the implication he let hang in the air. You sigh, looking up at him swallowing the saliva building in your throat you nod. It was sudden, and it felt like it was moving fast. Agian…he remains unpredictable like always. But perhaps against your better judgement…you feel an instant pull towards him. Part of you hates him so much…but you can't complain when you're pulled out of your thoughts, his hands reaching along the hem of your pants. He looks down at you again. He looks for any signs of debate or denial, and when you say nothing he makes quick work of taking them off, alongside your underwear.

He pulls you by your legs closer to the edge of the bed, and against him. And you shudder at the way he looks at you. You really can't tell what his deal is but it's doing wonders for you right now a shaky exhale escaping you as his hands run along the sides of your thighs like he's just enjoying making you wait. Which…he was. He thought it was hilarious actually, how you had lost that attitude in a split second of being pinned. Then again you hadn't necessarily lost it, you were just being quiet about it at least.

Now you're both breathing heavily, and he tilts his head before kneeling down. You can practically hear the hitch in his breath, his eyes widening, and you're looking over at him curiously. Only to see that he's not looking at you, no, he's got his sights fixated on your cunt. You're already starting to feel nervous under his constant gaze, he seems to notice and grins about it, holding your thighs apart. His eyes were dark, but if they weren't you would have seen that his pupils were blown so wide at the view.

He drags his lengthy tongue between the folds, making you shiver, and an involuntary groan escapes your throat. His gaze is locked into your cunt still, and you almost feel anxious about the way he's looking at it…just staring. You can't tell what's running through his mind. You bite your lip as he drags his tongue over your sensitive nub now and you buck your hips up slightly, your breath catching in your throat as he holds you in place, his hands tightening around either side of your thighs. His lips locking around the bundle of nerves, suckling gently, before opening that smile again, his mouth latching back onto you in a second, his tongue sliding inside your slit.

You writhe under him at the feeling, mouth going slack at the foreign feeling. You weren't expecting his tongue to be so…long? But you could hardly register the morbid curiosity about it, too busy with the matter at hand. His tongue pressed against your walls and you uncontrollably twitched around the appendage. He breathes in slightly, almost feral, moves his tongue inside of you, swabbing it around and pistoning it in and out of your dripping cunt. As you buck your hips up slightly, your hands gripping into the blankets beneath you. And he doesn't even mind you bucking into him at the sensation, all he can think about is you.

You with your sopping wet cunt, and gummy walls squeezing around his tongue, and the heady taste of it. He was shamelessly making out with your pussy. And you were all caught up with those noises and cries that fell upon his ears like music. His tongue was vicious about it… and he knew it too. Knocker was drunk off you and he had no shame for it. He'd press his tongue into every crevice of your channel and make you take it if he wanted. And did.

“Ah- Fuck- Knocker…”

He groaned against your flesh, looking up at your face, you could practically feel that smug grin on his lips as he wrecked you. Yet somehow you found that you couldn't be nearly as annoyed with him tongue fucking you, your hand shooting down to grip that hood of his when he curls his tongue against that specific sensitive spot inside you, your eyes practically rolling back at the feeling, at the way your slick coats his chin, and how he takes full pride in it.

You're both drooling for slightly different but related reasons.

You gasp as he pulls his tongue back and pistons it back in, pushing right against that spot again, and your thighs clamp around his head in response. It's a lot to take, considering it's his fucking tongue... He was surprisingly good at this. You buck your hips into his face, and it does nothing but spurn him on. But when he looks up at your face again his eyes sparkle with a hint of mischief and lust. He inhales your scent, his body shaking as it fills his nostrils, he grips your thighs pulling them apart. Slowly pulling his head back and his tongue following with it. Your head rolls back at the lewd ‘squelch’ you could hear when pulling his tongue out completely. His tongue lightly drags up your inner thigh.

He pants, almost gasping for the oxygen he deprived himself of by burying himself into your cunt. The way he laughs at your expression sends a shiver up your spine.

“Aw, feel better now? No more complaints?”

He teased, his hands still prying your legs nicely for him. You wanted to give him a witty remark so bad, but you were too dazed to even clearly think, nothing more than a babbling mess. Oh, his ego was HIGH at that sight. You were practically speechless. He stands up looking down at you, his smile curving higher as you finally look up at him, head tilting down ever so slightly.

“You're being quiet, no need to be shy, pretty girl…do I have to pull some noise out of you again?”

He asked, fuck, he was over the moon about this, and taking total advantage of it. Somewhere deep down you wanted to smack him upside the head for attacking you again out of nowhere still. But… he was making up for it in a way.

The knocker leaned over you, his breath warm over your throat, one of his hands pushing on the waistband of his pants, the other running up your shirt, pushing it up and over your breasts as his hands caressed the mound of your breasts. Your eyes drifted down, catching the sight of his cock springing free from its confines. It's hard, and the size of it makes your face heat up and your eyes widen slightly as you look back up at him. He tilts his head, having caught your gaze, his smile growing.

“Fuck …that's…”

You start, but you can't seem to find the words to really say. Big? Turning you on? Definitely both. But still. His hand moves up from your breast, caressing your face.

“Are you good with this?"

He asked.

Well, it was oddly endearing how he still had manners and ensured consent. You quickly nod, already feeling the heat still building up between your legs. He'd better finish what he started after all.

He easily flips you over, adjusting your position until your face is nearly shoved into the pillows but not quite there; his cockhead presses just so, right against your entrance, sliding up over it and collecting your arousal on it. You hear him keen in your ear as he wraps his other arm around you, looping over you to put you in a headlock lacking just enough force to choke you.

He pushes his hips forwards, his length sliding inside of you. One of your hands grips the fabric of his hoodie, clenching around his forearm with a quiet whimper. He pauses, letting himself sink inside your heat with a groan. When he finally thrusts into you, your body is slightly pushed forward at the force of it. He grinds his hips into you slightly, and your eyes roll back, his length pressing into every tight spot.

The headlock turned into a thrilling vise, holding your head at an angle that made you feel utterly exposed and slightly lightheaded. Each vulgar thrust of his thick, rigid cock into your burning pussy was a violent assertion of ownership, a relentless invasion that made your vision swim. His hips slammed against your ass with a wet, meaty slap, driving his throbbing shaft deeper, harder into your slick heat. You felt yourself stretch, open, engulfing his immense length with a greedy suction that pulled a guttural groan from his chest.

“Damn pretty girl," he rasped, his breath hot against your ear, mingling with the heady scent of your sweat and arousal. "So needy, isn't it?” He whispered playfully in your ear. It was almost insane how good he was fucking you considering you were fighting earlier, and you almost forgot about his stalker tendencies…or lifestyle, rather.

Your eyes, indeed, welled with tears, not of pain, but of an overwhelming, exquisite pleasure. A delicious burning spread through your core, radiating from where his cock relentlessly pistoned inside you. The slick friction against your clit with each deep stroke sent jolts of electric ecstasy through your nerves, making your hips involuntarily buck against his powerful rhythm.

"Oh... fuck," you gasped, a strangled cry torn from your throat as he plunged again, so deep you felt the head of his cock bump against your cervix. Your pussy clenched around him, milking every inch of his hard flesh, desperate for more, even as your body trembled on the verge of splintering, even as he nearly split you apart mentally, fucking you stupid.

The room was a symphony of raw lust: the wet schlop-schlop of skin meeting skin, the heavy slap of his hips against your ass, your ragged moans escalating into desperate whimpers, and his low, growling grunts of effort and satisfaction. His fingers, still gripping your hip, tighten slightly, no doubt leaving bruises, your breasts heaving with each breath. "You're soaking wet for me," he whispered, his voice laced with triumph, punctuated by the relentless pound, pound, pound of his fucking.

“Oh- fuck, knocker-" you whined, barely coming off clear enough.

Your voice seems to encourage him, as he drives into you with renewed ferocity, slamming into your deepest depths. Each impact sent a fresh wave of sensation washing over you, making your legs tremble uncontrollably. Your pussy felt swollen; bruised in the most delicious way; stretched to its absolute limit, yet still craving the brutal force of his invasion. The pressure built, a coil tightening in your belly, spreading through your limbs, making your entire body vibrate with impending release. His cock was a relentless, hot brand inside you, burning a path to your climax. You were his, completely and utterly at his mercy, and the thought was just another fuel to the inferno raging between your legs.

He kept up his brutal, relentless pace, each thrust almost feeling like a deeper invasion than the last, until the world dissolved into a blinding white-hot flash. All you could think about was him. Just as all the knocker could think about was you. The pressure in your core coiled tighter and tighter, a spring pulled to its absolute limit, and then snapped.

A violent, shuddering orgasm ripped through your body, convulsing you from head to toe. Your back arched, your legs twitching involuntarily, desperate to meet every last inch of his withdrawing and re-entering cock. A loud, primal cry tore from your throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure and release, completely beyond your control. You screamed his name, or maybe just a guttural sound that begged for more, for less, or for everything.

Ecstasy, so potent it felt like a drug, coursed through every nerve ending, making your muscles clench and spasm around his thick shaft. Your cunt squeezed like it tried to milk him dry, waves of intense pleasure washing over you as the climax wrung you out. You had never been fucked this good before, hadn't ever felt such a complete, obliterating release. It was almost humiliating how loud the wet squelching and slick of your arousal became, how audible the slurping sounds were as your pussy spasmed around his cock.

Your body shuddered violently, a continuous tremor that left you weak and breathless. You gasped, sucking in ragged lungfuls of air, your vision swimming with the intensity of it all. His hand gripped your hip like a vice, holding you impossibly still against his driving momentum even as you bucked and convulsed. The other arm remained a rigid chokehold around your neck, tightening just enough to send a thrilling jolt of fear and surrender through you, reminding you who was in control at the moment.

Your fingers, now slick with sweat and desire, dug into the flesh of his forearm, your grip tightening to the point of pain as your body tried to anchor itself to something, anything, amidst the chaos of your climax. Your other hand balled into a desperate fist, clenching the soft blankets beneath you. Your cunt continued to throb and clench, sucking at his cock even after the initial waves subsided, clinging to every last drop of the exquisite sensation, a greedy, spent mess of pure feminine desire.

Just as the last tremors of your earth-shattering orgasm began to subside, before you could even fully process the magnificent wreckage he'd made of your senses, he started moving again. To your utter shock, he gave you barely a moment to draw a ragged breath, barely a heartbeat to register the spent, trembling state of your body, before he drove back into you with renewed, aggressive force.

A low, guttural grunt rumbled in his chest, a sound of pure, predatory satisfaction, as his hips slammed against your ass once more. His thick cock, still fully engorged and pulsing, plunged into your already slick and swollen pussy, finding it incredibly warm around him in the wake of your climax. The friction was instant, intense, and shockingly pleasurable. He picked up the pace, faster even than before, each thrust deeper and more relentless.

"Thought you were done, did you?" he rasped, his voice a low growl of amusement as he fucked into you. “Not quite, pretty girl."

Your head was still reeling, your body a quivering mess, and the sudden, unyielding invasion made your vision swim again. "W-wait… still sensitive..." you babbled, the words a desperate, incoherent whisper, barely audible over the wet smack-smack of his relentless fucking. You were too overwhelmed to form a proper sentence, your mind still awash in the lingering aftershocks of your orgasm, now compounded by the brutal pleasure of his immediate return.

He chuckled, a dark, husky sound that vibrated through your skull from where his arm was still locked around your neck. He fucked your babbling self stupid, driving his cock deeper with each thrust, eliciting involuntary whimpers and gasps from your throat. Your pussy, still hypersensitive from your recent climax, clenched and stretched around his relentless shaft, protesting and craving his invasion all at once.

"That's it," he grunted, slamming into your deepest depths. "You can take it, pretty girl. Show me how much you love being fucked senseless." His hips piston-pumped, a blur of motion, driving his throbbing cock into you with an insatiable hunger, fucking away any coherent thought or any semblance of control you might have hoped to regain. Exactly where he wanted you.

You squeeze your eyes shut, your free hand reaching a bit out, instinctively. His eyes narrowed slightly as he watched your shaky hand reach out slightly, your body trying to press into the mattress; it didn't do anything but help him when he leaned more of his weight onto you.

"Aht- where do you think you're going, hm?”

He asked, that tone playfully mocking, painfully aware. He knew what he was doing to you.

You can barely get it out past your whimpers and sobs, "Nowh- fuck- nowhere- oh!" He was moving so hard you could almost taste each pulse, widening out your slick walls. You can feel every detail of the veins, specifically the one rubbing right against the right spots, making you whine. He buries his cock into you again a bit slower, grinding against you now. He can practically sense the tears forming at your eyes from the pleasure.

It was an incredible sensation, one that only he could do for you; it's leaving you shaking and hardly in a state of recognition, your mind blanking out over and over again each time you think you're back into it.

"Leaking all over me, pretty girl... Yet you still think you're getting out of my grip?" He said, teasing you as he kept grinding into you, your gummy walls weak against it, he tightened his grip on the headlock slightly but quickly loosened; it was just to get your attention. Yet your hips are squirming at the pleasure as you instinctively try to run from the overstimulation.

"And you're still trying to run..." he breathes; you can practically hear the smirk in his voice, and you're too fucked senselessly to say anything about it. "It's cute you think you can like this." You shudder at the way he whispered it into your ear from behind.

"I'm- n-not.”

“Uh-huh.” It's alright, pretty; you can handle it."

He said. You're absolutely dazed, but a sharp cry escapes you when he starts ramming into you again. You quiver when he lets go of the headlock, his now-free hand quickly trapping your hand onto the mattress now that it's not holding onto him, his fingers intertwining over yours. It wasn't that you were just overstimulated; it was the way he was hitting all your sweet spots.

Your pussy clenched around him with a frantic desperation, the slick, swollen walls of your cunt sucking at his throbbing cock as he plunged deeper. That raw, animalistic cry tore from your throat, "Knocker! Fu- ah!" Your body arching violently, back bowing off the mattress as if trying to impale yourself further on his magnificent length despite trying to escape it at the same time. He’d released the headlock, but his free hand had instantly found yours, fingers intertwining, trapping your trembling hand against the sheets. It wasn’t just a gentle hold; his grip was firm, possessive, anchoring you to the bed while his other hand clamped around your hip, digging in to control the bucking of your hips.

“Look at you taking it so well…” he murmured, the words a rough caress against your ear, his breath hot and ragged. You were beyond fucked out of your mind, a dizzying haze of pleasure and overstimulation blurring your vision. How many times had you come? Three? Five? Each one had left your pussy a gushing, sensitive mess, your inner walls so soft and pliable around him, practically begging for the next brutal thrust. Yet, with every deep, merciless plunge, a fresh wave of agony and ecstasy ripped through you, forcing another keening moan from your lips.

“P-Please, Knocker- fuck!” you whimpered, your hips trying to writhe away, even as your pussy kept milking him, a contradictory dance of surrender and flight. He chuckled, a deep, guttural rumble that vibrated through your spine, his hard cock throbbing and twitching inside your heat at your pleading. He knew exactly what he was doing, each thrust hitting a nerve, a sweet spot, making your clit throb in rhythm with his relentless fucking. Your inner thighs were slick with your own juices and the pre-cum already leaking from him, gluing them together as he slammed into you, again and again.

He leaned back slightly, pulling his cock almost free, just enough to let a gasp rip from you, your pussy stretching, aching for him to fill it again. Then, with a grunt of pleasure, he slammed back in, sinking his entire shaft into your depths. Your legs, weak and trembling, tried to wrap around his waist but couldn't quite manage, merely flopping against his hips as he dictated the rhythm. Your nipples were hard, aching points against his chest, your skin flushed and slick with sweat, the scent of sex thick and intoxicating around you.

“Hang on, pretty girl… I’m getting there,” he growled, the words almost lost in the violent shudders of your body. His pace quickened, each thrust harder, deeper, faster. You could feel his balls slapping against you, the impact sending shivers straight to your core. Your pussy was a burning, throbbing cavern around him, every nerve ending screaming. Your head thrashed against the mattress, your hair was an absolute mess, and a stream of incoherent pleas and cries was escaping you. You were a mess, a beautiful, broken, panting, cum-soaked mess, completely at his mercy.

He began to pump into you, with a relentless, primal rhythm that left no room for thought, only sensation. His fingers tightened on your trapped hand, almost painfully so, as if to remind you who was in control. You could feel the pressure building inside your core, the exquisite tension tightening around your mind, drawing you to the edge once more. Your body began to still before shaking, a frantic, uncontrollable tremor starting deep in your belly and spreading outwards.

“That’s it, pretty…cum for me, one more time,” he rasped, his voice thick with lust, his hips grinding into you with a final, earth-shattering series of thrusts. You screamed, a long, drawn-out cry that ended in a gurgle of pure, unadulterated pleasure as your body arched one last time, your pussy spasming wildly around his cock, milking him dry. Your orgasm ripped through you, a tidal wave of exquisite sensation, drenching the bed as fresh rivers of cum-laced juice poured from your engorged pussy. Your entire body went rigid, then limp, quivering between his figure and the mattress.

He groaned, a deep, powerful sound of release, as your cunt tightened around him in its depth. With a final, explosive shudder, he emptied himself deep inside you, the hot, thick ropes flooding your already saturated depths. He buried his face in your neck, his breath heavy, his body trembling against yours as he pulsed his last drops into you. His grip on your hand softened, but he remained buried inside you, his heavy cock still thick and throbbing, steaming gently in the aftermath of your shared climax. You lie there, panting, utterly boneless, your mind blank, the delicious weight of his cock still filling you completely.

The tears that were welling up in your eyes had dripped down your flushed cheeks. A shaky exhale escaping your throat again. The knocker grunts a bit as he pulls out of your messy cunt, the mess pooling below you. You mutter a curse as he does so, eyes rolling to the back of your head before they flutter shut. His own heavy breathing is loud in your ear as he moves himself over next to you. He can't help but feel some sort of pride in your fucked-up expression. He pulls you closer to him, petting your hair; the room smells of your coupling, and you'll definitely need to wash the sheets tomorrow.

He hopes that tomorrow you'll pay… some more attention to him with this memory in mind. He's still going to annoy you, no doubt. But he does like you obviously a lot. He moved you both to lie down properly; he caressed your face gently, almost unaware of that huge smile on his face. Almost.

“You okay, pretty girl? Done ignoring me now?” he asked, looking down at you.

You whimper, boneless and exhausted; your hands reach up to grasp at his arms. He hums in response, seemingly fine with your response despite not really having one. You melt into him, still catching your breath. You had honestly expected him to just vanish and let you pass out or something. But here he was supporting you instead… guess he's not as bad as he comes off…all the time.

You shudder, looking up at him through your lashes, and somehow his smile seems softer. He chuckles at you as you catch your breath. "Good God, Knocker." Is all you can muster out to which he audibly laughs at.

"Just relax, pretty girl, okay?”

"Are you leaving?" You whisper question as if afraid someone else would hear you both.

“Why would I? I watch you sleep anyway."

“...Right."

[niranutcake]

🏠 A New Light In The House ⛅

×Maison Talo roleplay story

Masterpost

Part 14 - What Is The Rain Singing To You Quietly? (II)

Part 13 - What Is The Rain Singing To You Quietly?

Part 12 - Sweet And Bitter Salt

Part 11 - Breaking Walls

Part 10 - Living Hairballs, Warm Tea and Soft Blankets

Part 9 (One-shot) - Snow

Part 8 - Room Tour

Part 7 (One-shot) - Heya, Pal!

Part 6 - Little Worker Bees Also Need Their Coffee

Part 5 - Stamens And Pistils

Part 4 - I Promise I'll Help You

Part 3 - Touch-Tone Telephone (or «You Should Have Called Me, Dear Doctor»)

Part 2 - The (Not So Usual) Patient

Part 1 - A New Meeting

[brittle-doughie]

“And finally, you all may have seen this coming, is Y/N Cookie! They’re MY very interesting Cookie and I’m not sharing! They may have escaped mine and my friends’ grasps, but it is only a matter of time before the walls close in and I-WE finally have them in our sweet, warm arms, IF THAT PESKY GINGERBRAVE AND HIS LITTLE FRIENDS STOP GETTING IN THE WAY!”

“Oopsie! Lost my cool there for a second!”

“Anyways, I place Y/N Cookie in S-tier, right by my side. Where they should belong…”

[silkhunger]

APRIL FOOL'S DAY SPECIAL - THE FOOL

✦ WARNINGS: 18+・smut・when the court jester might actually be an eldritch horror in disguise・references to bugs and cruelty toward bugs・body horror・tongue sucking & deepthroating・spit & saliva・tickling・cunnilingus・fingering with claws・p-in-v sex・creampie・cock-warming・ ✦ TAGS: x f!reader・medieval!au・happy ending・monster romance・ ✦ WORD COUNT: 4k ✦ AUTHOR'S NOTE: happy april fools day! 🩶

There is a kingdom, and, in the kingdom, there rules a king, and the king has a daughter.

That’s how every story starts. You’ve heard them all, read even more by candlelight in the hours before the court wakes. You know how they go. The daughter is beautiful, or clever, or kind, or some combination of all three, and she is always, always, given away.

You’ve been preparing for this your whole life, but you hadn’t expected it to feel so much like the end.

The prince arrives one morning when you had expected to spend your time dealing with ledgers and correspondences. He’s tall and fair, but bland in personality. You suspect he’s never had to rely on anything other than looks and titles. Worst of all is the way he leers at you, like a dog eagerly awaiting a well-earned bone.

“A good match,” your father calls it during dinner. “A strong alliance.”

You give him the same smile you’ve learned to give those at court.

Under the table, where no one can see, your hands find the small carving tucked into the pocket of your skirts. The shape of a bell, worn smooth around the edges, and no larger than your thumb.

Across the hall, the Fool catches your eye over the rim of his wine. His grin widens, but there's a curious tilt of his head, slight and signaled by the delicate jingling of the bells on his hat. Your father begins to speak, and you look away.

No one remembers when the Fool arrived.

He’s always been there, lingering in the castle halls, throwing jokes and jests at whoever happens by. The oldest servants, when pressed, furrow their brows and say oh, he’s been here since before my time, waving the answer away to return to their duties.

He wears a motley, of course, decorated with silver and gold bells. His face is painted in exaggerated arches of white and red and swirling patterns on formal occasions. He tumbles and quips, making the court laugh with ease. The king loves him, as do the courtiers.

They hoot and howl and throw coins sometimes, but no one looks at him too carefully. Not the way you do.

(Once, years ago, in the corridor outside the library when you were sixteen and furious about some argument with your father, you found him standing there. He was so still, as unmoving as the statues in the garden, staring intensely at the bricks in the wall. The candlelight flickered over his face, changing its shape in flashes caught between grotesque and divine.

“You’re not what you appear to be,” you’d said because you were sixteen and hadn’t learned to keep things to yourself.

He turned to you, pupils fluttering like the wings of a bug trapped in old amber.

“No,” he admitted, “and neither are you.”

You had gone into the library and sat with a book open in your lap. Minutes passed as you read the same sentence over and over.

He was gone by the time you went looking for him, but his shadow still lingered on the wall.)

He finds you in the morning after the announcement of your betrothal, walking through the east garden where the hedges grow taller than the trees.

You feel him before you see him. The bells are silent, but the air grows thin when he’s around.

“So,” he sings from atop the garden wall.

“Don’t.”

He drops into a sit, long legs swinging back and forth, and looks down at you with that painted face.

“He’s going to bore you into an early grave,” the Fool says. “I give it six months before you start collecting poisons.”

“If you’ve come to make jokes—”

“I’ve come,” he interrupts, dropping the happy façade of court jester, “because you only walk the gardens when you’re upset.”

You peer up at him. The shadows don’t match the direction of the sunlight leaving the angles of his face too pronounced where the paint usually softens them. He stares at you, unblinking and unashamed when you catch him watching you.

(which is more often than anyone else notices—he’s territorial, your Fool)

“There’s nothing to be done,” you sigh.

“There’s always something to be done,” he counters.

“He comes from a powerful family. This alliance could do great things for the kingdom. If I refuse—”

“Your father will be disappointed. Yes, yes.” He waves away your concern with a flourish of his hand, but there’s nothing playful in his tone. “And?”

When you don’t answer, he drops from the wall, landing directly in front of you. He steps into your space, already knowing you’ll let him because you’ve let him every other time you’ve been alone together.

His thumb caresses the line of your jaw, ice cold even through the thick fabric of his gloves.

“I will tell you this,” he says softly, “and you will remember it.”

“Go on, then.”

“There isn’t a force in this kingdom or any other that can take you somewhere I have not chosen to let you go.”

There’s no sound in the gardens, you notice. Not from the bells on his clothes nor the wind in the trees. Even the birds have disappeared.

“That’s…” He waits, and so does the garden, while you wrack your brain for words. “I don’t know if I should find that romantic or alarming.”

“Both, probably,” he laughs. He steps back, away from you and back into his role as court jester. By the time he vaults back over the wall, he’s laughing at something else, bells jingling and birds singing behind him. You’re left standing in the garden, no less frustrated than you were before, with a persistent chill trailing down your jaw.

—

The weeks before the wedding somehow move too quick and too slow. Your days are filled with events you’re forced to attend with your polite smile and carved bell in your pocket.

The prince, you learn, is as bland in person as he appeared at a distance. He talks about horses, mostly, and speaks over you at dinner. He preens when he looks at you, and lets his hand wander too low on your waist during the formal promenade. You consider it a miracle to make through any interaction with him without vomiting.

The Fool watches all of this from his place at the foot of the king’s table.

In what little downtime you’re allowed, caught in the shadows of corridors or between library shelves after everyone has gone to bed, he’s still the same. He makes you laugh, and watches you with gentle, not pitying, eyes.

“You could leave,” he suggests one night, casually rearranging the shelved books.

“Where would I go?”

The flame from one of the candles pops loudly behind you, the flash casting his shadow almost up to the ceiling.

“Anywhere,” he shrugs. “I’ve been most places. I know the roads well.”

“…You would come with me?”

“I follow wherever you lead—” he says, pulling a blue-covered book and tossing it onto the table you sit at, “—That’s been true for seven years, and it will be true for seven hundred more.”

The book clatters onto the wood, sliding until it comes to a stop just in front of you. An old fairy-tale about a bug that indulged too much and slept for centuries, waking to a world where it knew nothing and no one.

“Seven hundred…” you repeat.

He turns his head lazily, neck popping loudly, and meets your gaze.

“I am…” he pauses, eyes bouncing back and forth as he gathers his words. When they come to him, he grins toothily, teeth shiny and a little too pointed. “Quite old.”

You already knew that. You’ve known since you were sixteen, and caught him outside the library. You’ve never confronted him about it, and he’s never mentioned it, but here it is, out in the open.

“How old?” you ask.

He shrugs and hums. “Old enough to think of your kingdoms as young. Old enough to have watched courts like yours rise and fall more than a dozen times.” He stops then, head still as his body turns to face you fully. The candles around you gutter, the library’s light dimming until you can only see the pinprick glow of his golden eyes.

“Old enough,” a thousand crackling voices answer, “to know when something matters and when it does not.”

You hold yourself still, never looking away from him. “And…I matter?”

“You, my princess—” The candles steady with his voice, light suddenly returning to the room to expose him sitting opposite you, leaning halfway over the table until your noses are nearly touching, “—are the only thing in this castle that does.”

—

You don’t sleep the night before your wedding. You lie in the dark of your chambers, listen to the castle settle around you, and think about roads.

He comes through the window, which he does sometimes, with relative ease despite it being locked. You don’t ask how; you’ve given up on getting that specific answer out of him long ago.

His bells don’t ring, and his feet make no noise on the floor. He comes to you without theatrics, moonlight reflecting off the silver embroidery of his motley.

“Sleep seems to have escaped me,” he sighs, already crossing the room toward you.

“Big day tomorrow,” you scoff into your pillow.

He hums, and settles on the edge of the bed like he’s done a dozen other times. He leans back on his hands, feet kicking without a care.

“I’ve come with a wedding present,” he says after a brief silence. There’s no performance in his voice, only a teasing lilt as he waits for you to entertain him. Unfortunately, you’re in no mood for it tonight, and he catches on quick. “I’ll spoil you, then. It’s the abandoning of a tedious prince and a lifetime of terrible horse-focused conversation, saved.”

You snort into your pillow, turning your head to peer at him with one eye. “You can’t wrap that.”

“Don’t need to.” His gloved fingers find the line of your spine and trace it, sending a shiver through your limbs. “Come here. Turn over.”

You turn without hesitance, having grown used to this request over the years. You rest on your back, finding his face hovering above you already half-ruined. The white and red paint smears at the edges where he must’ve caught the window frame coming in.

(beautiful, even on the cusp of unraveling)

“Let’s get this off you,” he murmurs, fingers growing sharper as they curl into the thin fabric of your nightgown. You lift your arms, and he eagerly wrestles the silk over your head. His long limbs tangle at the last tug, and you can’t help but laugh as he fights with the sleeves.

“Careful,” you giggle. “You’ll tear it.”

“Good,” he snaps, freeing himself with a vicious pull and tossing the garment to the floor like it disgusts him.

You laugh again, louder, amused by the genuine distaste on his painted face. He turns to you sharply, tendrils of black wriggling against his amber eyes. You’re vaguely reminded of the centipede he once plucked the legs from in the garden, but he tilts his head and grins and the thought is lost.

“There it is,” he whispers to himself.

His kisses are always clumsy to start, his jaw clicking as it shifts to fit yours. His tongue unfurls from his lips, licking a slow stripe up your cheek to draw another laugh out of you. You let him drench your cheek for a few seconds, tip flicking as it chases the taste of your laughter, before you turn your head to catch his mouth properly.

His tongue is too long to fit properly in your mouth, the slimy organ spilling out over your lips to drip saliva down your chin. You tilt your head up, using your own tongue to pull him in as far as you can until he can slither down the warm channel of your throat. He groans, almost too low for your ears to catch, but you feel the vibrations through your neck down to your toes. Your hips roll on their own, chasing his purr, and he laughs into your mouth.

The paint from his face smears everywhere, coating your cheeks and chin, dripping down your neck to pool in the hollows of your collarbone.

“You taste like worry,” he huffs, retracting his tongue and leaving you panting. It swirls once around his mouth, making a bigger mess of the paint that’s left. “That won’t do.”

His mouth begins its descent. He takes his time at your throat, nipping his way down your chest as his hands knead into the meat of your thighs, slowly peeling them open to slot himself between.

He pauses at your ribs, and you immediately squirm, already knowing what’s about to happen. His tongue slips out again, sliding between the spaces of your ribcage and flicking lightly over your skin. Your body curls in around him, laughter punched out of you as you try to push him away.

He’s in a kinder mood tonight, pulling back after only a couple seconds. He rests his cheek on your spit-slicked skin and sighs affectionately, “My favorite.”

“You say that every time,” you snort, nudging him with your knee.

“And I mean it every time.” He lifts his head, the smile gone as he stares into your eyes. “I would’ve killed for that sound.”

“That’s—”

“I still might,” he says, and dips his head again.

He settles between your legs with a soft, satisfied exhale. His mouth falls open, jaw unhinging to let the full length of his tongue unravel onto your skin. It’s barely halfway out before he’s dragging over your hips and down into your folds, greedy for your taste. He groans, dragging himself forward until his jaw sits snug around your pelvis, tongue curling around itself to push its thick length into you.

He takes his time, gathering your slick to guide it down his throat before gliding back inside, deeper and deeper. The last of his paint smears away, mixing tacky with your wetness and the drool he spills into you. The only sounds that reach your ears are your gasps, the soppy schliiick schliiick, and the working of his throat as he gulps down everything you give him.

His grip on your thighs tightens, a quick squeeze, before he lets go completely. You have no time to wonder as the pointed tips of his fingers skitter down your legs. The laughter catches you by surprise, cut off by a desperate whine when his tongue wriggles deeper.

You feel his cheeks bunch into a grin, hands settling back on your thighs as you guide them closed around his head.

“More,” you whine, bucking up into his maw.

He obliges with one finger, then two, the fabric of his gloves a strange texture compared to the smooth muscle of his tongue. Then, the tearing of fabric reaches your ears, and the pressure pricks at you. You glance down, finding his gloves split at the ends, claws curved and gleaming where his fingertips were. He uses them with extra care, dragging them over your walls just enough to send sparks all the way to the backs of your eyes.

(he doesn’t ask if you’re alright—he knows he doesn’t need to)

He works you open with those delicate claws and gluttonous tongue until your body bends and writhes. Your hands twist and tug at his hat; the bells rattle, their melody rising with your moan, but the cap never comes loose. You cry out to the room, uncaring of who might hear you.

He holds you through it, eyes rolled back as he drinks your release and nuzzles into your shuddering body. He responds in kind, tiny chitters and chirps echoing from his form.

When you can open your eyes again, he’s pulled himself from you, kissing his way up your body to hover over your face. You part your lips before he reaches you, holding your mouth open wide and waiting. He drops his jaw, not as far, just enough for spit and cum to roll down his tongue and dribble down your throat. He follows soon after, sealing his lips over yours as you suck the flavor of yourself from his teeth.

He breaks the kiss when you reach for him, stopping your hand with a firm grip on your wrist.

“No,” he breathes between pecks to your lips and cheeks. “Tonight is yours.”

He knocks against you with his hips, and you widen your legs for him to free himself. In the thin slip of moonlight, you catch a glimpse of him—

(glimpse, glimpses—never the full picture, and you find you don’t mind one bit)

—ridged and thick in ways that don’t make sense. He slips into you easily, welcomed by warmth and wet. The slow stretch aches, as it always does, but fades into a sweet sting that leaves you craving. He watches your face, never blinking until he’s almost fully sheathed.

You wrap your legs around him, pulling him the rest of the way. The sudden thrust punches a breathy moan from you that he takes great delight in. He sets a deep, unhurried rhythm, rolling his hips with inhuman patience. He stares the whole time, pupils breaking apart to flutter and buzz with every little sound he draws out of you.

He pitches slightly on the next thrust, your body stretching even wider as he hits something inside you that forces a half-gasp, half-laugh from your lungs. His face splits into a messy grin of spit and face paint and too many teeth, eyes drawing shut as he absorbs the sound with a pleasured groan.

His eyes split open, pure, glowing amber, and his hips move again, focused solely on that same spot.

“Forget him,” he croons, voice fraying at the edges in a chorus you’ve only ever heard here. “Just feel me. I am yours and you are mine, and nothing that happens in the morning changes that.”

You clench around him suddenly with a cry, surprised by your orgasm. He buries his face into your neck, and empties inside you so thoroughly his cum spills back out onto the bed.

He doesn’t pull out, carefully lowering his weight onto you by his elbows. He pets down your sides, joints popping as his arms reach down to massage your thighs, then your calves while you catch your breath.

You take one look at the state of the two of you, and start to laugh.

“What?” he mumbles into your shoulder.

“We’re a disaster,” you giggle. He lifts his head, matching your smile through the mess on his face. He leans in for another kiss, bones snapping back into place so he can grab your cheeks and rub his nose through the paint and sweat and spit and cum on your face.

You swat him away playfully, but a jolt of fear shoots through you as he begins to push himself up. Your legs tighten around him instinctively, keeping him inside you.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assures you. He adjusts his weight, the movement of him—still half-hard and deep inside you—sends a tremor through your body. He stops, immediately soothing you with gentle kisses to your skin.

“Sorry,” he murmurs.

“Don’t be,” you sigh contentedly, pushing your hips into his. “It’s—nngh—it’s good.”

The pleased hum that moves through his chest is felt more than heard as he wraps his arms around you and holds you tight against his chest. The contours of his chest are odd, even through the sweat-soaked fabric of his motley. Not enough ribs, organs that fidget just under the skin, and a heartbeat that follows the heat of your palm.

(the truth of his nature in the hollow space of his chest—to follow your smile, your laugh, your warmth, you)

His tongue darts out to catch the corner of your eye, tasting a tear you hadn’t noticed, as he settles around you, tired and sated.

“Sleep,” he purrs, chittering low in his imitation of a lullaby.

Later, when candles have burned to nothing, you lie with your cheek against his chest, listening to his heart’s strange double beat, and—

The door opens.

You don’t register the sound until the light falls across the floor. There’s a lamp, held high, and the prince standing in your doorway. That fair face morphs in the shadows, turning to something displeased and disgusted.

You sit up suddenly, sheets tucked to your bare chest, but your Fool stays comfortably pliant with one arm around you.

“Well,” the prince sniffs, chin raised as he takes in the scene before him. “How unfortunate.”

He doesn’t look at the Fool, only at you, sneering like you’ve betrayed him.

“Your father will hear of this. As will the kingdoms unless…you wish to beg for your position? I’m sure I could be persuaded to forgive.”

The Fool’s arm tightens, nails digging into the meat of your hip.

You’ve always tried to be careful in your life. Careful words, careful hands, everything about you arranged to cause the least amount of disturbance. The other shoe had to drop sometime, you suppose. You can’t be careful forever.

You look to your Fool to find him already staring, waiting for your answer.

“Don’t let him leave.”

The Fool is beside you, and then he is not. There is no movement or scrambling of sheets. There’s only the lamp swinging wildly and the displacement of air before he is elsewhere, standing behind the prince with his head tilted at an angle that belongs to no creature you’ve ever seen. The bells on his costume ring all at once, a chaotic jangle that swallows all other noise in the room.

The prince opens his mouth.

The Fool laughs.

It’s too high-pitched, too many notes at once, all laughing like this is the funniest joke he’s ever heard. The bells sing with it, and the prince’s neck tilts the same way the Fool’s head tilts. There’s a choke in the laughter, a gleeful bark of hysterics, and then the prince is on the floor and the Fool stands over him. The laughter fades into a quiet chuckle until the prince stops gasping and the lamplight goes out, taking his laughter and smile with it.

He looks up at you, bells faintly jingling, waiting for your next order.

You lift one hand, letting the sheets fall to your waist, and reach for him. He comes back to you, sitting on the edge of the bed. His hands find your face, trailing across your skin with the tips of his claws and following their path with tiny kisses.

“We should leave before the morning watch,” he says between kissing your cheek and your nose.

“I know.”

“There’s very little you’ll need to bring.”

“I know.”

He holds you, and he waits, letting you catch up in your own time. You sit up fully after a few minutes, the room encased in darkness now, but your eyes have adjusted enough to see him.

“You said you know the roads?”

“Every one.”

“And…you’ll take me with you?”

“I follow where you lead,” he echoes, that same loving lilt from the library, “Just as you’ll follow me.”

You nod, pushing up to give him a quick kiss, before you get up. You dress comfortably and casually, and take the carved bell from the pocket of your discarded skirt. You close it in your fist, deciding it will be the only thing from this kingdom you take. No more polite smile or father’s demands. The kingdom will wake too late to stop you, and you’ll be far from here by the time they decide to try.

The Fool offers you his hand.

His fingers are too long, claws twice the length and painted with old blood. You take it without hesitation.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

He looks at you, bells silent and face paint smeared away. “Somewhere no one knows your name. Or mine.”

You step through the window, and into the open night. The kingdom falls away below you as the dark swallows you both. The road, when it appears beneath your feet, goes on for a very, very long time.

[eros-fixx]

vampires who see blood drinking as an intimate act. you're giving yourself fully to them, putting your fragile, fleeting human life in a monster's hands. and it is erotic--their tongue trailing down the slope of your neck, your pulse thrumming beneath skin, practically calling to them... the bliss when their fangs sink in, puncturing your flesh, blood dribbling down their chin. you inhale sharply and they groan, eyes closing, savoring the warm metallic taste rushing down their throat. the sound of them gulping down your life essence, drinking greedily, unable to stop... an arm clasping your waist, the other holding your back steady to them as they feed. and they don't want to let go--you taste so, so delicious; you taste alive. to deprive themselves of such bliss is torture. but your pulse grows weaker beneath their fangs, and your hands are starting to tremble, so they must detach from your neck, not before making sure to clean their mess with their tongue. and when they see the perfect bite marks left on your neck, your body practically begging to be fed from again? it's no wonder a vampire can get drunk on their human's blood.

[mooshs-crack-headcanons]

GULP AGAIN does this mean you take request for doom... if so can I get a smut w/ reader fucking Doomslayer on his fur cloak, maybe like by a fireplace? Or something like that LOL

(Holds out glass of water) you're gulping a lot that I think you might need this. Anyway porn time now. And a bit of angst because I can never help myself but there's comfort... smutty comfort but still comfort! ...and maybe a dash of more angst 🤭 then more comfort.

(Gender neutral reader)

It'd become a ritual by this point, late in the night he'd trudge his way through the empty hallways of the Sentinel Barracks to make his way to your quarters. He couldn't sleep, which wasn't exactly an unusual issue as he hasn't had a good night's rest in uncountable amount of years but recently things have been... worse.

He wasn't under Maykr control anymore, hasn't been in weeks, and while he obviously didn't miss it he did appreciate the nights not being left with own thoughts. Under their control he was left with nothing but the rage and hatred but not the reflection of why it is there in the first place but eventually that steel wall blocking that reflection eroded away reminding him of his purpose - that strange symbol on his shield flashing in his mind - being the reason he was able to break free. After that it's been a roller-coaster of events, he's barely been able to be alone clear with his thoughts. Hell he doesn't think he's been alone with them since the Seraphim put him in the machine.

But here he was, at your doorstep like a pathetic puppy. He holds on to his side - the pain of the injury had stopped hurting and has healed over long before but he can't help but to cradle it with scorn, another reminder of what he has failed to protect. But it does throb every now and again.

Every time he gets here he immediately thinks about turning around and going back to his room, scolding himself for wasting your time and ruining your sleep, you're a Captain afterall you have important work to do with the Sentinels, you deserve rest... but a selfish needy part of him desires your warm comfort to ease his mind away. Slowly, his gauntlet clad hand rises up and braps a couple times on the wooden door.

You don't take too long to answer, peeping your head out first before after seeing it's just him opening the door further allowing him to see you and a little bit of the room inside. You were dressed for bed, big baggy tunic that went just about to your knees and thick layered pants for warmth as it was now the winter months, speaking of, there was also a flickering glow behind you that with the opened door made the shadows of you and himself dance in the pitch dark of the hallway from the fireplace behind you - artificial blue flame that despite the cool light it brought was in fact very warm.

He swallows as he stares at you, he came here practically every night yet he always felt need to come up with a different excuse dispite not being able to ever verbally voice them, but it never matters as you're so gentle with him and you grab him by the hand and tug him inside. The door shuts behind him with a soft click, not to wake any of your neighboring officers as he awkwardly reaches up to remove his helmet which you then take from him to gently place it on your desk. While you're over there you go to straighten up some hologramic 'paperwork' that floated above your desk that you flick and scroll through, a task it looks like you were doing before he arrived.

"You know, it'd probably be easier if you just came straight to my room at night instead of your own, you wouldn't have to sneak around - potentially wake Valen, I know he's like a bear when he's woken up." You clearly tease but when you look back at him still in the doorway and had not moved an inch does it drop, you turn back to your reports. "I still don't mind though. Go on and sit down, I'm nearly done."

His footsteps are always heavy, they make a metallic clunk every time he steps, slowly he inches over further into the room to where he is in front of the centerpiece of the whole room, what tied the bedroom part and the office part together at the head of the quarter; the fireplace. He didn't truly notice how cold the rest of the Barracks was until he stood in front of the warmth in comparison, heat licked his skin real nice, it was a tolerable if not enjoyable heat not unbearable and overwhelming like Hell's that he's use to, so nice that he decides to crouch in front of it.

With a waver of your hand the screens flicker away, leaving you to stand there and look over to the man over your shoulder, a look in your eyes he doesn't allow himself to focus on and he forces himself to stop looking at you from the corner of his eye and back on the blue pit in front of him. Not long after he hears you move around the room, gathering the items of 'rite' before kneeling down beside him and placing them in between the two of you on the floor.

Books.

The Argenta language was still so strange to him, due to Samur's... freakiery that he can fluently speak and understand it now and in turn the Maykrs can understand his original language - he stopped questioning the insanity of all of it long time ago - but the written language was... different. Strange symbols and letters so alien to his eye that was all natural to your own, but he supposed it would be the same for you if you saw written English... maybe he should show you sometime, he thinks. But anyway, for these past couple weeks since of Azhrak's invasion had come to an end, to escape the trap of his own thoughts at night you have been giving him private lessons - since you were shocked to learn he wasn't taught.

It was a very pleasant distraction, having you basically just read to him and try your best to teach him how each sigil functioned together as letters to form words. You would also get to passionately tell all sorts of stories that were famous in Argenta folklore, cool stories about battles and heroes that fought against the odds, fairytales but due to the warrior-like mindset of the Sentinels they probably wouldn't like hearing that label but still they were interesting nonetheless and a part of your culture so he was more than happy to hear it. And it hasn't failed to take his mind away from the creeping darkness that haunted him.

Until one story.

There was once a hero named Torek, a brave Sentinel who once defended the Holy City all alone with nothing but his hammer. He fought countless battles and gained the King's respect and was pointed to lead as the head of his armies. He had the most majestic, powerful, fierce dragon to serve as his faithful steed, flew into many great legendary battles with it. But one battle was tragic, a battle against a most conniving of foe led the hero and his steed into a trap and ultimately got the faithful beast killed. No Sentinel had seen true pure wrath than what Torek expressed that day; the entire battlefield turned into massacre of their enemy, not a single soul was spared, a war that was estimated to last ten years lasted a mere three hours.

It was clear you didn't really think of the ramifications of telling this story, you were more focused on sharing one of the origins of where the Sentinel's respect for their dragons came from until it hits you at the tail end - your words drifting off into dead air as you look over from the ancient book to the man beside you who clutched onto his side. It then hit you embarrassingly quick.

"Oh-" You quickly slam the tome shut, heat and guilt zapping to your face. "-oh - oh - oh I'm so sorry, I-"

"It's fine." Hearing him out loud startles you, which he doesn't feel the best about and then just shakes his head, still feeling the dull ache in his side and can't help but to slightly curl in on himself. His brows narrow together tight in thought.

The air was tense, unignorably so, but the two of you sit through it. He sits perfectly still while you fidget with the creases of the books. It's like this that he thinks he should get up, retrieve his helm, and make it back to his lonely cold chambers as ultimately because of him the night is ruined until it's you to stop him in his place.

"I'm sorry," You repeat. "-I really mean it. I know... how much he meant to you."

"..."

"I know us Sentinels aren't the most... welcoming or accommodating of people. That partnership and bond the two of you shared isn't replaceable, I'm truly sorry it ended the cruel way it did. And I know that - that you coming here isn't really to learn but it's been a distraction from the hurt. Now I'm doing a shitty job at that, huh?" The saddened way you look at him... melts his heart.

Slowly, hesitantly, moving to closen the gap between you, fearful as if one wrong move and you'll break, he reaches out to cup your cheek. He shakes his head.

You continue to look up at him, meeting his eyes before briefly flickering down to look at his lips, face seeking further into the embrace of the cold metal of his hand. Small. You looked so small compared to him. You look at him so gentle, he has to - has to - say something, anything.

"I appreciate-" His voice strains his throat always when he speaks but he fights through, this was important. "-I appreciate what you do for me, taking time to - spend time with me when you should very well be resting, it... this all... means a lot to me."

He looks at you, so soft, so caring and loving, hanging onto his every word no matter how shittily they're spoken out. It relieves him to voice his next sentiment. "...you mean a lot to me."

It goes by so fast he isn't sure who kissed who first. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders and hands in his hair while he holds onto your waist like the most delicate of glass before slowly it melts more grounded - passionate. Through your constant interactions and budding friendship, one that started even before he was put in the machine and made a divine weapon - you were the first person here to actually give a damn about him as a person and not his strength, you actually cared and he really appreciates and respects and admires you in turn.

This was a long time coming and the both of you knew it.

The fire crackles loudly in the pit in tandem with your breathy moan as your night tunic has been tugged off you and your head is lunged back and dangling as your only support is your knees digging into the floor and your hands clutching desperate on the man's armor - kisses and bites littered and peppered down your neck and chest in almost an animalistic like capacity. Your moans are practically heaves as your back arches seeking into his mouth while at the same time your hands on his shoulders work desperately to further claw down onto him that you accidentally unclasp the cloak from its attachments on his back that it comes tumbling off him and behind him on the floor, but it didn't matter as everything was coming off eventually.

He loudly - louder than you were both expecting - moans when you squeeze his crouch through the leather and chainmail of his suit, he bucks into your touch as you roughly grope at him that he curses his teeth. He throbbed so hard in your palm he's threadbare on loosing his mind. He needed everything off. Not eventually. Now.

His armor tumbles off one piece at a time and loudly clangs on the floor and tossed to several different corners of the room to be recovered later. He's completely bare before you as you join him in slipping out of your pants, which in this moment of reprieve even in front of the fire reminds you of the lingering cold draft pulled from elsewhere that your body instinctively shivers from. Seeing this your lover pulls you in close, inclosing you in his body heat with his arms wrapped around you tight and his lips clumsily meeting yours.

Lost in kisses you just barely register your back meeting soft pelted fur, being so keyed up and sensitive that it creates an adorable gasp from you that breaks the kiss that with a smile he can't help but to immediately leap back in as your fingers find their way tight in his hair and his hands begin to wonder and explore your beautiful wonders.

His fingers are gentle and tentative around your sex, caressing you at first before breaking the kiss you share, guiding those same fingers back up to your lips, politely prodding them against them asking to be invited in. Your lips part to draw them in, keeping eye contact him as you suck them to create a good layer of coating on them that with that goal completed he pulls out of your mouth with a nice satisfying sounding pop.

He works you thorough. Thorough enough with his rough battle-worn hands he has you absolutely leaking down into the fur of his cloak underneath you absolutely drenched. He takes his time with you, taking in every single noise make, hanging onto every word you shakingly plead out. He puts all the attention on you that he hasn't really thought about himself until your begging to relieve him.

He isn't sure what to do - his body stills and his movement stops. He looks wide at you... not really-

But you reach up and touch his face.

Your thumb brushes over from the scar on his upper lip to the corner of his mouth.

How you look up at him.

He would give you the entire universe if you wanted. All you had to do was ask and he'd fight anything and everything just to give it to you.

His breaths are heavy as he takes you on his lap, hands gripped tight onto the meat of your hips as he has you bouncing and practically screaming riding him. His back is bleeding with how hard your nails clutch onto his shoulders but the wounds register nothing but added pleasured fuel to take you further. He's made you come so much it's made his own thighs sticky and caused the wet sound of meat colliding even echo louder throughout the room - and he wears each time with a badge of honor and hulls him to push another out of you.

Your whole body convulses, on the verge of collapse, clearly from exhaustion from sitting up for this long but you still verbally beg him for more. He's quick to remedy you, flipping your positions and turning your body around to be on your stomach but arching your back so that your ass can be in the air as he still ruts against you but this time with his whole form curled against you like some kind of weighted blanket.

Your fists clench tight fulls of fur from underneath you. Your breaths are shotty. Voice nearly hoarse. Cries and curses desperate.

Teeth are nerve blowing on your throat, entangled with wide broad-stroked laps of tongue and low rumbled mumbles of praise against your skin - and you tell him this, your words might be slurred and broken all to hell but you make sure to tell him how good he's treating you. Reassuring how good of a job he's doing. One trembling hand let's go of the sweat and come drenched cloak on the ground to make its way up to tangle in messy brown hair.

"Good boy, good boy," You tell him. "-s'good job."

It's like you relieved a long standing desire he never knew he had. It made his knees weak, head light headed, face on fire. He has to bite down to contain it - only drawing out a louder cry from you, your fingers squeeze tighter. Harder.

"Good fucking boy,"

He has you pressed down further, your face in the crook of his hairy arm he holds you down and fucks you like the demons were close to wiping everything from extinction and this was the last moments you had with one another and he was doing so good fucking your brains out this fast and hard. Even sobbing and barely able to breathe you give him praise and encouragement, as it clearly got his rocks off and only made him go faster - nearly rabid - with how he practically was shaking hovering above you he was close, very close, and loud drawing with it, trying his best trying to fend it off to last even a couple moments longer. He didn't want to stop having you like this.

"Please," You suddenly beg underneath him, sincere. Wanting him to give into it. "-let go."

And with ease, willing to obey your every command, he does.

He falls back on his knees barely able to catch his breath. His chest rocks and sweat drips down every crevice of his body that becomes more of a solid settled feeling once he's back in reality and easing out of his high, thigh slightly still shake.

You look back at him, your eyes lazily half lidded, your head turned off to the side as your body is still slumped over with your ass hanging in the air - come drips from you and trickles down to the fur below in thick puddles, heavenly sinful image that cements itself to never leave him that frankly is the reason he currently isn't giving the slightest damn about the impending tormented hassle that is the task of getting that cloak cleaned. You're a vision. A pure vision.

He slow dips back down for you as you sluggishly make it back on your back so that you can meet him for a clumsy kiss, your arms wrapped around his shoulders as he once again hovers atop you. You pull him further, encouraging him to lie on top of you which he makes no effort to fight against as he is once again your blanket. Once the kiss is broke he does hide his face in your neck however, tired, last remainders of lust leaving his veins and replaced by back to his own placent thoughts.

It's quiet. Neither of you two dare to say anything. A sigil not broken. You do pat at his head, comb your fingers lightly through his hair. It was relaxing - it does ease him, if a little bit, as realities set back in. The realities of what laid outside this room. Reality that had to be faced the moment this silence breaks.

"You okay?"

...

"...yeah."

He raises himself back up to his knees, ending your embrace. But you still look up at him from your place on the floor, from on top of his cloak. His eyes hesitant on you for a moment before he forces himself to look away. Reality.

Reality.

He pushes himself up to his knees, still crouched down but with intent of retrieving and putting back on his armor and leathers scattered on the floor. He does not look at you.

"I... apologize for keeping you up so late - and - and - disturbing your night."

He doesn't have to look at you to see the wide shocked look on your face.

"Flyn-" That name he can't allow himself to hear. The name no one in the Sentinels or the Maykrs knew or cared to know. The name he had told you in trust.

"I ruined your night. I'm sorry - Captain."

You still look at him, now sat up, silent. He reattaches his gauntlets, flexing his hands back into the gloves with a metallic shink. He was a weapon. Rearming himself.

"You think I fucked you out of pity?" You draw, your tone narrow and offended that your tone of voice grows louder dispite the lingering hoarseness. "You think I did all of this out of pity?! Tell me right now that's not what you think!"

He never said that - never suggested that - but a knot stabs in his throat at the most inoperable of times. So he stands there. Tears swelter in the corner of your eyes.

"Well I didn't. I thought - thought you might've... realized... or... dammit was I reading this whole situation wrong?"

With that he can't help but look at you.

You looked so small on the floor.

Slowly, he steps forward and kneels in front of you. You flinch in shock, seemingly not expected him to do so, as he sits in front of you and just... lets his forehead fall on your shoulder. You look at him for a long moment before your arms come to cradle around his form. Neither of you had to further say a word, it seemed... things clicked for you that you suddenly understood his turmoil. You pet his head.

"You're scared." You suddenly voice. Then silence seeps back through, dancing in the air for uncountable amount of time.

"I'm scared too." You confess, voice low but draws him to peek wide open at you from his perch on your neck.

"The men and women I lead into battle, my comrades-in-arms, my family, my friends, the civilians I fight for. I'm scared of loosing them too. Every day." There's a heavy pause. "I'm scared of loosing you too."

"(Nam-"

"I know that parts foolish, you're the strongest out of any one of us but... in the back of my there's always something. And when... when... when Azhrak-" He silences your next thought by kissing you. When that kiss breaks your eyes slowly open to stare at him, looking so... soft, reflective. You clear your throat.

"My point is that I get it - somewhat." Your hands are gentle placed upon his face. "If we understand each other can't we do something about that? About this? If you feel it too - can't we fight it? Together - us."

He looks at you and his lips part, full words yet empty over his lips as his brows narrow fustrated at himself for struggling to push them over. Yet you look so genuine, patient, and loving at him. He looks down towards himself.

"(Name), I have lost... a lot."

"I know. I know and-"

"I don't know. Not yet." No he does know, he knows how he feels but there's fear. Pure fear of what voicing this emotions into being what bloody consequences and it might bring... to you. Shadow of death always looms over him.

He looks at you.

His fingers slowly reach to intertwine with yours on his face, leaning into your touch. He grips them tighter and brings them closer to his lips so that they gently brush against them as a phantom kiss.

"...give me time..."

That's seemingly all you needed to hear. After awhile in each other's arms do you pull back to motion his armor, he does look at it and debates with himself before ultimately goes right to removing it a piece at a time once more to where he's stripped down again. You lie back still on his fur, arm outstretched to invite him to join you which after his eyes flicker down to remind himself of the state of his cloak does he sigh (slightly amused, tomorrow's problem he decides it'll be) and he takes you into his arms and holds you against his chest where he feels your bones relax, finally succumbing to exhaustion.

The fire still crackles in the background, even if it's a touch more dimmed than it was prior but surely to last for the rest of the night. It set a good mood. And with you next to him? Good comfort. His mind began to race less. His side long stopped throbbing. He felt at peace for now, here instead of dreadful lingerings on their deaths he thinks how Daisy and Serrat would be playing together in whatever afterlife they were in - a rabbit and a dragon, even with how absurd it sounded it brought a smile to his face, a smile you catch and return tenfold.

And seeing that makes him even more wanting for a better future. He'll fight tooth and nail for it. Things will be different this time.

Would really like and appreciate to know what you think about what you read in tags on reblogs I absolutely thrive off it, thank you for reading 🫶

[mooshs-crack-headcanons]

(Gender neutral reader)

Dumb little hypothetical, so in the modern Doom games there's the toy collectables, right? Little toys of the Slayer himself, Serrat, and enemies you fight throughout the games. Not really explained how or why they are there yet Slayer interacts with them and even has them displayed in his room in Eternal. But they're all based on like real things and people in his world and he collects them.

So... does that mean you the Reader (or self insert character) also get one? What circumstance or puzzle does he have to solve to get yours? Once he brings it home does he set yours next to his? Does he make the toy versions of you two kiss? Like barbies? Does he get super embarrassed and tries to hide them once when you catch him doing so?

Asking very important questions here.

Doom Masterlist (click)

[thelilypadlounge]

Doom Guy/Slayer x gnReader

It’s moments like these you thoroughly enjoy. You're in a comfortable bed, the room is dark, there are no responsibilities that need tending to, nice and comfy. Just you, a comfy bed, and Doom Guy. Yeah- you're still not entirely sure how this happened- but it did. 

When you first entered and became part of his life, you wondered why he even had a bed in the Doom Fortress. It seemed before that the bed was rarely touched; you were very tempted to check the bed for dust, you didn't. You did- however- run your finger across the dust on the headboard.

The man never seemed to sleep, he always seemed to be on the hunt. Ripping and tearing his way through hell’s legions, like a bloodhound with an unquenchable thirst. As far as you're aware Doom Guy doesn't technically need sleep. 

As for you, in the last few weeks, you've been growing more comfortable here in the Fortress. This place has started to feel like home, comfortable in ways only home can offer. Where you can be yourself unapologetically. It lets your mind be at ease, relaxed to the point where you have started to sleep in the untouched bed.

But ever since you’ve started sleeping in the bed he never used, you've noticed him quietly following along. As in, he’d try, and fail-  to sneak into bed with you. It’d sound like a bass drum walking down the hall to the room, and muffled vibrations through the metal floor could be felt as it got closer. You’d press your face into the pillow trying to ignore everything, the opening of the door, him entering- then the rustle of clothes as he changed into something more appropriate for resting. Most often just a pair of sweats you bought him, no shirt.

He's a furnace enough on his own.

Your hand massages the wide expanse of his back, every now and then putting more pressure into tense areas of his back, trying to work out the tight knots. Occasionally you’d feel a rough patch of skin where scarring has occurred, deep old scars that you avoid dragging your fingers too hard into. Feeling the dip of his spine inclines you to scratch along the slope of it. His back arches beneath your touch, pushing you deeper into the bed. You’re attempting to get him to unwind further, to get his muscles to loosen up from slaughtering demons for God knows how long. Your hand wanders absentmindedly up his back, fingertips tracing idle circles along the line of his spine, then up to the hair at his nape. 

His short brown hair is surprisingly soft. Perhaps you should look into the brand of shampoo he uses, you hope it's not one of those three-in-one shampoos. If it is- then you would have to intervene next time he's about to wash up and actually get him into a proper hygiene routine.

Burying your face into his hair, you take a breath and get the faint smell of eucalyptus- and a bit of mint, you hum into him. He definitely had taken a shower before sneaking into bed. 

Every night he tries to sneak into bed, slowly, in an attempt to try not to wake you. All after finishing up with whatever task he had taken on for the day. It doesn't work though. 

You’ve become a light sleeper over time, any shift in the bed would wake you and since he started to sleep in the bed with you, it's nearly impossible to sleep without him. So you’d be slipping in and out of consciousness, up until the point he decides to try sneakily joining you in bed. The attempt does amuse you though.

Although mornings are much different, sometimes you’d wake to find that breathing is harder and you're overheating. Blinking away the sleep you’d look around to find Doom Guy completely lying on top of you. His weight is fully over you, like a weighted blanket, his legs are sprawled all over yours and his arms are tucked firmly against your back. Like you’re a life-sized teddy bear for this giant furnace of a man. You’d be unable to move out from under him until he wakes and moves himself.

You did try once- with a wheeze, you had tried to sneakily crawl out from under him, only for his arms to tighten around you in a vice grip. Holding you still underneath him. Like someone is trying to steal you away instead of you trying to preserve your body temperature and freedom. Chest to chest, you’d hear a grunt and feel it vibrate deep behind his ribs, which is currently crushing yours.

That escape attempt ended fairly quickly.

Your hand runs through his hair to the back of his nape, playing with the short hairs there. Seriously, why is this man's hair so soft? 

You'd think wearing a helmet all the time would be cause for some damaged hair, maybe some helmet hair- having it be flat pressed up against all that padding and wires inside- but no. When he took it off- his hair would always be fluffy, not messed up in the slightest, it made you kind of jealous.

You run your fingers through his hair, dragging your fingernails lightly over his scalp, which gets you a shiver. So, you keep doing that.

This bed is nice, where you can lie and rest together. Even if you're not sure if he really sleeps. Being able to feel his warmth and the movement of his chest as he breathes relaxes you, you hope it does the same for him, he needs it.

Moments like this- are far in between with him going out to slay demons and you working.

You move a hand down to his back, continuing to massage the muscles there. You feel the Slayer shift, then a hand travels up behind you, his hand slides up and down your back, returning the gesture. It's soft and appreciated, especially from such a man. Dipping your head down, you plant a soft kiss to the top of his head, and his hair tickles your nose. You love that he feels comfortable enough to be gentle with you, well- he’s naturally gentle with humans. This time with him feels extra special because he chooses to let down his walls and rest with you. Even if he doesn't really need sleep. He pulls you impossibly closer into his chest.

[mutilatedscrap]

Can we get a continuation of the Franco x reader arranged marriage blurb? It's 😘👌🏼

Rushed blurb low-key inspired by the limo I saw today…

“Daddy, it’s absolute torture,” you wail, snatching a silk handkerchief from the driver’s hand. You sob into it, the sound muffled and ugly, while your father sits across from you, the tip of his cigar glowing steady.

“He’s vile,” you spit through ragged breaths. “He’s forceful, he reeks... he’s a child in a man’s skin! I am chained to a man who wants to suck my tits like I’m his mother!”

“Princess, it can’t be that—”

He ducks just as a purple pump flies across the cabin, slamming into the window and bouncing onto the leather cushion with a dull thud.

“You never had to be anywhere near him—let alone naked!” Your hardened expression crumbles, and you dissolve into a fresh new round of tears. “I can’t even take a five-minute shower without him clawing at the door! Last time, I caught him jacking it into my shampoo bottle! How much longer do I have to live like this?!”

Your father slicks his hair back and sighs. “Listen, Princess, I’m moving as fast as I can. These things take time. Months, maybe years to even— no, no, don't start again— Mother Mary, help me.” He groans.

The ride home is excruciating. Not only because you have no end date for your marriage, but because as the car rounds the driveway,

you see him. Your husband. already outside, waiting.

“Don’t make me go out there, Daddy,” you whispered, ducking low in case he were to somehow see you through the tinted glass.

“Quit being sore and go greet your husband already. And here.” He tossed a stack of hundreds onto your thigh,

this week’s allowance. It was heavy. More than you’d ever received back when you were unwed. But was it enough to keep going through with this?

Your pockets will be full but your mind will be gone the moment you spent another second around that disgusting creature.

Your father must have sensed your hesitation; he brought his cane down with a sharp thud, nearly missing your ankles. You quickly scrambled out of the car not wanting to push his short temper. The limo pulled away instantly.

You watched it, silent and desperate, praying the brake lights would flash and it would turn back for you.

Please turn around. Please. Please. Please

The car disappeared around the corner.

Taking a deep breath, you turned to face Franco.

There he stood at the top of the steps, rocking on his heels while clutching his suspenders like a child waiting for his parents to come home. You nearly choked on the bile rising in your throat.

That’s all this was.

You hurried up the drive, brushing past Franco, ignoring his giddy welcome as you headed straight for the door. He trailed after you, unbothered by the cold shoulder. Rudeness didn't faze him anymore; in fact, he’d told you countless times that he preferred you this way. He claimed it riled him up when you fought back, so you’d learned to just ignore him altogether.

“How was the ride?” he asked.

“Fine.”

“Get anything?”

“No.”

He nodded. Contempt with the short answers.

Then silence followed. That was another thing you hated about this life. The heavy silence, like you were waiting for something to happen. Like a ball to drop or a balllon to pop. Sometimes it felt like he knew exactly how much it rattled you,

stretching the quiet just to watch you get twitchy.

“…Where’s your shoe?” He finally asked.

“Huh?”

Franco pointed at your feet. Lo and behold, your right foot was bare. Crap. You’d forgotten the pump after you’d hurled it at dad. You instinctively tuck the bare foot behind your ankle, noticing the way he was staring quite intensely at it. “I forgot it.”

“Forgot a shoe?” He snickered. “How do you forget a shoe?”

“Dad made me mad, so I took it off and threw it at him,” you snapped, rolling your eyes hoping that put an end to the conversation.

You wobble toward the stairs. After a long day of running in circles and arguing with your father back and forth— getting absolutely nowhere!— you felt drained to the bone. The only thing keeping you from collapsing right now is a warm rose bath awaiting for you. With scented candles, bubbly soap, and sweet roses.

About to take the first step you were hoisted off the ground.

Franco threw you over his bulky shoulder, his arm a solid bar pinning your thighs together as he started up the stairs. You wanted to scream, to claw at his back— what on earth was he doing? but you knew he’d only enjoy the struggle. You swallowed your fear and anger and forced yourself to go limp. Breathing deeply through your nose, you stared at the floor.

You realized then just how close to the carpet you were.

Wow, he really is short. If you'd hop off right now, you’d probably land on your feet.

Don’t be stupid, you scold yourself. God, why did he choose a house with a second story? There were too many steps, leaving too much time for his hands to roam. He thought he was being slick, slowing his pace inch by inch, dragging out the ascent. Your stomach clenched with a mix of raw rage and fear. Trying to contain it was becoming impossible.

You reached down and pinched one of his cheeks—hard.

He jolted, nearly tipping backward and almost sending you both tumbling down the stairs.

“Put me down!” you screamed, finally giving in to the urge to flail. You cursed him the whole way up, your voice echoing off the walls. His fingers dug deeper into your thighs, bruising the skin. You snarled, digging your nails into the meat of his back, trying to horse-kick your way free.

The two of you looked ridiculous—thrashing and fighting for no reason. You were giving him exactly what he wanted. He wanted the reaction. He wanted you mad; he wanted you to hit him and scream and do all the things that fueled his sick desires.

If there was a hell on earth, the devil had hand-delivered this man to you.

Finally making it to the bedroom, Franco threw you onto the bed, his face the picture of giddy delight. Ugh.

He reached back to rub his rear where you’d pinched him, hissing through a wide, jagged smile. “Never been pinched there before” he chuckled.

You got off the mattress and stood straight, facing him like a soldier than a wife. “I’m going to the bathroom—and don’t!” you snapped, cutting him off before he could even open his mouth. “come in, or I swear, I swear; on my father’s grave, I’ll taze you right in the balls.”

His smile only widened. “He ain’t even dead.”

Not yet, he isn’t.

You didn't stay to argue. You snatched up your shampoos, soaps, and your taser, retreating to the bathroom and throwing the bolt on the door. For a moment, you just stood there, shaking. You sank onto the cool tile, trying to gather your thoughts, feeling the cold cool your heated skin.

You rubbed at your arms, trying to scrub away the lingering sensation of his body against yours. Your thighs pulsed with the memory of his grip,

But hey, you managed to pinch him.

You smiled. Smug and sweet. Payback at least.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

Your phone buzzed on the edge of the sink. You snatched it up and looked at the notification.

It was a picture. From Franco.

And the mood is ruined.

You didn't even click the image before turning off your phone. God only knows what he wanted you to see. You gag, then began to undress,

unaware of the new set of pumps that would be arriving at the front door in a few days.

[httpmellari]

I need to bite Franco so badly… how’d you think he’d do with a woman with major cuteness aggression towards him??

anon this is so cute . . . ohh how i relate to this. i’d bite him so bad if i could !

FRANCO BARBI + CUTENESS AGGRESSION

oh he would lose his entire mind about it, but like . . . in the worst-best way.

franco is built to intimidate, to dominate, to be the biggest thing in the room even when he very much is not. literally . . . so a woman with cuteness aggression? Someone who looks at him and goes “ I need to bite you ” instead of backing down?

yeah . . . that short circuits him.

at first he’s snarling about it, because that’s his default.

“ don’t—don’t look at me like that. I’m not a— tch — toy. ”

but he’s already flushed, ears burning red, jaw tight like he’s holding himself together with duct tape and rage.

you crowd his space on purpose. you grin. maybe you grab his face just a little too fondly, like he’s something precious instead of repulsing.

and that’s where he breaks.

“ hey—HEY—what are you doin’, huh? ”

voice goes sharp, breathy, defensive. He tries to shove you off but it’s half-hearted, all bluster and no follow-through. the moment your teeth catch his cheek—nothing hard, just there, he freezes.

fuuuull system overload.

he lets out this strangled sound, somewhere between a hiss and a swear.

“ maronna mi ” *** — are you insane? ”

but he doesn’t pull away. he actually leans in a fraction, like he hates himself for it.

because the thing is—being bitten isn’t mockery. It’s attention. It’s wanting him, overwhelming affection instead of laughter. and that hits him right in the softest, most ruined part of his brain.

his hands hover, unsure whether to grab you or shove you or protect whatever dignity he has left.

“Y’ think this is funny?”

he mutters, eyes flicking away, teeth grinding. “you gonna—gonna treat me like some kinda—like I’m—”

he can’t even finish the sentence. He’s blushing too hard. furious about it. thrilled by it.

later—when the adrenaline spikes and he’s riding that high—he’ll grumble about it nonstop.

“she’s got teeth. Like a damn animal. Thinks she can just—chomp me whenever she wants.”

but he says it like a brag . . . like a secret he doesn’t want taken away.

and god help anyone who laughs at him about it.

because you biting him? That’s different.

that’s proof someone chose him. overwhelming, embarrassing, a little humiliating . . . and exactly why he secretly loves it.

call him your baby, bite him, do whatever, because he is thriving.

*** maronna mi is an exclamation us southern italians use for surprise, frustration, and so on! it should be written as madonna mia, however i wrote it in an accented version!!

pspspsps, i made a franco barbi playlist! you can check it out here !

[httpmellari]

hello my darling reagents ! ! here’s something i made for my fellow oc creators . . . hopefully it’ll help you !

if you do end up using these you don’t have to tag me . . . . however . . i’d love to be tagged ! ! ! i wanna see your fantastic ocs ! ! !

someone could get picked for sum fanart . . .

anyway . . . content and art coming soon lovelies . . . ! ! !