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astrobydalia · 3 months ago

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September Observations

This post has a TW I do not allow the repost on any others platform

Something I forgot to mention in this post about 8th house synastry!! I've noticed for some reason this overlay tends to manifest more positively when the house person already has 8th house placements in their natal chart (not a guarantee tho). I feel like its because this makes the house person be more naturally in their power and the planet person no longer feels like they can have control over the house person. In these cases instead of envy the planet person feels admiration and "positive" obsession over the house person like "Im obsessed with you, queen!🥰😍🤩" kinda vibe

If Libra Moons didn’t have the ability to detach fast they could easily pass as water moons 100%. They are such hopeless romantics and love having someone to love be that friends or partners. And yes they can be codependent but only to an extent imo. I’ve seen Libra Moons actually detach surprisingly fast specially if they feel like you don’t match their energy

Im sorry but Libra Suns are not people you can count on imo. They have this very elitist/opportunistic mindset when it comes to people. They treat people based on some kind of unspoken social hierarchy they have in their minds like how successful or intelligent or interesting you appear to be for example. They'll be loyal for as long as they see benefit from associating themselves with you, otherwise they'll be distant, elusive and flighty af. Socially they appear to be super chill but they aren’t like at all, they’re very passive-aggressive and extremely judgmental of others

If you have Venusian MC/10th house (Libra or Taurus MC/10th or Venus in the 10th house), I've noticed people care what you think of them and really feel the need to make a good impression on you, specially the sex you're attracted to romantically. This placement makes people feel like your love and affection is a privilege to have, that’s why a lot of trophy wives have venusian 10th house/MC

Jupiterians (Pisces/Sagittarius but specially Sagittarius placements) are just the best people to be around tbh. Even when they have other toxic placements/energies in their charts, I’ve noticed they are ultimately all about the ✨vibes✨. They detach from negativity quite fast and avoid getting too deep into drama and controversy cause really all they want is to chill and have fun. The “no worries, bro” kinda people. The negative side of this tho is they tend to turn a blind eye when they get called out on their own issues and/or have a tendency to be dismissive when it’s time to take things seriously

^^^You’d say Venusians relate to this peaceful description too but tbh I didn’t include them cause Venusians tend to have a lot of repressed shit and are secretly all about drama (but watching it go down from afar tho)

I’ve noticed water mercury tend to be more diplomatic and charming with their words, the way they speak about things tends to be more soothing yet nebulous/confusing/cryptic. However earth mercuries are more direct and critical which makes them more prone to openly talking shit LMAO

There's a lot of posts victimizing and romanticizing Lilith in the 1st house/conjunct the ASC but I've seen this placement a lot in bullies and genuinely fraudulent people?? I've seen Lilith energy is commonly prominent in the charts of criminals too. Like idk why people act like the hate Lilith gets is ALWAYS unjustified 💀 They can truly be really dark and shady individuals that’s literally what Lilith signifies (this does not apply to everyone of courseeeeee)

Furthermore, I'm sorry to say this but prominent Lilith natives have a habit of living too much in the victim mindset and constantly make everyone else the problem as a way to justify their shitty behaviors

What I’ve noticed with Lilith natives who are not sketchy people (so just normal decent individuals) is that they have huge self-destructive and self-derogatory tendencies. They tend to become very cynical of the world, lose hope in their own value and humiliate themselves behaving in ways that are rebellious to them but make other people think the native has no self-respect

Libra/7th house Lilith tend to assume the worst in others. Envy placement. They struggle finding genuine and healthy relationships

I've noticed MC ruler in the 12th house is common in the charts of sex workers since 12th house is related to bed pleasures, secret affairs, etc

The sign that actually behaves like a child irl is Gemini. That’s why I've noticed Gemini placements always want to be the 'cool and fun parent' just like Phil Dunphy

TW: mentions of c**** abuse and s******.

I've noticed Cancer energy (Leo too but mostly cancer) is very common in the charts of p*dos, gr**mers and s*xual predators. No placement will determine someone being this way!!!

Chiron in the 1st house/conjunct the ASC/Harshly aspecting chart ruler is common in the charts of people who have or have tried to commit s******

End of TW

An underrated god complex indicator is Sun-Mercury conjunction. I can't stress enough how much these people's ego revolve around their intellect. Their entire personality to them is being the smartest person in the room

When it comes to pride and ego (Sun) fixed and mutable suns are the most likely to have a superiority complex

Mutable Suns take the most pride on their own knowledge and judgment, deeply believe they know better or have most if not all the answers. They have a tendency to often dismiss, correct or contradict others

Fixed Suns take pride in their own ‘essence’ if that make sense. They LOVE the idea of being special and irreplaceable. Feeling like there’s something intrinsically unique about them

Cardinal Suns are okay tbh. They can have other negatives but when it comes to ego theirs is usually pretty balanced I noticed. They usually take pride in their ability to level-up and improve themselves which often makes them rather competitive or in extreme cases have this heavily predatory mindset when it comes to what they want

This will not be accurate for everyone of course but when it comes to future children if you have Water/Earth moon you are most likely to have girls whereas if you have Air/Fire moon you're more most likely to have boys

Air Venus people are the most open-minded when it comes to taste in general. I've noticed they're the type to enjoy almost every music and movie genre, they can appreciate different aesthetics.... They're also the most likely to date outside their race I've seen cause they can really find beauty in all sort of features as long as it looks overall good/attractive to them. It's not that they don't have preferences, but they're type be open to being impressed and mentally stimulated

EARTH and Fire Venus people are the most selective when it comes to their taste. They know exactly what they want and like. In the case of earth Venus this can be to the point of strong reluctance to try new things. Fire Venus appear open minded cause they have this attitude of trying everything once but the usually have a very hard-set type of things they will actually commit to

Water Venus people aren't that open about their tastes. They hide or repress them cause they really tend to be into obscure or hidden stuff. If you ask them what they like, they'll give you an evasive and generic answer, specially if it's in the context of small talk

I've noticed Capricorn and Scorpio Moons have an innate understanding of the uglier sides of human nature which is what makes them pretty cynical (scorpio) and pessimistic (cap). They are hyper-aware of how most people can be bought and corrupted. This makes them AMAZING business people tho.

Aries ASC natives embody the active, wild and spontaneous stereotype more than the other aries placements. They come across as pretty chill at first but there's actually very little they won't dare to do, they love adventures

I've noticed Venusians can do really good in anything related to sales or business counseling, because they are good at estimating and promoting the value of things

I know we relate Neptune to otherworldly and glamorous vibe but all the people that I've met who made me go "wow, girl, you don't feel real" were people who had air signs in their big 3. They’re not real people, they’re concepts, I swear that’s the vibe they give me💀💀

Also, air signs in the big 3 is an underrated fame/success indicator imo. Nowadays networking is everything in order to succeed and these natives naturally attract popularity and connections SO easily. They effortlessly use their charm and likeness to gain opportunities

I once saw an observation that said Gemini risings give off dumb blonde energy and Im here to confirm it’s true, specially when Mercury is also in an air sign. This happens cause they're up in their minds all the time but this makes them appear VERY disconnected from their environment so they really just be looking like this 24/7 😀😃😄😁😆🙂 and that's why they come across as empty-headed. They also often have this manic pixie dream girl energy which results in people not taking them seriously. This is enhanced when you see that they have a tendency to get talkative about superficial or random topics but their more intelligent or deep thoughts they keep to themselves for some reason.

Taurus Moons actually are actually very very very strategic??? Other earth moons look messy af beside them. They're so grounded that they know exactly what they want, how they wanna get it and they are so sure of themselves they have no issue taking their sweet ass time with it. Every single step they take is so intentional and "organized" if that makes sense, but they pull it off as natural and spontaneous??

Also this is an obvious thing to say but Taurus Moons are so emotionally stable. They work extremely well under pressure, will literally be the calm person admist a chaos or extreme situation. I've seen Cap/Virgo moons getting triggered many times but Taurus moons???? I've known some of them for years and I've never seen them triggered EVER no matter happened which as a water moon that's fucking insane to me 😭💀💀 Like sure depending on their personality they can be more or less expressive of their feelings but its always on their own terms, they don't let other people or situations just get reactions out of them if that makes sense

I've noticed Mercury in the 4th house creates a divided and scattered family. Just like Mercury in the 10th house indicates traveling for work, Mercury in the 4th indicates traveling because of your family. The people I've seen with this placement have all of their family members scattered around the world living completely different lives

Sun-Neptune harsh aspects are very impressionable people and very easily influenced

Also, a lot of people point out Sun-Pluto aspects have like a hidden dark/toxic side to their personality but I've seen it's actually Sun-Neptune that match this description

Libra placements can potentially be very disciplined and do well in demanding and/or serious occupations like corporate, military or athletes since Saturn is exalted in Libra.

Venus in the 1st house can tend to only value the superficially good things in them (lovable, likabale, beautiful, etc) and are more concerned with the image they present rather than building a real personality deep down. This make them ignore or downplay their flaws thus not reacting well to criticism and/or when someone does not like them.

All the men that I’ve met who were actually providers and had this involved father and husband vibes always had VIRGO, taurus and cancer placements

Men with capricorn placements aren’t providers, they’re just controlling af😭😭 They will also be emotionally distant and manipulative af too if they do not have other energies in the chart to balance it out

Honestly water suns (sun in a water house natives too) fascinate me. They just go around life casually hiding who they really are like they don’t have the most intricate personality deep down. All of them have mysterious and intriguing vibes it's not just scorpio!!!

5th house placements (including vertex) will stay behaving like teenagers regardless of their age. The song "forever young" by alphaville really describes them

Neptune in the 1st house/asc are prone to attracting lots and lots of creepy individuals because they have this aura where people project all sorts of delulu and twisted shit on them. Mentally and/or emotionally unwell people feel very attached to these natives unfortunately

Leo MC/10th house really does indicate a career where you're some kind of performer. That’s why many celebrities (specially ACTORS and singers) are Scorpio risings. This can also apply to careers like politics, public speaker, standup comedian, etc. All of these involve some level of fame ofc

Cancer MC/10th house indicates being some kind of creator (cancer=birthing something new, bringing something to life). This a lot of times relate to some art form of course but it can be other things for example a friend of mine has this placement and she works in science and she told me she works in a lab with substances and materials she created herself (idk how it works but you get the idea)

Pisces Suns have a major in gaslighting from the university of never taking responsibility. This can be the case for any unevolved pisces placement but I’ve noticed the lying to your face and twisting reality is much more blatant in Pisces Suns for some reason. They make arguments in such a way that you can tell something of what they’re saying is off but you can’t exactly prove them wrong either so 🤷🏽‍♀️💀

Mercurial placements (Gemini/Virgo) and Venus in the 3rd house may really love wearing rings or lots of bracelets, big watches, etc. Accessories that bring attention to the hands essentially

Libra placentas may or may not want to be "liked" but Libra Moon is a placement I've seen is genuinely liked by everyone. They have this calming and loving energy to them. Celebrities with this placement are generally unproblematic (Anne Hathaway, Emma Stone) or if they are problematic they can easily recover from backlash (Ariana Grande, Leo DiCaprio)

#astrology #astro #astro observations #astro notes #zodiac #birth chart #astrobydalia #astrology observations #astro community

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comfortless · 8 months ago

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Offering you a prompt because I know you could make it perfect! ( ๑‾̀◡‾́)✨ You know about Minoan Bull Leaping? What about that with a hybrid Köni?

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. König is a man here!!: ears and a tail and a set of horns but that’s it!, fem (afab) reader, nondescript animal death, codependency and a little possessive behavior, reader gets injured, historical inaccuracies, one-sided worship, mentions of violence, reader is a virgin for three seconds, cunnilingus, smut.

word count: 11.5k.

You’ve practiced this, and still the tension and nervousness bleeds through you, courses like a steady river under skin and curves around bone. The bulls are so much larger than the fallen trees and heavy stones you’ve danced around and over for practice, and the nights spent tempting them with treats had never been enough to prepare. Twigs and jagged edges are nothing in comparison to the horns of very alive and breathing beasts; petting their heads is far simpler than prancing over their horns.

The bulls wait in the field, grazing, sturdy monoliths amidst a sea of green below the warm light of the sun. It kisses every inch of skin, highlights the determination and giddiness on the faces of others and lines your frown in shadow. Three feral bulls for two men and a woman far more practiced than you; a rugged, adolescent thing with his horns barely poking through waits just for you, misplaced from the herd and huffing indignantly some distance from the rest.

You watch the others go, one by one, as they skip and somersault toward their gruffer partners. Your hand rises up the expanse of your robe to brush over the jewels layered along your throat. Their movements are rushing water, fluid and perfect, so elaborate and pretty that you fear even blinking will cause you to miss the most important details.

And then they reach their bulls.

Some huff, one tilts his head in curiosity. An attempt to gore, perhaps, except… these things are not vicious, only happy creatures. They know the importance of the dance just as you do. When the curious one does accept the grasp of a man’s hands over his horns, you feel yourself beginning to walk, possessed by the need to claim your own bull and perform just as they do.

The show that you put on is less graceful, but does not lack heart. A trip on your first somersault that sends you into the grass, righted immediately when you hear your bull huff only paces away. You laugh, coo, and chirp as you approach with more balance. The sparkling jewels dance over your skin just as the others dance over their bulls, leap after leap, and the animals remain calm.

Yours is no different. He allows you to graze your fingertips over the soft fur of his back, does not so much as flinch when your press your palms flat over the sides of his face. The horns poking out of his skull are rounded at their tips, not yet properly grown in. You kiss the dip between his eyes and tell him how special this performance must be. To tame a wild animal is something divine in itself, but to tame a bull takes someone truly virtuous.

The grass tickles along your calves, the sun feels so warm and lovely against your face. You sigh in contentment as your steps lead you back, arms raised in preparation to jump. The others cheer you on, guide you with their voices as they wait next to their animals. The scent of nectar and pine lulls you to comfort, allows you the courage that you lacked initially; knees bend and arms raise, your eyes locked on the sprouting horns.

With your posture immaculate, you take your first leap.

The sun catches on something tar black and glimmering waiting in the trees just out past the pasture. Two tall horns springing from either side of a head, the stature of a man, just as your fingers curl over the calf before you’s much smaller horns.

The heart in your chest ceases its pounding for a moment, and your eyes must have widened the very same as a child’s would when encountering something sweet or shiny to treasure.

There’s a man attached to those horns in the tree line. Though you could not make out his face beneath all of the shade and foliage, you were so certain that it must have been a man.

A man larger than any man in Crete. Impossible and imposing.

The tumble that follows this reverie is what breaks away any hope of this being a lovely day.

Your concentration was broken the very second that the creature showed itself, and it was far too late to stop even when you were no longer a part of what was occurring between you and your sable-furred calf. The animal senses the not-right about the situation, takes it as a cue to move just as you were lifted over him and sends you sprawled out into the blooming wildflowers. The earth at your back, the sky to your front, and the pain takes its time to trickle in like winter chill and crawl up from your soles to the base of your neck.

The thin gold of your necklace must have snapped, because one of the jewels lies over your middle now, and several others have been left for dirt and birds to claim in the grass.

It’s your bull that comes to worry over you first, his wet nose nudges at your cheek when the scent of blood from broken skin taints the air with iron. It’s just a scrape along your palm, sullied by the peak of a jagged rock lying buried just below the soft soil of the pasture. The blood runs in small streams when you marvel at the wound, held up keeping sun from your eyes.

His coarse tongue finds its way to your hair, retrieves the flowers from it as if his stomachs could not wait for the consoling to be done to be fed. In your stupor, you almost want to call the poor thing stupid, but you only tell him that he’s done as well as you hoped.

You’ll dance with him again, you promise.

The injury takes time to recover from, even with the most patient of healers seated at your bedside. He reminds you that a woman of your standing is something special in herself. Proud, noble, and meant to be wed in the coming months each time he layers salve over the scrapes and the expanse of bruising along your back. Your linens are changed by the slaves of your household, new jewels provided in abundance and placed around your neck as though you even need to look presentable now, bruised and stuck in your bed.

No one knows what you saw, not really. You aren’t even certain what that vision was. They whisper of madness when you bring it up. The Minotaur remains in the labyrinth, far away from here and bedded down in the dark. Men don’t possess the horns of bulls, and you must have damaged your head too, because no one believes a word you speak about it, about him.

Your mistake, you learned, was probably what spurred your poor calf to be chosen for sacrifice. A bad omen forfeit, maybe. So young and gentle, and now gone. The soft fur off his ears and the quivering of his nose wouldn’t be felt again, and worse still…What if you were not meant to leap with them at all?

There is fruit and barley served up onto a plate made of bone as you’re ordered to eat by your healer. People can be crueler than bulls, you think to yourself; you haven’t even got the desire to eat after hearing such a thing. You’re bleeding from the heart when the first bite is forced into your mouth, gut twisting and fingernails digging into soft linen.

“I promised…” Your voice is muffled by a particularly fat portion of plum. It goes ignored by the withering old healer that tilts your head back and strokes your jaw with a soft palm to encourage you to swallow.

“Eat.”

And when you don’t, when you spit it back onto the plate, you’re rewarded with another bite and further encouragement as your sobs fill the room. It should be expected, not as hard as bone or as tough as the skin of the fruit when you’re finally offered sweet wine to swallow it down. You shouldn’t be a mess over an animal who served his purpose well and would be heralded as some savior for giving some clumsy woman trust and a chance.

It’s just that there’s so much more to it, for you. Patches of purple and swelling are much easier to spot than guilt and other turmoils.

Your first should have been beautiful, should have left those watching with stars dancing in their irises. You couldn’t even handle a calf, and you feel more pitiful and helpless the longer that you harp on those thoughts.

You rest and have dreamless bouts of slumber. You walk alongside the healer, leaning against the old man for support when you find the pain is still very much there, stinging and vile. The people about the city always smile to you, offer you flowers and sweet fruit and ask when you’ll be well enough to dance again.

Often, it even soothes the ache that they can’t see well enough. Provides some hope that, yes, you can return to what you’ve always hoped to do, display your grace and strength and find some place in a flowery pasture before the day of your wedding. You’ve heard of women tearing a place that makes them bleed on horseback, how getting the pain over and done with then has made consummation far easier when that day comes for them. Maybe that could happen for you too.

You ask to hear the story of the Minotaur more times than should be appropriate from the slaves of your household. Some of them are foreign, not entirely sure of just how it should be told. You find yourself especially fond of one of them who twists her words to make everything seem honey.

“…I like to think that he wasn’t alone down there,” she finishes on her second retelling of the night. The first had ended with a separate possibility altogether, one that saddened you to the core.

“Do you?”

“Yes,” she laughs, taking the comb of carved bone to your hair, gently running it through each tangle provided by your pillow from lying in bed for the entire day. “Maybe he had friends or…”

“A wife?,” you question in amusement. Bulls didn’t take wives, even if they were part manâ€¦

“He is a man. Surely he had a woman,” she laughs again, bright and giddy, and follows it with a shrug. “You said that you saw him. Maybe it’s a sign.”

“I didn’t say it was him,” you almost wail in embarrassment. It was true that you had endlessly questioned and pondered for the past few weeks, speculated on what may or may not have been there, beneath the trees when you took your fall. For some odd reason, your fascination with that creature had ignited a flame someplace in your chest, growing ever brighter with each day that passed. “He didn’t have a bull’s head. Only the horns.”

She plucks at your hair with the comb a little longer in silence before setting it aside and casting you an almost fretful glance. “That sounds scary…”

“Oh,” you sigh. She’s right, of course. There were plenty of terrible things described with those attributes. But… if bulls didn’t scare you, then surely bullmen could not be any worse. “He didn’t hurt anyone though.”

“But you did get hurt,” the girl reminds you sympathetically.

You swallow dryly, and at last decide to put these fantasies aside. Your injuries were almost healed in full, and the last thing that you needed was for everyone to think that you were not simply wounded, but crazy too. A mad woman wouldn’t find a husband, and you were not a cow meant to be fantasizing over bullmen. The place you were given since birth was that of noble standing, a woman worth her weight in pearls and gold, not meant for fields and horns.

When morning rises and the yellow-red glow of the sun pokes its way through your window, you find you’re able to stand properly without the old man’s help to keep you upright.

You wash your face with the water from the clay pot in the corner, smile to yourself when you dab carmine onto your cheeks and smear it with the palm of your hand to look the part of some blushing dove.

Your robe is clean and soft when its pulled over you and fastened, delightfully comfortable when there’s no more bruising to irritate. Incense is lit, and you immerse yourself in what is before you rather than in shadow.

There’s a clamoring in the street below your window as you finish preparing for the day, both cheers and shouts of fear that stir both confusion and trepidation in your belly. It takes some time before you can coax yourself into taking a peek, find the strength in your trembling legs to look upon what may very well be the final march for a man deemed worthy of execution or perhaps some other misfortune.

Everything is painted honey and gold over the chalked clay of the buildings and the smooth stones layered over the streets.

There are women fleeing, a few cowardly men accompanying them. Children walk backwards or affix themselves to high walls to stare back at what’s being led by soldiers clutching thick lines of woven rope.

The thing that follows behind them leaves your heart in your throat, because it… he, is no prisoner or omen.

The bullman from your endless daydreaming walks with his arms fastened behind him, thick tail flicking in irritation at his backside, soft auburn ears fold back against his head.

The face, closer now, intrigues you the most, because as you’ve claimed endlessly: he only looks the part of a man. Some rugged barbarian, for certain, but still he does not bare any resemblance to the Minotaur or any other beast from the tales and songs. Though his nose is crooked, and pale scarring layers in abundance over tanned flesh, he looks almost sweet. There’s a gentleness about him that betrays the strangeness of his silhouette from before.

And he bleeds crimson like any other man, from a wound dug out in his shoulder where a spear must have pierced him. The blood along his chest has not even had the time to dry.

The poor man is bleeding and naked, not a scrap of cloth to conceal him any place, not even where his hair curls above his loins.

You imagine what the healer and slave girl must think now, when the subject of your endless ramblings is out on display for the entire city. Whether monster or forgotten god, the bullman is here, and in your haze of thought you will yourself to storm out into the street. There are hisses of confusion and fear all filtered and feathering on the air, many voices, but what is worse are the screams.

He doesn’t even possess it within him to look afraid, only terribly annoyed or maybe even somber. It was difficult to tell by the lack of expression on his face. His eyes are sad, but his lips are pressed into the barest line. The only indication that he feels anything at all is the swishing of his tail, a tell of anger in bulls. Maybe in men baring their resemblance, too.

“Where are you taking him?,” you demand, a shrill cry from your doorstep.

No answer comes your way from the soldiers at his side.

“Please…”

The words fail you as you find yourself stepping in front of this march. Ten soldiers to keep one man in a hold, it was ridiculous. Though he towered over them and possessed horns sharp enough to gore, to see him like this… It all stirred so much emotion within you that you almost think you must have really injured something in your skull, because the city spins around you and your eyes sting fiercely.

Every step halts when you begin to sob right there in the street like a bereaved wife finding out her husband has been tortured or killed in some distant land. Even the bullman seems intrigued by your tears. The quiet blue of his eyes flits from what stands beyond you to your face, puffed and slick with tears. Why cry for a man you do not know?, he seems to ask wordlessly. Why throw yourself out in the midst of danger?

“… my bull is dead, so I would like to…” To dance with this one. To see past the abomination of what he was and maybe cherish him in the way he deserved without deserving.

His ears prick forward, and he huffs something whispering and foreign in his tongue. Just one word that you’re uncertain of the meaning of, probably demeaning considering that you had called him an animal, not man. But he speaks. He speaks and that is enough for the soldiers to exchange cautious glances from the titan they lead to the curious display of the crying woman in front of them.

“You want to dance with this bull?,” one asks, both amusement and disbelief painting each syllable.

You nod your head, weak but fiercely resolute in your wish.

Not “this bull”, but perhaps “this god”.

You’re both stripped bare of any defenses, fates left in the hands of men who only know to kill and fuck. Somehow luck shimmers through, because you’re presented with one of the ropes a soldier carries. It’s offered to you with a stiff, callused hand, dropped unceremoniously into the palm that rises up to wait.

You walk beside your bull, not where you would rather lead him but where the other men urge for you to go. People watch on with curious stares, and you know most assuredly that when your healer hears of this new derangement, you will suffer another fortnight in bed with herbs and prayers over your head.

The bull watches you the entire time with a stare that lacks any emotion. The beast could be grateful, humiliated, or considering ripping you apart the moment his binds were undone and you wouldn’t have the slightest idea of it until he was upon you. What’s stranger still is that you don’t fear him. He looks to you the entire time and your hand clutching the rope does not tremble. Your pulse races, but only with something beyond fear, something an ordinary man has never gifted to you.

The gated pasture is bears a cool breeze when you enter, you watch as one of the men ties your new bull to a post and tells you that he is wicked, but the only crime he’s being accused of is being what he is.

“You’re hurt,” you assess a little dumbly when everyone has paraded away. The grass stains the white linen you wear as you sink to your knees at the titan’s side.

You’ve nothing to tend to his wound with. Dirt is smudged into the divide in his flesh with gentle swipes of your thumb, a strip ripped from your robe when you try to stop the bleeding further. He hisses when you fasten it tight, shoots you a glare that both makes stars fall in your eyes and sets a stampede to rush in your heart. Your heart, you think, but really it’s something else. You feel hot all over and it’s the stupidest thing.

“I know, I know..,” you mumble as you tie the cloth, straighten yourself out and cover the expanse of your thigh that’s been revealed as you settle back into place. “Can you move it?”

“Yes.”

It hardly registers that he’s freed himself somewhat until a massive hand curls tightly around your wrist. The touch is not at all gentle, it’s probing, the tip of each digit leaving small curved indentations in your flesh, intent on keeping you thoroughly in place.

“Why aren’t you afraid?” His voice comes as an odd grumbling, seemingly unused for some time. It isn’t deep, either, which comes as the most jarring thing about all of this. It’s so pleasant, that even with his iron hold you find yourself smiling as a flurry of affection stirs between your breasts.

Because I was right, you yearn to say, but hold your tongue for fear of seeming too brazen and less subservient than you should be, catering to a god you’ve never even heard of. Both man and bull, something divine and strikingly handsome even with his soft features.

“Should I be? Will you curse me..?,” you ask, softening your grin to glance up at him through your lashes. Demure and flirtatious before you even think to catch yourself. A maiden should be more cautious dealing with ordinary men or things not yet known, but even when your expression reverts to one of mere curiosity, it seems too late.

His nostrils flare as he regards you; then, his hand shifts upward to stroke at your bare shoulder, fingertips move to dance over your clavicle. The hand comes to rest beneath your jaw, a thumb carefully brushing over your chin. Then, he withdraws all at once, turns his head with a huff of breath. He doesn’t bellow as the other males in the pasture, does little to seem more cow than man in your presence. Perhaps it’s a practiced courtesy: to appear more human than the additions crowning his head suggest.

“Dummes mädchen.” He doesn’t tell you what that means, and his voice canters off to silence when you push and prod to ask.

He doesn’t budge when you ask where he’s come from, some distant land across the sea you even speculate. You ask him what he is in name, and in turn his ears seem to lower, flatten further, as though he were trying to hide them altogether. There wasn’t much he could do about the horns, though.

The bull barely even returns your shy glances, the only indication that he knows and rather likes that you’re still seated at his side is the flare of pink that rises from his throat to settle upon his cheeks, the way his jaw tightens and loosens when you speak.

“What is your name?,” you ask him when the silence grows too much. You’re starting to feel beads of sweat prick at your skin from the glow of the summer sun above, and more than anything you want some closeness, some proof that maybe your listless life is not a total loss. Earning a god’s favor would only be too lovely, the perfect cure for the unnamed thing that ails you. “So that I might worship you properly?”

That prompts a response.

He turns to you with a forced stoicism, one that does little to subdue the way his eyes widen and his face burns. Being jabbed at and held captive like an animal would make any man more than a little unhappy or wary, but your words dissolve that into smoke in an instant. He tells you his name in a keening sort of voice, one reserved for wolves or agitated horses.

“König.”

You repeat it, once, twice.

It sounds funny and foreign, too simple for what he appears to be. You tell him your own when he doesn’t ask, repeat it just the same so he remembers his only acolyte. Someone so cute for a god of beasts or maybe even good harvests.

You wanted to pry further, have every secret expelled from his tongue, unite in words and quell that horrid, demanding passion. It’s why men run way to brothels, you supposed. Excitement and the allure of something pretty to stake a claim into… but you’re a maiden rather than some feather-headed soldier.

“When you’re better, we will dance,” you declare with a hope that he might understand. “My first offering to you.”

König stirs, rumbles someplace in the expanse of chest. His hair curls there in the widest patch, you note, trails down right to thighs that make brick resemble only soft clay. You’ve never openly ogled a man like this, and it doesn’t feel shameful, not when you’re convinced you already have an understanding here.

You couldn’t imagine he would crawl on his knees for you to prance over him like a yearling deer, bellow like a proper animal when you took his horns in hand. The ugly, ivory prongs about his head looked too dangerous anyhow. One slip… you didn’t want to imagine what would happen then.

“… Richtig.” Then, “What do I give to you?”

His question confuses you fully, because the way he speaks it does not seem curious at all. As if there’s already a resolution in the words. No clothing, no weapons, not even a coin. The only thing present and available is what sits between his thighs, a daunting pillar. He asks only for a consent to what he does not bring out in words, only hinted at from the way his gaze drags up from your throat to your eyes.

The strangest mating rite from the strangest man of all…

You don’t ask him about that.

You let the words hang in the air for a stretch of time. Then, you fetch him some water from the creek just past the field. You untie the binds still shackling him to the fence post as he drinks from the shallow bowl. He laps at it like a dog, furrows his brow a little when you’re caught staring again.

There’s too much to look at to entirely separate yourself from him. And he speaks so oddly it’s difficult to distract him with conversation. So you settle to admire, and he does so in turn. When you find yourself watching the way his chest puffs with each intake of breath, his stare only maps you the same, mimicking or appraising.

He grunts, too; flicks an ear when he stares down at your lap and embarrassment immediately floods you when you realize that his senses are not entirely human, either.

You fold your hands into your lap and part your lips to speak again, to maybe ask him why he came here at all to serve as some distraction from the way he appraised your hips with that dreadful stare.

“When?,” he interrupts immediately, casting his dish aside and straightening up to look down upon you. Exacting some misplaced wrath, you assume. Let a woman leap over him and maybe have his freedom after. He just wants it over with, and you can’t blame him at all.

“I told you… when you’re better.”

That must not have been the right thing to say, because his injured arm is the one he gathers you with, brings you up and over him to press your chest to his and glare down at you. The glow of the setting sun seems dull by comparison to the ember in his eyes.

“I am fine.”

The calendars have been a blur since you fell. You huff and pout in thought, trying to think in spite of the way the closeness has you feeling dumb and dizzy.

“A few days..,” comes your answer, quiet and apologetic. “I’m nearly certain.”

König sighs and you feel it flutter your hair, the warmth on your neck. His arm drifts from around you, as if to signal that you could depart at any moment. Whatever had possessed you now leaves you in place, flustered and miserably infatuated. It pains you that he only seems exasperated by this entire ordeal rather than enthused, but he seems to soften somewhat when you don’t bolt away immediately. The tension leaves his shoulders slowly, and the summer sky of his eyes is placid instead of burning.

He could strike you down at any moment, leave you gored out here in the grass with common bulls, destroy the fence and maybe all of the people in the city too… but he seems intent on just keeping this silly oath and having you seated here.

“They caught me when I came to find you,” he says, blunt and careless, as if seeking out a woman he saw once from across a field is just a common thing to do. The very same as worshiping some creature driven out from the forest. “I saw you. Then you fell.”

“You were looking for me?” Your words are expressed with shaky intakes of breath, nerves alight with both love and caution. Led toward you by want, a thing you both seemed to feel.

He goes utterly stiff at that, but grits his teeth softly as his gaze casts down to where you’re seated in his lap.

A chance meeting… or maybe it was something as wonderful as fate after all.

You looked the part of lovers already, and perhaps that’s made him shy… but bulls don’t get shy, and König is no exception here, because his hand immediately rises to lift the robe covering you, drifts the linen up to reveal the soft fabric of your loincloth.

“Yes,” he grunts, staring down at the prize between your legs. A reward he’s already promised to himself, one you freely give when you don’t give him a smack or shove his hands away.

He smells of the forest: of wispy pine nettles, water from a spring, juniper. Of a man, whose closeness you had yet to have entirely. No bristling comes; you don’t close yourself off. He’s the loveliest thing you’ve ever seen— sad cow eyes and the bulk that only comes from a life rich with work and fighting, survival and instinct.

Had he ever even had a woman?, you wonder. Did he find you lovely, too?

König huffs appreciatively, lowers his head to your chest to bump his nose against your breasts. You release the breath that was caged unbeknownst to yourself, and your arms come around him naturally, cradle him there. Maybe he had never even been held… So, you pet him, trail your hand along the nape of his neck, up and through the messy strands of hair atop his head.

“You are injured too,” he hums into plushness, breath washing over thin fabric and causing your nipples to rise in answer. He must have felt the scab on your palm, healing, but still coarse and stiff. Even in what you perceive must be some sort of courtesy, worrying over your scrape, he doesn’t peel himself away from what entices him most here. His hands descend to stroke at your sides, trail down lower until both palms are fitted against your backside.

He squeezes, slow and intentional, weighs your flesh in hand. Explorative and further appreciative when another hiss leaves his lips to filter out along your clothed sternum. If he were not seated on his tail, you imagine it would have swayed fiercely, excited by the earlier fight and now the prospect of breeding some silly woman. You don’t have that indicator to read his thoughts, but the throb of the mighty weapon between his legs is enough to know. It’s warm and hard beneath you, gives a slight jump when your fingers dance over the base of his horns.

“I got hurt because of you.”

“Little maiden… I would never hurt you. Only please you,” he declares, sounding prideful. Just as a bull should, even in such a predicament. Like a god, proper and true. Surely this city would be cursed for what they’ve done to him. He will fuck their virgins and leave everything else scorched and ruined. And a part of you is almost giddy to know the very first would be you.

You’ve yet to touch men, but you knew well enough what the wetness down there meant, what his erection meant. Why men grope and fondle just as he does to you now, when a hand rises to tug down the top of your thin dress, when his head lifts just enough to lick at the side of your tit.

The air around you both thrums, pulses as though there are thunder strikes surrounding. And the sky is still clear when your head lolls back to face it in full as a nipple is enveloped by a hungry maw. He suckles at you, pushes his hips upward and strokes at your ass when you whine and pant. The cover of nightfall grants you some mercy, because no one is around to hear those cries or the way he grunts into your flesh, greed pouring from the both of you. No gods or stable hands, only a glassy moon and a blanket of star shine amidst murky sable like sea water.

When he lies you back, viciously lapping at your breasts, sucking your skin to grind between his blunt teeth, you take the horns into your hands again to tug him close. He groans, bellows like a man starved into your chest, drool and bruises layered over your skin. You should be in bed, waiting for some droning dullard to wed you first… not allowing a beast of a man to lower you into grass and dine upon you like this.

The gods would probably find this humorous… even if he might very well be one of them. How easily mortals could be swayed, even virtuous women, at the appeal of some miserable thing to save with an ugly, big cock.

But one or two bullmen was more than enough for this world, surely. No spawn of yours would be sent to a labyrinth deep below the earth, dark and desolate, and you’ve already bled this moon…

It pains you to push back against the face that sends pure fire through your belly with each swipe of his tongue, but you do. König seems both dumbfounded and frustrated when he separates from your flesh, the moon in his eyes eclipsed in full.

“I can’t..,” you try to explain, to tell without telling that you don’t want to push some horned infant from your cunt just because you like him a little. You wet your lips and stare up at him, hopeless and lost here.

“Why?” Your bull doesn’t understand, because of course he doesn’t. He’s trying to give you the only thing that he has to offer. Maybe he’s fucked other women before, women who took him gleefully and sang pretty beneath him, coated that raging thing between his muscular thighs in their essence and left lovely pictures in his memory. You don’t know why that thought alone is enough to make your head feel cloudy with wrath.

He asks again when you tug your bottom lip between your teeth. Bulls may be sacred, but no one’s ever said that they were not stupid.

König only pulls away enough to hover over your sex instead, panting gruffly like something starved and prepared to plunder an unsuspecting hen. Still, he waits for an answer, and you don’t think to spare yourself enough to close your parted thighs.

“I thought we would… after we danced,” you try, and maybe that would have worked if you didn’t have your softness and every treasure laid bare to him like a submissive vixen.

The beast only shakes his head and raises your legs to rest over each of his bare shoulders, corded in muscle and heat. He doesn’t nick you with his horns, careful even as he pushes his face right to your womanhood. The loincloth remains in place, but it’s the most fragile barrier. His breath makes your toes curl as it hits your sex, sends a wave of pure want swooping from your chest right to your cunt.

“You smell..,” he muses quietly, trails off as though drunk on just a whiff of you. When a thick finger tugs the cloth aside, you squirm from panting breath arcing over sensitive flesh. It’s the wettest you’ve ever been: little fantasies did nothing by comparison to the real thing, presented right before you and inspecting you down there.

He flattens his tongue over your entrance and relishes in the way that makes you squeal, draws back just to repeat the motion and watch you with pupils blown when your chest begins to rise and fall rapidly.

“You have not been touched.” His ears flick as he speaks, gaze dragging down, back to the pussy that calls for him.

“No… that’s why- ah-“

The ideas of children and expectations are long forgotten when his tongue presses to a spot that sends you shivering. It circles over it, too warm and heavy to bear. Your back arches, breasts heave, and he laughs into your cunt knowing he’s found the very spot that would make you forsake all but him.

The torture grows delicious and lovely, what he had done to your breasts is exactly what he does there. He suckles at the bud, scrawls his name over it with a wet, lapping tongue. You feel as though you truly have gone mad, fingers curling into the earth to keep you in place, because not even the gods could tear you away from this moment, not now…

It’s when your trembling thighs begin to tense and your voice grows further pitched that König decides to probe at you with a finger, too. It slips in with resistance, and the intrusion is strange… both horrible and ethereal at once. The titan finds a space inside of you, one to curl his finger against. It’s clumsy, uncertain until he finds that that is what makes you cry the loudest.

There’s a blinding white as though the sun has seared its way into your skull, sent the rays of its warmth into your very veins. It brings about a haze, leaves you quivering and panting as bliss rolls over you in steady waves. He gives you another lick, from your slit down to your ass before sitting up. Not an ounce of hesitation is weighed in his stare or his actions when he brushes the thick cockhead through your labia.

“I am going to fuck you,” he declares in a groan, already feeding you a fat inch of him. There’s still lingering resistance, but the honey that drips there now is in abundance, coats him with each shallow thrust.

You choke on the pain of such a sudden stretch, but find yourself only leaking more at the sight of him: a god laying claim to some mortal girl, you, above you, in you. The sounds he makes only ripen the elation. There’s desperation in each grunt, and his eyelids flutter as though he’s found something truly holy.

He drops over you, an arm to either side of your head when he sinks in fully. As if to dull the ache of your womanhood, at the loss of your title of maiden, he licks your cheek, the corner of your mouth, any place to soothe. When you capture him in a real kiss, your taste still lingers there upon his lips.

He seems even more delighted that you would show him affection than what’s occurring between you. The press of his hips comes to a halt, because he savors that display of what is or isn’t love. It’s almost shy, the way his mouth molds over yours, the way a hand drifts to your hair to pet at you. The other lowers to take your thigh and draw it up and keep you pinned in place.

You think to hold him now, too, when he breaks away from the kiss to gaze down at you with a shimmering stare, one that speaks more substance than anything he’s given you in your entire conversation. Your nails stay bedded down with the dirt, though, knowing with a fierce certainty that once he moved again it would be the only tether to dull the ache of a vicious fucking.

Except, he’s only gentle.

The cock inside of you takes a slow drag out, teasing and tentative as though trying to memorize every ridge inside.

It’s agony, because it feels like lovemaking.

Beasts don’t make love, they only have violent ruts and part ways entirely. König fucks like a man devoted. His eyes never stray from your face when he pushes back inside, all too careful. It must feel better than the being amongst his kind in the mountain he descended from, because the sounds he makes are fragile, barely contained whines that seem foreign from a man of his stature.

“I have been… watching you for so long, little..,” he huffs, burying his hand into your hair and dropping his head to press his forehead to your own. The words barely register, hardly make sense when the thick tip of him pushes right into the softest part of you again. It’s better than a finger… better than anything you’ve ever felt, and with everything so doughy and hot what you want to say only comes in a keening whine.

“Gods,” he continues when your sounds are smothered and blanketed by the filthy, sloppy sounds of your own wetness. You must be soaking the very earth you lie upon, dewy and warm. “Better than I dreamed.”

The slowness paves way for a heady, brutal thrust when he realizes that he isn’t hurting you. It only feels better the more that he moves, with each thick vein along his cock felt, with how he repeatedly spears against that spot that brings tears of rapture to the corners of your eyes. That new pace does not relent. You squeeze him the most like this, savoring in how he carves his way inside, molds you to take shape for him in what looks like pure violence but feels like love.

The sounds of impact and the scent of sweat and arousal surround you, the moon above and everything beneath it seem of so little importance now.

König does not silence himself even though you wished that he would. He pants against your face in his mother tongue, babbling endlessly as pleasure spikes for him. It wouldn’t be long until he filled you to the brim with thick spurts of seed, you could feel it in the way he throbbed against your walls, how each thrust was more prolonged and deep. Your mind swims, pleasure so intense its as if you’re drowning in the deepest depths of the sea itself.

“I came from the valley..,” he tells you in a feverish whisper, only now recalling that you didn’t know a thing about him before offering your cunt, maybe even your heart…

“Not a god… not anyone…”

It’s too much when his hips press in faster, when his cock reaches the end of you, over and over in frenzied repetition. Overwhelmed and stuffed to capacity, you sob and quiver, taking him into your arms and clawing at his broad back. The pain only seems to make him more feral, because his hands leave your thigh and your hair to grasp at your face instead, thumbs brushing your cheeks as he bares his teeth and spears into you relentlessly.

“Little one… I want this for the rest of my life,” he growls. “Promise me…”

The words sit on your tongue, fully prepared to surrender yourself to some beast of a faraway valley, chased and poked with spears or fire… Any hope of a cozy life would be forfeit here, already has been the moment you allowed him between your legs. It’s a horrible secret, one surely only Pasiphaë must have known of… how wonderful it felt to be bedded by a man like this. Not old enough to have fathered the Minotaur, but surely bred to be something akin to him.

“…I promise,” you whisper, perhaps desperate for this torturous copulation to end… or continue. Feeling so whole, full, right. Your offering is beating warm and overflowing in your chest, and König only looks as though he’s about to break at your words. The blue of his eyes grows glassy, translucent waves painting over each iris, but those tears don’t shed. They’re only dismissed with more needy rasps.

He growls, hooks his teeth into the sensitive flesh of your throat when his strokes begin to stutter. Your bull comes with a muffled howl, pumps pearly ropes of seed as deeply into you as he can manage. Your hiss of surprise is stifled with a blazing kiss where he moans into your open mouth, delves his tongue as deeply as his cock. He pumps several more times, intent on spilling every last drop inside, none wasted.

It seeps to earth when he parts from you, when he inspects the milk and honey of successful union between your legs. He looks surprised, confused almost when that stare is guided back up towards you as his chest continues to rise and fall swift with exertion.

You raise yourself up on your elbows, draw your legs shut. Not in shame, but… apparent embarrassment, your former courage is diminished when he looks at you as though you’re the most peculiar thing beneath the stars, when you’ve revealed yourself almost entirely and had him fuck and take apart all of it.

Maybe it’s the same for this beast, because his surprise and unshed tears are so evident here. He no longer looks the part of a god, but a lost man.

Not anyone, he had said. Is that what he felt? Or only what he had been told..?

“You’re not a monster,” you whisper. The chill of night settles over your skin, but there’s still warmth here, blooming like a flower in volcanic soil; the sun itself was incomparable to this peculiar thing that had taken root here.

He snorts at that and shakes his head. The ears there are cute and pluming with fluff, a reddish brown that suits him so remarkably. He’s kissed by the sun, even bathed in moonlight here. The prettiest of monsters, if he’s fooled himself into believing he is one.

“You should not have given yourself to me,” he tells you as his eyes narrow. The threat holds no weight, if it were one at all, because he grasps at you and pulls you in close; brings your cheek to his chest, right over his pounding heart. “I will not leave you alone.”

“Good.”

Maybe he’s speaking through the haze of a good fuck after being the cause for screams or raised weapons for so long, but you pray it comes from a truth. You’ve offered him a full meal of you, a treasure that none other has had, left yourself weak and aching all for one. His grip only tightens around you, refusing to let go as if to confirm your belief.

You’re brought back to the earth with your bull curled at your back, two powerful arms snaked around your middle with his nose pressed into your hair.

“After your dance, you will come with me.” There’s no longer a request, only an order. You’ve accepted him as both your man and mate, and it seems to please him greatly. His chest puffs against you, pride and contentment harbored there.

“To where?,” you ask him dreamily. The sea is what you’ve seen the most of, and the foothills and mountains seem a distant place. You imagine that maybe where he’s arrived from must have had others like him, maybe the women there were what he had had before… And maybe that makes you more precious somehow, different and coveted because you hadn’t run, only charmed him with questionable nursing and a request to prance over his back.

“Everywhere,” he answers immediately, stroking at the dip between your breasts. “I will never let you go.”

— — —

You’re separated from your bull come morning. It’s heart wrenching and terrible after a night of such passion, but you couldn’t allow for anyone to see you out there with your clothes in disarray and sperm slick and running down your legs. You had waited for him to sleep, for his dreaming to give way to raucous snoring before you slipped away, casting him a woeful glance. The giggling on the way from the pasture would have been terribly humiliating had anyone been awake to hear, but you were fortunate last night.

Come morning, there’s a pain between your legs and traces of blood in your loincloth. You hastily cast that from your body, hide it beneath your mattress before crawling back into bed with your thoughts a whirl. Candied fruit and precious stone, everything sap sticky and sad all the same… because as much as you would like to venture there, to see him, it was most rational to keep away.

If you were caught, you could only imagine the trial or lack thereof. The spears that would have come then wouldn’t miss their target. He would be deemed something far worse than a monster for daring to touch a lady such as yourself.

You bide your time tending to your duties and praying that your loss of virginity isn’t as apparent as it feels to you; when the thoughts drift back, the warmth upon your face only grows and your thighs immediately press together.

And you ponder his offer of leaving the temples and people behind to haunt someplace else with him, away from all else.

It's mad.

You barely knew him, of even what he was. He didn’t even have the sense to keep secret that he had been stalking you for some time, before you ever even noticed, with his fat cock buried inside of you. His ways of courtship lacked any shame, and maybe that’s why the passing thought of a normal man being in your future seems only lackluster. König could hunt, build, provide far better, you assumed, given his stature… And the gods gave him the knowledge of the most tempting tricks with his tongue.

The days leading up to what would call you back to him pass in a tortuous crawl. Even distracting yourself with thoughts of him in lonely silence with a hand between your thighs seems too little. You’ve even asked every slave woman here just how she gets the thoughts of men out of their heads. The advice is merely that sex does not always lead to marriage and children; they part ways like the animals in the forest and leave little room for love in their dens.

You hoped that he was thinking of you, too.

It would be ridiculous to say you’ve missed him, but seeing him in that field bound by rope again once you return is exactly what you want to shout. The birds call from the trees, singing beautifully and everything seems to glow, all except for König.

There are shadows beneath his eyes, cast long and dark from a lack of sleep. He does not even look your way when you take your place next to the others.

He’s forlorn. Maybe even pissed at having been gifted a warm meal only to have his face tugged away and a rope secured to hold him back from tasting or touching again. You should have warned him, about customs and etiquette, reassured him with your words that a little distance was fine because you’ve already made up your mind… but it seems too little and too late to peep your objections now.

The beast is led toward the other bulls by a man half his size, looking as though he’s on the brink of soiling himself from fear. The screams from before are not present now from onlookers, but König seems far less comfortable here than he did in the streets of your city.

Flowers are brought and tossed to both the hooves of bulls and the feet of dancers, yet none are presented to your partner at all. Even with green springing up below his feet, the area he waits in seems barren by comparison. It’s miserable and sad, all of it, and you once more long for being so winded against him that you two seemed to be the only things alive beneath a night sky.

You call to him when the man holding his lead gives it a sharp tug, and it’s dropped instantly as if you really hold some power over what becomes of him… You only hoped that whatever fate lay in wait for him would be coupled with your own. A passive life in a cave or something like that, where you could call him your husband, even… watch the sweat drip down the muscles of his back as he coaxed a fire to life.

Your bull tilts his head towards you, and though he tries to force the very same indifference from before his inner thoughts betray him. His brow remains furrowed, his expression grim, but his ears perk up and he immediately marches toward you. His gait is more of a charge, and had those horns been pointed to you, peril would await.

Punishment only comes in the form of a large man staring at you as though you’ve just wounded him terribly. You remind him there are no blades here with the gentlest touch of your hand along his bicep, swept down to curl at his wrist. It’s the most you could do here, and you could only pray to Aphrodite that your love would be understood regardless.

“You left,” he gruffs, raises a hand to tilt your chin up just enough to face him, though his gaze averts the second that you lock eyes. Shy, definitely not, but with so many watching, he seems entirely out of his element. The hand that graces beneath your chin even trembles, but it’s not fear you find when you search his eyes again.

Hurt.

It’s unmistakably hurt.

“I’m surprised that you did not,” your answer is a whispered one. He should have freed himself, whisked you away like an unsuspecting bride. You recall the other women’s ramblings from before, of men and how little what you experienced together may have meant.

“I do not wish to be apart from you.” He speaks as though it’s the most common knowledge of all, as though you’re a silly thing for ever believing that your want and his are one in the same. “Come with me.”

He doesn’t belong here, amidst people that cast their judgment yet herald the animals that he bears a small resemblance to.

Neither do you belong, you realize. You haven’t belonged since the day you spotted him amongst the trees.

The odd looks that follow König are cast upon you now, too. They see this peculiar beast with one of their women and think of her as sullied down to the marrow in her bones. You must smell of him, marked without a proper mark at all. He hasn’t branded you with any more than soft bruises from kissing your breasts and fitting the length of himself inside of you.

You take your risks and call them offerings, and he greedily accepts each and every one you bestow. You allow it when the hand cupping your jaw drifts lower, graces your breast with the softest touch before taking your fingers between his own.

“You have to be patient.”

He snorts at that.

Bulls are not patient creatures.

The ceremony has already begun. There are real animals here: beasts even larger than König that chew at the grass below them, flick their tails and ignore all that happens around them. There’s prancing and singing, elaborate acrobatics and leaps that must have taken years of practice.

And when you dance with your bull there is none of it.

He stands in place as you twirl around him, weaving around behind and before him as you bend to collect fallen blooms from the ground. Yellows, blues, flowers with no name or place, scavenged from fields further than the pasture. Your laughter pulls even a smile from his hardened face, a face you’ve found handsome since seeing, but must provoke terror in most men…

He’s so horribly endearing in his own ways. It’s the fastest you’ve ever fallen, or anyone in the whole world has, even… The legends and stories speak of love that shoots straight and strikes true like feathered arrows, singing on the wind until they prick their targets. You honor them just as he seems to, and you would tell them to him if only he asked.

Your head and heart are muddled and sick with love, melted down like precious metal within your body. He twists and brings you back together and whole when you’re taken up in his arms and lifted.

“I could touch the sky,” you laugh, clinging to an ivory horn. Pressing a kiss to the pointed tip of it, you swear you detect the heat from his face on your belly.

“Little one… I will take the sun for you, if you ask.”

“You would burn,” you warn.

He drops you then, cradles your body close to his chest instead and carries you as though you’re nothing more than a small dove with broken wings, something to be cared for.

“You make me burn already.”

“König…”

“No, not…” He shakes his head, smushes your cheeks between a thumb and the rest of his fingers as you’re forced to lock eyes again. The giant’s hand is careful with you, more gentle than his teeth or his…

“Call me something else. Something better.” There’s a keening to his voice, a fervent desperation there. A need to be not simply wanted. Wherever your titan has come from with his constellations of scars, the wound still there on his shoulder and all the pain he masks in behind a forced grimace… it has all led him here.

To the woman he watched practice taming bulls for weeks or months, to the only person he believed could accept what he is.

He only wanted to hear it, to have the most shattered wish answered with a tender chime. To bed you wasn’t enough: it could never be so simple. Your heart has been what he’s after all along; he reassures you in self just in voicing this.

“You’re lovely… my love,” you breathe. “You’re mine.”

His throat bobs as he swallows thickly, and the pools gathered in his eyes do seem to shed. Your face is released as he rubs away anything that may shed. The dark circles are coupled with red rings now, but still no part of him seems weak or broken. He hides that away with everything else, bottles perceived weakness and sets it out to sea and gives you the grin of a proper brute instead.

“Ja… you are mine too.”

You’re set down only as the bull leaping comes to a close, when the people retreat and König seems content in knowing that no one is left to whisk you away. It’s all that he’s waited for, to have you alone after this tradition he did not quite get. He played his part well enough, even if you hadn’t had the chance to climb onto his back as the others had with their bulls.

Only then does he begin to tell you of a life bought and sold without end, of the fighting pits you’ve only heard of and never seen. His tongue does not spare you details of chains and spears, what they do to men like him. There are hundreds of scars, each with a misery attached, some still carrying pain that never heals. Promises were always in abundance to keep him contained, weapons were smithed and placed into his hands since before he could remember…

The life you had imagined for him has never existed. There’s never been love there: he spares you the nature of the women he may have been fortunate enough to touch before, but he whispers that you’re the only one who has ever kissed him.

Your heart breaks for the wounded boy he’s buried inside, and you weep when he tells you he’s only ever prayed for a woman like you. Someone soft and cute, who didn’t run or wail… Who craved him just as terribly if not more, gashes and teeth, horns and all the rest.

And he comforts you when you cry, pulls you in so tightly that your breath catches and the tears do sob. You whisper apologies into the hair on his chest, for all the awful things you would never imagine doing to him, and he scoffs at the pity in your voice.

“Do not cry for me,” he whispers into your hair, leaves a trail of kisses along the crown of your head before dropping to his knees before you and pacifying the best he can by stroking along your back. “I have you now, hm? My little maiden, richtig?”

“Yes. Yes, always,” you promise. Another gift.

You’re led away from the pasture under the veil of nightfall, your arms curled around one of his own. There are men about carrying sharpened steel, thieves and drunkards hiding out in the dark as well, but not an ounce of fear trickles through you to diminish what’s already felt. The stars above are in abundance, brighter somehow on the night you forfeit all.

König speaks unguarded now, each question is met by a response. It’s the first time he’s ever been asked about himself, he tells you this when you express your satisfaction at finally hearing more than a few words at a time. He’s terribly cute when all of the praise and attention cause his face to ripen like summer fruit, red and shimmery with sweat rather than dew.

You’ve brought nothing for a journey, but he swears to you that there is pilfered honey, wine, fruit and furs in his den, some dark place he describes as special. It’s the only place he’s ever called home, so surely it must be.

König doesn’t warn you that the trek takes weeks, nor that the mountains are even more beautiful up close. The foliage is wild, the air fresher and free of the smell of cattle and people, and each climb seems steeper than the last. He doesn’t tell you of the wolves or bears, but you hear them at night when he pulls you even closer to him. The wild things won’t hurt you; the wildest of them all considers himself to be the king here, a ruler that they respect or dread rather than dare to cross.

It isn’t a cave that greets you when you come to rest after days and nights of exertion, but a hut built of cut wood and clay. Built as well and thoroughly as any builder from the city would have done. He tells you of where he learned such things, watching men work after sparring with animals and their own kin in pits; how they would promise to rear families in structures like this, how he hoped in crafting all of this that one day he might have the same.

“It’s wonderful,” you tell him, crossing the threshold to find just what he has already told you was waiting here, so far off from common roads that none of it has been pillaged.

The gifts come aplenty, too: a new comb make of bone for your neglected hair, jarred honey and trinkets from his travels or pulled away from a former captor’s corpse. There’s even a weapon for you here, a blade sleek and shimmering, some foreign sword that astonishingly reminds you of a part of him.

“I will find a prettier one for you,” he says as you examine the blade, heavy even when held in both of your hands. It’s only a mercy that you are not the provider here, because there would be no deer or even rabbits slain when even holding it makes your movements sluggish.

“… I like it. All of it.”

He plucks the blade from your hands with ease and casts it aside. The sound of it tapping, then clattering against the wooden boards rings out loudly before he’s upon you. The trek to the mattress seems an eternity, longer than even the venture here. Cloth and jewelry, the only lasting remnant of your former life follow suit, piling over the sharpened steel.

There’s a bear’s pelt beneath you to soften the stiff straw, less wild and ferocious than it may have been in life, now smothered by the lingering scent of him. The lonely nights spent here must have been terrible and tragic. Did he allow the shield to fall and weep then? In the comfort of bear skin and the calling of night birds outside, tears and wasted seed.

The urgency is a looming beast on the air, prevalent and fierce when you’re pulled into König’s lap. Your bull lacks the patience to prepare you with his mouth or a curled finger now, only pivots your hips to take him with a prod as his head lowers for his mouth to latch onto your breast.

“I am in love with you,” he whispers against your flesh. You’re left at his mercy as he guides you with one large hand placed upon your thigh and an arm curled around your back. It’s slow, always slow when he begins, when he’s drunk on the feel of you surrounding him and every new feeling that floods his head.

The ears prick forward when you sing for him, whimpering as he buries himself further. As though it’s the most pleasant sound he’s ever heard in the span of his life. The only thing more beautiful is the acceptance and surrender you offer. There’s never been a shield in place, no guards to watch over you… he’s the only thing; he’s broken through every gate or wall to steal you away from those perceived defenses.

He knows, too, when your panting mouth repeats his own words.

He bucks into you with more haste, slips his tongue into your mouth and groans when you take it between your teeth. Skyward and earthly with each motion, the sea and the mountain tethered as one. And maybe you’ve never leapt with the cattle from your city, but you dance with this bull so naturally that it vanquishes any doubt of where you’re meant to be. What you’ve yearned for was not the taming of animals, but maybe a man…

Your orgasm comes sudden, a wave of wet heat that drools from your core, aids in the glide of the feverish pace he guides your hips into. König’s head tilts back, bliss painted upon his expression from how you close in around him.

You take your chances and press your face to the column of his throat, biting down on him just as he had you. The salty sweat on his skin leaves its taste on your tongue as you lick over the freshly painted mark. The sounds of his own pleasure are cast away; he goes silent and still, and you almost fear you’ve made some terrible mistake here… But König comes undone at that, desperately gathers you in his hold as he pulses within you, writhes beneath you.

He refuses to release his grip even when his cock grows soft, just rolls you onto your back and covers you like the thickest blanket.

“You didn’t fall this time,” he huffs into your hair.

Though your lips part to try and order him to be quiet, he grinds his hips against your own as if to make the obscenity of his comment even more apparent. It only heightens the warmth you feel sweep up into your cheeks.

“Little dancer…”

And finally he rises above you, another wild grin slowly gracing his scarred face. A thumb brushes against the pulse in your neck until his hand rests right over the heart tucked beneath your breast. It’s better than any promise of a lofty field or a mountaintop, even covered in sweat and come, to see the way that his eyes light up with pure mirth when he feels it’s beating.

“You feel it… you didn’t lie,” he mutters, and you try your best not to allow that comment to claw amongst the others he’s made that left wounds in your heart, gashes that bleed for him.

“Why would I?,” you ask, voice so thin and soft you would think it unheard if not for the flick of his ear.

“I did not think anyone would ever…” He rubs at his face as he falls to your side, only to pull you in close again. The defenses raise in those words, but lower as they do time and time again when you nestle into his chest, pet at the curls of hair there.

“They said no one could ever love me.”

The tears in his eyes finally are laid bare. They roll down his cheeks, and he does nothing to hide them this time. You accept his silent crying without comment, the only indication you share that you know, see, is in the way you press a kiss to his jaw where they gather and spill.

“Fools, they were..,” you whisper to him, just as quietly as before. The sanctity blooms further as his chest rumbles, a contented hum coupled with a squish to bring you even closer to him.

“Ja… just fools,” he answers you in a voice not broken, only softer than it has ever been. “Like you. For this… giving so much.”

“And you are greedy.”

He nods once before reaching for your hand; his own curls over it, still splayed out over his chest. He’s no cocky, rough brute now. He pets at it with a trembling thumb.

“I will never let you go.” He speaks it as though it is a curse, rather than the blessing you’re certain that it is. Most women would fear a lustful beast raised up to kill even gladiators, yet there’s only the sweetest consoling to be found with him for you. “You will suffer me until we both die.”

“I could not imagine a better fate.”

#könig x reader #konig x reader #i did not proofread this if you spot an error do not look at me #steadily going through my inbox i pray this was worth your century long wait lil wisp..!

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belovedivies · 2 months ago

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Author🙏,

May you show some benevolence to us peasants and give us some crumbs about our albino, Alipede✨

terminal ft. alipede

a/n: i adore yandere alipede with every fiber of my being. cw: yandere content, spoiler for johan’s past, mention of bullying, possessive and obsessive behaviors, manipulation, violent tendencies, implied parentification on reader's part, trashy adults made trashy decisions, injury, codependency (oops). wc: 2.67k ao3 link! m.list

This far into the countryside, you stopped caring what day it was. Every sunrise had the same rooster crowing behind the mountains and every nightfall sounded the same container trucker honking on a distant highway just as you were about to doze off. The same off-brand chips in every local dinner, the same celebrity whose life people tended to gossip about.

You wanted to say again, with conviction, that you weren’t miserable. There was no better fate to be bestowed upon. Maybe in another universe where your dad hadn’t left and your mom cared a bit more, you might have had the chance to act your age. Picked up a new hobby or two. Learned a sport. Went to summer camps. Fell in love.

Then again, maybe the caregiver role you took on during this three-month break was inevitable. The boarding school your mom worked at was so low on staff that you had to practically live there to play the part of a nanny. Keeping tabs on the kids. Making sure they take their study seriously. Breaking off fights in the hallway. On days when the tension was heavy and the lump in your throat had been too uncomfortable to ignore, you only knew how to smile and suck it up. Sending them away with a pat on the back.

The reminder persisted: they would always have you to count on, and you only had yourself.

Away from the crowds but never in the corner, Alipede was a strange one. Obedient to his own torment yet glimmering under the unfeeling façade was a rare defiance. He never fought back, never complained. You wondered if he had simply given up. If he had just taken everything with a grant of salt like you did once upon a time. Still, you admired Alipede. And nothing ever stopped you to try and do your best by the poor boy: slipped in extra bread, chastised his bullies, cleaned the dirt on his desk.

You stared at him like a hawk from the other side of the room. Many times a day, he might have stared back.

—

One noon, Alipede tripped over a tree root outside and scraped his knees. It was midday when the sun was at its highest, and specifically a day so boiling hot that the heat had felt like it was raking red sharp nails down your sweat-soaked back; your toes sticking together in a pair of too-large sandals.

The grass and dirt sizzled their complaints underneath your palms, but they didn’t for Alipede. Against the limewood, he rested his back with a peculiar look of detachment.

He hadn’t cried.

But you fussed over his wounds anyway with wet wipes and a few clumsy attempts at band-aids. Halfway through the heinous process with the tissue already stained with dirt and blood, you realized you might be risking an infection.

“S-Should I get a teacher? A nurse?” You choked out hopelessly before realizing the only semi-responsible teenager around here were you. “W-We should get you inside first!”

Your shoulders continued to shake the more you forced the words out. The boy’s eyes were dead set on your panicked face, but ultimately no answer came.

You gulped and put on your best caring tone. “D-Does it still hurt?”

Alipede blinked. No answer. A thousand years passed. Silence. Your lips wobbled with anxiety in your guts and an apology behind your lips. He had it so much harder than you.

Still, when the albino extended an arm out to reach something behind you… no, on you. Under you? You flinched. A marshmallow-soft sensation settled on your lap and your gaze instinctively followed where his hand went. A rabbit, fur as pale as snow and eyes as red as ruby, had unknowingly hopped out of its coop and was now curling up on your legs.

His rabbit.

It might as well have made you drown in guilt before, but that feeling was so far away now it barely registered in your mind. Alipede reached out to pet the creature. It nuzzled into his hand and emitted a purring sound, the vibration tingling your skin. You watched the interaction with relief.

A good distance away from the common building, everything measured up to a perfect amount of tranquility. There were no cheery nursery rhymes on repeat, no cagey and overly dramatic action movies playing from one classroom to another. You smiled and scratched the rabbit’s head with your forefinger, earning a soft snore from the little guy.

“You left the cage open.”

It took three blinks to realize that Alipede was talking to you.

He hadn’t tilted his head up yet, still caressing his beloved pet. Beneath the shades of linden, Alipede seemed so soft and kind—looking every bit the pretty boy he was told to be. Maybe it hadn’t been a compliment at all, and you knew how much the albino detested being labeled as just another darling face. But even then, without spring in his steps and a guide cane in his hand, Alipede had always had this air of helplessness floating in and around him, teetering between the fading line of despair and a sense of willpower just vague enough to keep him going.

Your heart was already in your throat when he continued to say something.

Was it your name?

The beginning and the ending seemed to match, but there was no guarantee what had slipped out in between. The sun hid behind a heap of cotton candy clouds, yet your palm remained clammy, uncomfortably hot. Maybe it was the guilt. Maybe it was the knowledge that you had too wronged the poor boy. That you had fed and played and cared for what was his when he wasn’t around.

A tap on your shoulder. This time, you gathered the courage to finally meet his eyes as the albino leaned in and muttered again.

So it really was your name.

And your forehead was touching his. So was your nose. Alipede was so close you two were basically breathing the same air, the apples of your cheeks up against one another. And you hadn’t minded the unusually intimate distance, too busy taking in the red in his irises and the flutter of his pale lashes. Only when the rabbit squirmed on your lap again, trying to make some room did you realize that you still owed him an apology. You pulled back and ducked your head sheepishly.

“I’m sorry…”

For touching the rabbit without his permission. For the wounds on his knees. For complaining too much when he hadn’t.

Your gaze was trained on your lap, waiting. Thomas once whined to you about the scratches on his hand, calling the albino a freak because he had overreacted. You wondered if Alipede would bite you too. His pet did the first time you approached it, leaving a red welt on your arm and a scar on your pinkie. The thought of an angry boy sinking his teeth deep into your skin sounded so silly that it almost made you laugh. Maybe you wouldn’t even blame him then.

He hadn’t said anything either, but when the albino unexpectedly took your hands in his and laced your fingers together, you hadn’t flinched. Alipede was smiling at you.

“It’s fine,” then came a gentle squeeze. There in those cemeteries of red, you spotted a glint of delight, “I’m not mad.”

“Oh.” You opened your mouth, then closed it. “Thanks...”

Alipede raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just…” You mumbled. “I thought you would be mad at me for…”

A lock of white hair fell over his shoulder as Alipede tilted his head. He looked so cute; you wanted to squish his cheeks together.

“If it’s you, I won’t.”

The comment might have made you feel better if it wasn’t for the dry delivery. Even then, you trusted the boy enough to mellow out with a squeeze back. Did you forget something? Your gaze darted back to his scraped knees and felt your heart jump; you still had to take him inside for a checkup.

“You’re still hurting! W-We should head back in—“ The second you had tried to move away, he gripped and pulled you back in with a strength you didn’t know was possible. Shouldn’t be possible. Eyes wide as full moons, you could only stare as Alipede cupped your cheeks.

“I’m fine.”

“But-“

“I’m not hurting.”

The albino lowered his voice, pleading.

“Can we stay here a little longer, please?”

You nod wordlessly.

It was only Alipede, after all.

You trusted him just as much as he did you. He didn’t need to talk and beg and cry his way into your free time; you gave it to him willingly anyway.

The albino’s thumbs ghosted over your cheekbones. You wondered if he had felt your silent agreement at all, if he could hear the heart beating inside your chest, the blood flowing in your veins, and the air pumping into your lungs. He might have heard a lot of things you couldn’t.

The rabbit squirmed once more, nuzzling its fluffy head against your thigh. Alipede’s hands finally left your face to continue petting his comfort animal, but his eyes didn’t.

“He likes you,” Alipede said with conviction, and a smile smudged around the corners of his lips like a gallery of oil paintings forgotten in the rain.

“Oh.” You gaped at him; it always got so unbearably awkward the first time. “Um… what’s his name by the way?”

The boy must have had one ready before you even asked, sonnets of adoration bubbling in his throat and vibrant stars dancing behind his eyelids. And you had waited too—all bated breath, all whispering humbleness. Uncertainty swirled your guts like a desert oasis.

But when Alipede opened his mouth to speak, it was your name that had slipped out.

And again. And again. And again.

He said yours the same way people would when they cheered for sport: loud, excited, hopeful. You blinked. You heard him the first time, you just didn’t know what he meant by any of it. A “Huh?”, small and confused, left your lips. Then the cords clicked and the dots connected themselves.

“Oh, oh.” You dropped your face into your hands with a choked groan; the heat on your cheeks rivaling the scorching sun. Through the crack of your fingertips, Alipede’s smile remained constant.

He had named his rabbit after you.

—

The hallway got dustier and narrower the further you went down.

Once lunchtime rolled around, it was a maze of spilled drinks and childish destruction—foods and toys and everything imaginable going back and forth in the air until all of them hit the floor in a mass of ruination. One noon, you sighed and tugged on Alipede’s arm, leading him into the teacher’s lounge.

The place was empty. Well, no teacher here had ever bothered to stick with the kids until their second meal of the day, anyway. Once an incoherent excuse was out, they slipped into their cars and drove off into the distance. You never saw them again.

Your mom was around for breakfast sometimes, downing her portion wearily. She reeked of cheap booze. Of nightclubs and bad decisions. Once in third grade, you flushed her Seropin down the toilet by accident, thinking they were expired candy. Even then, your mom had come home wordlessly the next day with bloodshot eyes and bruised lips, and you hadn’t gone near her medical cabinet since.

Alipede leaned against the wall, a hand clasped over his nose obediently as you cleared out cigar stubs and crushed beer cans on the floor. Turning on the AC and opening a few windows seemed to help with the stuffy air inside. You guided the albino to sit at the table in the middle of the room, on chairs that creaked and felt too adult-like with foam for cushions. There was no one else around, but Alipede clung to your waist with a pout and pulled your seats closer than they already were. You giggled; you loved his clinginess, just as much as he loved you.

“We have—” Still joyful, you paused for effect and peered down the two trays on the table. “—Japanese food today! Curry over rice and miso soup. Have you heard of them before, Ali?”

Alipede, nose buried in your hair and mind probably somewhere up in the cloud, only blinked. His grip tightened around your waist when he asked, “No. What are they like?”

“Hmm…” You pursed your lips, “the curry has a thick and smooth texture that feels like velvet against your tongue. It also contains a blend of spices like cumin and coriander. Remember that, Ali? You said you couldn’t stand the pungent smell!” Your shoulders shook slightly as you laughed. “Don’t worry, it’s sweet and pretty mildly spiced. We have carrots and potatoes too! You said you loved them—“

On and on, you went about the dishes with gusto. He kept his eyes on you the whole time.

You used to wonder what Alipede’s world was like. A pitch black. A collision of sound waves and echoes. An overdose of nothingness. Long ago, you read a story about a father who sacrificed his son for the prosperity of their land. The boy grew up beautifully still, slaying demons and taking back the body parts that had been rightfully his since birth. A touching tale about defying fate and pushing forward in the face of adversity.

Still, Hyakkimaru was a fictional character, and Alipede was not.

You couldn’t begin to fathom the battle he had to go through every day, struggling to just be seen as a normal person, one with a life just as valuable as others.

But he hadn’t complained.

He hadn’t cried to you about the bullying either. Months ago before you came, the albino huddled inside a coop behind the school, holding onto his pet bolt-tight. He didn’t need to cry; his fading bruises and healing wounds already did the job for him.

Alipede’s lips curled up against the shell of your ear, dragging you further into the wool of a couch nearby. “You’re right, it’s just mildly spiced,” he whispered, low and content like a purring cat, between the messy tangles of your limbs, “could use a bit more sweetness, though.”

—

“I wanna get out of here,” you sighed almost dreamily by a pond in the garden, legs tucked under your knees in your favorite sundress, “maybe visit Japan one day. Or Korean. Anywhere is nice.”

You raised a hand to point at something. Maybe a bird passing by. Maybe a red hot orb flowing on the horizon, half-submerged by the Earth. What it was, it was promptly abandoned the moment Alipede grabbed onto your wrist and twined your fingers together.

“You’re not thinking of leaving me, are you?” Alipede’s pupils dilated in the setting sun, the white of his hair and your dress bleeding into one oversaturated canvas. “You told me you wouldn’t.”

“Of course not!” The answer came just as quickly, hurt and amusement wrapped up in the form of a pout written across your face. Even then, he hadn’t returned an apology. You had felt silly for even bothering to wait for one, but that was okay.

It was only Alipede, after all.

Instead, you squeezed his hand back, lacing your pinkie together in the naive gesture of a promise.

“I’ll be your eyes, Ali. For as long as I live.”

You swore through mirthful smiles and hushed voices. Here, tucked away from the common building and terrible adults, the world narrowed down to just you and him. And Alipede—your sweet, adorable, and lovely Alipede—whose head was on your lap and whose heart was forever yours, only stared back unblinkingly.

Then he giggled, pulling you forward. Against all senses, you held on, and the two of you toppled into the grass. Nighttime prickled at your skin like a bug as you laughed along with him, and the summer dragged on, neverending.

#killer peter #killer peter manhwa #manhwa x reader #killer peter x reader #manhwa #reader insert #x reader #yandere killer peter x reader #yandere killer peter #yandere alipede #yandere x reader #alipede x reader #x female y/n #x female reader #fem reader #killer pietro

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the-art-of-witnessing-the-cosmos · 5 months ago

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Planets in 7th house.

The mirror of self

Sun in 7th house

🌻The personality with Sun in 7th house wishes to know itself, it's identity through the mirror of others. It deeply searches for its own identity, essence , value in the definitions , thoughts , feelings of others about them.

🌻It finds completion and true fulfillment in the company of its beloved .

🌻Can be very self sacrificing or can have ego issues . Balancing is the key. Do something creative everyday. So that you are more dependent on yourself.

🌻Looks for a radiant, confident , regal , creative partner , why ? Because he is looking for his unconscious part to become conscious in the material life.

Moon in the 7th House

💚Here the personality desires the reflection & experience of an instinctive , beautiful, intuitive , beautiful, feeling , emotionally intelligent, emotionally attuned , nurturing partner .

💚In her , he finds his reflection of his emotional needs , in her , he learns about his emotions , the care , devotion , emotional attunement he wishes to get is the unconscious reflection of his anima.

💚The unconscious childhood enactment with mother is wished for to reach a sense of completion within.

💚A tendency of neediness and codependence can form sometimes.

💚Moodiness and nourishment happen in waves.

💚Developing a consistent spiritual practice will help beautifully balance this placement.

💚Emotionally attuned soulful relationship can happen if the personality learns to focus his attention of himself, his beloved , his spiritual practice & stays loyal.

💚Moon related business will also bhi helpful.

Mercury in 7th house.

⭐The personality with mercury in 7th house desires a friendly beloved . The one who he can chatter with , funny batter , intellectual stimulation, discuss business ideas .

⭐He searches for a childlike , youthful, logical , analytical partner who can reflect his unconscious so that he feels complete fulfilled within & outside.

Mars in 7th house.

☘️Here the personality finds its vigour , assertiveness, competitive spirit becoming active in its close partnerships, within the company of the other.

☘️He looks for a courageous, bold , dynamic , athletic partner who wakes up or reflects his own courageous dynamic qualities . Thus a sense of completion and fulfillment is felt within & without.

☘️Can have some clashes with partners , but these can be resolved with understanding.

☘️Playing active sports with one's partner will also be helpful in making the use of this energy.

Saturn in 7th house.

🤍The personality with Saturn in 7th finds itself in a dilemma , to be close or far away , to open up or not .

🤍Close relationships have been marked away with restrictions and a sense of emotional coldness.

🤍The personality desires close soulful relationships but finds difficult to be vulnerable with its close partners.

🤍The personality in its earlier formative years is forced to grow up , restrict its inner child so as to act mature for the situations it is placed in to face , experience & deal with.

🤍Thus bringing up the courage to open up , be vulnerable , to let your inner child feel nourished & itself again , & to allow others to see yourself for your needs & desires too .

🤍To accept change & to grow together.

🤍Better relationships happen with time .

🤍Spiritual practice is deeply helpful.

🤍A responsible, mature , sensible , fair partner fills the mirror image . ⭐💗

Jupiter in 7th house.

✨Here the personality aspires to find a wise , guiding, spiritual, religious ,teaching presence in one's partnership.

✨A spiritual relationship where both can be themselves , grow & mature into their true selves.

✨Expansive relationships , soulful connections are searched for.

✨Guard against multiple relationships.

Venus in 7th house

💗The personality with Venus in the 7th house desires the romance , loving , sensual, beautiful experience of a true soul connection.

💗Balance , fairness , negotiation, a penchant for beauty & harmony within and also in relationships is desired .

💗Quality time spent , luxury , beauty , sensuality & heart to heart feelings are desired.

Rahu in 7th house.

💫Personality desires the excitement of close relationships, business avenues wealth . Partners of different origin , culture , background, of exotic origin find his attention. Choose your partners wisely.

💫Never let your close partners take advantage of your yielding nature. Do your spiritual practice.

Ketu in 7th house

☘️Personality is self focused this lifetime & is detached from close relationships , business etc.

☘️A spiritual meditative partner can be a good choice .

☘️Having a spiritual base to the relationships , marriage & business will help chanelise the energy towards its best use.

☘️Regular spiritual practice will also be beneficial.

DM for readings

#astrology #astro observations #astrology observations #counseling #vedic #vedic astro notes #astro notes #vedic astro observations #astrology blog #astrologer #sidereal zodiac #rohini nakshatra #planets #signs

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libra-kirishima · 2 years ago

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Mystic Messenger Characters + Their Toxic Traits ✨

Feat. Zen, Yoosung, Jaehee, Jumin, Seven, and V

Short headcanons inspired by this post I've made about My Hero Academia characters and their toxic traits x

! fem reader, brief mentions of sex !

Zen

Insanely jealous. He's barely able to restrain himself from barking like a dog when he sees you talking to another man

- and he will come up to you mid-conversation and embarrass you in front of this man because Zen wants him to know who you belong to.

Has some mildly sexist views on women

- Speaks for you even if you're right next to him. Will order for you at restaurants without being asked. If someone asks you a question and Zen thinks he knows the answer he'll answer it for you as if you aren't capable of answering for yourself.

- Tends to believe that you're fragile and vulnerable and that he needs to protect you because you're a woman

- Will help you with chores but he believes it's your job to cook

- Doesn't ever let you take control during sex. He thinks that, as the man, he is supposed to be the one on top and in control. He's a pleasure dom but sex is always done his way because he never lets you take the lead.

Canonically homophobic

Lacks self awareness

Yoosung

King of putting things off. Ignores problems in the relationship for as long as he possibly can until one day it all comes to the surface and he bursts into tears

Avoids conflict to the point of concern. He'd rather lie to himself that everything is fine between the two of you than address an issue in your relationship because he doesn't want to start a fight.

Struggles to make time for you. A lot of your dates are hanging out together while he studies in his room or at the library.

Shamelessly codependent

Jaehee

Also terrible at making time for you

Always working. If she's not working under Jumin then she's always working on improving the coffee shop. She doesn't know how to function when she's not working 24/7 and under constant stress

She takes things so personally. She'll never tell you she took something you said personally but you can tell.

Lowkey a grudge holder. If you two get into an argument she'll bring up something you said to hurt her feelings two years ago.

Jumin

Wants to take care of you but "taking care of you" can mean doing things that are very controlling sometimes

- extremely resistant at first to the idea of you having a job or going to college since he can provide for both of you

- hates taking "no" for an answer if he thinks he knows better than you. If you're sick with a cold he'll go against your wishes and call a doctor no matter how many times you insist that you're fine.

- Never learned how to let someone else be in charge of something so he also never lets you take control during sex.

Resistant to change

Makes important decisions without you based on what he thinks you would want

Can come across as very apathetic at times. He thinks he's offering an objective point of view that will help soothe your emotions but instead it can feel like he doesn't care about them because you're being unreasonable.

707

Has gotten into the habit of lying about the dumbest shit, so it can be difficult to tell whether he's being serious or messing with you

Doesn't help with household chores because he doesn't find them mentally stimulating

Gets really bad depressive episodes. He doesn't want Saeran to see him like that so he bottles everything up until he can't anymore and will take all his emotions out on you sometimes.

Has never had to communicate how he feels before meeting you, so he never learned how. A lot of the time you're relying on your intuition because he doesn't talk to you about it. Part of him still believes nobody cares about how he's feeling.

Incredibly passive. Getting him to voice what he wants is like pulling teeth.

Codependent and in denial about it. Thinks he's just really in love with his wife.

Has a tendency to completely ignore how he's feeling because part of him is desperate to please you.

Tends to think in absolutes. Has a very black and white view on most things

Struggles to believe that he deserves you and that makes him crave validation, but he never wants to voice to you that he needs validation.

#no saeran this time because i wanted to make my headers using panels from the webtoon #mystic messenger x reader #mystic messenger imagines #zen mystic messenger #yoosung kim #jaehee kang #jumin han #707 #saeyoung choi #luciel choi #v mystic messenger #jihyun kim #zen x reader #yoosung x reader #jaehee x reader #jumin x reader #707 x reader #v x reader

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tinalbion · 8 months ago

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Hi! Can I please request a smut fic with Rusty Nail? When I saw that you wrote for him, I was so excited because he is so underrated!

Hey there! I've been thinking about this for so long and I am finally here with good news, I am gracing you with more Rusty smut! Something the world desperately needs, I know I do! Thank you for being patient, I know it was a hell of a wait, but I am back as much as I can be!

Rusty is very underrated and he deserves so much more love than what he gets. So I hope this will suffice for the time being! 💙✨

"I Don't Want To Miss You Like I Do" ||

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Rusty Nail x fem!Reader

𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄! Minors, DO NOT interact! Masturbation, vaginal fingering, cowgirl, oral, penetration, creampie

𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡: 4k

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You had been feeling extra lonely since Rusty had been out doing his job to support the both of you, so with your mind occupied, you figured you'd have some personal one-on-one time. Too bad you didn't know you weren't alone.

Whenever Rusty was gone for weeks at a time, that part didn't bother you in the slightest, it paid the bills and was a necessary trade-off for affording all he could provide for you. You didn’t even think he would give up what he loved doing, and you’d never want him to, but what you hated the most was the loneliness.

You'd grown accustomed to having him around, so when that first time back on the job came around, you were slightly nervous, but living in his larger home was nice and much more peaceful than staying in your city apartment. It gave you things to do with a place so large, new things to discover about Rusty that he had displayed around the walls, but for such a larger place compared to your apartment, it was painfully quiet after a while of living there. Rusty wanted you to feel at home here since you decided to stay with him, so he tried his best to do what he could to bring more of you out within the confines of the walls. He offered to set up a room just for you if you wanted it, sort of like an office or a crafting area, and he'd arrange it to suit your needs. You spent time in there when he was away, fiddling around with whatever you had set up, and you just mostly liked to sit in there and read, but today you were feeling impatient, so you placed the book down and let out an irritable sigh.

You weren't upset with him, far from it, you were upset with yourself for being so codependent on this man. He brought out a side to you that you didn't know existed, and you were starting to feel that feeling in the pit of your stomach whenever you began to think of Rusty. It would lead from missing him and wondering what he was thinking, to wondering if he'd ever let you fuck him in his truck. You sure hoped he would at some point, you needed to ride him while he was in that seat of his–

“Oh god,” you grumbled and stood up from the chair, then you decided it was best to go and take a shower. Wash away your sinful thoughts, that's what you needed to do. You pulled yourself away from the room and weaved your way around to the shared room you had, then rummaged through the closet, your mind desperately trying to bury the thoughts you were having.

The trickling of water felt great as soon as it hit your body, your muscles relaxed under the warmth of it, so you cranked it up just a little more to get the temperature just a bit higher. A smile grew across your face as the water soaked your hair, ran down your back, and you stood there to allow yourself just a few moments to gather your thoughts. But as soon as you closed your eyes, his face was there. You could imagine him walking into the bathroom as soon as he heard the water start running, opening the door, and just leaning against the frame, because he’d know you heard him, so you’d peek out.

“What’re you up to, sugar?”

You’d scoff and look up at him as you peeked through the shower curtain meekly. “Taking a shower, why?”

“Just wonderin’ why you didn’t invite me in.”

Rusty was like that sometimes; he would want to be wherever you were, wanting to touch you in every place he possibly could reach. You weren’t opposed to it, you encouraged it even, but something about his gentle touch when he was in one of those moods always made you feel empty without him here. Your fingertips ghosted over your lips and slid down to your neck -his favorite spot to kiss you- as you stood beneath the running water still, smiling to yourself.

The impure thoughts that took over your mind were willing you to slide those fingers lower and lower, smiling as your eyes remained closed until you gently dipped them between your legs. Your vivid memory of the way his large, calloused hands handled you so well flooded back, and the way he curled those two fingers into that sweet spot made you buckle at the knees. Yours weren’t as good as his, but they’d get the job done. You let out a small moan, your breath hitched as you pictured Rusty pinning you against the cold tiles of the shower.

“Easy there, girl, you’re so eager. Gonna take my time with you.”

Just thinking about his deep voice as smooth as pouring a glass of whiskey, it tickled your brain in the right ways when he spoke you through everything he did. Most times he'd tease you, edging you to the point you were a shaking, sobbing mess. Other times, he would talk you through it and watch you as your face contorted from feeling pure bliss to feeling complete frustration.

“Please, Rusty, I wanna cum so bad,” you'd whine.

“Oh you will if I let'cha,” he'd respond smoothly, knowing you couldn't do much to change his mind.

Your head leaned back as the water sprayed down your chest, you couldn't help but grab your breast and squeeze it, playing gently with your hardened nipple. God, you needed him so badly, and you wondered when he'd be back home, back in your bed. You wanted to feel his mouth between your legs, feeling the way his facial hair rubbed against the inside of your thighs sent you into a frenzy every time, and he knew what to do to get you to cum on command.

You wished he was here to pick you up and place you in the bed, but you had to make due until he came back. With a sigh, you removed your fingers from yourself and washed them off, then stepped out of the shower with a towel wrapped around you. The sting of sadness set in a little as you shuffled to the large bed in the center of the master bedroom, seeing how painfully empty his side was. He was already gone for a couple of weeks, and it had been a while since you last called to check on him, so maybe you would do that to ease your loneliness. But you felt so pent up and needed to feel a release in one way or another, so maybe you'd call afterward.

As you crawled into the middle of your bed, you laid on your back and sprawled out, one leg lifted as you placed your fingers between your already slick folds, thinking of the large, rough man of your dreams. He would know how to take care of you, it's like he was easily attuned to your needs and what you preferred, and his fingers fit so well into your hole. You moaned out softly, your body moved as you rolled against your hand, wanting to feel his thick digits stretching you so well. The room was filled with your moans and wet sounds from between your legs, and you pulled those mental images to mind that made you want to descend into your orgasm, already so eager to feel the sweet relief so you could finally relax.

What you hadn't been paying attention to was the front door opening and closing.

Rusty had tried to call you twice, but your phone was still sitting in your office space beside the book you were reading, so you had no indication that Rusty was going to surprise you by coming back a little earlier than expected. He heard your moan from downstairs, his ears perked up and tuned into his surroundings. At first, he was a little worried by your lack of reaching out, but it seemed he'd caught you at the perfect time. He was missing you while he was away, and he already felt the growing excitement in his jeans. Slowly but surely, he made his way up the stairs, making sure he didn't tip you off just yet, and the sounds coming from you only sounded more enticing the closer he’d gotten.

He had finally got to the doorway and he peeked inside, watching as you lay there spread out on your shared bed, touching yourself as your eyes were squeezed shut. You were pumping your fingers in and out, curling into that sweet spot as you moaned out Rusty's name over and over, wishing he was there to take care of you. It was hard for him to keep watching and do nothing, he had to have you, he couldn't wait for much longer.

His large hand slowly pushed the door open as you continued, no sound came from the hinges which would have given away his position. Instead, he stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe with one arm keeping him in place while the other slid into his front pocket. Damn, you looked good like this, he was always a watcher, but never to this degree.

“Well, damn, if I woulda known you were havin’ fun without me, I woulda came home sooner,” he said suddenly, his voice still low and deep.

Your eyes snapped open as you removed your fingers from yourself, the sudden shock of the fear of being caught electrified your nerves. But after the initial shock, you stared up at him and smiled with a hint of embarrassment.

“R-Rusty! You're home!” You wanted to run to him to greet him, but your soaked hand kept you from doing so. “You're back early.”

He stepped up toward the bed, his head cocked to the side as his hands managed to find his belt as he began to undo it. “Well, I wanted to surprise you, but it seems you surprised me first. What'chu doin’?”

Your face was most definitely red as you closed your legs, poorly hiding the fact that You were just touching yourself. “Uh, I was just… I was thinking of you all day, I was missing you… and I got caught up…” You confessed with a blush in your cheeks.

“Missin’ me that much means a lot to little ol’ me, sugar.” He stepped up to the edge of the bed and without missing a beat, he grabbed your legs and pulled you toward him, which caused you to yelp out a little in surprise, but you were now face to face with him. He smiled down at you beneath the brim of his aging trucker hat, his eyes bore deep into yours. “Havin’ all the fun without me, ain't you?”

“I wasn't having that much fun, I was wishing you were here with me,” you explained, staring up at the large man. “But… you're here now, and well, I haven't finished…”

“Oh, so you want me to help you with that, huh?” He asked with a smirk, his large hands still resting on your ankles. “And so what if I do help you?” He asked playfully. “What do I get out of this if you finish?”

You knew he wanted you just as bad as you needed him, and he wanted you to work for it now that he caught you in the act.

“Couldn't keep those pretty little fingers away, just had to get impatient, huh?” He chuckled as he lowered his body onto you, massive in size compared to you.

You bit your lip as you reached up for his neck, wanting to play with the hair that peeked out from beneath the hat. He stopped just above you, hovering enough that if you were to lean up, he would be just out of reach. “Rusty, kiss me, please?”

He just chuckled in response, that smile you fell for immediately peeking from beneath the hat. “Oh I don't think so, you gotta earn that, sweetheart.”

You were about to whine in protest, just wanting to dote on the man now that he was back, but you barely had time to recover when he lowered his mouth to your inner thigh, kissing it and biting at your sensitive flesh that was oh-so close to your heat. The gasp that escaped was loud and sharp, but you soon turned into a whining mess the more he teased you.

“Rustyyyyy~” You whined as you tugged at his hair, causing the hat to shift and fall off to the side of the bed. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do it.”

“You mean you didn't mean to get caught, is that it?”

Your face was flushed at the realization that he was right, you meant to pleasure yourself but wanted to get it out of the way so you could hold off a while longer for him to get home.

“Been so greedy ever since you were fucked,” he huffed and lowered his mouth back onto your thigh. “Give you a taste and now you're fuckin’ cock hungry.”

His lips kissed your slick folds over and over, just missing the mark of paying attention to your throbbing clit, and you swallowed a pathetic whimper that died in your throat as soon as he plunged two of his fingers into you. You hissed at the feeling of those calloused digits, curling into you and causing your walls to flutter around him. Your back arched as you rolled your hips into his hand, feeling that sweet friction that hit you in just the right way, you wanted to cry with how much you've missed him.

“Oh my god, Rusty, please, keep going…” you sighed, your lead lolled off to the side as you removed the towel from your top half, and then you began to massage your breast as he kissed and touched you.

“You better not cum till I tell you to,” he warned in that deep honeyed voice. “Else you ain't gettin’ what you want.”

“I-I don't know if I can hold back–”

“Then you better learn real quick, sweetheart, you ain't gonna like the punishment you get if you don't.”

You loved when he urged you, spoke to you like he did, the gravelly voice he got with you was so sexy that you could have fun just listening to him talk. You shifted and couldn't help but continue to fuck yourself on his hand, whimpering as you were stretched so good with just his fingers. Rusty then slid his tongue around, coating it in your wetness as he continued to finger you, gently playing with your clit. He sucked at it, watching as you went from a whiney mess to a blubbering mess. You twitched and your body jolted, feeling that intense pleasure on your clit, getting the friction you so desperately craved.

“Oh, fuck, Rusty! Please!” you begged, your knees shaking as he held one of your legs up behind your knee.

You urged him to continue, so he obliged and removed his fingers, to which you cried at the loss of feeling him inside of you. But now those had been replaced with that broad tongue, lapping away at your essence, wanting to taste the sweetheart he so desired in his absence. You could feel his facial hair scratch and tickle at your thighs, the overwhelming feeling of his stubble, his tongue, and his large hand gripping at your leg so hard was a lot to handle while your orgasm was building.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck–” You were at a loss for words with how well you were being treated, you'd loved how he got you so sinfully wet.

Rusty smiled as he brought his lips up to your aching nub and began to swirl his tongue around it before he began to suck at it. You cried out and thrust your hips upward, pushing yourself further against his mouth as if you could get him any closer to you, all while your hands were clutching at the comforter beneath you.

You were so close to feeling a sweet release until his mouth harshly pulled away from you, leaving you feeling empty and aching. “Rusty, no! W-Why would you do that?”

“Told you you couldn't cum without my say so, and as much as I wanna taste you, I want you to cum while I'm inside you,” he explained, followed by a dark chuckle.

It didn't take him long to crawl back toward you, one hand guiding himself to push against your folds, his head pushing against your clit. You squirmed and rocked against him, trying to feel him slide against your lips, just wanting anything more than the emptiness you felt right now.

Your eyes closed, your brow furrowed, and you moaned every time he pushed against you just enough to feel just a little relief only to pull away again, and it was driving you insane. Your eyes fluttered open and you stared up at him with a look of pure frustration.

“Rusty, pleaseeeee,” you begged him again, but you regretted doing so as soon as he pulled away from you. “Wait, what are–”

He pushed himself up, then with a quick turn and an arm slung around your waist, you flew up against him, landing against his chest as he quickly positioned himself so you were straddling his lap as he sunk into the mattress.

“Told you, sweetheart, you're gonna work for it.”

Your lips suddenly felt dry as you could feel his hard cock twitch beneath you. He was giving you the chance to ride him, how could you refuse him this? Your hands hold onto his shoulders to gain some leverage as you move yourself a little higher, allowing yourself to line up perfectly with him. Slowly you sunk onto him, the girth of his cock stretched you so well, it made you let out such a low sigh as your entire body shivered with the feeling of how much you needed this.

“Oh my god, Rusty,” you groan out, your hands still placed on his shoulders. “Fuck, missed you so much while you were gone.”

“Yeah?” He asked with a wicked smirk, his hands gripped your waist as he pushed himself deeper inside of you until he bottomed out, and then those calloused fingers slid down to your thighs.

Your hands immediately reached up and snaked through his hair, grabbing and pulling at it as his hands held you by your ass, allowing you to bounce on his cock at your own speed, but he could easily change that in an instant if he decided to. You leaned forward, wanting to kiss him, but he leaned back a little and smiled, chuckling at the disapproval plastered across your face.

“Told you sugar, you gotta earn that. Need you to cum on me first, now start movin’,” he huffed as he leaned back against the pillow, watching you with interest as you began to bounce on him.

He helped a little, lifting you every so often to get you to fall harder into his lap, your skin slapping in a beautiful rhythm as you cried out his name over and over again, but your voice hitched when he slipped his hand between the both of you to rub his thumb against your clit. Your fingers clasped the back of his head and neck, your nails grazing his skin while he continued to gauge your reaction.

“Oh fuck, Rusty-” you gasp.

His thumb rubbed in increasingly tighter albeit sloppy circles, and that only caused the pleasant tingle between your legs to grow with a deeper intensity. Rusty then pressed the pad of his thumb harshly against your throbbing nub while he thrusted his hips upward at the same time, watching you as you were coming undone as he watched you intensely.

“Yeah, you’re doin’ a good job there, wonder if I should let you cum now…” He chuckled as he saw your eyes roll back once he jerked his hips upward, hitting that spot in such a delicious manner.

“Please, oh my god, PLEASE-”

“Please what, sweetheart?”

You shivered and bit your lip, wanting to stifle your moan so you could form a singular sentence. “Please, I wanna cum so bad. Please, let me cum…”

Rusty’s grip tightened as his smile widened. “Atta girl, love hearin’ you beg for it.” His hand pulled away from your possibly bruised hip as he reached up, his massive palm now wrapped around your throat as he pounded into you harder, faster, all while still stimulating your clit.

You cried out, your whines and moans drowned out by the blasphemous sounds that came from your slick-soaked pussy. He relished in the sounds you made, you knew he wanted you to be as vocal as you possibly could, even in public when he would make sure you knew who you belonged to. His hands released your throat and moved away from your clit, then slid around to rest on your ass, gripping your cheeks hard as he began to fuck himself into you. He’d give you the release you so desperately craved, and the release he needed to lose himself in being away from you for all that time.

“Rusty, I won’t be able to hold it...” you warned through gritted teeth, your hands resting firmly on his chest as you clawed your nails against his skin.

“Guess I could let you cum on me, then,” Rusty offered through his heaving breath, still smiling up at you.

Several more hard thrusts against your aching cunt and you were going to be ruined in his lap, you cried out while he continued to plow into you, making you take every inch you could of him as your body tensed and finally released that pleasure. You couldn’t even take the time to ride out your orgasm, Rusty was relentless and continued to take you at his unyielding pace, wanting to be able to cum deep inside of you. His thighs tensed with each roll of his hips, his body straining beneath you as your walls clenched around him.

Rusty wrapped his arms around your waist and buried himself to the hilt inside of you, coming hard as spurts of his hot seed coated your insides, his deep honeyed voice released a guttural growl as he gripped you hard. It throbbed as he held you in place, but you were too tired to move much anyway, so you allowed him to use you as he deemed fit as you lay limp in his arms.

You were both straining to catch your breath as you both lay there, your body now collapsed on top of him while his arms released the firm grip on your waist and just draped over you gently. Your head was resting on his shoulder as you attempted to catch your breath, and Rusty just lay there with his hand stroking your hair softly, rewarding you for your good behavior with the softness only you really got to see. He wouldn’t force you off after, he enjoyed the affection you showered him with during moments like these, so he allowed you to remain splayed on top of him.

“That was amazing…” You sighed happily, your eyes closed as you listened to his heart beating. You couldn’t find the heart to pull away from him, even if he’d been gone for a while, you just wanted to enjoy it with him, no matter how brief.

His arms wrapped around you as if to give you a hug that he hadn’t thought of giving you till that very moment, so you moved your head lazily to look up at him, your chin resting against his chest. “You still haven’t given me that kiss yet,” you huffed and pushed out your bottom lip.

Rusty just let out a low chuckle as he always did, but he pushed himself up and slid his hand around your neck, tangling in the sweat-soaked hairs as he pulled you into a heated kiss. When you pulled away, you smiled up at him and felt content with everything in the world now.

“Missed you, too, sugar. Next time you’re feelin’ lonely like that, I suggest you call me up.”

“And how will that help me exactly?”

Rusty just laughed again and slid his hand down to your ass, giving it a firm slap. “Oh, I’ll think of a way.”

#tinalbion writings #rusty nail #rusty nail joy ride #rusty nail x reader #rusty nail imagine #rusty nail headcanons #rusty nail x fem!reader #f!reader #slasher headcanons #slasher community #slasher imagines #slasher x reader #joy ride 2 dead ahead #tinas asks #comfort #smut

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