#and now that I’ve stopped and I’ve accepted my body and face how they are I’m soo much happier and like. chill.

[theprettynosferatu]

New Girl

CW: Lezdom, light elements of ageplay, hucow, 24/7 service

I - Arrival

Vicky took the news the same way she took everything that came from her Mistress: with a mixture of complete acceptance, anticipation, and the need to do her absolute best to please, to be of use to that marvelous, superior being. Her body almost shivered, but Vicky stopped it in time. She had been trained to perfection, and now, naked on all fours, her Mistress’ perfect feet resting on her back, she knew she would not -could not- move. She was a footstool, not a person. She always was whatever Lucía desired her to be, nothing more and nothing less. Still, she could feel a warm sensation between her legs when she thought of what was to come. She didn’t know if it was her own mind teasing her or the prospect of further obedience- her Mistress’ desires and her own needs were one and the same, her reactions impossible to distinguish from what had been trained into her. That’s why the news made perfect sense.

A part of Vicky wondered, her Mistress’ statement echoing in her mind. 

“A new girl will come here. Not like you, of course. You are my property, fully and forever. No, this girl belongs to someone else. An old friend of mine. Apparently, she has something of a rebellious streak- and I’ve been hired to make her… well, as obedient as you. And you, my doll, will assist me. She will obey me, to learn her true place. Her true self.”

Vicky felt something like pride- if objects could feel pride, that is. Of course Mistress Lucía was the greatest at turning girls into the best, most obedient, most perfectly trained version of themselves. That someone would pay her for the service was only a testament to her skill. But then again, Vicky was Lucía’s masterpiece: and in that perfect obedience, in that need to serve and please above anything else, she found her pride. Vicky was an object. A perfectly crafted object. How could she not feel a tad prideful about that? 

She did wonder, however, about the girl that would arrive soon. How did some “rebel” end up in the service of an older Mistress? What need did she seek to fulfill by her servitude? The shifting of her Mistress’ feet on her back snapped her back into reality. She was a footstool. Furniture did not think.

The following day, Vicky was getting everything ready. Wearing her maid’s uniform, which showed off her ample cleavage -enhanced by surgery to make her look like the stupid bimbo she was inside- she got the drinks ready. Alcohol for the Mistresses… and fruit juice for the new girl, as commanded by Lucía.

“She needs to understand she’s a girl. Only her superiors are real women. Time for her to accept that”, Lucía had said. Even in her casual clothes, jeans and a blouse, she shined in an imposing way that made it clear that the statement wasn’t an expression of desire but a promise of what was to come. 

The bell rang and Vicky dutifully opened the door, kneeling in front of the classy, modestly dressed in perfectly tasteful black, imposing older woman; thus signaling her own role as a slave to be used. The woman barely deigned to look at Vicky as she made her way in, a young woman one step behind her. Vicky, who should have been looking at the floor, couldn’t help herself and she took a glance at the newcomer.

The first thing that struck Vicky was the girl’s hair. It almost didn’t seem real, with its fiery red hues reaching almost to down to the waist, its coppery sheen and its swaying fullness. It somehow made her imposing, like a conquering queen engulfed by the flames of victory. Her short, white sundress with little pink hearts did a good job signaling what was hidden beneath it. Vicky had to confess to herself that, yes, she was a bit jealous. Sure, the new girl also had big dumb bimbo tits and a face that contrasted with them by its innocence- almost as if she embodied both the saintly virgin and the corrupt whore in one body, but that hair… for some reason it made Vicky feel something strange, dark deep inside her. Something like a need to see this girl broken. Well, her Mistress would take care of that.

“Rose”, the regal, older woman said. “My girl. For the next few weeks you will obey Mistress Lucía as you would obey me. You will serve her and learn everything she teaches you. You will be remade into the perfect girl for your Mommy. And you do want to be better for Mommy, don’t you?”

A second passed. Vicky could see something like defiance flash for a second behind Rose’s eyes, before she responded.

“Yes, Mommy.”

“Well, little Rose”, said Lucía taking a step towards her new pupil, “let’s see what I’m working with. Disrobe.”

Rose turned to look at the older woman, but Lucía stopped her with a sharp tone.

“No. Don’t look at her. Look at me. She was quite clear, was she not? You are to obey me until you are good enough to return to your Mommy. So, disrobe. Now.”

And there it was again. That little flash of defiance. Pride. Vicky could feel something growing inside her. How dared this girl not accept her place as inferior to their Goddess? Finally, she complied, and Lucía walked around her slowly, carefully, studying every inch of her naked body. It certainly was a body to behold- even Vicky had to admit that. Lucía, however, looked less than impressed.

“I see”, she said as she squeezed Rose’s naked skin, caressed it, analyzed it like a cattle buyer evaluating a new cow in their barn. “That pretty face, so innocent- and those big, slutty tits of yours… they must have been very useful in your life. Is that it? I’m sure so many people, so many men treated you like a princess… let you get away with doing whatever you pleased. That’s it, isn’t it? So what happened? You got bored, didn’t you? Bored with people treating you like a fucking queen. And you need to be treated as what you are, even if a part of you still feels you deserve better. Well… you don’t. Vicky, get up and come here. We are going to remind this cunt of a few simple facts.”

Like a puppet, Vicky leaped to her feet. Lucía’s orders were absolute.

“That pretty, pretty face… Vicky, slap her. Hard.”

The blonde bimbo’s hand moved before she could even process the command. She had never inflicted pain on someone else- and yet, something inside her drove her to put all her strength into that slap, to wipe the pride off the little bitch’s face, to show her the power of their Mistress. Maybe in another time she might have felt bad about it, but now… it had been an order, and Vicky obeyed. That was all that mattered.

Shock barely had time to set in Rose’s eyes before a second command came.

“Slave… play with this uppity cunt. Show her she’s just tits and holes, and a slave to both.”

That was something Vicky excelled at. She had been trained to perfection, after all. It was her purpose, deep down. To bring pleasure. She knew how to feel a body, how to pinpoint the weakest points, the places that sent shivers down the spine, she knew how to caress, tease, vary pressure, motion and speed to get a pussy nice and wet… and she went at the prideful redhead like an animal. Lucía watched as the first moans escaped her trainee’s lips and, almost with a whisper, started going deep inside her mind, choosing her words carefully.

“See how easy it is? You really think you have any sort of power? Of control? Silly little girl, your body is screaming the truth at you, and you’re too fucking dumb to understand it! It needs you to serve. It wants you to obey. It feels so, so good when you’re being used, doesn’t it? Because it’s what it was made for. You have those big, stupid tits because you were born to be a fuckdoll. That’s all you’ll ever be. All you ever need to be.”

Vicky’s skilled fingers could feel the effect her Mistress’ words were having on the newcomer. The girl was getting soaked, her muscles relaxing, slowly letting go.

“You think you deserve better? That you are more than just a toy for me to play with whenever I wish? Why? Because you are oh, so pretty? Bad news, sweetie: you are a fucktoy and a flawed one at that. You think I didn’t notice how your fucking ass sags? How your legs are too thick? Do you really believe you are so perfect? You didn’t even shave properly! No, you dumb slut. You are just a piece of lumpy clay to be molded. And you want to be molded, don’t you? Your body needs it. You need it. You want to accept your place, deep down. You want to be made better. You want to serve. You want to be reshaped into the perfect little empty doll you were born to be. Your cunt is telling you right now! It loves to obey. It loves to be abused. It loves whatever I say it loves…”

Without warning, Lucía struck Rose’s ass as hard as she could- which, Vicky knew from experience, was really hard. A yelp escaped the redhead’s lips.

“Even pain. Can you feel it? Pain and pleasure mixing inside you? How your body can’t tell them apart? That’s because you were born to serve, little Rose. Let your slutty body take over. Listen to it. It’s all you are. It’s what matters. And it needs to obey. It needs to… kneel.”

Lucía placed her hand on the girl’s shoulder and gently, lovingly yet undeniably pushed towards the ground. Slowly, by inches, Rose found herself going to her knees, her body obeying Lucía almost despite her own will. The way the blonde slave played with her neck, her tits, her pussy… her mind was fuzzy, weak, confused… but her body seemed to know exactly what to do, the feeling of the hand on her shoulder dictating her actions as inevitably as law. When she saw Lucía removing a single shoe, exposing a beautiful foot, she didn’t even need to be told what to do. It was like in a dream: her body went lower, acting on its own, prostrating itself before her superior. It looked like defeat. It looked like a prayer.

The moment Rose’s lips touched that soft foot, her new life began.

II - Improvement

Even Rose had to admit she was having trouble keeping up. Even after two weeks of daily service, she felt as useless as the first day. On the other hand, Vicky seemed unable to feel exhaustion at all. Dressed in identical maid outfits -or rather, tiny tops and skirts that hinted at maid uniforms- they carefully went all over the house making sure every single corner, every shelf, every inch of the floor was immaculate for their Mistress. Rose even started doubting her own eyes: Vicky appeared to see dust in places that looked, to the new girl, perfectly clean… until the blonde maid pointed out the imperfections in the cleaning, and made Rose do it all over again.

That in itself would have been hard enough, but Rose had some added weight to deal with. Literally. The weights affixed to her wrists and legs made walking, going on the floor, reaching for high places a full body exercise. By mid morning she was usually coated with a shining layer of sweat. She hated it, and yet she couldn’t argue with the results. Her body was getting more toned. She was getting slimmer. Her stamina was slowly improving. She thought about that first day, about the words Lucía had drilled into her mind. She was imperfect. That stung- but also lit a fire inside Rose. She would be the best. She would be perfect.

Of course, they were always ready to serve their Mistress whenever she desired, however she desired. Rose thought, before this new training, that she knew what service meant. She did serve her Mommy, after all. But witnessing Vicky’s level of devotion, her utter selfless ability to do anything, to be anything that was desired of her, left Rose somewhere between admiration and pain for her own inadequacy. She could feel that rebellious streak inside herself, and hated it more and more.

She was tired, lost in thought when Lucía walked in, wearing lingerie and sharp, black heels. The girls got into position: on their knees, chests out, staring at the floor. Lucía walked around the room slowly, luxuriating in her own power, before declaring, simply:

“I want to relax.”

She sat down on a beautiful sofa and with a simple gesture summoned Vicky. The bimbo knew exactly what to do, what to be. She rushed to her owner and got on all fours. A shiver went down her spine as she felt the sharp heels on her back. She was a footstool. Nothing more. It was then that Lucía did something new, something Vicky had never seen her do.

She lit a cigarette. 

Rose stared at her temporary Mistress. She had never thought smoking could be sexy, but the way the smoke curled around Lucía’s face, the way her body relaxed with each puff gave her the air of a mysterious, wonderful, terrible goddess. One that fixed her gaze on the new toy.

“Come here. Can’t you see I need an ashtray, you dumb slut?”

Rose felt frozen for a moment. An ashtray? Should she find one? She didn’t remember seeing one in the house. Suddenly she felt cold fear gripping her. Fear of disappointing this perfect woman.

“You really are stupid, aren’t you? I said come here.”

Rose did as she was told, and crawled towards Lucía. 

“Good. Now, on your back.”

Rose obeyed. It felt good to have such simple instructions.

“I suppose you’re too brainless to realize you’re too low to be a good ashtray, so I’ll spell it out for you once. Feet flat on the ground. Hands over your head. Now, arch your back. Bridge position.”

It was difficult. It hurt to maintain the position. And yet something took over Rose. A sort of… peace. She didn’t need to think. She didn’t need to do anything but be in the moment. Be the ashtray. Be useful. Every bit of ash that was deposited on her bellybutton only filled that need to serve more and more. Even as her muscles shook, there was nothing else in the world, nothing but the perfect sensation of being an object for her Mistress. She briefly wondered if Vicky got to feel like that all the time.

Rose couldn’t tell how long it took. Logically, it must have been a few minutes. To her, it was both a second and a lifetime. She snapped back to the present when she heard Lucía’s voice casually giving a command and getting up to enjoy the show.

“Vicky, clean the ashtray.” 

The blonde slave did as she was told. Her tongue felt warm on Rose’s skin, and somehow the living ashtray felt as if this was an honor- one she had been granted without deserving it. She felt gratitude. She felt joy. She felt empty and blissful. 

She would do everything to feel like that again.

III - Metamorphosis

After a month of training, Rose believed she knew, truly, the essence of service. She believed that inner spark of rebellion, which still lingered, could be managed. She believed she understood the full nature of her role.

All these things she believed mistakenly.

It was on one particularly warm night that she learned just how deep her inadequacy ran. Lucía had summoned Vicky alone a little while back, and Rose could do nothing but wait for her to be needed. She needed that. She needed to be useful. When she was finally called into the living room, she had no way to know what was awaiting her.

Vicky was tied to a wooden structure Rose didn’t recognize yet was weirdly familiar-  it was certainly not one of the instruments Lucía had used on her or the blonde slut. However, its purpose became quickly apparent, and Rose understood where she had seen such things. It was a variation of farming equipment. More specifically, to keep cows still when they were being milked. 

It was then that a few things clicked into place. Specifically, the mysterious medication Vicky took every day. Rose had asked, worried that her role model might need help; but Vicky had only given her a smile and a simple “you’ll see when you are ready.”

Well, she was seeing it now. Lucía was walking around her bound cow, a whip in hand. Casually, almost as an afterthought, she squeezed one of Vicky’s breasts, and warm milk shot into a small bucket, placed right under her udders. What was most strange was that along with a soft moan, Vicky said simply:

“Moooo!”

Rose understood then what true devotion meant. What true service meant. Even when her mistresses whipped her firm ass, the blonde cow only mooed, as if her brain was only capable of being, fully, a cow for her owner. Lucía looked at Rose and smiled.

“Are you starting to see? Come here, cunt. Time for you to feed.”

She understood instantly. She didn’t need to be commanded to crawl- that much seemed obvious to Rose. She was a pet. An animal. Nothing more. She went under the bimbo, let her soft lips part and took an engorged nipple into her mouth.

It was heavenly. Milk flowed into her and she felt like nothing more than a child, a stupid, ignorant thing to be educated. Rose sucked and Vicky mooed in pleasure. Their Mistress started whispering into the calf’s ear.

“Do you understand now, you dumb fucktoy? She made her body lactate because I wished her to. Her body is not hers, not even at its most fundamental level. Just like your body is not yours. Your mind is not yours. You are whatever your owner wants you to be. You don’t deserve to be more. You are a living doll, nothing more.”

Rose took it all in. As the warm milk entered her body, Lucía’s words entered her mind. They both felt right. They both felt simple, obvious. And with each word, each mouthful of the wonderful milk, every moo that reached her ears, that spark of rebellion grew smaller and smaller.

“Your owner wants you to be her perfect baby girl. Her empty doll to dress up and turn into whatever she desires. She even chose your entire new aesthetic. Your new personality. But you were too prideful to accept it. Do you still have pride? Do you still have that delusion that you are more than just her fucktoy to do as she wishes?”

Rose couldn’t speak, but a moan told Lucía everything she needed to know. The girl was finally ready.

“Pet, unbind the cow and kneel in the middle of the room. Cow, go to the corner and play with that slutty pussy of yours”

As one, they obeyed. As she waited, kneeling, looking down, Rose was ready for anything. She would do anything. She would accept anything. She would become anything for her Owner. That was all that mattered.

“You need to be made clean. You need to return to nothingness. To go back to zero, so your owner may mold you as she sees fit. And you need to finally let go of the last remaining bit of your pride. You may think it’s not there, but I can smell it in you. I see it behind your eyes, still. But don’t worry, little doll. I will make you perfect.”

The buzz of the electric clippers sent a shiver through Rose’s soul. She didn’t have time to fully process it. Instead, her eyes focused on the empty, rubbing blonde in the corner, moaning her soft mooing. And lock after lock of red head fell before her eyes, almost framing the human cow. As her hair was removed, as she started feeling the air on her scalp, Rose felt emptier and emptier. Whatever was left of her past was disappearing with every strand that landed on the floor. And the emptier she got, the more Vicky rubbed, the louder she mooed. Her will, her dignity, her entire sense of self fell, bit by bit, on that floor.

Soon, she felt completely empty. Completely at peace. Soft and ready to be remade. As Lucía shaved off every bit of hair from her body, Rose felt more and more like a newborn, like a baby, like a being that depended entirely on the will of her superiors.

“Soft and smooth. Perfect to become the little girl your owner wants. But she doesn’t want just any slave toy. No, she wants you to become something very particular… and you will do it, won’t you, doll?”

“Yes, Mistress Lucía.”

The words escaped Rose’s lips without her even thinking it.

IV - Graduation

Vicky had set the stage perfectly. At the command of Lucía, she had purchased colored lights to give the ceremony a bit of ambiance, and she had chosen the finest champagne for the women to celebrate. Champagne, she knew, she didn’t deserve to taste.

The older, regal woman sat comfortably, ready to see her new property. Lucía was confident in what she had achieved, and had Vicky between her legs, serving her perfect pussy as she chatted with her friend, not even paying attention to the dumb blonde that was doing her best to bring her pleasure.

When the time came, Rose entered the room. It was hard to believe this person was the same girl that had come into the house a month or so earlier. In many ways, it wasn’t. 

It wasn’t just the clothing: black leather corset, latex boots with spiked heels, no underwear, her perfectly smooth pussy visible to everyone, a choker around her neck. It wasn’t the makeup: dark, heavy, with black winged eyeliner and deep, red lips. It wasn’t the wig: jet black like a raven’s plumage, glinting with an almost blueish tint. It was the way she moved, the expression on her face, the rebellion that now was just a mask, just an outfit to be worn and changed at her owner’s whim. Her entire being embodied the fantasy of a goth bimbo, a dark yet obedient angel. She embodied that fantasy just as she could embody any fantasy. She was hollow inside, ready to become whatever was required of her. It was time to show, fully, what she had become. Rose smiled with mischief. She went down to the floor and slowly opened her legs before running a finger to show off how soaked her obedient cunt was.

“Mommy…” she pleaded with a voice between a poor, vulnerable girl and a skillful seductress. “Look at me, my Mommy, my Owner, My Goddess. Look at your little girl… I’m so sorry, Mommy… sorry I wasn’t good enough to serve you before. Sorry I didn’t realize sooner what a fucking piece of fuckmeat I am. Sorry I thought I was more than just you fuckdoll, your object, your total slave to do whatever you please, whenever you please! Because that’s all I am, Mommy. I am nothing. I am just whatever you tell me to be. I believe whatever Mommy tells me to believe. I do whatever Mommy tells me to do… anything at all… I don’t exist. I am only holes and tits and slutty lips and an eager tongue… I am your furniture and your plaything and your sex toy and your pain addicted slut! I’ll do anything you say, with anyone you say. Rent me out if you want. Sell me if you get bored of me. Change my tastes, my look, everything about me whenever you wish. I only exist for you, Mommy… I am nothing… I am nothing… I am nothing…”

The girl was right on the edge, but the women knew she wouldn’t cum unless told to. Her face was a mixture of pleasure and pain and complete need for approval. She wasn’t just desperate to serve: she needed to obey just as she needed to breathe. There was nothing else behind her eyes. There certainly was no spark of rebellion left.

Lucía smiled and turned to her friend.

“Money well spent?”

The older woman licked her lips, ready to take home her new, perfect pet.

“The best.” 

V - Mommy Knows Best

The house felt bigger, somehow- or perhaps Rose felt smaller, more like a pet, more like a pretty piece of decoration. As the women entered the living room, Rose instantly went on her knees, head down, chest out, ready to do whatever Mommy desired. She had no other need, no other impulse but to serve and obey. What she didn’t expect was to discover that she indeed still held the capacity for surprise within her heart.

“My slutty little toy…” said Mommy. “Go to your room. There… you’ll know what to do”

“Yes, Mommy”, answered the doll.

Rose crawled to her room. Inside, she saw something she didn’t expect, and yet, that something made perfect sense in her mind. She was empty. She was clay to be molded. And there, neatly placed on the bed, were the garments of her new self. A new self that would last as long as Mommy desired. 

With every garment she put on she felt her demeanor change more and more. She would embody what her Mommy desired fully. She would be her fantasy perfectly. That was what mattered. Mommy didn’t need to tell her who to be. The clothing and the wig made the point exceedingly clear. Rose took a moment to observe her new hair, and all she could do was to admire Mommy’s diligence. Surely her owner had looked at many pictures from long ago- before she had dyed her hair red, before she had been consumed by pride- to perfectly match her natural hair color. It made her feel naked, in a strange way. 

In her bed, Mommy waited, expecting to be delighted- and indeed her wishes came true in the best way possible. When Rose walked into the bedroom, what Mommy saw was not the goth slave that had entered the house a few minutes earlier. No, indeed what she saw was a different person altogether. 

Dressed in her beautiful, short white and pink dress, her knee-high socks, her cute shoes… her hair in two perfect pigtails, her makeup junt hinting at a youthful blush… Rose was everything Mommy could ever dream her to be at that moment. A perfect mixture of pure innocence and the potential for that innocence’s shattering. And her eyes… wide, loving, trusting, bright like the moon. Her smile had the purity of unconditional adoration and the kind of love reserved for those a person would trust their life to. She was the embodiment of the babygirl Mommy had always imagined, while her natural curves added just a bit of perversion, of temptation. It was a role, sure, but one Rose had made entirely hers. At that moment she was that obedient, innocent girl her Mommy desired… and being whatever Mommy desired felt better than anything in the world.

The older woman smiled.

“Give Mommy a hug”, she cooed.

Rose skipped towards her Mommy and launched herself into her arms. She felt safe and happy in a way she couldn’t explain. She felt hands holding her body tight… then slowly roaming over it, caressing it, exploring it… a soft moan escaped Rose’s lips and her Mommy leaped at the opportunity it represented.

“What’s wrong, my doll?”, she asked playfully.

“I feel funny, Mommy”, said Rose, embodying her role to perfection.

“Funny? Where?”

“Down… down there, Mommy…” blushed Rose.

She immediately felt Mommy’s finger brush against her cute cotton panties, and her breathing started to quicken, her heart beating like a drum in anticipation. The finger soon went in front of Rose’s eyes, glistening under the light.

“Look at this, babygirl. Your little pussy is getting so soaked already! You know who gets wet like that? Little sluts, that’s who!”

Rose feigned horror.

“Mommy! I’m sorry… I don’t know why… am I being a bad girl?”

“It’s not your fault, my little doll. Your pussy is just a slutty hole, that likes it when older women touch it. But you need to learn that being a little fucking slut has consequences. And I will teach you.”

“Yes, Mommy. Please make me better! I want to be good, so good for you!”

Almost in the blink of an eye, Rose was face down on the soft bed, her wrists and ankles bound with incredible skill. She wriggled a bit, but was determined to take her punishment like a good girl. She felt as her skirt was slowly lifted, her panties pulled down to her knees. Mommy was taking her time, enjoying every second. 

“Mommy…”, mumbled Rose.

“Shhh. This is for your own good. Slutty girls get punished. You understand that, don’t you, my little toy?”

“Yes, Mommy.”

Time stretched into infinity, and every second made Rose’s body become more and more sensitive, ready to fully feel anything Mommy chose to make her feel. The anticipation was making her pussy leave a wet spot on the mattress, and feeling that spot against her skin only made Rose feel like a dumb animal in heat… which only served to make her wetter and wetter… she fought the urge to move, to somehow grind against that mattress that now smelled of her own degradation.

The first stroke of the paddle hit her light lightning. She deserved it. She deserved whatever Mommy chose to do to her. Stroke after stroke, her ass grew so hot it Rose felt she couldn’t take anymore- while knowing she would take anything for Mommy. Pain and pleasure became one and her mind went blank. She was a doll. All she could do was feel, accept, obey.

Before she knew it, Rose’s head was being pushed down into the wet spot on the mattress. She could smell her own perversion, and loved every second of it.

“Lick it clean, pet”, ordered Mommy.

Rose’s body obeyed.  

VI - Cocktail Hour

Once the guests settled in, they couldn’t take their lustful eyes off the maid- and they didn’t try to hide it one bit.

They were all older women, all dressed immaculately in their own style, wearing their best jewelry, their finest garments. This was, after all, a special occasion indeed-, even if they playfully refused to say it out loud. Rose watched Mommy laugh and mingle. God, she was so wonderful. But the girl didn’t have time to gawk: she had to serve, after all.

Rose’s outfit had been crafted with a special artistry. It was a maid’s uniform, sure, and a sexy one at that- but it also had a frilly skirt that hinted at the innocence of a little girl’s favorite dress, knee-high socks with decorative bows on them, and a cute, pink set of panties that peeked from under her skirt with the slightest motion. It was a strategic masterpiece, designed to tease the senses while giving off a certain element of taboo, of a specific perversion. And Rose understood, on a primitive level, exactly what her role in the evening was.

It was a silent dance at first, a game of seduction and restraint. It started with the “accidental” touching of Rose’s ample cleavage as she served drinks, a subtle grazing of her thighs as she walked among the guests, an errant hand brushing against her buttocks. She knew what to do, and ignored the throbbing between her legs that begged her to simply go on her knees and worship these goddesses. She knew she had to be their prey, make herself as oblivious as possible, let them play their role as she played hers.

Soon the guests were abuzz, praising Mommy for her wonderful babygirl. “So cute!”, they said. “So well-behaved!”, they cooed. None of them said out loud what they were really thinking when they looked at Rose. Seeing Mommy’s keen approval of their praises, they took a step towards their goal.

“Come here, you sweet thing!”, one said, patting her lap. Rose did as she was told, her every movement a dance of simple, pure innocence. She sat on the guest’s lap and pretended to ignore the way the guest’s eyes were drawn to her breasts, the way her hand roamed from her waist to her thigh, the way the guests took in the scent of her neck. It was hard to keep her own pussy in check, to keep playing her role- but she’d be what Mommy wanted her to be.

“No fair!”, whined another guest. “You can’t keep such a sweet thing all to yourself!”

The new guest gestured Rose to go to her, and the doll, like a pet, skipped to where she was told to go. This woman was bolder than the first. Her slender fingers brushed against the cotton panties, and Rose failed to hold back a soft sigh. The woman smiled and whispered: “Does that feel good, little doll?”. Rose could only nod her head. She could feel her thinking becoming more and more blurry and fuzzy, weakened by the eyes on her, the way her body was being used simply as entertainment. When another guest called her over, she started moving before she even realized what she was doing.

Among the cocktails, the conversations, the laughs, Rose was passed around from older woman to older woman. She just let them do whatever they wished with her. That was her only purpose. Some fondled her big tits. Some focused on her pussy, skillfully pushing her panties aside. Some preferred to caress her legs, her face, her lips. Rose was on fire yet completely powerless inside. She was just a doll. The words echoed in her mind. Just a doll to be played with, dressed up, turned into whatever Mommy desired. And Mommy chose who got to play with her doll.

It was as if someone had lit up something inside Rose’s brain. Her body was more sensitive than ever, almost as if every inch of her skin was as wonderfully receptive to pleasure as her clit. Soon she was shaking, trying to hold back the need to kiss these women’s feet, moaning softly like some dumb, horny animal. The women could see Rose’s arousal, smell her vulnerability. They too held back as much as they could, but the air itself was thick with the scent of sex, the primal desire to conquer, to possess, to use. They all knew the little game could not last much longer- and indeed, it didn’t.

It started with a spank. Not a playful one: a strong, firm, painful slap right on Rose’s right buttcheek. That one act caused her to moan loudly, lustfully, signaling to everyone that the babygirl was ripe for the taking. It was as if a dam had collapsed. 

Rose was pushed to the ground. It felt right, to be lower than all these superior beings. Whatever they chose to do to her, she would accept with all her heart. She deserved nothing more. She was no longer a person, and she knew she’d never go back to pretending she was worthy of anything more than what real people desired of her.

As she felt hands ripping her clothes off, grabbing her body in a frenzy, turning her into just a piece of fuckmeat, Rose felt, more than ever, that she was home. 

Did you enjoy this story? You can support my work at patreon.com/prettynosferatu and get access to the full library! Every bit truly helps :D

[lucydacusgirl]

I literally have a moustache that’s so cool… I’m a girl with a moustache :) shoutout to my naturally high testosterone for making me so hairy

[lovelyghst]

ex-boyfriend simon riley making you admit you still love him if you wanna cum <3

he can be such a jerk sometimes! calling you up one evening, claiming he was just wanting to check in on you and how you know how overbearing protective he can be sometimes, acting surprised when you snapped at him barely after his greeting.

“what has you so frustrated, hm, dove?… christ, can practically feel you seethin’ through the screen.”

you bit your tongue and gave him the truth over the phone; how he shouldn’t be calling you without warning like this considering you’ve broken up, and it’s inappropriate to be labeling you those sweet pet names you unfortunately and unknowingly still adore deep down.

how you don’t appreciate his abrasive bluntness, then again, he should know very well that you never have liked that part about him.

you told him the truth, though you couldn’t be entirely honest with him, in the sense of how fucking needy you’ve become with his absence. for touch and care, proximity and security, and all that.

but you are over him, undoubtedly, and you let him know that.

“yeah, baby, whatever you say…

…bet you rub that little cunt raw every night thinkin’ve me.”

and that shut you up quick.

he hummed in understanding, like your silence was readable.

“poor girl prob’ly hasn’t had any proper attention since i’ve been gone… shame such a pretty thing has to be so neglected, eh?”

butterflies invaded your tummy at the compliment, and you cursed yourself for your hasty, blind acceptance of it. but you can't blame yourself; what girl wouldn’t at least begin to crumble at that voice?

“i’m right, yeah?” he taunted, and it almost made you sick when you caught yourself rubbing your thighs together at his meanness.

“c’mon, sweetheart… you know you can be honest wi’ me.”

and god, was his cocky tone so infuriating; you wanted to reach through the phone and slap his smug face straight for overstepping your relationship’s boundaries so blatantly, and with such a deeply rooted nonchalance in his voice that always had you heated and wet.

“say the word, ‘nd i’ll come over and fuck you right now.”

…which is why you had eventually asked him oh, so nicely:

“please..?”

you could practically hear the shit-eating grin on his face, followed by the faint noises of boots hitting hardwood floor and then the clicking of a door’s lock, the obnoxious ringing of keys clanging together.

“just give me ten minutes, doll.”

and now, as he bullies and buries his cock deep in your warm cunt, reaching all those sweet spots you or another man could never even come close to, you can’t really think much of his misbehavior.

truthfully, you can’t think much of anything at all, at the moment.

he had teased you prior to finally managing his way inside you, for god knows how long. his mouth, his fingers, his cockhead; all had brought you to the edge rather quickly, over and over after each other, but he was yet to give you that final push.

he puts his full body’s weight on you, strong pecs pressed up against your heaving, sensitive tits, and his stubble tickling your neck unceasingly. you can’t stop squirming and writhing beneath him, and his hot groans right up against your skin aren’t helping, either.

it’s always been a feat taking his cock, being crammed in your precious cunt almost every night when you two were together, but now it’s been weeks, and you nearly forgot just how big he was.

you missed it, admittedly. all of it; the veins and ridges, the unforgiving stretch. the slight twinge of pain he always hushed with his fingertips pressing your swollen, little clit, or a calloused thumb shoved between your puffy lips to suck on and drool over to distract yourself.

you missed his stamina, his libido. most striking of all, his selflessness in the entire act. he’s a soldier, he serves you right. most times.

“fuckin’ christ, sweetheart… missed this tight, messy thing wrapped ‘round my cock… practically stranglin’ me ‘n with no remorse, eh?”

shit, and you missed his dirty talk most of all.

“gonna fill this pretty, little pussy… keep ‘er happy all night, make up for lost time with my girl.” he wraps his hand gently around your jaw, making your eyes meet his. “you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

you nod frantically, swallow as best you can, before sucking in a breath. “yeah— yes, please, si… i-i want it really bad… please.”

he kisses your lips with a smile, and then all over the side of your face, up to your forehead. he just can’t seem to stop kissing you.

“tell me, sweetheart. y’wanna cum, too?”

“i do, si—! i really, really do- fuck, please?” you beg and beg, and as much as it turns him on, digs at his heart to just give in, he sticks to his guns and merely adds:

“then say the words, pretty girl,” he coos, making you whimper in frustration. “that’s it, y’know what i wanna hear.”

you huff a whine in response, albeit your breath is strangled when he doesn’t halt his movements for even a second.

you really, really don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

he’s nearly panting himself, big chest and even bigger shoulders rolling upwards with every thrust. “y’ain’t cummin’ til i hear you say it, baby. c’mon, now. jus' admit it, that you still love me.”

he buries his cock to the very hilt, taking your slackened jaw tighter in his hand as he watches your eyes grow even hazier from his pelvis rubbing up against your vulnerable, needy clit. the stern look he gives you tells you he's serious about his last statement, but you'll later swear you sensed a bit of sadness, even despair in his expression.

“i love—” you choke on your own breath, desperate to sputter out the words. “i love you, si…”

and he practically has hearts in his eyes. “you mean it?”

“yes—! yes i do, i promise i still love you, please,” you spill, sounding closer to a temper tantrum than anything. “just lemme cum, please, si… really need it, please, i-i’ve been good...”

he hums lowly, contented, satisfied for once. as if those three words themselves — i love you — are the ones actually stroking his fucking cock. his ego maybe, you’d think, but jesus.

if you knew just how badly off he was beforehand, you never would’ve let him get this cocky and in control.

“love you too, sweetheart.” he kisses your puffed out lips, wipes a tear you hadn’t even noticed was trickling down your cheekbone. “always been my good, patient girl, haven’t ya?”

you nod once more, pinched brows and bleary eyes doubling in severity at his soft tone. simon praising you and being so, so uncharacteristically sweet has always made you fawn after more, even now. especially now.

“tha’s right, baby, you’re my good girl… now do me a favor and cum on my cock for me, yeah? lemme feel every last bit of ya.”

he ultimately resumes moving inside you, and it makes you wonder when he ever even stopped. your brain shuts off when he snakes a hand between your bodies, smoothing over your tummy before his middle and ring fingers quickly find your tortured, little bud. pressing hard, making you writhe with oversensitivity.

he works you over the edge diligently, and embarrassingly fast on your part, taking into account just how long he had edged you for. the sight and sweet noises you make are a dream; a reality he awfully missed, and something no other girl could compete with.

"that's it... easy, sweetheart," he coos softly.

he gives you a moment to come down from your high, softly palming your throbbing cunt to assist in grounding you, but you're barely able to finish catching your breath before he's doing it all over again! resuming flicking at your clit, rubbing you harshly and overstimming you enough to make you fruitlessly jolt and cry out beneath him.

he frowns down at you, damn-near condescending. "again, for me?"

you twitch and moan relentlessly as he gradually coaxes another orgasm from your tuckered body, his cockhead hitting that part deep enough inside you to make you see stars, his hard abdomen pressed against your tummy making the pressure of it all skyrocket tenfold.

the sensation of you finishing around his length once more has him barreling into his own orgasm, and soon fucking his pent up cum deep into your cunt with a few hard thrusts and a grumbled, broken groan right at your temple.

endless praises spill from his lips as everything becomes a blur for you; from the moment he's pulling out of your used cunt—crawling down and giving it and your pretty tits a couple sloppy kisses before briskly redressing himself—to being coddled in bed and squished between his muscular arms and torso.

he holds you so close to him that it makes you wonder why, or even how you could ever turn your back to it. he truly makes you feel like a spoiled doll in this sort of space. a doll with shaky legs, ruined makeup, and half a conscious.

"remind me why we broke up again?" he chimes.

you groan aloud, burying your face somehow further in his chest. "shut up, simon."

he laughs softly, pestering you with even more quick kisses, one after another to the crown of your skull. large hands rubbing up and down your back, moving to knead at your ass and thighs for a short moment. he just loves touching you so much.

“c’mon, pretty girl. let’s go get you cleaned up,” he mutters with an exhale. "how's a hot bath sound?"

you have no time to interject, other than a displeased pout and shake of your head, before you’re being hoisted up on your wobbly legs, then swept up and carried to your restroom when you couldn’t even make it three steps before your knees began to buckle on you.

you’re dizzy, utterly dazed and half asleep as he bathes you. making sure you don’t lift a finger as he works, treating you as nothing less than a princess. your loosened muscles somehow melt even more with his precise touch and strength, and you remember just how much you love being turned utterly numb and dependent on him.

you’re pretty sure you fell asleep the moment you were wrapped in a warm towel, pulled into the strong embrace of his meaty arms, but something he said moments beforehand had stuck with you.

“hey,” he whispered, soapy hand turning you to face him. he leaned in and kissed the area between your brows. “i’ll be better this time.”

“you promise?” you mumbled. your head fell atop your knees, arms wrapped around your legs and keeping them close to your body.

your extended pinky finger made him chuckle a bit, and he quickly looped his own around yours. solidifying his words. “promise.”

[kajibunny]

✶⋆.caught in the act ‼˚.⁺⊹(ren kaji x reader)

✿ summary: this is the first time kaji ever ran out of lollipops. it is also the first time that kaji ever ran out of a room so fast after being caught making out with you. by umemiya and hiragi, no less. so how did you get yourselves into this predicament? ✿ contains: fluff but suggestive, getting caught making out with kaji, making out with kaji (lol), a little bit of crack if you imagine kaji’s reaction ✿ a/n: remember how kaji reacted and went (o_o) when he got caught by ume and hiragi talking with sakura on the rooftop? well, this is that, but make it spicy! lmao ;-; say it with me now: poor kaji! hahaha please accept my apology lollipop~ ✿ wc: 1k

how could kaji be so careless?

it all started with you accompanying your boyfriend, ren kaji, to the furin high rooftop to grab a band-aid from the first aid kit. he got a small cut on his finger from trying to open his sixth lollipop of the day. you held his finger in your hands, as you wrapped it carefully with an adhesive bandage. 

kaji muttered a ‘thanks’ and outstretched his open hand to you, indicating that he was asking you for another lollipop. you were starting to think he was developing an addiction to that damned piece of rounded hard candy. he started depending on you to carry them for him too, since you two were always together anyway. also because you had a bag and sometimes he would lose them when they fell out of his hoodie pockets. 

“this can’t be.” you sighed in frustration, after going through all the pockets of your bag and finding out there were no more lollipops. 

he threw you a puzzled look. “what?” kaji peeked over your bag through your shoulder and realized what you meant. you gave kaji an apologetic look in return. “i’ve run out.” kaji shook his head in disbelief. “how is that even possible?” 

you huffed and crossed your arms. “it’s because you go through them way too fast! you’ve already had six of them today, even cut your finger from opening the wrapper.”

“so now it’s my fault?” kaji paused for a moment, and his narrowed eyes trailed down to your pouty lips, which gave him some sort of idea. kaji leaned in closer to you, a soft blush making its way to your face with the proximity of kaji’s mouth directly in front of yours. 

“i guess this’ll have to do for now.” he sighed as he tilted your chin and moved in for a kiss.

“ren, we could just buy one…” you murmured in between kisses. “no, i need something sweet in my mouth right now.” he stubbornly argued. 

he bit and sucked on your bottom lip as if you were his lollipop, and gripped your jaw to keep your head in place while he continued devouring your mouth, exploring your cavern as you melted into him, kissing him back with fervor and passion, the faint taste of sugar from his previous lollipop still lingering on his lips.

the kisses that you shared with kaji ranged from soft and gentle, to gradually escalating to being incredibly needy and passionate, leaving you breathless and head being filled with only him, like you are now, completely in the moment.

“ren…” you gasped, feeling his hands roaming your thighs, fingers slightly under the hem of your skirt, and at the same time his body is pressed up so closely against yours. you let out a small whimper. “we can’t…” 

“just a little more, i need my sugar fix…” he couldn’t bring himself to stop, and you didn’t have enough self-control to pull him away from you, as kaji’s kisses and touches felt too good, and how could he resist how sweet you looked and tasted? it’s like he was addicted to you, the craving he felt for you was even stronger than his craving for his lollipops. 

you two pulled away for a little bit for air but what kaji saw before him knocked the air right out of his lungs.

standing at a distance was umemiya, his hand covering his mouth after he had let out a tiny gasp. beside him was hiragi, whose jaw dropped to the ground as he fumbled in his pockets frantically looking for his stomach medications.

as bad as it sounded, you two were so focused and entangled in pleasure that it did not even occur that someone could possibly walk in, regardless if this was after school and mostly everyone had went home or gone on patrol. you and kaji pushed each other away like you were on fire. well, your cheeks were, anyway, burning so intensely from the huge blush that formed on it.

“ah, young love.” umemiya gushed. kaji was so frantic, that his eyes widened like saucers. 

“i was going to ask if you could take charge of patrol tomorrow, kaji. but it seems you’re already taking charge of something else…” hiragi cleared his throat and tried to hold back his amusement from the sheer look of shock present on kaji’s face. they both enjoyed teasing kaji, it seems. you were definitely in shock as well, as you bowed your head multiple times in apology to both umemiya and hiragi. 

they both told you it was absolutely fine, and hiragi apologized as well for walking in on both of you too, conking umemiya on the head with his fist for chuckling about how “grown up” kaji was now.

kaji, who had no idea what to say or how to react or how to look anyone in the eye ever again, quickly put on his headphones, grabbed your hand by the wrist and ran off with you, heading off to the convenience store to stock up on lollipops. lesson learned: never run out of them ever again. (although, the real lesson learned should be: don’t get caught making out in public ever again).

ꕤ bonus ꕤ

the two of you decided to head to kaji’s house, an air of tension still looming over both of you from the embarrassment of being caught by umemiya and hiragi. while seated on his bed, kaji looked over at you like he wanted to say something but he stopped himself from doing so. 

you tried to lighten up the vibe with your humor. “by the way, i made sure to lock the door. i don’t think umemiya and hiragi would randomly walk into your bedroom, ren.” you placed your hand on top of his reassuringly. kaji finally looked up and his eyes met yours. deep down, he felt ashamed not just because the two of you got caught, but because the image of you in that state and your blissed out facial expression was supposed to be for kaji's eyes only.

“would…you like to continue from where we left off?” he asked, while you giggled and embraced him tightly. “hmm, where were we?” you grabbed kaji by the collar of his hoodie and pulled him in to give him another round of kisses. 

© kajibunny 2024 / all rights reserved

[redflagshipwriter]

Fast Car Chapter Two (of four)

masterpost

Was this guy for real? Jason nearly decided not to get in out of suspicion. Danny was one of the very few loose ends in his crime yesterday. He sort of figured that eventually Batman would find the driver he’d used to get a duffle bag of heads to the police station. He stalled. It had seemed like an acceptable risk, since he hadn’t shown the guy his face. The only information that the police should have been able to get was where he’d left and that he’d used one of his victim’s phones to call for a ride.

And yet Danny was waiting patiently at the curb for the Red Hood to get in. Wasn’t he scared?

He had been all over the news yesterday. Danny had to know.

‘Either he’s dumb as a box or he is one of the chillest people I’ve ever even heard of.’

Morbid curiosity got him into the car. Danny locked the door as soon as the door was shut– but it was clearly routine. He’d done that yesterday, right. Jason waited a moment before he remembered that Danny wasn’t going to pull out until he had his seatbelt on. He let out a laugh and buckled up. It was pretty cute, actually.

Now that he wasn’t so distracted, maybe he could make small talk. Danny pulled them out into the sparse early morning traffic with an expression of determined focus.

Jason cleared his throat. “You moved to Gotham recently?” he started with. Danny didn’t have the local speaking pattern.

Danny nodded. “For school,” he shared easily. “I’m in the sciences program at Gotham U’s south campus.”

…So he wasn’t the world’s biggest dummy. Jason sat there and contemplated how catastrophically chill a body would have to be to chit chat with a man who had killed like 20 people yesterday that he knew of. Why wasn’t Danny scared? What was his damage? 

‘There’s something really wrong with him,’ Jason thought, with no small bit of admiration. Way too late he commented, “That’s cool, man.”

“Thanks.” Danny seemed unbothered by his long delay in conversation. “You know, I had to go to that same police station this morning.”

Jason tensed. Was Danny making some kind of threat?

“They got a whole shitton of muffins and six quiches delivered,” Danny went on. He appeared to feel no sense of danger in the car.

‘Is he… Did he decide to inform on the police to me?’ Jason’s eye twitched. ‘I already knew that I’d have ruined their whole month but… This is kinda satisfying to hear, actually.’ He made a listening sound to prompt Danny to continue. He couldn't lie; he was intrigued.

“Yeah, they looked like total shit.” Danny was so blithe about it that it became surreal and hilarious. “Exhausted. But that’s not my business.” He crinkled up his nose. “Do you know what they tipped me for that?” He didn’t wait for Jason to go on. “Two dollars.” He made a big gesture with his left hand that took it off the steering wheel despite the fact they were mid turn. “That’s ridiculous! I drove halfway across town, waited for the place to open, carried an absurd amount up those stairs, and for two dollars.” He blew a disrespectful raspberry.

“Fuck the police,” Jason said sympathetically. 

Aight. He saw how it was. He mentally tabulated what was in his wallet and allocated a cool thirty dollars to Danny as a tip. For an informant, that was as cheap as bagged rice. Helluva value. He leaned back in the seat and it squeaked under his weight. “How’s Gotham been treating you?”

“Fine, fine,” Danny said absently. He switched lanes a little too abruptly. “Not that different from home, honestly. I don’t know why people are so dramatic about it.” He floored it to squeak through a yellow light.

Jason had the dawning suspicion that Danny had been on his best driving behavior yesterday. But- “Where is home?” It was more morbid curiosity. He kind of regretted that he was nearly to his stop. 

“Amity Park. Illinois.”

Jason winced. “My condolences.”

Danny laughed, high and sort of eerie now that Jason was really listening to it. It sent an  electric zing up his spine. “That’s what they always say.” He seemed to find it really funny. Way funnier than it should have been.

‘...What are the odds that this guy is one of the weird mutants they make in Amity?’ Jason resisted the urge to ask prying questions. Talia had told him to stay the fuck out of that area so that she didn’t have to rescue him from a government black site. It wasn’t his business and he didn’t have the luxury of the time to go and investigate every cute boy with a nice laugh who wanted to be an informant to the Red Hood.

It was with extreme regret that Jason recognized his stop coming up. He let out a sigh. The voice scramblers in his hood turned it to static. He watched the curb approach with disappointment. Danny made to pull in next to a dark shop. Jason glanced into the windows and caught the reflection of the last person he wanted to see. 

“Batmobile.” He sat up straight, alarmed. It was parked out of sight in an alley. Shit. Shit, of course Batman had tracked back the delivery driver that had brought him to the police building. Fuck. How was he going to get away on foot-

Danny jerked back into the street and hit the pedal to the floor. The engine made a scream of machine fear but holy hell did it accelerate. Jason yelled too and grabbed onto the door handle. He aimed wide eyes at Danny, uncomprehending. 

“Fuck Batman!” Danny yelled out his open window, and they were off.

Holy shit. Holy shit!

The batmobile turned on, the normally silent engine’s purr rearing up to a threatening growl as Bruce veered out onto the street in pursuit.

Danny took them down an alley and Jason sharply readjusted his assessment of Danny’s intelligence. “We can’t fit!” He yelled, trying to pull the brake. If they had to stop in the alley it was all over, Batman would block them off.

Danny slapped his hand away and barreled-

Jason blinked as they raced down the impossibly narrow alleyway. He bit his lip. He looked at the car again, recalculating.

No. No, it definitely didn’t fit. He leaned a little away from the window, extremely uncomfortable. He looked at just the right time to see the passenger mirror collide with a dumpster and slide through undeterred.

Ah. Alright, then. He made a “Fair enough” face and turned around to see that the batmobile was lifting up and doing some weird transformers bullshit to fit down the alleyway. They were gaining ground from Batman. “Sorry I tried to touch the controls,” Jason said, a bit late. He glanced down and realized that his hand stung where Danny had slapped it. He pulled it to his chest and rubbed at it, frowning slightly.

“No worries,” Danny said tersely. He hit the breaks and raked the wheel car to make a fucking pinpoint turn without slowing. Just like that, they were out of Batman’s direct line of sight. A solid inch of the inside of the car overlapped with a folding chair outside someone’s home.

Jason eyed Danny judgmentally.

“Wow, that was a close fit,” Danny said, extremely unconvincing. “We are lucky, huh.” He aimed the car at a wall and somehow ramped up. 

‘I think I might be sick.’

Jason decided that the best thing for him to do right now was to close his eyes and say nothing at all. If Danny wanted plausible deniability for his mutant powers, that was whatever. 

‘How did Batman know where I was going?’ He worked through the problem. ‘Did he hack Danny’s account? If not, someone sold me out.’

Just like that, Jason had a list of people to visit for the day. “D’you think you could drop me off at C street instead?” He felt the uncomfortable swooping sensation in his stomach that indicated they’d made some kind of move that should not exist off of a rollercoaster.

“Yeah, of course, sorry about this.” Danny sounded a little breathless. “Ah- don’t look.” He cackled.

…’He’s dodging Batman for his benefit, not mine,’ the penny dropped. Jason laughed out loud and then leaned forward to hold his head in his hands. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Danny was the perfect man. They drove for a while in silence before Jason managed to collect himself. “No worries,” he said through tears. “Hey, no sweat if it’s no, but can I get your number?”

Danny paused.

Oh, fuck. Jason cringed. “I'll leave mine and you can call me if you ever need me,” he corrected hastily. “No pressure.” He scribbled it on the back of a loose receipt in Danny's cupholder and left it, mortified but also glad he shot his shot.

[fastandcarlos]

Little Interruptions : ̗̀➛ George Russell

summary: it's been a while since you and george got any alone time, however when that time arrives, you forget about the other little additions to your family who are around

You didn’t quite know where to look as George hovered over you, even after so many years together he found a way to make your heart race. Your eyes didn’t quite know where to look as a result of the close proximity between you both, resting your hands against his stomach. 

“How did I ever get so lucky?” George whispered to himself, “it’s been a while since we had a moment, just the two of us.” 

“It’s rare these days,” you chuckled, “fancy making the most of it?” 

You didn’t even need to ask George as he pressed a kiss to your lips. “I couldn’t think of any better way to spend my time. We might have to make it a quick one this time.” 

“You’re not as young as you once were Russell,” you teased, moving your hands to brush through his hair, “you sure you’ll be able to do it?” 

George’s eyebrows raised at your challenge, head shaking that you dared doubt him. “In that case sweetheart, allow me to remind you just why you fell in love with me in the first place.” 

“I’m not complaining,” you grinned, “it’s been a while since you reminded me of that, don’t you think?” 

George continued to scoff as you messed with him, a shrug of your shoulders following. “Trust me, by the time I’ve finished with you, you won’t be walking straight for the rest of the day.” 

“Challenge accepted,” you smirked, stretching upwards so that you could catch George’s lips with your own, teeth gently pulling against his bottom lip, allowing yourself to take control. 

As your lips parted, George briefly sat up and tossed his shirt down onto the floor, allowing you to take a moment to admire the definition in his arms that were either side of you. 

“Would it be the worst thing in the world if we made another baby?” George asked, watching as your head shook, your breath already starting to hitch as he spoke. 

“Let’s do it,” you chuckled, much to George’s delight. 

He took a moment to pull away from you, studying you closely. “It’s been a decade and I still count my lucky stars every day that I have someone like you in my life.” 

George gave himself a moment before kissing your lips one more time, slowly trailing along your neck, your chest, and down to your stomach, stopping just as he got to where your bottoms were. 

“Still just as good,” George spoke, beginning to pull your waistband down. 

Your body wriggled as you went to help George discard your bottoms, only to flinch and quickly pull them up again. Your bedroom door flew open as your daughter ran in. George scrambled back up and laid beside you, brushing his hands through his hair to try and appear composed. 

“Good morning,” she excitedly grinned, rushing around to your side of the bed, jumping up so that she could see you and George. 

You didn’t quite know how to react, your heart racing as you pulled the duvet back over your body, glancing to George with a helpless look in your eyes. 

“Sweetheart, it’s early,” George told her, “you should still be in bed sleeping.” 

Her head shook as she climbed over you to lay in between the two of you, completely unaware of the moment that she had managed to interrupt between you both. 

“I want to go downstairs and play, laying in bed is boring.” 

“Jesus,” George muttered underneath his breath, knowing exactly what he was going to end up doing.  

George sat himself up, hurrying your daughter out of the room, promising to be right down after her as he leant down and picked his shirt back up again. 

Once his shirt was on, George turned to look at you, neither of you quite knowing what to say. It was rare for you to feel awkward around George, but right now, all you wanted was the ground to swallow you up. 

George felt guilty as he looked at the nervous expression on your face, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the top of your head, silently assuring you not to worry. 

“Now I remember why we don’t have sex anymore,” you whispered across to him, “I dread to think what she could’ve walked in on George if she was any later.” 

“Don’t worry, she saw nothing, don’t worry about something like that.” 

Your head nodded, trusting George and knowing that somehow you had managed to react quick enough to save yourselves from scarring your daughter for life. 

“That doesn’t mean that I’m finished with you yet,” he warned you. 

“You’ve got no chance if you think we’re doing anything after that near miss.” 

George huffed at your stubborness, secretly confidently that he would manage to pull your strings and get his own way with you eventually though. 

“I’ll go and put something on the television,” he informed you, “take your time and come and join us whenever you’re ready, I’ll make sure that she’s entertained.” 

You smiled appreciatively across at George, burying your head into your pillow once he closed the door behind himself, wondering where it all went wrong for you both. 

As you got yourself dressed and ready for the day, you couldn’t remember the last time you and George were intimate together.  These days it was like you only recognised yourselves as parents, not the fun loving young adults that you once were. 

Once you were ready, you headed down the stairs to see George laid out on the sofa, your daughter sat on the floor with her eyes fixated on the screen, giggling away at the episode you were sure she had seen several times. You moved to where George was, sitting yourself down in the space that he tapped beside himself, inviting you to lay down next to him with his arm draped around your shoulders. 

“I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable earlier,” George whispered into your ear. 

Your head shook straight away, “you don’t need to be sorry, I just got panicked knowing that she walked in. You’re right though, we shouldn’t do nothing just because she’s around.” 

“We just need to be more careful, that’s it,” George encouraged. 

You hummed in agreement with you, neither of you wanted to lose the passion that you once had, even if your daughter was around. There was still plenty of time available for the two of you, you just needed to try and be better at finding it and making the most of it too. 

“I get that it’s scary, but I was serious earlier when I said about having another one,” George added, “she’s getting older and I’d love for us to complete our family now.” 

“I agree,” you smiled, resting against George’s chest. “We might just have to be a bit more selective about our opportunities to try and make a baby this time around compared to last time.” 

“I’m sure if we spoke to our families too they’d help us out,” George suggested, “I know we’re mum and dad, but they say it takes a village to raise a baby, don’t they?” 

Once again you hummed in agreement, “we’re not going to end up losing ourselves, are we? Not like those couples you see as they get older.” 

“No way, I love you too much anyway to ever be able to stay away from you.” 

“Good, because I love you too.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[safination]

Little Things

|Masterlist|

Pairings: Alastor x Reader Warnings: None! TLDR: There are days when Alastor just doesn't want to be touched, and you totally understand that. You're one your best behavior to not touch Alastor. Surely, with such an attentive partner, no misunderstanding will occur.

My inbox is currently accepting requests. Feel free to ask for some stuff. I'm in a mood to write and create, so lend me your ideas and I'll bring them to words. This is a drabble. It's weird not to make full one-shots tbh, but meh, wasn't in the mood to make this a whole one-shot.

It’s the little things, really.

Alastor sits towards the edge of the bar, his stool nudged just a fraction farther than usual.  Charlie leans forward, eyebrows furrowed as she rants about this and that and this and that.

Tentacles slither out the shadows, wrapping themselves around the legs of Alastor’s stool. No one really notices when the tentacles pull him another fraction farther away.

Or, how just this morning, Alastor took time out of his day to grab a bowl, and carefully place the three eggs Niffty asked for.  The bowl slides across the table instead of being placed into her tiny hands.

See? The little things.

Heh . . .

You deserve a pat on the shoulder, honestly. Because what a considerate partner you are! Alastor didn’t even have to mention the slightest discomfort, yet still, you know he’s in ‘no touch!’ mode.

That’s why, for the entire day, you’ve been supporting Alastor’s ‘No-Touch’ day.

The rest of Hell’s day goes something like this:

Alastor asks you to hand him his coat.

And like the considerate partner that you are, you hand it to him. Although, you do have to bite your cheek to stop yourself from helping him wear the thing.

If it were any other day you would wrap it around his shoulders, and hold the back as he slips it around his arm. Then you would trail your fingers across his lapels to adjust its fit. Maybe, even give his bowtie a slight tug.

But you are a very, very, good partner.

So, your hands are kept to yourself, and the coat is placed on the table with a smile.

The devil seems keen on tempting you, but no, you are not giving in. (If you were in the garden, not even the devil himself could make you eat that apple.)

It’s been quite the productive day, and you definitely deserve an award! Not once have you touched Alastor, not have you stepped a foot into his personal space. It’s been difficult if you were being honest, but oh, well.

Maybe you’ll buy yourself a sweet, little treat for being such a considerate partner to Alastor. He’s quite lucky. Very few are as kind as you are, and even less are as attentive to his needs.

Just like right now.

There’s a gaping space between your bodies. It’s an easy thing to place yourself on the edge of the bed, careful not to roll and wrap your arms around Alastor.

Really, an award is in —

Alastor shoots up the bed, his note turned into the air with a scowl. “I refuse to keep playing this childish game,” he says, huffing at you. “I’ve been waiting all day for you to sort it out, but I’ve had enough.”

“Dearest . . .” You blink at him, pushing yourself up to sit as well. “I . . . What?”

His lips twist, and once more he huffs. It reminds you of a buck. “I would rather that you tell me that you’re upset with me instead of doing these ridiculous little things.”

“Ridiculous?”

“Ridiculous and childish!” Alastor points a finger at you, and there’s this petty voice urging you to chomp it off for such an audacity. “Do not confuse me for a fool, dearest. You’ve been avoiding me all day.”

“Well, of course, I have!” you say. “You’ve been in a mood since the moment you woke up. The cat almost got its tail bitten for rubbing between your legs.”

Alastor stares at you, an incredulous look on his face. “Ridiculous,” he tells you. “You are, absolutely, ridiculous.”

“I think you mean ‘considerate’.”

He flops back down to the bed, then rolls to you like some fucking child. Alastor keeps rolling until you don’t know whose limbs belong to who. His fingers curl around your shirt as he buries his weight deeper into you.

It’s the little things, remember? Like how you reach out to play with the strands of his hair until you’re finally combing through.

“I thought you were in a mood.”

“I am,” Alastor tells you, and deeper and deeper and deeper he goes. “All day I’ve been wanting nothing but this, yet you were so quick to deny me.”

“Don’t your moods usually require personal space?”

Alastor pulls you even closer, until your personal space becomes his as well. “This belongs to me,” he says. “And I don’t appreciate it being taken away from me.”

[daycourtofficial]

Save your tears

Summary: Eris finds his pregnant mate sobbing because of something Lucien did

Author’s note: this is short and fun and silly and goofy, inspired by this fic by @artethyst

Lucien Vanserra considered himself to be a male who was kind and who picked up on the emotional state of those around him.

Which is why he has no idea how you began crying or what to do about it.

Ever since you had written to him a few months ago asking if he could stay in Autumn more frequently during your pregnancy, he had obliged, stopping by to see you at least once a week.

Tears were streaming down your face, and he couldn’t make out a single coherent word from you due to your blubbering. He came to sit next to you, but you put your hands on your belly, scooting further away from him.

Eris strode into the room, taking in the scene before him. You trying to stay as far away from his brother as possible, and his brother trying to get closer to you to console you.

“Lucien, what could you have possibly done to reduce my mate to a sobbing mess?”

Lucien throws his hands around, gesturing wildly, “What I did? Perhaps she’s woken from whatever spell she was under and realized who she was mated to.”

Eris gives his brother a look as he comes to you, grabbing your face gently so you look into his eyes. He takes deep slow breaths, wanting you to do the same. After a moment of deep breathing, your sobs have quieted and he asks, in an incredibly delicate tone, “What’s wrong, fawn?”

“Lucien killed a spider,” you sob out.

Lucien’s eyes widen, “that’s why you’re upset? You asked me to kill it! You were upset over it being here!”

“Yes, and now the spider’s dead and she probably had a whole spider family that is going to starve because you’re a spider murderer,” you reply, having to stop every few words to breathe. “And,” you stress, “her corpse is over there, discarded like she meant nothing.”

Eris kept his lips pressed tightly to keep from laughing at the sheer absurdity of his pregnant mate and his brother as they continued debating the morality of Lucien killing the spider. He watches his brother go to pick up the spider’s body, unlatching a window, and tossing it out before closing the window again, before turning to you, his face asking are you happy now?

You squeak at his callousness and disregard for it, asking, “is that what you shall do with me when I perish?”

Lucien rolls his eyes, “gods I don’t think I’ll be around to witness your death because all of the spiders across the land will kill me in vengeance for their fallen queen.”

Eris sits next to you, pulling you in towards his body, sending waves of love and joy through the bond to soothe you. You curl into him, grasping his shirt to cling onto.

“How could Lucien do such a thing…”

Lucien huffs before stalking off, muttering to himself about how he spends his free time in Autumn for you just to be disrespected for doing what you wanted him to.

You cry in his arms for a while, your sobs turning into hiccups. Eris places a hand on your bump, smoothing his thumb over it, applying a light heat so your babe knows who’s there.

“I think I scared Lucien away,” you finally say, voice shaky.

“Lucien is not so easily shaken. I’ve been trying for centuries to make him hate me, but my attempts are always unsuccessful.”

You smile, your sniffles the only sound for a few moments.

“If you really want Lucien to hate you, have him convicted for the murder of a spider.”

Eris’s eyes crinkle in amusement, “he would have a lot to say about that, I’m sure.”

“There aren’t many topics that he doesn’t have a lot to say on,” you smirk.

Eris stands up, his vest before extending a hand to you. You accept it, and he helps pull you up.

“I think it’d be funny if we told him we’re naming the babe Lulu,” you say, curling underneath Eris’s arm.

“I think he’d be more crushed to find out we aren’t.”

“That’s what’s funny about it.”

“Wicked, wicked female you are,” he croons, leading the two of you through the hall of the Forest House.

[emma-needs-attention]

I don’t shave every day. It’s not that I don’t “need” to; I have very dark, dense facial hair that grows quickly and remains pretty visible after shaving. When I do shave, I don’t try to cover it with makeup (beyond some powder to reduce redness). In most other ways I present very feminine, but I always have fairly obvious facial hair.

And it makes me feel terrible.

I started electrolysis a couple months ago. It’s excruciatingly painful, expensive, and it takes forever. In an hour-long session, my electrologist is able to remove hair in only a small region (about 1 square inch). A few weeks later, much of that hair comes back. I am told that it will take two to three years of regular treatments to remove it entirely. On top of that, I apparently have a condition called Post Inflammatory Hyperpigmentation, which causes the skin in affected areas to darken after treatment. For nearly two months after completing a single pass over my upper lip, my mustache was more visible than it had ever been, despite having significantly less hair.

And it made me feel terrible.

I know this is the best way for me to permanently remove my facial hair, but I just canceled all of my upcoming sessions and at the moment I have no plans to begin again.

If I could pay to have my facial hair instantly and completely removed I would empty my savings account. I am intensely aware of it any time I go out in public. If it makes me so uncomfortable, why do I not do more to hide it?

I feel incredibly privileged for a trans woman. I have a loving, supportive family. I have a well-paying job. I live in a very accepting area. I have never had a single person say anything negative to me about my gender identity, which was certainly not what I was expecting when I came out. It is important to me that I be visibly queer, and in my privileged position I am able to do that without fear. A year ago I didn’t think I would ever transition; now I want people to know that I’m trans.

I am disappointed with myself for wanting to remove my facial hair, for changing my voice. I am determined not to have to do more work than a cis person does. Cis women don’t have to shave their face every day. Cis men don’t have to shave their face every day. Why should I? This is who I am, what my body does. Shouldn’t I be proud of that? Am I not supposed to love myself the way I am?

But by that logic, why am I even transitioning in the first place?

I am doing more work than a cis person does. Cis people don’t transition, and transitioning takes effort. I know that there are cis people, both men and women, who do shave every day. Am I lying to myself? I’m a trans woman; aren’t I supposed to want to get rid of my facial hair? Shouldn’t I be trying harder? Doesn’t this give me dysphoria? Am I pretending not to have dysphoria so I don’t have to put in the effort? Does the fact that I’m not trying harder make me… I don’t know, less trans? Non-binary? Is it ok for me to call myself a trans woman? Am I lying to myself?

As a woman who was a man until thirty, there are things about my body that I must accept, that I won’t be able to change no matter how much money I dump into my transition. I’m tall, I have broad shoulders, I have large hands. No amount of surgery or hormones will change these things.

But there are many things that I can change, and while none of them are requirements for being a woman, they may still be changes that I want to make. Where do I stop? Am I finished transitioning when I’ve done everything that is physically possible? My goal isn’t to “pass,” at least not in the way that word is generally used. In a time when cis women are being assaulted because people think they’re trans—because they don’t “pass” as women—the idea of what it means to pass becomes blurry. Often when we say that we want to pass, what we really mean is that we want to be conventionally beautiful.

I am a woman. Therefore, I look like a woman. My transition goal is to pass as myself. I’ve spent the last year trying to figure out who I am so I can look like her. I don’t care whether people see me and think “that’s a woman.” I want to be able to look in the mirror and think “that’s me.” But it can be extremely difficult to separate your own image of yourself from society’s idea of what you should look like. Am I self-conscious about the size of my body because it doesn’t feel like me, or because I’ve been told that women should be smaller? There are tall cis women, there are broad-shouldered cis women, there are cis women with large hands. Those traits don’t make them less womanly.

For the aspects of my body that I do have control over, I am stuck wondering whether I am changing things to become myself, or changing them because I have internalized that the way I am is wrong. At the moment, facial feminization surgery is something that I think I might like to do. But how do I know that I want to do it for the right reasons? I don’t hate my face, but when I catch a glimpse of myself from certain angles I can’t help but think that it isn’t feminine enough. What I should be asking is if it’s Emma enough, but how can I know that? How do I know who I’m supposed to be?

I feel like I was supposed to be a cis woman, but… why? Who am I to say that I wasn’t supposed to be trans? That I wasn’t supposed to transition at thirty, to have both a male puberty and a female one? Being trans has made me more self-aware, more open-minded, more empathetic. The totality of my experience is what makes me who I am. Maybe there’s a world in which I was assigned female, maybe there’s a world in which I was put on puberty blockers as a kid. But the girl in those worlds isn’t me.

Loving yourself and wanting to change are two feelings that can coexist. I tend to think of body positivity as simply accepting yourself as you are, but it is more nuanced than that. As a trans person, who I am inside is not the same as who I am outside. Which one am I supposed to love? I do love myself, but I also love who I could be. I’m transitioning so that someday they’ll be the same person.

Over the past year I have become both my biggest supporter and my biggest critic. I constantly tell myself how pretty I am, how brave I am, how fucking cool I am (hey, nobody else is saying it and it’s true). This forced positivity has been fantastic for me. I can confidently say that I truly love myself for the first time in my life. But I sometimes feel guilty that I don’t love myself more.

I can’t help but stare at myself in the mirror all the time now. I actually bought a new mirror so I didn’t have to walk as far to do so. I’ve taken more selfies than I did in my entire pre-transition life. After many months on HRT, I finally see myself in my reflection. But my eyes refuse to focus on my stubble. Sometimes I catch myself thinking “I’m going be so beautiful once I get rid of this facial hair,” and it feels like a betrayal. Fuck you Emma, I’m already gorgeous.

[trashmouth-richie]

ad caelum vel ad inferos, tecum sum to heaven or hell, i am with you

the final part [4.6k] geta x reader summary: death, smut, GORE

🥀dulcis ut rosa 🥀dulex 🥀vitiosis + deliciosus 🥀frangere me

s/o to my beta @rxqueenotd , and anyone else i’ve screamed at with over this fic 🤎

Blue skies could never compare to the icy hatred that filled Caracalla’s eyes as he stood above you, flanked by soldiers on either shoulder. “Perhaps the dungeon will help you remember which Emperor you are to be serving? Hm?” 

Blood trickled down your hairline, collecting in a slow drop from your chin onto the dirty floor. The cell was barely wide enough to lay down in. A piss pot stood full in one corner, its odor still more pleasant than the sickly aroma of Caracalla’s breath when he found you waiting for Geta. 

You had been startled seeing him instead of the man you had spent the last many nights crying for. Trying to run you were hit hard and the rest was gone until you woke up here. 

A swift kick to your legs and chest, had you doubling over, the pain boiling hot in your veins. 

“How incompetent do you think I am?” Caracalla spit. “My brother doesn’t move throughout these walls without me knowing. Months! He’s been fucking your mouth raw, spilling his seed down your throat after nights spent in luxury with me!” A giggle bullies out from his lungs, “did you think I hadn’t a clue? An inkling as to why his chamber stood empty at the same moment that you left mine?” 

You haven’t said a word and you refused to, he didn’t deserve an explanation. 

A tear slips down his rouge painted face, “I confided in you, we were soulmates you and I. Geta is nothing! He feels nothing!” 

You shook your head, unable to accept his words. “How did you do it, magae. How did you bewitch my brother to fall for your wickedness?” 

Raising your chin in spiteful defiance, you glared into his disgusting putrid eyes, “You pathetic, sniveling swine— I am no such witch, but I can not wait to witness the carnage Geta will bestow upon you.” 

Caracalla giggles in a high pitched tone, “oh my dear, he will be long dead before that shall ever happen,” he looks around at the moldy holed dungeon, “maybe you can charm the rats while you’re rotting away waiting for your precious Geta.” 

—

Wind and insects scratched at his face as he pushed his horse faster, hooves kicking up sand and rocks in a storm as they raced for Palace Hill. Geta screamed with rage when Acacius told him of your demise, knowing exactly who was behind it. What a fool he was for leaving you unattended. Caracalla must have found out, and maybe he himself was too blind by Cupid’s lust to notice the changes within his own kingdom. 

Tears squeezed from the corners of his eyes as he imagined the perils of danger you were now in— because of him.

His reins slapped sharply against the muscled backside of his horse as he pumped every ounce of strength from the mare to get home- to get back to you.

Whatever Caracalla had done, heads would fucking roll once he got back. That was a promise. 

—

How many days had it been? Four? A week? The dark had made you lose count. 

At times you weren’t sure if your eyes were open or closed, the pitch black was endless, curling around you like smoke and suffocating any happiness you had tried to muster. 

The dungeon was crawling with vermin, caked with disease and body fluids from decades before you had been tossed in here like a rabies riddled dog. Food had stopped coming, water was scarce except for the trickle of fresh springs that siddled down the stone wall. At least you told yourself it was a fresh spring that you were consuming, but more than likely it was tainted water that kept you alive. 

You prayed to the Gods that Geta would come for you. That he wasn’t head first into a war that he agreed to when you pushed him away. You were so stupid for doing so, but you couldn’t help the racking sobs when you pictured how hurt he was… and crying harder yet when realizing, that was the last time. 

Days had passed and you could feel your mind slipping from you. Exhaustion, dehydration settling in had you hallucinating images of the Emperor. It was almost comforting the way your mind was protecting itself, throwing you into an alternate reality of laying in his lavish bed instead of the hard shit-soaked stones. 

You could feel his blunt nails tickling your sides, but in truth it was beetles gnawing on your bare skin. Geta kept you warm and safe in your head, even though it was apparent from the lack of food, proper sunlight, and clean water—that you were falling ill. 

—

It hadn’t been that long since Geta had left, but approaching the Hill had his skin crawling. Dismounting his mare, everything seemed odd. 

It was unusually quiet. The air felt sharp against his skin. Smelled of pungent rot, souring his nose. The wind seemed to howl a song he hadn’t recognized— the sickly tune of a kingdom at war with itself. 

His father had trained them both on how to rule with force, how to command an army, to hold rank and battle to the blood flowing end—their enemies head on a stake. 

Caracalla by himself was juvenile when it came to war tactics, knowing the basics of stationing men on watch, high in the walls on the terraces. Two men for each direction, pointing their noses North, East, South and West. A handful of guards on the entrance. 

If this was a war with any other enemy— Geta would have spent a full sun tracking their movements meticulously. But never had his enemies captured something so dear to him. 

Acacius landed from his own horse beside Geta’s kneeled form, knowing his thoughts before he could even act on them. 

“It’s unwise, my lord…” he said carefully, placing a weathered hand on Geta’s shoulder, “we cannot risk the element of surprise when our emotions are clouding our judgment.”  

Geta’s eyes twitched as he stared ahead at the palace, his mind traveling to where you were being kept, knowing in his heart it was in the deepest part of the palace, the south dungeon.

He breathed raggedly through his nose before he spoke between gritted teeth, “I will paint all of Rome with their innards for what they’ve done, and I will not stop until their bodies are drained of all their blood.” 

Acacius shook is head in worry, clearing his throat, “you’re mind is unclear, you should rest before—”

Adrenaline raced through Geta’s veins as he mounted his mare, “I’m going, with or without your help. What good am I to her waiting for calculated time?” 

Acacius threaded a hand through his salty peppered hair, eyeing his emperor— his friend. His voice was riddled with pain when he spoke, “what good are you to her if you’re dead?” 

Geta pondered this, but his reply was simple, and he said the most truthful thing that has ever passed his lips, “I’ll be the man she makes me want to be.” 

—

“Up! Get up!” 

Caracalla had figured once Geta found out that his precious whore was locked away and starved that he  would be on his way to come and rescue you. He waited day and night for his brother’s return. And finally— there was a spec in the distance. His brother returning in all his glory. 

He skipped down to the dungeon— literally skipping and hopping on one foot in glee as he came down to the depths of the palace to retrieve you for the final act.

A hand clasped harshly in your hair, yanking you from a deep sleep, followed by a taunting giggle.

You had grown weak in your time secluded from light and clean air. Unable to stand on your own properly, Caracalla brought you to your feet like you were a doll, the flame he held showed just how manic and possessed he had become. 

He was like a poisoned animal practically foaming from the mouth with insanity. Biting his lip constantly, chewing and gnawing, infesting it with sores. He wore his best robes, bangles jingling as he brought you closer to his face. 

Jumping back, he lets your body slump against the bars, a hand to his chest, “Yuck— you smell like horeshit! Maybe we should have fed you more, bathed you… I’ve never been very good with keeping pets…” 

Caracalla rubs his chin for a moment, then as if he is brought back from a different time, he claps twice,  “oh well, time to go, your precious Geta is here and it’s time to play!”

You try to fight back feebly, trying to shove his face away from you, your filthy fingernails clutching at his doughy powder coated flesh.

“C’mon!” he pleads like a child, pushing your hands down and bringing a blade to your neck, “you’re going to be the star of the production and you simply can’t miss the show!” 

When sunlight hit your skin it was like you were being burned alive. Your feet scuffed against the stone steps, and you were winded from the climb. Everything was so bright as if you were looking directly into the suns beams. 

Caracalla hissed into your ear, the pungent smell of fruit and fish combining into a stomach twisting aroma as he whispered, “you’ve been such a delight to us here, I will be so upset to see you dead… I’ve been practicing my tears and cries of mourning for when you’re laid to rest with my brother.”

“You won’t be triumphant against him,” you croaked trying to wiggle free from his hold. 

Caracalla giggled before winding back and slapping your cheek, “why do you have to speak such lies? You will die by his hand— squashed like the gnat you’ve become.” 

—

The palace walls roared. 

Thundered like a storm of bees defending their hive. Clashes of swords and weapons gleamed like lightning against a dark sky. Amongst the clouds of dust from the lack of harvest rain, blood splattered the stones like oil paint to a canvas. 

Geta’s revengeful carnage had begun. 

Carnage was colored with maroon and deep sets of rubies in a hilt. Specs of pinkish brain membrane laid out like flower petals at a wedding. 

Carnage was the sound of teeth chipping at the root being ripped away from the gum line, the sheath of a knife embedded into a lung, an abdomen, the muscular thigh of one of Caracalla’s more prominent men. 

Carnage reeked of shit and death. The humble hands of Pluto himself, stretching his claws to welcome home another victim. 

Carnage was Geta, annihilating anyone who stood in his way to get to you. A force built with bared teeth and rippling muscles, sweat dripping from his honey hair. Eyes as black as coal— soulless in every sense of the word. 

The men falling dead by his hands trembled in cowardice when they saw him coming, forgetting how powerful he was with a sword. 

Swords drew silent, the only sound being the pooling fountains now tainted with blood from the dead. Everyone in the palace was either lying deceased or were in hiding, waiting for this hell to end. But Geta had only just begun. 

“Brother!” he shouted, his voice echoing against the marble stone, deep and ragged with exertion. He was standing at his throne then, bodies laying at a heap by his feet, his body covered in their blood, “I know you’re around, Caracalla—answer me!” 

Beyond the pillars behind the tapestries, Caracalla stood with a knife pressed into the meat of your neck, his breath hot against your cheek— a giggle forming in his throat like a child tucked away during a game of hide n seek.

“It’s a shame, Geta,” he announced, his voice ricocheting off the walls, “a fucking shame that you are so soft for this common whore when you’ve had so many, father would be disappointed.” 

Geta’s eyes narrowed, listening for any bit of noise underneath Caracalla’s feet to give him away. He moved on nimble feet, each move more quiet than the next as he waited with trained ears for Caracalla to speak again. 

“What is between you and I, has nothing to do with her— she is merely caught in the middle of our feud— let, her go.” 

Caracalla’s laugh pierced your ear, ringing loudly like a hyena as spit flew from his manic mouth. “She is much more than a simple bystander dear Geta… otherwise you wouldn’t care so proudly.” 

Geta strode towards the direction of his brother’s voice, waiting in the shadows. “You have always been less, why do you think mother and father had me? I was to make up for your shortcomings, so that Septimius Severus would have a decent heir. One who could actually keep the family name in Rome.”

“Enough!” Caracalla screamed, shoving you forward into the clearing, his blade still pressed into your neck, a line of crimson dripping from it, his frantic panicked laugh bubbling behind a shriek, “there will be no heirs for you, brother! I was going to offer her life in place of your crown, let you both be on your merry little way but you just don’t get it do you? I will rule on my own, and you will both be left to rot in the dungeons. Poetic isn’t it?! Two lovers dead by my hand.” 

With the way your head was arched toward the ceiling, you couldn’t see Geta. You could only hear a hitch in his throat at the sight of you. The sodden robes you wore, the filth caked to your skin. 

Geta didn’t move, knowing that Caracalla would be more likely to accidentally cut you deep enough to kill you if he tried to do anything drastic. But the look of you made his stomach curdle like cows milk left in the summer heat.  

The once plump and luscious curves you had were gone. The robes you wore were next to rags. You had been locked away far longer than he had imagined. Possibly weeks before he had even got word of it. If you truly had been with child, there was no tell of it now. Tears stung behind his eyes, but he wouldn’t let them drop.

“Mother should have drowned you in the river like a litter of pups,” he nearly whispered, eyes trained on his brother, “release her or I will slaughter more of your men leaving their poor wives to be widowed.” 

“Now why would I do such a thing? I’m having the time of my life orchestrating this production.” They both moved then circling like the gladiators would in the coliseum, baiting one another to strike first.

Geta’s eyebrows furrowed at Caracalla’s choice of words… production? 

“Must you be so dense? So surface leveled?” Caracalla answered, “Jessaphina, that wart—terrible actress but she did the job, made this concubine believe every word.” Caracalla grinned like a opossum eating a pile of shit, dragging you with him, your hair wrapped tight in his clutch.

Geta’s eyes never leave Caracalla, his movements smooth and languid as he counts his steps, seconds. 

“Pliteus, the guard who told her to meet you at ‘your spot’ another spy, made actor by yours truly, for the Theatre, of course. And all that leaves is you, Geta. You will be the widower, the brute left in tears of sorrow pleading for a whore’s life. Gods!— I shall be famous when this is through!” 

“You’re demented,” you managed against the sharp blade, cutting yourself in the process, “sickenly so.” 

Caracalla wretched his hand twisting your head back with a snap, causing you to yelp, ”I’m an artist you rancid cow! Can’t you see that?! This was all a form of expression— your uneducated brain would never be able to appreciate such a thing— it’s why I put this all into motion!” 

“So what?” Geta spit,  “you were bored? Needed an activity to keep your cogs oiled enough for you to not slit your wrists in the baleneum, again? You’re a child!” 

Caracalla giggled wickedly mad, “People will write about me for the end of time and how I bested Publius Septimius Geta! You will be nothing more than a myth—erased from memory entirely!” 

Geta stopped, his sword pointing toward his brother. The wind didn’t howl, silence fell between them.

“It will be a true honor to breed my empress in a bed of your blood while she wears her crown.” 

With a jerk of his head, Acacius moves, causing the distraction they had planned. The arrow missing Caracalla’s foot purposefully, causing him to lose his balance and hold on your body. You fell to the ground taking advantage of his blundered state, crawling on all fours away from him. 

Just as the swing of Geta’s blade was centimeters from the skin of Caracalla’s neck, it was stopped with his knife, a crude smile licked onto his lips. “I know your moves dearest brother, you forget it was you and I as children playing these games.” 

Caracalla pushes the sword from him and jabs the tip of the knife into Geta’s bicep. Tearing through tendons and muscles with each twist of his hand. 

“War is not a game,“ Geta gritted, tripping Caracalla with a swipe of his foot until he was on his knees before him, “…and it’s time you realize that.” 

A toss of Acacius sword into Geta’s open hand, and he pressed two blades crossed beneath Caracalla’s chin. 

Caracalla’s throat bobbed against the sharp steel, accepting his defeat, “make it swift precious brother, I intend to see father before the sun sleeps.” 

The blades sung as they severed his head from his spine. Blood sprayed and pooled from the limp teetering body of Caracalla, swords clattered to the ground as Geta stumbled to your side, holding you to him in a bone crushing grasp. 

“You’re safe now.” A tear fell onto your head as he cradled your body into his. 

Your body was still weak as you clung to him practically lifeless as he lifted you from the ground. He instructed Acacius on what to do with the mess. Geta carried you to his private bath, stripped you gingerly of your clothes and bathed you with exceptional care. His lips kissing tenderly to every scrape, every bruise. 

He tutted through his teeth and hissed when your tears fell as he gently wiped the dirt and infection from your cuts. His own tears flowing down his cheeks, mumbling how sorry he is how stupid he was for ever leaving. 

When you tried to speak he shushed you quietly, “not now my dulcis rosa,” he soothed as he scrubbed soap into your hair, you lifted a hand to caress his cheek, coaxing a small smile from him.

Geta called to his servants— that weren’t killed—to gather fresh robes and to fix you something warm and easy to eat. 

He dried your skin once you were cleansed. Rubbing oils and ointments into each ache and pain, dressing the wounds in such expertise you wondered if he had done this often, probably to his own scars. 

Up those winding stairs he carried you to his quarters, never wavering, never once adjusting you in his strong arms.

The room was thrown into its usual cozy dark ambience. His bed was made with enormous feathered pillows, a tray next to the bed with a plate of porridge dressed with honey and figs. 

Once Geta had set you gently onto the pillows propping you up so you could eat, he shook his head when you reached for the spoon. 

“Let me,” he commanded quietly, his eyes large and wet. 

More tears slipped past your lashes as he sniffed largely, blowing gently on the bite of food. “When was your last meal?” 

“I’m not sure of what day we are in,” you answered quietly, “or how long I was there… I lost track.” 

Geta bit back a sob as he brought the spoon to your lips, “It shouldn’t have happened, I shouldn’t have left you so vulnerable.” 

“Please,” you practically begged, swallowing the warm sweetened wheat.  He looked broken, his under eyes dark and his eyelid twitching uncontrollably. Weeks the two of you had been separated and you couldn’t bear the thought of him spiraling for what had happened.

“We are together again,” you whispered, “I do not want to live in past mistakes. Caracalla is gone now, we must move forward, no dwelling.” 

“Forgiveness of thyself has never come easily for me,” Geta admitted wiping a dreadful sigh from his face, “but I can only hope you now know that there has never been another for me—I am so deeply in love with you, gnat.” 

You reached for him pulling him into you until the weight of his body melted with yours. Feverish lips tasted the sweat from his neck as you desperately ached for more of it, pressing your own devotions into his skin, your own words of cupid's love.

Geta’s strong arms wrapped around your back, holding you tenderly as if you were glass. pressing a single searing kiss to your collarbone before leaning back, his eyes staring into yours, “In this lifetime and the one that follows, I will forever be yours— ad caelum vel ad inferos, tecum sum.”

“Ad caelum vel ad inferos.” 

—

Caracalla’s room was sealed off. His belongings burned in the coliseum along with his body, as if he were a monster that could only be considered dead by smoldering licks of flame. 

Geta left the fate of the others up to you. He had wanted them dead the next day, hung from a rope by their necks as they swung with the breeze, paraded around behind his team of horses until they’re skin was pulled from their bones. But you… had other plans. 

Animals from other territories were brought in by the shipload, each more vile and vicious as the next. They were hungry, trained to attack at the smell of garments worn by a certain woman with a healing broken nose. 

It was maybe a bit too grotesque, maybe a bit unhinged the way you had Acacius’s best men tie Jessaphina up from her ankles and wrists one to each post in the center of the coliseum.

And maybe it was a bit over-the-top when you personally rubbed greasy fat and cow entrails all over her body to taunt the beasts on even further. 

But Geta only smirked at your own impressive drive for bloodlust when you stood before your throne hollering for the men to open the gates, releasing the hungry scavengers one by one letting them sniff out their meal. 

Geta watched in admiration as your eyes turned dark, black pools taking over your pretty gaze as Jesspahina’s screams rang through the air

You couldn’t get your hands off of him when her body lay ripped to shreds, her bones being tossed around between snarling teeth and sharp black claws. The sand colored in her crimsoned blood. You pulled him from his own throne by the front of his shirt, yanking him into a small private room covered by a drapery for a door.

“My little demonic empress,” Geta growled as he pushed himself further into you, groaning when you whimpered out, your lip bit between your teeth, robes rucked up to your chest, “you just might be more evil than I am, have my ways rubbed off on you?” 

The passion between you two had never dulled. Each day it seemed to grow with fervorous desire. Some days Geta fucked into you until you were too sore to walk. Your bodies were both painted with stains from sucking mouths and marks from gnashing teeth. Each time better than the last. 

You were soaked when Geta knelt before you, his nose pressed into your sex as you circled your hips onto it. He stood and shoved his clothing out of the way, yours already stuffed beneath your chin. and when he slammed his fat cock into you the darkness returned. Two demons fucking at the loss of life and smell of blood in the air. 

“Practically getting off to a hideous murder in front of my mother and the others, my my…” he hissed, wrapping a hand around your throat squeezing until your breath rattled beneath his palm, “you truly were sent to me from the Gods weren’t you?” 

You nodded, moaning when he attached his lips to your neck, pinching your nipple until it purpled. “Nothing makes me happier than seeing the deserved slaughtered.” 

Geta groaned as your clenching pussy gripped him as you came undone, his own release following closely behind, yelling out your name. 

“I have a surprise for you,” he breathed raggedly into your neck, adjusting your robes back into place, sweat pouring from his brow.

Your smile squeaked against his ear, “it is not even my birth date, Geta, you are spoiling me.” 

Leaving the room Geta kisses your palm, “no,” he agrees, “it is not, but am I not allowed to gift my wife with divine luxuries?” 

“You are, but you don’t need to give me anything…” you say, holding your belly with which the healer confirmed that you were indeed with child all along. Something Geta never let you forget that he knew you better than you knew yourself. 

His lips pressed to your cheek, his hand laying delicately on your stomach as you whispered, “you’ve given me enough as it is.” 

He smiled wickedly pulling back to lace your fingers with his own, “come,” he commanded, pulling you back towards the palace. 

—

The great stone table stood bare except for a golden cloth. Acacius proudly stood guard next to it, bowing upon the sight of you. 

“My lady,” he greeted, smiling at the sight of your radiant face, then facing Geta with the same warm smile, “Emperor.” 

“Thank you,” Geta said, rubbing his hands together excitedly, “hope you didn’t have any trouble getting it?” 

Acacius smirked and adjusted his sword on his belt, “not at all, they were quite thrilled to be rid of it.” 

Geta rippled out a laugh from his throat as he stood behind the table, his large hands pressed into it, “I can only imagine… Gnat, my love, are you ready?” 

“As I will ever be,” you said cautiously, stepping up to the table. 

Acacius stood back as Geta pinched a piece of the cloth between his fingers, “presented to you, my undying devotion,” he said sweetly before pulling the cloth revealing your present. 

Anyone else would have ran and screamed, damning him to hell. But you were unlike everyone else, and you saw the beauty in his gift and the meaning behind it. 

Blood had been drained, the smell minimal, and judging by the way the darkness that filled Geta to the brim and now poured into yourself was clouding your eyes, the mad tick of your lips as they perked up in greed: you were pleased. 

“It is exquisite, amor meus,” you smiled wider, getting closer to your present. 

Geta looked at you proudly, his eyes inky and shining. His gnat, his dulcis, his wife, his empress— his tainted heart content for the first time in his life, and it was all thanks to you. “Where shall we put it, the mantle?” 

You picked it up, holding it high to the sky for the Gods to see, “a gift more precious than gold deserves to be seen, for all—don’t you think?” 

Sat on a pedestal, his name engraved on a piece of wood, a large red rose sewn between his lips, was the severed head of Caracalla. 

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[lingerina]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ 𝐁𝓐𝐃 𝐍𝐄𝓦𝐒 ／ julie han

➛ g!p maid julie x fem!reader ➛ 847 words !!! adultery, creampie, squirting, multiple orgasms ➛ you have confronted your husband about checking out the maid, and now you confront the maid. ➛ A/N happy belated new year? lol i’ve been rediscovering some hobbies lately, hence writing has been on the back burner again. but i’ve updated the list of women i write for. if you have seen julie doing that part in ‘nobody knows’, then you’ll understand how i was possessed to write this. those clips have graced my tiktok fyp and ig explore page multiple times. i just had to. 😮‍💨

You couldn’t have been more wrong.

You’ve heard of the stories where a family will hire a young maid or nanny to care for the kids and the house while the parents work. Nannies aren’t needed because you don’t have kids, but you still have pets and a massive house that needs to be cared for. Hence the hiring of a maid who urgently needs some quick cash while she searches for bigger jobs.

Julie Han is a young woman straight out of college.

Straight out of a magazine too.

With the looks of a doll and the charm of a girl next door, Julie can easily have anyone wrapped around her finger.

Your cat, who’s wary of strangers, immediately took a liking to her. Your friends who have come over and met her have asked for her to watch their kids or animals as well. As envious as you are of the attention she gets, you can’t help but be one of the victims of her spell too.

You just can’t be heinous to someone who’s nice and goes the extra mile for your pets.

The stares from your husband that lingers a little too long on her don’t go unnoticed though. It’s hard to decipher Julie’s body language when she catches his gaze but you confront them separately because things will only escalate if you dismiss everything that is deemed small and insignificant. Some people masquerade their intentions well behind a blank or stone cold face, so you can never be too safe.

Your husband denies staring but Julie is more truthful.

Except you had it all wrong.

Julie’s hand is tightly clamped over your mouth, muffling your moans and cries as her cock hits in all the right places. The confrontation has led to you being shoved onto the bed and your flimsy loungewear being torn off by the woman who actually had eyes on you. You can’t risk your husband hearing the maid fucking his wife’s brains out as he’s showering right above her bedroom, but she knows how to wield what she has—a feat that he has yet to achieve. 

The guilt lingers in your chest but your cunt drips for her. The sheets are soaked in your essence, courtesy of her skillful mouth and fingers that wouldn’t stop bringing you to orgasm. The more you try to persuade her to stop, the harder she goes on you.

Because you both know that you don’t want her to stop.

The water cuts off, leaving the residence to be engulfed in silence. The smacks of hips clashing with every fervent thrust is like a pin dropping, causing the tightness in your chest and the pit of your stomach to swell. Your clammy hands clutch at the crumpled sheets beneath you, your walls closing in on her as she fucks you harder. You don’t have the conscience to stop her because god, you want this.

You need this.

She grins, her long hair curtained over your face as she hovers closer to you.

“You think I want your lame husband?,” she snickers.

Your eyes squeeze shut as your back arches.

“You clearly don’t want him either.”

There is no cue given, but her demeaning words bring you to ecstasy. Your eyes roll back when her thumb on your pulsing clit works you into overdrive. Your body spasms beneath her, tremors coursing through your limbs as you gush around her cock, further soiling the sheets. You can vaguely hear your husband calling for you in the kitchen but all you can focus on is Julie’s cock drilling you, and the filthy squelches of your cunt accepting the abuse.

Your heart rate picks up as his voice gets progressively louder but she is clearly unbothered. She has other priorities to fill.

Like you.

She buries her face in your neck. With a whine and a tremble, you shudder as warmth fills you. A shallow thrust pushes her release deeper, reaching depths that can taint and break you—just as she intends to.

You sink back into the mattress with a quiet sigh when she pulls out. Your head feels at the mess that you’ve both caused—figuratively and literally. 

The man that you have sworn your heart and life to is on the other side of the door, never expecting his wife to cheat on him with their maid. You have committed the very act that you swore you would raise hell about, and a part of you feels shameful about the hypocrisy.

On the other hand, Julie is proud of her work. She grins as her cum seeps out of you: a testament to prove that the man is not always wanted.

“You don’t need him,” she taunts as she slides back into you, harder than ever.

Your eyes widen as she raises your legs and folds them over your chest, testing your flexibility.

“This pretty pussy is mine.”

Your mouth falls open after she bottoms out.

“And she clearly agrees.”

Weak. Shameful. Needy. 

You can’t argue with her. You can only accept that you’re terribly wrong.

[simplygojo]

First Time For Everything

Author's Note: Hi my lovess! I hope you guys are enjoying your weekend! I here is my first Choso fic ever!! I hope y'all enjoy this, I included a few of y'alls requests in this one...I hope you all ENJOYYY ILYSM!!

The only Kinktober request I am accepting are from my Kinktober Prompt List, thank you <33

Happy Thanksgiving to my fellow Canadians out there, remember to be thankful and to recognize the land we are on. <3

Pairing: Choso Kamo x f!reader

Kinks: Virginity Loss, Mirror Sex,

Kinktober Requests for Chosos with: Mirror Sex & Virginity Loss

Word Count: 2.3K

Kinktober Taglist: @nanamisrighthand; @simplyyyuji; @megumisdivinedogs; @lovleyredheadfairy

Warnings: 18+ SMUT, MDNI, light spanking, oral (m recieving), virginity loss, aggressive sex, hair pulling, alcohol use.

The night was a blur of neon lights, music pulsing through the dark, and a haze of alcohol coursing through your veins. 

You barely remembered how you ended up here—pressed against the door of your apartment with Choso. His lips were warm and a little clumsy against yours, both of you still wearing the remnants of your Halloween costumes.

You met him at the party, a stranger in the crowd, yet somehow, you’d clicked. 

His long, dark hair tied up in those two messy half-buns, his bloodied vampire costume highlighting the pale smoothness of his skin… 

There was a gentleness to him you hadn’t expected, but now, as you fumbled with the keys to your apartment, there was a tension in the air that couldn’t be ignored.

The door swung open, and you stumbled inside together, lips crashing again in the semi-darkness of the hallway. 

Choso's hands hesitated at first, gripping your waist as if he wasn’t sure where he was allowed to touch. 

You led him, your fingers curling into his hair, tugging him deeper into the kiss.

“Come on,” you breathed against his lips, tugging him toward the bedroom. 

He followed, his breathing ragged, pupils blown wide with need, and the alcohol still buzzing in his system.

Choso’s face was flushed, lips parted, and his eyes—dark and hooded—gazed at you with a mixture of desperation and awe. 

He was out of his depth—that much was obvious, but the way his hands clung to your hips told you he didn’t want to stop.

“Y/n…” His voice was soft, hesitant as his eyes darted from between your boobs and your lips. 

“I-I’ve never done this before…I’m a…a virgin.”

“It’s okay, I’ll show you.” Your hand slipped down, fingers grazing over the bulge in his pants, feeling him twitch beneath your touch. 

His breath hitched, a broken moan escaping his lips as you palmed him through the fabric. His hips bucked against your hand, and his grip on your waist tightened.

You guided him to the edge of the bed, pushing him down gently before straddling his lap. 

His eyes widened, and his hands flew to your thighs, squeezing them as you ground down against him. 

His breathing became more erratic, and you could see the way he struggled to keep his composure, his body trembling beneath you.

"Choso," you whispered, leaning close, "I want to make you feel even better."

He nodded, his lips parting as if to say something, but only a broken moan came out as your fingers worked at his belt with a deliberate slowness.

You watched Choso's face as his breathing became increasingly erratic. His lips were parted, his chest rising and falling rapidly as you freed him from his pants. 

The weight of his cock, now fully exposed and throbbing, had you clenching in anticipation. 

You couldn’t help the way your mouth watered at the sight of him—he was already leaking with precum, his body trembling with need as he gripped your waist tighter, desperate for more.

"Y/n..." Choso’s voice was barely above a whisper, shaky and almost pleading as his fingers flexed against your thighs.

You smiled up at him, running your hand gently over his length, watching as his head fell back, a low moan slipping past his lips. He looked utterly wrecked already, but you wanted to push him further. 

Slowly, you slid off his lap, kneeling in front of him, your hands trailing down his thighs as you positioned yourself between them.

His eyes flew open and his head snapped up as soon as he felt your breath ghost over his tip. A bright pink heat rose to his cheeks, making his cheeks rosy.

"W-wait, I—" Choso’s stuttering words were cut off by a gasp as you wrapped your lips around him, sucking gently. 

His body jolted, one of his hands flying to your hair, fingers tangling in your strands as he instinctively bucked his hips forward.

"Fuck... oh—fuck..." His voice was shaky, his breaths ragged as he watched you through half-lidded eyes, completely mesmerized by the sight of your lips around him.

You took him deeper, your tongue swirling around his tip before hollowing your cheeks and taking as much of him as you could. 

The sounds Choso made were almost pitiful—breathless whimpers and groans, his body shaking with every flick of your tongue, every pull of your mouth.

“Y/n—oh fuck, I-I—” He couldn’t even finish the sentence, his hands gripping your hair as he fought to keep control. 

But you didn’t let up, your head bobbing as you sucked him harder, faster, your eyes flickering up to meet his, watching the way his face contorted in bliss.

Suddenly, a deep, guttural groan escaped him, and Choso’s grip on your hair tightened, his hips thrusting up into your mouth. 

The desperation, the need in his movements—it was as if something had snapped inside him. His breaths turned ragged, and he pulled you back suddenly, his eyes wild with a newfound intensity.

"Get up," he growled, his voice thick with urgency, almost unrecognizable.

You blinked up at him, startled by the shift in his demeanor, but Choso didn’t give you a chance to react. His hands were already on you, pulling you to your feet with a firm grip. 

Before you knew it, he had you lifted off the ground, spinning you around and tossing you onto the bed with a roughness that sent heat pooling between your legs.

The moment you hit the mattress, Choso was on you, his body hovering over yours as he pressed his throbbing cock against your ass, grinding against you with unrestrained need. 

His hands gripped your hips possessively, fingers digging into your skin as he yanked your panties down in one swift motion. 

The raw hunger in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine as he knelt behind you, his gaze dark and predatory as he stared down at your exposed body.

His large hands slid over your ass, giving it a little spank as he leaned down to press his lips against your neck. 

“You have no idea,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin as he kissed and bit at the sensitive flesh there, “how much I need you right now.”

You gasped as his teeth grazed your skin, your head falling forward against the bed. 

His words, that primal edge to his voice, sent sparks of anticipation racing through your body. The feel of him—so hard and needy against your soaked core—was driving you insane, the desperate need in him fueling your own desire.

Without warning, Choso grabbed your hips and yanked them upward, positioning you on your hands and knees. 

You barely had time to brace yourself before he lined himself up and thrust inside you in one brutal motion, filling you completely.

The force of it knocked the breath out of you, a strangled moan tore from your lips as he stretched you, the sheer size of him making you arch your back in response. 

Choso let out a loud moan, filled with desperation as he felt your gummy walls around his cock.

He didn’t give you a moment to adjust, didn’t wait for permission—he was already moving, already fucking into you with a relentless, punishing pace. 

His hips snapped against your ass with a force that made the bed creak beneath you, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

“Fuck,” Choso growled, his grip on your hips tightening as he pounded into you, his cock driving deep with every thrust. 

His breath was ragged, a low, feral groan slipping past his lips as he watched your body rock beneath him. 

"You're so—fucking—tight…"

You cried out, your fingers gripping the sheets as he fucked you harder, his pace brutal and unforgiving. 

Every thrust sent a jolt of pleasure shooting up your spine, your body trembling from the force of it. The nervous, horny boy you met at that Halloween party had snapped, and you weren’t complaining.

Choso’s hand slid up your back, grabbing a fistful of your hair and tugging your head up so that you were forced to look at yourself in the mirror. 

"Watch," he growled, his voice thick with lust as his gaze flickered between your reflection and the way his cock disappeared inside you. 

"Watch me fuck you."

The sight in the mirror—your flushed face, your eyes brimming with tears, your body trembling as he drove into you with brutal intensity, the raw hunger in his eyes as he watched himself claim you—was almost too much to handle. 

“Look at us,” he growled, his voice rough, almost animalistic. He pulled your hair roughly, forcing you to turn your head toward the mirror again, sending a wave of pleasure to your clit.

Your eyes flickered to the reflection, and the sight of him—his dark hair wild, his jaw clenched, the way his muscles tensed as he drove into you—made your head spin. 

He was utterly consumed, fucking you with a ferocity that left you gasping for air.

"Fuck—you’re so tight," he grunted, his voice rough and dripping with desire as he drove into you harder, faster. 

His dark eyes locked onto your reflection in the mirror, the way your body trembled beneath him, completely at his mercy. 

"I can’t—fuck—can’t get enough of you."

His words sent a rush of heat straight to your core, making your body tighten around him even more. 

The way you clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you upright—was pushing you dangerously close to the edge. 

But you needed more.

You reached down, your hand sliding between your legs, seeking that final bit of friction. Choso noticed immediately, his brows furrowing in confusion as he watched you, still thrusting into you with punishing force.

"Here," you gasped, your voice shaky as you grabbed his wrist, guiding his hand to your throbbing clit. 

"Touch me… right there."

The moment his fingers brushed over your swollen clit, a broken moan escaped your lips, your body jolting from the added stimulation. 

Choso’s eyes widened, and his breath hitched as he hesitated for a second, but the second he saw the way your hips bucked in response, the way you clenched around him, he knew what to do.

“Here?” He asked, his voice a low rasp, his fingers starting to rub small, slow circles over your sensitive bud.

You moaned in response, nodding quickly, your body arching into his touch as the pleasure intensified. 

“Yes, fuck—right there, just like that.”

Choso groaned, the feeling of your body responding to his touch sending a jolt of heat through him. 

His pace quickened, both his thrusts and the movements of his fingers, the two sensations combining into an overwhelming rush of pleasure that had you teetering on the brink of release.

“Fuck, y/n…” he panted, his voice tight as his hips snapped forward with brutal force, his fingers circling your clit faster. "You feel so—fucking good. I-I can’t—"

Neither could you. 

The sensation of his cock slamming into you combined with the rough pressure on your clit was pushing you over the edge, your body trembling as your orgasm built to a fever pitch. 

Your breath came in short gasps, your nails digging into the mattress as you felt that familiar coil in your stomach tighten impossibly further.

“I’m—oh god, I’m gonna—” You moaned, your voice breaking as your body tightened, every muscle coiling as your release hovered just out of reach.

“Cum for me, y/n,” Choso growled, his voice deep and commanding as he fucked you harder, his fingers pressing down on your clit with just the right amount of pressure. 

"I want to feel you cum all over me."

That was all it took. 

Your body seized up, the coil in your stomach finally snapping as your orgasm crashed over you in a blinding wave of pleasure. 

You cried out, your body shaking violently as you came, your walls clenching and fluttering around him, squeezing him tightly as the pleasure ripped through you.

Choso groaned loudly, the sensation of your tight, pulsating heat around him pushing him dangerously close to his own release. 

He could feel you squeezing him, milking him for everything he had, and it was driving him wild. 

His thrusts became erratic, his hips slamming into you with desperate force as he chased his own release.

“I’m—I’m gonna cum—fuck—” He gasped, his voice rough and strained as he pounded into you one final time. 

His fingers on your clit didn’t stop, rubbing you through the aftershocks of your orgasm as his cock twitched inside you.

“You’re so good,” you whimpered, “you’re doing so well, Choso.”

He whimpered at your words, his hips jerking up involuntarily to meet your movements as you pressed your ass back into him. 

“I-I can’t—fuck, y/n—I can’t hold it… I’m gonna—”

You rocked harder, your fingers tangling in his hair as you urged him on. 

“It’s okay,” you breathed against his ear, “You can cum inside me.”

That was all it took. 

Choso’s hands gripped your hips so tightly you were sure they’d leave bruises, his body trembling beneath you as he let out a strangled moan. 

His hips snapped up once, twice, and then he was spilling inside of you, his eyes squeezed shut as he lost himself in the sensation.

“Y/n—oh fuck—ah—fuck—”

You held him close as he came, his moans filling the room, his body shaking with the force of it. His breaths came out in ragged gasps, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. 

Even as his release subsided, he kept his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as if he never wanted to let go.

When you finally pulled back to look at him, his face was flushed, lips slightly swollen from all the kissing, and his eyes were wide, filled with a mixture of awe and gratitude.

“Y/n…” he whispered, his voice soft, almost shy now. “That was…”

You smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. 

“You did so well, Choso.”

His lips twitched into a small smile, and he buried his face in your neck, holding you tight as you both came down from the high, the mirror reflecting the quiet intimacy between you.

[cryptidghostgirl]

-Alastor x spouse!gn!reader:

Alastor and his Spouse had been together ever since they were alive and his spouse had always been his right hand in life and death. Just giving a helping hand if Alastor needed it, watching proudly as he became a powerful overlord. But then Alastor disappeared and no one knew where he had gone to, not even his beloved spouse. After a year or so of searching and waiting for their husband to come back, they accepted that he was gone and went on to become an overlord themselves, getting some tips from Rosie here and there. After a while they became isolated, only ever going out to gossip with Rosie or attend meetings with the other overlords. And they were never really a fan of the media or technology either. Only ever listening to their husbands radio, sometimes even joining in. So they weren’t aware of their husbands return, only seeing him for the first time in 7 years at one of the meetings with the other overlords. And they were pissed.

Sorry, that was really long.. my bad :[

Also, no pressure if you don’t want to go write this <3

A/N okay one, don’t apologize. Two, this ask is awesome. Three, I hope what I’ve done with it makes you happy :)

Wrath (Alastor x Overlord!Spouse!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Gn!Reader

Warnings: Tame as heck for the most part, ngl.

Word Count: 1,820

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Y/n had never known life without Alastor. They had grown up together, shared a wild childhood in the back streets of New Orleans. Nothing can ever beat that type of love and so, when they were fifteen and terrified and he asked them on their first date, how could they say no?

One date turned into two and before either really had time to sit back and take stock of their lives, they were twenty and married. Alastor had a budding career as a radio host and Y/n found a simple joy in the life of a house-partner. Things had been happy, they had been good.

The pair had always been inseparable, attached at the hip. That first night Alastor had come home, eyes wide and suit soaked in blood? Y/n had handed him a damp towel. Even their entrance into death had been together, shot by a hunter while burying a body.

It had been a joy to watch him grow and change, to witness the way their husband built a life for them in the world of the living and nothing changed that when they entered Hell. They were his right hand, his everything. That was why it hurt so much when he disappeared one day without a trace.

Alastor had never done that before, not tell them what was going on. He'd been gone for days, weeks at a time on rare occasions, tracking some demon he was intent on killing or the like. This was different. They always talked before hand, he always made sure Y/n was safe and set up with their mutual friend Rosie for their protection. This time, there hadn't even been a note.

In tears, Y/n had wandered their way into Cannibal Town. Rosie's smile had slipped from her face upon welcoming them into the little shop she ran, quickly ushering the demon into the back room. Y/n, while they had been a right hand in their first life and this one, had never been an active part in Alastor's work. Sure, they leant a hand if he needed one, but the occasion he did was rare and most of them helping him was through making sure he had a hot meal to come home to and a loving environment to exist in. They had never had a life without him in it and refused to believe they were entering into one now.

The first weeks were rough. Y/n stayed with Rosie, in the same guest room they always did but, they barley left it. When Rosie suggested they start looking for her lost partner, Y/n had jumped up. It was a shred of hope, something to hold onto.

A year of searching went by. Rosie tried, did everything in her power to keep Y/n happy and hopeful, to keep her safe. Time is the cruelest master of all and not even Rosie could stop the doubt it brought to her friend.

"I can't do this anymore, Rose." Y/n admitted one day as they drank their coffee, "I... He's not coming back."

"You don't know that!" Rosie had insisted, grasping Y/n's hands across the table.

"We've been looking for a year. There hasn't been the slightest bit of evidence. I... I can't do it anymore. I have to move on."

And move on they did. With their husband gone, there were empty shoes to be filled among the overlords of Hell and who better to fill them than Y/n? They worked hard, training. They grew strong and it payed off at last when two and a half years after their husband's disappearance, Y/n managed to take down an overlord, officially indoctrinating them into their ranks.

The more time went on, the more feared of a figure they became. Y/n had hoped it would have been a distraction, carrying on Alastor's legacy. The loneliness ate away at them. He had always been there, and now he was suddenly gone. The more powerful they became, the more they retreated into themselves. They became a rumor, a name whispered behind closed doors.

Y/n still held out a spark of hope that one day, Alastor would return. As they hit the seven year line since his disappearance, that too fizzled out. Things were getting bad in Hell, the last extermination had been the most brutal in history. Just the other day, word had come in that Heaven wasn't even going to wait their normal year before the next one, only a meager six months. Even with Y/n's aversion to all things media, they were only a painful reminder of what they had lost, after all, they managed to hear about it. It was a big deal, and a terrifying one too.

Of course, in response to this, Carmilla had called a meeting. When Carmilla Carmine called a meeting, there wasn't an overlord in all of Hell who wasn't going to show up. It was serious, she meant buisness.

Y/n had dragged themselves out of the place that had become their home over the past seven years. One of the first things they had taught themselves how to do was to travel through shadows, the way their husband had. With a snap of their fingers, the shadows took them, spitting them back out in the waiting room of Carmilla's offices.

Looking around, Y/n caught sight of Rosie and approached their oldest friend.

"Hey, Rose." they hummed placidly.

"Oh! Y/n! What a pleasure to see you here." she smiled back, turning to face them, "I half expected you wouldn't show."

"You know me." Y/n shrugged, "I come when it's important."

"I'm worried about you." Rosie admitted after a moment, her smile faltering slightly, "You've been spotted out and about less and less."

"I'm fine, I promise." Y/n weakly reassured, "I'm drinking water and touching grass or whatever. I just... socializing isn't super my thing anymore."

"Yes but, you're putting a target on your back doing that." Rosie insisted, "People are going to start wondering, start questioning your power and authority. You should at least go rough someone up, or start a business! Establish your presence."

"Don't worry, Rose." Y/n smiled, their mouth full of razor sharp fangs, "Let 'em come. I can take care of myself now."

"That you can." she relented.

Y/n turned, surveying the room which held a handful of Hell's other top overlords. They recognized a couple, but there were a few they didn't know. They let out a sigh, eyes turning to the elevator doors as they slid open to reveal Zestial.

Y/n raised their hand, intending to wave a greeting to the oldest and most respected of their group as he entered the room, but froze. Their hand at chest level, their eyes went wide as they caught sight of a familiar shock of red hair.

"Fucking... Al?" they whispered, their arm falling to their side as they took half a step forward.

"What did you say?" Rosie asked.

It sounded like her voice was coming from somewhere underwater, the world was spinning.

"What's the matter?" Rosie asked, following the path of Y/n's gaze.

As her eyes landed on Alastor, standing clear as day at the other end of the room and casually conversing with Zestial, she gasped lightly.

"Oh my."

"I'll be back in a second, Rose." Y/n hissed through clenched teeth, their hands balled into tight fists.

With fluid, silent footfalls, they stormed across the room and came to a stop beside Alastor. The room fell silent at the sight. They all knew of the pair's story, had heard from Rosie about how long and how hard Y/n had searched for their husband. Hearing the silence, Alastor turned, his eyes locking with Y/n's.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, placing a hand gently on the top of their head, "How have you been, darling? Zestial was just telling me about what great strides you-"

Y/n harshly took his hand from their head, the strength with which they held his wrist cutting Alastor off. They took a step forward, now just an inch away from Alastor as they glared up at him. Fury coursed through their veins as he watched them in mild confusion.

"Seven years." Y/n scoffed.

Alastor made no reply, simply continuing to watch his spouse as they practically frothed at the mouth.

"Seven fucking years." they repeated, releasing the grip on his wrist.

"I'm here now."

The slap echoed through the silence like the crack of a whip. Alastor stumbled back to slightest bit, his hand raised to his cheek.

"You..." Y/n took a deep breath, trying to calm themselves, "Al, where the fuck were you? How... how long have you been back?"

"A few days." he admitted.

Y/n's eyes widened as they processed the information.

"A... a few days?" they scoffed, "A few days? You know what? You didn't tell me when you left, why should I have expected you'd tell me you were back."

Y/n turned away from him, rubbing their forehead in irritation. Alastor hesitated before taking a step forward, placing a hand gently on their shoulder.

"Lov-"

"What?" Y/n spat, spinning back around to face him.

Their teeth were sharp, elongated and dripping. Tears welled in their eyes. Alastor's breath caught in his chest.

"Fucking what?!"

"Please, let me make it up to you." his voice was soft and gentle, the same one he used when they were alone together.

"I..." Y/n took another deep breath, "I don't know if you can."

Tears were streaming down their cheeks now, falling thick and fast. Their body glitched, half transformed into their full demon state and half staying as their more human public face. It pained him to see. If he had had any other choice, he would have done something different. He had never wanted to hurt them. Alastor reached out, grabbing their hands in his.

"Please, let me try."

"Why should I!" Y/n screamed back at him, pulling their hands out of his reach, "Seven years! Seven fucking years! You promised me. You promised me we'd stick together."

The grief seemed to be winning in its battle over the anger as the glitches slowed. Their teeth shrunk back to normal and their voice faded, becoming softer, weaker.

"I'll explain everything just please, please give me a chance."

Y/n sighed. Lifting their hands to their face, they pressed their palms into their eyes. They stood like that for a moment, unmoving and silent. Alastor waited, tense with anticipation. At last, they looked up at him once again, their arms falling loosely to their sides.

"Fine." they sharply stated and Alastor's smile grew, "After the meeting. You get as much time as it takes me to drink a cup of coffee. Deal?"

"Deal."

----

A/N ngl I wasn't super sure how to end this fic but I really like it and this was such a fun request to write. I love and angry reader.

[heartless-tate]

High lady. | High Lord Eris X F reader

Summary: You used to love Eris- and now that’s all in the past. Or you at least that’s what you think. Until you receive an invitation to a dance from the high lord- Eris.

A/N: Hellooo my fireflies! I’ve been thirsting for Eris these past few weeks so why not write for him? I can’t believe I ever didn’t like this man 😫. Also for my male readers out there, if you’d like me to rewrite this or any of my other fics with a male reader, just ask! 💕

3k words

warnings: cussing, allusions to sex, use of y/n, slight angst, she/her pronouns

There were no words to describe your shock at seeing the royal invite to the ball. You weren’t high fae. You were a simple, low class librarian. Your name was written in beautiful, classy cursive. A handwriting you recognized immediately. This was handwritten by Eris. Eris Vanserra. Memories flooded your mind.

Running through the gardens, dogs barking behind you playfully. You didn’t have time to react before a body landed on you. Eris. He tackled you to the dirt, his hand was cradling your head to prevent it banging against the floor as he straddled your back. His hounds crowded the two of you, stomping and making noises with excitement.

“Got you little fox!” Eris announced, hugging you from behind.

“Not fair! You said you’d give me a head start.” You pouted. Eris’s laughter filled the air, creating a warm atmosphere. His arms wrapped around your middle and he pulled you into a hug. His embrace was warm and comforting in the cool autumn air.

Cauldron. That was so long ago. Eris was older by you than a long shot, but at that time, you were young. Nineteen years old. Young and innocent. He was also slightly more innocent then, playing with you and entertaining your young soul. Your face flushed a slight shade of pink, and you shook your head. You remember your crush on him. How could you not have one though? Everyone warned you. And you didn’t listen. He was everything a girl at that age would’ve wanted. Beautiful, handsome, smart, experienced, and a prince.

It was only when you discovered Eris was to be betrothed to some high fae daughter in his father’s court, did your little world come crashing down with reality. You were a peasant compared to him. And he likely saw you as nothing but entertainment. So you distanced yourself. You stopped accepting his invites to dinner with his family, you didn’t go out with him anymore. Of course, you couldn’t bear to completely cut him off. So you still would accept his occasional invite to walk with him in the forests with his hounds. He always told you they missed you. Now days, the walks were somewhat awkward. They happened every few months.

The last one was 6 months ago. You always thought you were doing better, you worked at a library, and cared for precious books. You lived in a relatively small apartment, but it was okay. You were grateful, you had a roof on your head and food on your plate. Things had changed since your last walk with him.

Beron was dead. On Eris’s wedding night, before the marriage had been officiated he had dueled Beron to a battle of death. Hundreds at the wedding had witnessed as Eris brutally slayed his father, and placed the crown on his head. Declaring himself as high lord. He released himself of the marriage, and granted his fiancé permission to marry her true lover. When the news escaped to the streets and you heard, you couldn’t help but be nervous. You realized, Eris would be to busy with his court to come on walks with you anymore. And that made you realize that your feelings weren’t gone. You had never gotten over him.

Tonight was a royal ball. You remembered Eris had always begged his father to let you attend the dances and balls, but Beron always refused. Saying trash like you should never be seen with royalty. Eris, stayed by your side though. He’d sneak from the dances and find you, and would dance in the silent night with you. And you had no idea why Eris was inviting you to this ball. Was it pity? Did he want you to experience something nice once in your life? What would you even wear? You certainly didn’t have royal attire.

You ripped open the letter with your nails, admiring the wax seal of a little fox on it. You opened it to a small card inside. Eris’s handwriting.

Little fox,

I’d be honored for you to attend the royal autumn ball tonight with me. A carriage will wait for you at your apartment at noon. Don’t neglect my dogs of your attention any longer.

Love, Eris.

You giggled. You felt like a school girl. You could feel the heat on your face. You admired his familiar handwriting. It was neat and lovely in every sense. A dried viola fell into your lap when you opened the card further. Memories of him teaching you cursive in the gardens made you smile. You stood, grasping the flower, and pulled out the small box you kept of every letter he had ever sent you. Whenever Beron would try to restrict him from seeing you, it didn’t stop him from convincing his maids or servants to get his letters to you. You hadn’t received a letter since his last request to walk with you. The box was filled with the dried flowers he’d always sent with them.

How could you go? What would you wear? You approached your closet. And then you remembered something.

“Eris- I can’t wear this. This is too- too, royal.” You squeaked, admiring the beautiful dress he had just gifted you.

“Wear it. It matches the suit my father made me wear. Let’s dance, little fox.” He purred, pushing hair out of your face. Once the dress was on, he pulled you close to him in the empty streets on the Autumn Court and guided you in a slow dance, uncaring of the lack of music. Or the fact he was missing a royal ball.

You didn’t waste time in finding the box tucked away safely under your bed, and pulling it out. You opened the box, staring at the gorgeous forgotten dress. You had only worn it the last night he had danced with you.

This would work. Looks like all the dances you learned from books would pay off tonight.

Music from the orchestra blasted loudly. You entered the throne room, slightly late. But nobody cared. You were fashionably late- you had to find a mask. It was a masquerade after all. And Eris’s letter was a little bit close to time so, nobody could blame you. People danced in sync all over the room, dresses of different colors swaying. It was so fascinating. You couldn’t help but be mesmerized. Sure, most of these people were stuck up cunts, but they were beautiful, and they knew it too. You walked down the the grand stair case, eyes greedily taking in everything.

And then they caught on him. He sat on the throne, auburn hair messy as if he had ran his hands through it more then once tonight. The crown on his head was slightly crooked, giving him an uncaring look as high fae of all kinds greeted him. His mask was the color of burning fire, gold lace trimming it. He seemed bored, uninterested in this whole party. And he looked every bit of the High Lord you knew he would be.

You didn’t have the guts to greet him. You couldn’t. He had invited you out of perhaps pity. There were clear boundaries you were sure of. And you knew approaching the high lord as a peasant would break every single one of those boundaries. You could already see high fae turning their noses up at you as you walked by.

You approached the giant banquet table, observing the various foods. They were all favorites of yours. Maybe you just had a fancy food taste. You grabbed a glass of fae wine off of a servant’s tray, happy to indulge yourself in high quality wine that you didn’t have to pay for. You decided to eat after you danced.

You turned to face the dance floor. You watched the first waltz come to an ends, couples departing to find new partners. You swirled your wine in your glass, smelled it and then took a taste. It was glorious. Aged, and woodsy. You figured the bottle was easily in the three hundreds. Who cared? You didn’t have to pay for it. You snickered to yourself.

“Dance with me?” A coy voice purred beside you.

You turned, seeing a gentle around your age. High fae. And he was still asking to dance. Odd. His mask was black with silver lace. He wore a simple black tux. His hair was a dark brown, slicked with gel. He had a warm smile. He was handsome. You took his outstretched hand.

“Why not?” You replied, setting your wine glass down on a servant’s tray. The male smirked with arrogance, and swooped you to the dance floor. Music begun, and he started the dance.

“I’m Silas.” He murmured, twirling you. You nodded, having no problem in keeping up with the complex strides of this particular dance.

“Y/n” You responded. His eyes glinted.

“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl like you.” Silas said. He started to move faster, as if seeing how well you could keep up. And you did. Having no trouble at all.

You smiled warmly. This man was nice. You could see yourself with him. But it felt like something was missing. Like a hole in your heart.

“Thank you, Silas.” You purred back, starting to lead the dance. You guided it into a more complex rhythm, going along with the music, but ultimately making it more difficult. You giggled when he tripped over his own foot but caught himself. He glared at you.

“You dance awfully good for a commoner.” He huffed out, twirling you again.

“Having trouble keeping up?” You taunted playfully, not caring of his snarky remark. He was embarrassed. You could tell by how his eyes were roaming the people that had take to watch the both of you dance, interested in seeing how long you could rule the dance floor, he was embarrassed. Your eyes roamed the people. You could feel a familiar sense of someone watching. Your eyes found Eris. He was no longer listening to the fae beside him. His amber eyes bored into you. When you caught eye contact, he smirked. His legs spread as he leaned further into his throne. His eyebrow was cocked, his long talons tapping against the throne.

Cauldron. You had forgot how breathtakingly gorgeous he was. And sexy. You felt your face flush.

A snarl distracted you from him. Silas’s hands clutched your hips.

“Do not mock me.” He growled quietly in your ear. The music’s rhythm went faster, and the dance along with it. The curious fae quickly started dancing again, embarrassed at how they were so mesmerized by a commoner.

You went to take another step, but Silas went crashing to the floor. You watched in shock as he slid on the floor, his eyes wide with fury and embarrassment. His face heated with embarrassment. He looked up at you mouth open as if he was about to blame you, but his eyes caught on something behind you. Or rather, someone.

You turned slowly to see the high lord standing in his full glory behind you. His sharp cunning eyes squinted and mouth pulled into a smirk. He observed the male on the floor before looking at the people around you both. Then his eyes landed on you. You were awestruck by him for a minute- before you realized he was royalty. You started to bow but an invisible force stopped you. Your eyes narrowed in confusion before Eris bowed in front of you.

The High Lord just bowed in front of you. You. A peasant. Before you could say anything he lifted his hand to you.

“Grant me the pleasure of a dance?” He said, loud and clear. Gods you missed his voice. Yours ears picked up multiple gasps of shock. You heard a start of a growl before seeing Eris’s eyes glare into Silas behind you. You heard Silas scrambling away, knowing his place. Eris’s eyes turned back to you. He stayed in a bowed down position, hand waiting for yours. You swallows your shock. So be it. This very much may be the last dance you and him share, and you would take it.

Eris smiled softly when he felt the familiar embrace of your hand on his. His hand wrapped around yours, completely swallowing it. You hadn’t even realized the music had stopped until now. He motioned with his free hand for it to begin again. Fae around you scampered to start dancing, but all of their eyes were on you. On him. And his eyes were on you. And that’s all that mattered.

His free hand moved to your hip, grasping it gently with respect. He slowly moved to start the dance, holding you close. You didn’t know what to say or do other than to follow his lead. You didn’t even realize your mouth was gaping open.

“Little fox, you look like a fish gasping for air.” Eris teased in your ear, and you quickly shut your mouth.

“Sorry-“

“Don’t apologize. You never have to apologize to me.” He replied, smoothly. Gods. It was as if you were 19 again and you were dancing in the empty village with him. His long nails drew circles on your hip as you slowly started ti advance in the pace of the music. He kept up with ease, and you the same.

“Your hounds miss you.” Eris murmured, leaning his head down enough to kiss your forehead. It took every ounce of self control to not accidentally trip in shock.

“My hounds? They’re not mine. They’re yours!“ You started.

“Yes, they are, little fox. You helped me save and raise Sadie’s pups. If it wasn’t for you most of them would’ve died during birth. They are every bit of yours as they are mine.” He responded, pulling you closer. You knew better then to continue this fight with him. He was stubborn. And you knew if you tried to refuse again you’d probably have a pack of hounds at your apartment door tomorrow- out of spite.

“Whatever.” You grumbled defeatedly, shaking your head. He chuckled. His laugh was deeper now. You could smell the envy of other women around you. You wondered if they knew there wasn’t anything to be jealous of.

“So..how’s being High Lord?” You asked, unsure of what to talk about now. Eris frowned with a playful pout.

“Lonely. I’m sure the hounds would agree too. But don’t worry about that. That’ll change very, very soon.”

You weren’t quite sure what Eris was getting on to now. He always spoke in riddles. You sighed. Before you could re-question him, he started talking again.

“How has my little fox been?” Eris divulged.

You blushed. He had always had a knack for that dumb nickname. You were glad people couldn’t hear your conversation. The current dance came to an end and Eris wasted no time in pulling you into another. He knew you would have no problems keeping up.

“I’ve been good.” You responded. You looked up at him. He had gotten taller. And bigger. Maybe it was the high lord magic that transferred to him after Beron died or something. You weren’t sure. But he towered over you, creating a comical size difference. He gave you a toothy playful smile. He was always so carefree around you. You loved it. You loved him.

“You look lovely in that dress.”

“You bought it.” You quipped back at him.

“I have such good taste don't I?” He countered.

You couldn’t help but giggled looking away. The music slowed and you knew this was coming to an end. And gods you didn’t want it to end. His eyes softened as if he too was thinking the same. He grasped you tighter, pulling you closer, your bodies left no space between each others. He leaned down and inhaled your scent.

“Gods. I missed you. I missed your scent. The way you laugh. Talking with you- I missed it all.” Eris started. He held you tighter when you tried to pull away, confused.

“Don’t move away. Let me enjoy this Y/n.” He whispered, head going to the crook of your neck as he slowed the dance, moving with rhythm to the orchestra’s music. You realized how desperate and clingy his hood on you seemed now. As if he had missed you as much as you missed him.

Fuck boundaries. You couldn’t care if you were a peasant compared to him right now. You let your inner thoughts win as you tightly clutched at him. You didn’t wanna let go of him. You let your head lean against his chest, relaxing into the calm and slow dance. You knew fae were gawking at you both. And neither of you cared. Eris seemed shocked at your return of his embrace. The music slowed to a stop, and so did you both in the middle of the floor. Eris gently pulled away, staring at you with such adoring eyes. A sharp contrast to who he was in front of these people. His eyes found their way to your lips. He looked back up at you, a pleading look on his face. You understood what he wanted.

His hand clutched at the back of your head as your lips met. His were soft. It was the most gentle and loving kiss. You couldn’t give a flying fuck about the jealous and envious fae. Not just women. Both males and females snickering in jealousy. Eris pulled away, eyes soft. He took in the sight of you.

He didn’t waste time in pulling you in for a second kiss. This one wasn’t gentle. It was hot. Aggressive. He kissed you as if there was a fire in his bones and you were the only thing that could sooth it. His teeth gently nipped and sucked on your bottom lip. You returned it. His hand clutched at the back of your head, talons tangled in your hair. His other one clutched at your hip and roamed to your lower back. Your hands clutched at the front of his dress shirt. When you pulled away gasping for air, Eris had the biggest smile on his face. His eyes roamed your face again. You lips were swollen and pink from him. You were panting and looking at him as if he was everything. And he returned the same look. He tucked a strand of loose hair behind your ear before cupping your jaw.

“Don’t make me miss you anymore. Stay with me. I’ll give you everything you could dream of. You can be my high lady. Anything- anything you want.” He begged, eyes pleading. You knew he wasn’t lying.

“Eris..”

Eris swear his heart stopped with the way you said his name. He’s positive he would die right here on this floor at your knees if you rejected him. You were all he ever wanted.

“You’re everything I could dream of.” You whispered to him. Eris took in a gasp of air, not realizing he had been holding it. Relief flooding his body. And then pure love. He grabbed your hand before you could say anything and guided you up the stairs the the throne. He turned, facing the crowd with you. His hand placed on your lower back.

The whole crowd of fae stared in confusion and shock. No idea of what was about to happen.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” Eris barked. “Show some respect to your high lady.”

His voice boomed across the room, gasps eliciting from the crowd. And then, they all bowed. You stood in front of the throne, watching as they all bowed to their knees. The scent of fear and confusion flooded from the fae.

Eris smirked before turning around back to you. He knew that despite your anxieties, you were made for this. Just your presence demanded attention from others. He knew you were his. His eyes shined with pure male pride as he removed the autumn court crown from his head, and gently placed it on yours. You watched as he bowed down on his knee, paying respect to you. His queen. You relaxed. Hundreds of high fae all bowed down to you. Your man bowed down to you. You tipped your head up with a smirk.

Eris grasped your hand and kissed your ring finger with a possessive glare at it. As if promising himself it would soon have a ring around it. He stood, and walked you to the throne. He held your hand as you sat down on it, crossing your legs. He stood beside you, eyes peering to the fae. He looked to you. Gods you were gorgeous. He couldn’t help the possessiveness in him that filled to the brim at seeing you where you finally belonged. He had waited so long to be able to do this.

“The masquerade is over. Get out.” He growled to the people, his eyes never leaving you. He didn’t bother turning around to ensure the people left. He could hear them rushing to get out.

He was gonna fuck you on your rightful throne.

[timmydraker]

Bruce had never been to The Eclipse before.

The club was similar to that of a gentleman’s club from the starting years of America, filled with dozens of tables all curved and ready for a game or feast. The three floors of the place each had a game room, a bar and a section for private rooms for the more seedy type of talks to be had.

It was one of the few non-criminal funded place in Gotham that was still rich. Deals definitely went down, but it was more fitting for gossip that anything else.

Often people went there for catch ups in a refined setting.

Bruce was there for a catch up, or more accurately, a reuniting with his son.

Tim had sent Bruce a time, date and location and said he was only going to meet with him and no one else. Considering Bruce hadn’t seen his beloved son in nearly four years, including his time in the time stream, he accepted without argument.

Tim said he would look different but that if Bruce was as good of a detective as he says, it wouldn’t be a problem.

Bruce had no idea what his son meant until a woman let him inside and told him that ‘Drake had asked you to find him yourself’ with a confused bend in her eyebrows.

It took him a little longer than he’d be happy to admit, although still less than forty seconds, to find his son.

Or maybe that was the wrong word now, if the regal young woman staring at her drink was anything to go by.

Like something out of a vintage movie, the woman had curled black hair and dark red lipsticks. Her dark eyeshadow matched her sweetheart collar dress, black with thick straps and tight enough that each breath was visible.

The gloves on her hand were long and black, one putting a stark contrast to the pink coloured cigarette lit in her hand.

Everything about her screamed old money.

Bruce only knew it was Tim because of the sweet blue eyes and shape of his jaw, though there was also some kind of… paternal instinct in play.

Tim only looked up when he put a hand on the rounded couch, Jim’s tearing nervously down at his distinguished looking child.

It was when she smiled, a real thing that was just highlighted by her dark red lips, that Bruce knew he wasn’t mistaken.

“Hi Bruce.”

A lighter voice, not soft so much as smooth, and nothing like the more monotone sound he was used to.

“Ti-… hi.”

She smiles and gestures for him to sit before taking a final drag of her smoke and putting it out.

Bruce stares at for just a second before looking at his child. Despite the shock of the obvious changes, he notices something far more important, “You look healthy.”

Well fed, clean, nourished.

Like she’s gotten sleep.

“I am. I’ve done a lot of work on myself and it’s paid off.”

Bruce smiles, genuine and almost a little painful, “I can see that. What… what do I call you?”

“Charlotte. Charlotte Jackson Drake.”

“A beautiful name.”

Charlotte smiles before a serious look comes over her face, “Bruce. I haven’t just changed my lifestyle and body, I’ve changed how I look at the world and I’ve come to understand a lot more in my life now.”

Never has Bruce been so attentive, ears feeling on fire as he does his best to focus on every word spoken to him.

“The main thing I’ve come to understand is you.”

Bruce doesn’t move, scared to make his daughter stop talking to him and so he just does his best to show he’s listening.

Charlotte continues, “I get why you brought all of us in. It wasn’t just to protect us from the world, but from ourselves. I can see now that you are only crazy because you’ve been given the impossible challenge of being a necessity in Gotham and the worlds survival and sanity. It doesn’t change that you’ve made mistakes and fucked up, but I get why now. You didn’t want us to apart of Batman, but we forced you, me most of all.”

Bruce is more than stunned by the honesty and understanding in Charlotte’s words, but the fact that he himself only figured that out after loosing Jason.

She smiles at him like she could read his mind, “It took me a long time and I still have anger towards you, yet I want you in my life all the same.”

A gloved hand comes to hold onto his own, delicate and gentle in a way that reminds him of his mother all those years ago.

Charlottes smiles is far too sad to be hers though, “I’m not the boy you once knew, not just because of the woman I want to be now. I don’t want to help you, to save you and parent you, I want to know you. As my father. If-if you’ll allow it?”

Bruce has cried in public before, several times in fact, but normally it’s to play up his over emotional persona.

This time it’s pure relief.

“Of course. Anything you want, at any pace you want, I- what ever you need.”

Charlotte smiles and squeezes his hand, “Thank you.”

Bruce eventually huffs a laugh and wipes his eyes, “god, you really are good at catching me off guard.”

She laughs, a honey like noise that makes him realises he’s never heard Tim smile and that maybe his daughter could only do that once she be same ‘her’.

The two order drinks and Bruce is given the tale of how Charlotte came to be, of how sometimes she misses being Tim but never wants to go back. He learns that she chose her name based on what she would ah e been if she was born a girl so she wouldn’t feel like she was betraying her parents.

Bruce learns that she is still a hero, operating as Red Robin, but that she focuses on prolonged crimes like trafficking rings and makes sure to take them down in on go instead of busting a few and giving the rest a chance to escape.

He’s not so happy to hear that she isn’t ready to talk to the others and that she only really talks to Cass and Duke as both of them have always been on her side and are truely her siblings.

Yet he respects it, if only to keep her close and show her the love he failed to give.

Respecting his daughter’s privacy, he doesn’t tell his other kids anything about what happened and acts ignorant when there’s a few articles about the mysterious Charlotte Drake and her distant relation to the private Tim Drake.

He meets with his little girl, his Lottie, once a week at The Eclipse and talks with her about their businesses both in the literal sense and more broadly.

He meets Bernard and can’t quite see what it is about the strange boy that makes his daughter so happy, but all he needs is to see her big smile and know it doesn’t matter.

That and the several background checks he did.

[jar0fhoney]

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3 (NSFW) / PART 4 /

PART 5 (NSFW)

“What was he talking about? With you and your mother? And the Farm?”

You didn't like talking about it. You had been perfectly content with avoiding that reality until either your mind or your body gave out. Unfortunately, you had a primal will to live like all humans do. Despite how bad you wanted to, giving up was never going to be an option.

"Dad left us two years ago. There was something wrong with him. Now it's just me and mom and it's getting harder for her to work the fields and if we aren't prepared for winter Milo is gonna let us starve or freeze which ever gets us first and I'm having that dream about dad again and- and- URGH!"

You couldn't stop the word vomit flowing from your mouth. Your rant stumbled into an animalistic growl. You just wanted to run and never stop. Run until your feet wore down to the bone.

He kept glancing down at the red marks on your neck, and then back up at you with his big brown doe eyes. Gods, he was so pretty. “May I?” He walked over to you slowly, and you tilted your neck to give him a view. You felt your heart skip a beat when he brought his hand up to gently thumb over your skin.

“I know you don't need my pity. And I know you don't need my help.” He motioned for you to tilt your head to the other side. He didn’t smile or laugh the situation off, just continued running a very delicate thumb over the marks, “But can I ask a favor, y/n?” He looked down at you through your pretty lashes. You gave a little nod.

“From now on. Do not hesitate to ask anything of me. I want to court you… formally. If you will accept me.”

You looked into his eyes, slightly stunned.

“I’ve done a horrible job at courting you. You’re going to teach me to read. You made the eggs. And this whole time you've been... suffering. There's so much that you deserve-”

“You saw an opportunity where I could be making more money, and you helped me get there. I feel like you... respect me. Milo never respected me.”

It took you standing on your toes to connect your lips with his. He was so much taller. You used his shoulders to steady yourself, lowering back onto your feet. Both of your faces were flushed at such an innocent kiss. He leaned down and nudged his face into your neck, you sighed at the feeling of his tusks nudging against your jaw.

“Y/n…” He chuckled your name into the crook of your neck, “I’m gonna hafta’ teach you how to have higher standards, if that bastard is your only experience with courtship.” He peppered soft kisses over the marks on your neck. You accidentally let out a breathy moan at the sensation. He pulled you closer to him. You started to let your fingers wander over his torso. “No…” He stopped your hands as they grazed his lower stomach. Your face grew scarlet red with embarrassment “I- I’m sorry-”

He pulled you into a deep kiss before pulling away. “Not here. Not now. I want to meet your mother first.”

“Quite traditional, are we?” You smirked. He gave a bemused expression, "I'm going to court you the same way orcs have courted since the beginning of time. I’m serious about this." Your heart fluttered.

“Come to our home on Sunday, Khargaad. We can start our lessons, and you can meet my mother.” You took his huge hand into yours, running a thumb over his calloused knuckles. He still couldn’t believe his luck, that this was happening. This lovely little human was giving him a chance… even after completely embarrassing himself at his first courting attempts. You were so smart, so generous, so capable. A mate that he could depend on to have his back, and him yours.

He had been trying to ignore that word that had been floating through his thoughts. “Mate.” He would have to be careful with that one. He would never want you to feel like you were being claimed without your expressed agreement.

-

He offered to walk you home, lending his arm for support on the dark cobbled road. When you made it inside, you watched him walk away until he completely disappeared into the darkness.

“Who was that, y/n?”

You swore your soul levitated right out of your body. The sound of a match striking came from the little dining table on the other end of the room. The cheeky face of your mother became illuminated in the warm glow of a candle. “Ugh- Ma, you scared the shit outta me.”

“When were you going to tell me about your new friend, y/n?”

You stared at her with a stupid look on your face. “What do- What do you mean?”

She settled back into her chair, the corner of her mouth lifting into a little smirk.

“Who’s the orc?”

Your mother spent a lot of time praying. She prayed for your sisters, and she prayed for the vegetables to grow big and juicy. She prayed for her knees to stop aching and the leak in the roof to fix itself.

But when you weren’t home, she whispered a prayer for you with fervor. She wanted you to find someone. She wanted you to find someone that would treat you right. But most of all she prayed that she wasn’t the reason you were sticking around this place. This god-awful place and that god-awful town. She saw your father’s poison everywhere, seeped into every crevice.

“I’m teaching him how to read.”

“Oh?”

“And so he’s coming here on Sunday. And… he wanted to meet you.”

“Oh!”

She probably would've started weeping with happiness if she wasn’t already plotting out your future together in her head. “Stop doing that, Ma…” You jolted her from her thoughts. 

“Stop doing what?”

“Getting ahead of yourself.” You smirked at her, slinking into your bedroom. Sleep came quick for you that night.

And for the first time in a long while, you didn't have that dream about your father.

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Once again, I cannot believe so many of y'all are enjoying my silly little story <3 It means so much to me. I ended up restarting this chapter several times cause I was just so stumped, but I'm pretty happy with what I ended up with.

(Note: Do not fear, the slow burn will pay off next chapter iykwim >:3)

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