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aias-fxtns · 1 day ago

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"My other daughter," Otto says, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. After all, he had already mentioned how he's talked to you.

Seriously? Your sick daughter? The one you try keeping safe and heal, bfr now. The options were presented infront of you but amongst it you listen to you sick daughter's suggestion.

His forehead curls, "your sick daughter?"

Same reaction. Seriously the sick daughter? Out of your two daughters she was chosen?? I can't...

Otto does not appreciate that, no matter how true it may be, "the princess has been recovering greatly," he turns to his lap, raising his brows, "she has been well enough to care for your sons and daughter whenever the Queen is performing her duties to the kingdom."

Doesn't mean she can, her body can. She may be recovering but it's not enough for her to be able to travel. It's crazy how you compare taking care of y/n's niece and nephews is the same when travelling far away.

I worry for her health, I hope she can take the long travel😭🙌

"That said," he links his fingers together, "whether I've cared to admit or not, my daughter thrives when she is allowed to roam. She has long wished to smell the flowers of Oldtown, and now that your son, Daeron, will be sent to ward with his uncle Gwayne, this is a perfect opportunity for all parties to be happy. She can make for Highgarden and send the boy to Oldtown. I don't doubt Olivier will see her home personally, as they were childhood friends, and believed once he would wed her."

I can smell scheming and how this Oliver sounds bad news to me, especially y/n and their supposedly 'marriage', sounds somethingis about to happen. Idk, maybe I'm just paraniod or maybe I'm just a girl🤷‍♀️.

"No," Viserys speaks firmly, "I am sending your wife."

"She is. I am her king! And yours."

You were against it earlier, what happen bud? WHAT HAPPENED?!

Daemon draws Dark Sister.

YES! STAB THAT SKINLESS RAGGEDY LOOKING AHH RAT (Otto) RIGHT AT THIS MOMENT!!!!!

Daemon rushes down the halls, fearing as though if he did not find you, he never would. With his jaw hard and hands clenched, all the souls he passed knew not to stand in his way, lest they be trampled.

"I mean it!" he snaps, holding you still in your place, "speak their complaints to my fucking dragon."

This two🥹. I hope Daemon can join her in the travels, it won't be safe for her to travel without her man (Lowkey want to see some drama between Oliver and Daemon).

Them:

Daemon stares at you, all of his anger now melted and reduced to what it really was. His breath shakes, "I love you."

"Would you stop loving me if I killed him?" Daemon's eyes water as his emotions strangle him, "do you not tire?"

"It will solve everything," he hisses, voice uneven.

I mean— he isn't lying though... Letting that skinless raggedy ahh rat would let our peace of mind be stress free from his stupidity. If wasn't for the plot and if I was there I would be jumpingand screaming yes to him, yes, I'm insane. God forbid a woman only wants to be free from his father's schemes.

You push his cheek, urging him to face you, "hold me like a grudge."

No comment. Just this picture.

He groans and leans into you, head dropping to your shoulder as his arms constrict greedily around you. He forces you back into your desk and sits you down there, uncaring of the objects that fall out of place. He hikes your skirt up and slots himself between your legs, nuzzling his face between your breasts, inhaling the scent of you. He relaxes slightly, "you hold me to impossible standards."

No comment. Just them and this intimate moment they rarely have.

You look down at him, brushing his hair before kissing it. You rub his back until his tension wholly melts away."I will not be gentle if I return your kiss."

AAAAAHHHHHHH (INTERNALLY SCREAMING, I'M WELL FED WITH THIS CHAPTERS. GOAWD LORD!)

Daemon sighs on your head, "avy jorrāelan," he kisses your temple, "tolī than mirros eman mirre jorrāelatan." I love you more than anything I have ever loved.

Fearing for their future angst, with how we are very well feed with fluffs and intimate moments. I fear the unknown calamity that is about to happen for both of them and the kids. Gawd LArd! The paranoia, I can't😭

Tormented Spirit | 23

Part 1 [...] 20 21 22 23 24

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, smut (rough/angry sex to yummy love making, soft dom!dae, oral m&f receiving, spitting, dacryphilia, praise & degradation, piv), emotional constipation, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: I just realized Otto was replaced by lyonel strong as hand at some point and... Yeah I don't remember why so I can't be bothered to write that in. Also I invented a Tyrell character ok? This is probably going to be my last smut piece for this, so it's LONG so long that I HAD TO CUT THIS PART UP 😭🤬😅 it's fine derailed plans slay 3 parts left ig 😭

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching

Viserys sits at the head of his council table, staring at his gloved hands. Lord Lyonel Strong drones about something, something about crops and drought and famine and public unrest, something about how crimes have spiked.

"Just last night, the Gold Cloaks reported to have apprehended 3 men who've broken in and stolen a great amount of flour and meat from three different establishments."

"Three criminals," Otto corrects, nonchalant.

Lyonel turns to him, but the Hand does not even spare him a glance. He clenches his jaw, "men, Lord Hand," he corrects, "who'vee been forced to resort to theft to feed their families."

Otto, who was checking his nails in uninterest, finally looks up. His face is blank, "criminality is criminality and should be met with justice."

Viserys takes one last look at his hand, wondering if what was happening to the kingdom was his fault, thus why his finger was decaying. He sighs, shaking his head, "what measures have we taken to fix this?"

"Thus far, we have banned the export of goods and opened one of the royal storehouses," Lyonel turns to the king, "additionally, the Houses of the Riverlands, mine included, have pledged a portion of their yield to the crown."

"Good, good," nods Viserys, "will it be enough?"

A beat of silence passes.

In truth, it answered the question, but still, Lord Lyonel says, "no, your majesty."

Viserys pinches the bridge of his nose. He sighs, slumping on his chair. He turns to the vacant one parallel to him, the seat of his brother.

Otto presses hi palm on the table, "Highgarden has been relatively unaffected by the drought. I've reports of how they're thriving from the profits of their heavily marked-up exports."

"Where is Daemon?" Viserys looks around the council.

Otto purses his lips, looking around the table before turning back to the king.

"I heard that it was he who made the arrests last night," says one of the council members.

Viserys furrows his brows, "has he not returned since then?"

"Unlikely," Lord Hand blurts, "when he is not razing the city, he is joined to my daughter's hip. I can confirm that he was not here last night, as I was then able to speak to my daughter about the Tyrell's conditions."

"Conditions?"

"I've sent a raven to Highgarden on behalf of the Crown, asking for two months worth of food."

The king narrows his eyes, "but?"

"But Lord Olivier said he will only see food delivered to King's Landing if a true representative of the Crown comes to Highgarden with the request."

Viserys stills.

Tension thickens in the room the king laughs. He leans back into his chair, muttering, "qogralbar jaosītsos." Fucking puppy.

Otto watches Viserys lean into the table. It was clear, though he did not understand what he said High Valyrian, that he was displeased— offended, just as he knew he'd be.

"Am I a dog you beck and call with a mere whistle?" Viserys asks no one in particular.

The council does not respond as the king laughs dryly; the vein popping on the side of his neck gives away his anger.

A moment passes, and the grandmaester speaks up, "my king. Lord Olivier is wrong to insist upon a show of power during a time of crisis, but the cost of pride is the lives of many common folk."

"I am well-aware, grandmaester," Viserys snaps.

Otto takes the opportunity to speak, "gracing Highgarden with your presence is an honor not befitting such insolence. I would not even recommend sending your lady-wife, Queen Alicent, or even Princess Rhaenyra."

Viserys turn to Otto, brows furrowing in disbelief as he thinks of who's left, "so you mean that I should send Daemon?"

The Lord Hand nearly chokes on his saliva, "I would not send the Rogue Prince for any treaty, your grace."

"Then who?!"

"My other daughter," Otto says, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. After all, he had already mentioned how he's talked to you.

His forehead curls, "your sick daughter?"

"Daemon talks to me of her conditions," Viserys nods knowingly, "whether you care to admit it or not, your daughter thrives under his care."

He does not.

"That said, I do not think it wise to have her part from him, especially considering how he's keen on keeping her close until they have their own sons and daughters."

"Yes," the Hand snaps, then catches himself. He forces a smile, "I would be overjoyed to welcome another grandchild, especially as I've witnessed the agony of my girl when she was once expecting."

Viserys stiffens at the all-too-vivid recollection of the miscarriage he witnessed first-hand.

The king's brow quirks.

"That was before she got sick, of course," Otto shook his head, "the innocent musings of a child. I digress. With the Tyrell's partiality to the princess, I do not doubt the reunion would inspire generosity towards the Crown."

"Well," Viserys raises a hand, "I admit I'm rather persuaded."

Otto purses his lips into a victorious smile.

"You mentioned you've spoken to your daughter of this already?"

"Indeed."

"And what does she say?"

"She is your loyal servant. Her gentle heart is easily moved and she wishes to help in any way sh-"

The doors slam open and close with a loud creak and thud. Hasty footsteps follow and a hushed mutter of the word, "brother."

Viserys watches as Daemon comes to his side, nodding to him in regard before taking the vacant seat parallel to him.

"I hope all the dull talk is over with," Daemon sits down, looking for a cup of wine, then a cupbearer. He raises a brow, "no Rhaenyra?"

Viserys raises a brow, "she is too old to be a cupbearer."

"Ah," Daemon grins at his brother, "I'd nearly forgotten when just two days ago, she complained to me about her dresses being the wrong color."

Viserys chuckles, albeit begrudgingly; his brother sniggers, wholly pleased with himself and his jest.

If he could, Otto would stick pins in his eyes.

"You've come at the perfect time, actually," Viserys exhales the remaining chuckle out of him, "we were just speaking of the plans to get more food for King's Landing. The Crown will send a royal emissary to Highgarden."

"Oh," Daemon raises his brows and leans into his chair, "me."

Viserys mimics his brother, leaning back and tilting his head, "not you, child."

The prince laughs, "course not," he looks across the table, "you're all so damn serious," he props his elbows on the table, "so, when is my niece leaving?"

Viserys shakes his head, "not Rhaenyra either, no."

Daemon raises a brow and thinks for a moment. He leans towards his brother, "surely, you cannot mean to send the boy, Aegon, to negotiate?" He raises a hand, "I agree he can do with diplomacy, but you will see your city sooner starve than the boy to learn from the trip."

Viserys is taken aback, as he did not think of Aegon once during this entire meeting, "no, Daemon. I am not sending Aegon off to learn at the expense of my people."

"Well," Daemon looks around the council, "hail Viserys the Wise," then back to him, "do tell me who else is left. I worry if you send Helaena, I would have to join her."

"I am not sending Helaena," Viserys raises a hand.

"Well, good. She would never fly again if you do."

Viserys sighs, "I'm not sending any of my children."

He watches his brother in expectation.

"I am sending your wife."

It does not register with Daemon for a moment. When it does, he laughs. He leans back and motions, "alright, so you are sending me?"

"No," Viserys speaks firmly, "I am sending your wife."

"What?" Daemon laughs, but less amused. The lightness that he had brought into the council meeting morphs into tension.

"Lord Olivier demands the Crown meet him in Highgarden or starve. I will not grace him with an audience of any of my—"

"But you would gladly offer up my wife!" Daemon snaps, "she is not yours to of-"

"She is. I am her king! And yours."

"And I have done much for my king lately," Daemon rises, "I keep his streets clean and discipline his sons—"

"This isn't about you, Daemon," Viserys decisively interrupts. He sighs at the look of his anger, his betrayal. He raises a hand and speaks softer, hoping to placate him, "this is for the good of the realm."

"Then send your heir!" Daemon snaps, "my wife has nothing to do with the realm."

"Daemon," Viserys slowly tries to stand. He finds he does not have the strength to, thus why he remains seated, "won't you listen to me first?"

"And won't you listen to me?!"

The brothers stare at each other for a prolonged moment. Viserys huffs and motions a hand that he may speak.

Daemon immediately blurts, "she is not fit to travel."

"Olivier Tyrell is a childhood friend of hers. If it is she he meets, he might inclined to give more generosly."

Daemon scoffs out a chuckle, "oh, and you conveniently remember her speaking to you of Olivier fucking Tyrell in passing, have you?"

Viserys points, "her father has spoken of it in-"

"SE PELDIO?!" THE SNAKE?! Daemon snaps, turning to Otto, nearly lunging across the table to choke him. He instead leans on the table, "you toil so tirelessly to steal her from m-"

"Why need I steal mine own daughter?" Otto cuts him off, raising his voice, though his tone is low.

Daemon draws Dark Sister.

"DAEMON!" Viserys screams.

The looming kingsguards draw their swords as well, slowly pressing towards the prince, watching his every move.

"YOUR KING COMMANDS YOU TO HEEL!"

Otto glares at his daughter's husband with all the contempt he'd set aside, "had you been less ill-tempered, perhaps the king would have confidence to send you to Highgarden instead."

"Otto!" Viserys chastises, "silence!"

Daemon laughs. He wants nothing more than to sever his head from his shoulders but he doesn't. He can't, not when you've explicitly begged him not to. Otto knows this, as no semblance of fear is behind his eyes. Daemon thinks he might push him down the stairs when no one is looking.

Viserys watches his brother, calling the guards off before they attempt to apprehend him. He speaks to him in High Valyrian, attempting to again explain the logic in his decision. Daemon does not listen. He sheathes his blade and storms off before he does something irreversible.

A gasp leaves you when your chamber doors break open. You stand from your desk, eyes wide as you watch Daemon bolt the locks and march over to you. Your mouth falls open and your pulse races as you half-expect him to pounce on you.

He doesn't. Daemon comes to an abrupt halt, his breath and fists trembling. You watch his Adam's apple bob and you cautiously step forward, hands coming to his cheeks. You press firmly into his skin, brushing your fingers back into his scalp, "speak to me."

Daemon's lips quiver and you gasp when he squeezes your hips. You swear you can feel his nails through your skirt.

You shudder, "Dae-"

"Have you spoken to your cunt father lately?" he quips under his breath, knowing if he didn't, it'd come out as a scream.

You knit your brows, thinking for a moment. "Ah..." your expression relaxes, "Highgarden?"

Daemon grits his teeth so hard, it's a wonder they don't break, "so you agreed?!"

Before you could reply, Daemon pulls away and paces around. He reaches the wall, leans on it for a moment, then marches back to you. You flinch in surprise when he takes your hands and places them back on his cheeks. You squeak when he yanks you by the hips and presses himself against your chest.

"You fucking agreed to go to Highgarden?!" he quips again, less of a whisper, more of a groan.

Your expression softens as he heaves. The struggle to keep his peace is evident. You firmly clutch his cheeks and raise your brows, "I told him it is in my intention to help the Crown as much as I can—"

You feel him shake beneath your palm.

"— and I would go only if my husband allow it."

"Well, he fucking does not!" Daemon snarls, pulling at your skirts in anger. He chuckles dryly, "he doesn't."

You squeak when he begins to rock you back and forth erratically.

"Let the fucking peasants starve," he speaks, almost like a threat, "no one else can have you."

You put your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, "Daemon."

"I mean it!" he snaps, holding you still in your place, "speak their complaints to my fucking dragon."

"Daemon," you take his chin.

Daemon stares at you, all of his anger now melted and reduced to what it really was. His breath shakes, "I love you."

You tuck his silver hair behind his ear, "I love y-"

"Would you stop loving me if I killed him?" Daemon's eyes water as his emotions strangle him, "do you not tire?"

Your chest begins to tighten. You can feel him tremble in anger. You rub his cheeks, "killing him won't solve anything."

"It will solve everything," he hisses, voice uneven.

You sigh and rub his shoulders, simultaneously finding the knots in his muscles and the continuous quivering of his form. You shake your head and lower your gaze, "I would rather count the lives you spared in my name than the ones you took."

Daemon shivers, anger still stoking flames in his blood.

You lift your gaze, your own eyes now watery as you look at him. His brows are furrowed, his forehead curled, and his lips pulled into a frown. You clutch his jaw, muttering his name softly.

He looks away.

You push his cheek, urging him to face you, "hold me like a grudge."

You look down at him, brushing his hair before kissing it. You rub his back until his tension wholly melts away.

After a long moment, you shift, trying to get Daemon to look at you. "My love."

He reluctantly lifts his gaze.

You take his cheeks and he raises to his height. You pout at him and trace the bridge of his nose before leaning in to kiss him.

Daemon looks away, taking a step back from you.

You freeze, frowning as he takes a deep breath.

"I will not be gentle if I return your kiss."

Your belly drops. You stare at him for a moment as he slowly turns to you. When your eyes lock, he anticipates your reaction. He squeezes your hips.

You gulp and think about his words a moment longer, hands brushing across his chest.

He begins to shift restlessly in his spot as the silence becomes an unspoken rejection. He's about to say something but then he hears your deep inhale.

You tilt your head back and slowly pull him back in, "kiss me then."

Daemon would be damned not to, but he knows you are too kind to him. The last time he had his way with you, your heart nearly gave out. So long ago it may have been, it was still fresh in his memory. He whimpers and nips your neck, "I am serious, sweetness."

You whimper when you feel him begin to undo your dress.

"I want to see you smothered beneath me."

Your breath hitches, hands finding the band of his trousers. You slowly unfurl his ties, humming softly as you do, "you can smother me," you lick his earlobe and nip it.

Daemon, ignoring his better judgment in lieu of his lust, soon has your dress thrown on the floor, leaving you in your shift. He lets you remove his top and his dress shirt, feeling all the heat of anger in his body boil down to desire as you reverently trace his scars with your fingertips. He grabs your wrists before you can kiss his chest.

You look up at him, searching his face.

Finally, Daemon kisses you, mouth hungry, tongue searching yours. He releases your hands to clutch your jaw and continues to kiss you until both your lips are swollen. When he pulls away, he brings you to your feet, "on your knees."

Daemon hastily rips away from you to grab a pillow from the bed. He drops it on the floor in front of him and you lift your shift up your knees, immediately sinking down before him.

Your prince groans and undoes the make of your hair until it is spilling freely down your back. He gathers your raven locks, twisting it around his palm, "my pretty girl."

You gasp when he tugs your head back, forcing you to look up at him. He brushes his thumb across your lower lip, "open."

You oblige, sticking your tongue out while you're at it.

Daemon sighs heavily, pleased with how well he's trained you. He presses his thumb on your tongue, wetting it with your saliva, "your father doesn't know how easily you submit to my whims."

Your brows furrow at the mention of him. It pulls you out of the moment. You suck on his thumb, hoping to distract him of his thoughts.

It does. He tugs your hair back, making you cease your sucking. Daemon stares at you, "I said open."

You open your mouth again.

He presses on your tongue with more force as he builds spit up in his mouth. He spits on your tongue, and it splutters everywhere, causing you to flinch. You can feel heat sliding down into your throat.

Daemon pulls his thumb out of your mouth, "swallow."

And so you do.

He grabs your jaw, firm but not painful. He gives you a look, "you will obey, won't you?"

You lick your lips and nod, "yes, my love."

"Good girl," he gently brushes the spit off your cheeks with his thumb, "now, be a good slut and suck me off."

Your gaze lands on his trousers, or, to be exact, his visible erection. You tug his pants down and pull his cock free; the heat and scent of him radiates onto you. He hisses when you claw him forward. It takes great effort for him not to just fuck your face.

He enjoys the apprehension, or even fear, that clouds your expression when he has you like this. He enjoys the uncertainty that hides behind your determination to please him. He heaves through an open mouth, "such an exquisite bitch from a cunt so vile."

You look up at him as you take his cock and lick his tip.

Daemon huffs, fist tightening around your hair, "your father hurt you so bad, you'd take anything I give you, wouldn't you?"

You gag when he pushes his entire length into your hot mouth. Your hands grip his thighs, nails clawing into his skin. The sharp sensation only intensifies his pleasure.

He slowly begins to buck into you, "even if it makes you cry?"

You whimper, and on cue, your eyes water at the size of him. You gag again when he tugs your hair. The feeling of your constricting throat drives him wild. His thrusts grow faster and faster at a rate you wished was more gradual.

Your nose knocks into his pelvis, his coarse pubic hair uncomfortably tickling your nose, making you want to sneeze. You momentarily scratch your nose, then you recall a lesson he had taught you once before. You do your best to relax your throat and cup his stones, massaging them.

"Fuck," he pulls your head back, ghosting his other hand by the side of your head, "such a good whore."

You choke on your yelp as he speeds up to the tempo that pleases him most. Unfortunately for your throat, it was fast as a galloping horse, or at least it felt like it. More than his pleasure, your main focus becomes breathing. You're glad he no longer knocks into you all the way. You've thoroughly slobbered all over him at this point, feeling heavy droplets of spit dribble down your chin and his pubic hair.

Daemon's breathing grows ragged as he concentrates on his peak. His heart thunders as you squeeze your eyes shut, watching tears stream down your stuffed cheeks. He huffs, "such a perfect mouth."

He slows down but replaces speed with depth. You gag far too many times for your liking.

"Jurnegon rȳ nyke, ñuha prūmia," Daemon encourages, slowing even more. Your beady eyes lock with his predatory gaze and he instantly begins to speed up again, "ao sagon gaomagon sīr sȳz syt nyke." Look at me, my heart. You're doing so good for me.

You whimper, pushing back at his thighs as he continues to take your mouth. Your jaw begins to hurt.

"Shh, shh," he heaves as he watches you, "you can take it."

You moan in protest, eyes widening and watering further.

Daemon could care less about your weepy face... but he does, he does care. His toes curl as he slows despite himself. You try to push him off you, but he doesn't let up. He wipes your tears with his free hand, "you said you would obey."

You weep at the reminder, helplessly moaning against his cock.

The sensation nearly makes him finish in your mouth. Daemon hushes you and rubs your cheeks, "just a bit more. My wife doesn't want to disappoint, does she?"

You sob and slobber. You close your eyes and slightly shake your head.

"Good girl."

You take a deep breath and slowly suck on him, bobbing your head back and forth on his hard cock.

Daemon groans and lets you take the lead, though he does not deny himself the flick of his hips, "that's it," he groans, "taking me so well. Better than any painted whore."

You continue like this until Daemon can no longer help himself and takes the reins again. He thrusts into your mouth roughly, but thankfully, it doesn't last very long. He soon spurts in you, hot and salty, and you involuntarily swallow some of his seed.

"Issi ao jāre naejot mōzugon ziry mirre bē syt nyke, litse riña?" Are you going to drink it all up for me, pretty girl?

Tears rush down your cheeks as you shake your head. Daemon, still chasing the last bit of his climax, continues to thrust into you until his reason makes him soft, both in his heart and his cock. He huffs, wiping sweat off his forehead before slowly pulling out. With the same gentleness, he releases your hair. He squats down, bunching your shift out in front of you, "spit."

You spit, watching his thick spend plop on your clothes as you cough and slightly gag. You roll your jaw around as you catch your breath, nearly toppling in exhaustion.

"Shh, shh," Daemon reassures, "arms up for me."

You gulp, sinking to your bum as you raise arms.

"Good girl," he praises, pulling your shift off, leaving you in your small clothes. He wipes your mouth and quickly stands, chucking your clothes with the rest, "water or wine?"

You sigh, watching Daemon go to the nightstand, the muscles on his bum tight as he leans on a leg. He grabs a cup as you mumble, "wine."

He chuckles, pouring some for you, "too salty?"

You groan as he walks back then gratefully take your wine from him. You sigh as he sits in front of you, grabbing your hips before unfolding your legs over him. His filled with mirth; a smile now graces his lips. You watch him as you have your drink.

He kisses your neck, rubbing his hands to your waist before he licks a stripe up your breast.

You pull your cup away, placing a hand at the back of his head.

"You did so beautifully for me," Daemon leans in, violet eyes sparkling in adoration.

You sniffle and pout at him, "it hurt."

He sinks into your neck, "mmm... but not too much..." he frowns, "n-not too much, right?"

You torment him by finishing your wine before replying. His nerves get the best of him and he anxiously peppers kisses on your throat, as if it makes up for the abuse it just went through. You whimper and drop your cup when he begins to suck on your pulse.

"Daemon."

He pulls away, guiltily gazing at you, "just slightly much?"

You chuckle, kissing his lips.

Daemon tries to deepen the kiss, eager to taste himself on you, but you do not let him. You push him back with a sigh. His chest grows uneasy.

You notice and shake your head, "I'm accustomed to pain."

Oh, how he despises it when you say this. He grits his teeth, "but I-"

"It was not very bad though," you press a hand on his chest, "if you feel so bad about it, perhaps you'll bring the ewer of wine over here."

Daemon freezes then furrows his brows through a nod, "of course."

He stands and gets the ewer. You take your cup, raising it to him and he immediately fills your cup to the brim. He props the ewer down then resumes his spot in front of you. He stares at your smallclothes, gulping at the wet stain between your legs. He attempts to pull them off, "you should be naked too."

You squeak when he forces your remaining articles of clothing off, causing some of your wine to splash into your chest.

Daemon throws your clothes off, humming at the red liquid that drips down your navel, "I love wine."

He slides on his chest, but instead of licking the wine, he licks your dripping cunt, forcing you to lean back and release your cup of alcohol.

"Da-Daemon, I'm-" you pull at the roots of his hair, "- I'm still thirsty."

He hums, rubbing his nose against your clit, maddened by the wet squelch it produces. He greedily laps and sucks at your weeping entrance, squeezing your thighs around his head, wanting nothing more than to be smothered by your arousal.

"Daemon," you yank at his roots to gain his attention.

"Mmm," he does opposite, pressing his face deeper into you, "dmrinmk umpm, lomvem," as if you could understand his words in his current position.

You had meant to say something, but the feel of his hot mouth evaporated all your thoughts. You fall back on your elbows, knocking down the cup of wine on your side. Your legs twitch behind his ears and your heel digs into his back.

Daemon hums in approval, gripping your thighs tighter as he feasts more eagerly upon the nectar drawn out with his tongue. He pulls his mouth away, sucking roughly on your clit, before nipping your inner thigh, "such a messy girl."

You gasp as he lifts your lower body, pulling you closer into him until the curve of your arse was resting on his shoulders. He pushes your upper body down on the floor, hands clutching and kneading against your tender breasts as he kisses your cunt.

You writhe beneath him, unable to stay still from the pleasure coursing through your veins. Your back arches, pelvis rutting into him. You encourage him further into you, fingers tangling into his hair.

"Such a needy thing," Daemon pulls his mouth away, hands brushing down your hips, "so pretty when she's about to come."

You hold on him falterd when he begins to rapidly rub your clit. You feel your belly begin to tighten.

"Do you want to come on my fingers or on my tongue?"

You mewl, raking your fingers up the side of your scalp, "darling... I..." you tighten your thighs around him, "I want both."

"Fuck," he sighs, fixing the pillow beneath you, propping your bum atop it, "what a greedy whore you are."

You whimper when Daemon shifts and pushes your thighs up to your belly.

"Are you a greedy whore, Lady Hightower?" your husband raises a brow, parting your hot, weeping cunt to lick a stripe there.

Your spine twists and your belly trembles, "y-yes."

"Mmm," his tongue licks you up. His mouth and chin is soon shining under the lights of the room. He lifts his head, "what was that? I didn't hear."

You watch him hover over you until he aligned and eye level. Some of the slick on his mouth drips onto you. You heave through your mouth, "I'm a greedy whore, my prince."

Daemon squeezes your jaw open and spits on your tongue again. You swallow without a word. He can feel himself grow hard, "I had no idea you were raised to be such a desperate slut."

You hum, "not raised," you rub his chest, "trained."

He gulps, cock twitching in excitement, "seven fucking hells," he grinds on you, "gaomagon jaelā naejot ossēnagon nyke?" Do you want to kill me?

You pout and meet his hips with the same motion, "jaelagon naejot mazverdagon ao iā kepa." Want to make you a father.

Daemon curses before kissing you. You whine as you kiss him back, legs wrapping around his hips, hands clutching his sticky face. You whine again when he pulls away and sinks down on you, "nooo."

He kisses your breast, "just going to make you peak on my tongue and and fingers."

"No, please, I want you."

He gives a boyish grin, "and what do you want?"

"I want your cock," you try to pull him up, "want you to fill me with your seed."

"Qogralbar, litse riña," he swipes your lips, "gaomagon daor buragon, nyke'll tepagon bona naejot ao hae sȳrī." Fuck, pretty girl. Don't worry, I'll give that to you as well.

You were so worked up at this point, it didn't take very much for him to push you over the edge, not when your words fueled him so. Even if you weren't on the precipice, with the way he sank two fingers knuckle deep into you and flicked his tongue over your clit, you'd end up a mess either way.

The next thing you knew, you were breathlessly shaking and spilling over his face. You whine his name out and grind against him. He moans in approval and makes sure to pull every bit of pleasure out of you.

Once your high had thoroughly washed over, Daemon rises back up and kisses your face, "did so well for me."

You hum, your womanhood throbbing from its recent peak. Still, there was a want inside you as you heaved. You catch him by the mouth, pulling him into you. He is taken off-guard by your heated kiss.

He does his best not to crush you beneath him. Even with his revived hard on, he still had reason and knew to let your breathing even out, lest your heart give in.

You make it incredibly hard for him to listen to reason though. "Need you inside me."

Daemon chuckles incredulously, "my love, there is no rush."

"There is," you shake your head, "I need you now," you kiss him, "will you make me beg? Please."

He laughs again as you pepper him with kisses, muttering the same word over and over again. He gulps when you whisper it against his ear in High Valyrian.

"I don't think I will last long if I fuck you like this."

Before you can speak, Daemon flips you over and rubs your hips.

"Ride your dragon, princess."

And so you do.

He knew you had terrible stamina, so he could prolong the session enough to work you up again that you might reach your climax together. You a vision as you mount his cock and lean into his chest. The wet and heavy slap of your hips drive him maddddd.

As expected, it didn't take long for your thighs to ache and your bucking to slow. You whine out his name.

He hums and clutches your neck, "you can do it, my ferocious dragon." He lifts his head and kisses your arm, "don't you want to feel me spill in you? Don't you want to be heavy with my babe?"

You whimper coming to a halt, "yes, but—"

He cuts you off with a thrust. Your flesh spills between his fingers as he squeezes your thighs, "take it. Take what you need from me."

Your face contorts as he bucks into you, his cock poking the delicous tenderness in you that makes your lungs tighten and your toes curl.

Soon, your husband sits up and wraps his arms around you. He brushes the hair sticking on your skin and licks the sweat off your neck, marking you just behind your jaw.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and soon find yourself moving along with him.

"That's it," he hums in approval.

You yelp at the sudden slap of your arse.

"Take it like the slut you are."

You bite your lip and furrow your brows in concentration.

Daemon groans, feeling his peak draw near. He rubs furious circles on your clit, making you groan into his shoulder and bite him. He sighs, wrapping an arm around you, "don't stop, my queen. You're going to ride me until I come inside your tight cunny."

You whine and throw your head back, gasping as you grip his shoulders, maneuvering up and down on him harder.

Yet again, your legs begin to give in and he can feel you tremble in exertion. He kisses the frustrated tear that begins to roll down your cheek as you call out his name. "Shhh. Is it too much for you, sweetheart?"

You sniffle and nod.

"Alright," he holds you still by your hips, making you come to a halt.

You whine defeatedly, cunt throbbing in need as you lean into him, "my love, please."

"I'm here," he kisses your head, slowly pushing you back on the floor, pillow finding your bum again. He pushes your legs into your chest and hooks your feet behind his ear, "did such a good job for me."

You helplessly moan as he begins to thrust sharply into you, each movement creating an obscene wet noise that makes your belly tighten and the rest of you melt. Your back arches in anticipation.

"I'm going to take good care of you," he mutters kissing your ankle, "make your belly swell," he kneads your breasts, "your tits heavy with milk."

You gulp, "please."

"You're gonna take it, aren't you?"

You nod frantically.

"Take it, lover, take it like a dirty slut."

"I'm so close."

"Yeah," he grits his teeth, "can feel you squeezing me so tight."

Daemon leans into you, pressing your legs down with his weight. The moment his lips take yours for a kiss, you break into a mind fogging peak and an unholy sound rips out your throat.

To your husband, it was the holiest of holies. He pushes his hands into the back of your knees and goes wild, slapping roughly into you as he chases the high that had been building up his loins the moment your molten heat wrapped around him.

As your climax reach its highest intensity, your husband finally reaches his, and you feel him throb inside you as his frenzied thrusts grow fast and irregular.

You feel winded, but not at all in the usual suffocating way. Your body melts into him as he fucks out the last of his orgasm into you, milking his cock for all its worth, making sure every drop was pushed deep inside you.

You brush his sweaty hair back, mouth finding his textured shoulder, suckling on it as he slowly relaxes atop you. You bite him once then whisper against his ear, "I love you so much."

Daemon sighs on your head, "avy jorrāelan," he kisses your temple, "tolī than mirros eman mirre jorrāelatan." I love you more than anything I have ever loved.

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girl-lostconnection · 2 days ago

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Desperate housewives a/b/o AU

Omega Soap with three kids whom he oh, so adores, but by Jesus, Joseph and Mary, they are driving him up the wall sometimes.

More often than not, to be completely honest.

Omega Soap who absolutely loves his alpha, but you are so often away, so frequently leaving him to his devices because someone has to provide for the family.

And like a good mate you do your best to let him live comfortably.

Omega Soap who allows himself just a moment to relax. Kids are away on a sleepover and he’s alone and evening’s air is warm and sweet with flowers blooming, summer’s approach feels the strongest in May of all months.

Honeyed evenings like this are his favourite. With Sun slowly rolling down to set and wind so gentle he feels like wrapping in it and falling asleep.

So what if he drags his shorts and underwear off to have a moment to himself in your backyard — splayed out in nothing but crop top, spread out for breeze to caress him.

Nothing wrong with a little enjoyment, isn’t it right?

Omega Soap who dozes off. For half an hour, no more, his limbs heavy, his body aching with need his fingers won’t be able to satisfied so he tries to go back asleep.

No use taunting himself with the hunger that he can’t sate himself.

Just to wake up to you pressing a kiss to his ankle, eyes so dark on him, it’s not immediately that he remembers the state of himself.

Your lips trailing up to his knee, kissing each, before you gently wiggle your way between his legs. Nuzzling in his inner thigh — hairs of it tickling your face — skin there slick with sweat and saline with want.

Soap watches you with eyes half-lidded, letting his alpha to do all the work, because, you won’t believe it, love, but he is so tired. So needy.

But you’d care of it, would you not? Like a good alpha, like his fated mate.

Pulling his hips closer to your face as you leave kisses in your wake, moving closer to where he needs you the most.

He’s been working so hard recently. He’s been rode ragged by all the chores and errands and responsibilities.

Maybe it’s time someone eased it for him?

Omega Johnny, who opens his legs for you to kiss him at his most sensitive.

Reaching to hold himself open for you because he wants to be good, even in the moment where it’s about him, Johnny wants to be good, wants to make it easier.

You kiss his wrist pulling his hand away, nuzzling back in his inner thigh.

Like anyone would let him lift a finger after a day like that, no, Johnny is getting his little reward.

Your tongue licking a long stripe up his pussy, your hands massaging his thighs as you go.

Yeah, a treat he shall have.

And maybe one more. And then another one. And just a few more a bit later. After a bath and some proper dinner.

Just to show some proper appreciation for all the hard work he puts into your family.

After all, can’t have mother of your children go unsatisfied, can you?

#call of duty #cod mw2 #girl.snippets #desperate househusbands au #omegaverse au #omegaverse #omega!soap #johnny mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #john mactavish x you #john soap mactavish x reader

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scribblecon · 2 days ago

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Can I request a headcanon of how would Roller and Overlord as a lover?

Small disclosure here: the term lover confuses me lol. There are several definitions and no one seems to agree on which one is correct so I’ve done some general romance/dating headcanons 😅

SFW, GN reader, human reader

—

Roller

Other cybertronians might enjoy the size difference that comes with dating a human, but Roller really likes how much bigger he is compared to you. He likes how big he is compared to his fellow cybertronians in general, always had a bit of a thing for minis, but you are somehow even tinier and he finds that so appealing.

Roller is openly flirtatious before you start dating and is up front about his interest in you — spontaneous hangouts, getting you to compare your hands with his servos so he has an excuse to call you cute, generally giving you compliments that make you giggle like an idiot and very casual with initiating physical contact if you’ll allow it. He keeps this energy when you’re together, wants to make every date feel as exciting as the first one and that you always feel appreciated.

He’s a major physical touch guy, always looking for excuses to hold you in his servos or have you perched on his shoulder. Always gentle with you, he likes to pick you up so he can plant kisses on the top of your head and hold you close to his frame. He isn’t usually one for mass displacement, he likes being The Big Guy, but he’ll make an exception if it means being able to cuddle with you properly, to be able to run his digits through your hair and map the contours of your body rather than just running the tip of a finger over your back.

Despite his easy going nature, Roller does need some assurance from you. He has a bit of a complex around his outlier ability, that his super strength isn’t that special compared to what other point one percenters can do. Admittedly, part of why he likes large size differences is to compensate for his insecurity, so he can always feel like the stronger one in the relationship. But he likes you for so many more reasons than your comparative smallness and wants to know you like him for more than his size and strength in turn. That he’s good enough just being himself.

Overlord

‘Dating’ Overlord does not get you a relationship where you’re on equal footing. At first he views you more as a pet or plaything and occasional companion that he scooped up out of boredom one day than a real partner. You are here for his entertainment first, and anything else is secondary.

He’s more interested in messing with you than being considerate of your feelings. Causing real, physical harm is of little interest when you are so fragile compared to him, but he still finds amusement in telling you empty threats of what he might do to you when he grows bored. Manhandles you regularly, finding amusement in your reactions ranging from fear to indignation to anger. He likes how you feel in his servos, such a tiny heartbeat pumping rapid fire inside your ribcage as he laughs and coos at you in mock sympathy like you’re a baby animal rather than a person.

Overlord talks a lot. Likes having someone around to use as a sounding board. It rarely gets personal, mostly it’s just whatever his stream of consciousness offers up. Often, descriptions of what past slaughters or shit talking the people he dislikes. He talks about a guy called Megatron more than anything else, obsessed with taking him down. Most of his one sided conversations leave you feeling disturbed and upset, but he’s surprisingly eloquent and has managed to make you laugh on more than one occasion due to his creative insults.

Sometimes, when he’s decided you’re going to join him while he recharges, he starts rumbling in Neocybex, a servo pinning you in place on his chassis. You have no idea what he’s saying, you’re not sure if you want to know. But his low rumblings paired with the warmth of his frame have you drifting off to sleep in no time at all. It should bother you, sharing intimate moments like this with someone like Overlord. Maybe you’re just too dependent on his company at this point, living in isolation. But over time you find you sleep better on these nights than when you curl up under a blanket away from him. Alone.

Of course, his desire to keep you around does warp into its own form of protectiveness. He won’t allow anyone or anything to harm you because he wants to be the one to decide when your life ends. That’s what he claims, at least. He finds himself feeling genuinely fond of you over time. He won’t say it out loud, but his actions are a dead giveaway. His touches become gentler, he starts engaging in conversation rather than talking at you, he no longer threatens you with how easily he could end your life. He’s loath to admit it, sees these feelings as a weakness to be exploited, but he does care about you.

#macaddam #transformers x reader #transformers mtmte x reader #overlord x reader #overlord mtmte x reader #roller x reader #mtmte roller x reader #sorry about the wait!! i hope these are alright

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tales-of-a-seahorse · 11 hours ago

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I started rereading Being Born by Alison Stone. In it she is talking about the philosophy of natality- what it means to be born who we are, where we are, and into what relationships, among other things. The main authors she's building off of refer to people being born "of women" or from "maternal bodies". But multiple times she's paused to remind the reader that not all people are born of women. Some trans men get pregnant and give birth. Some people are born of paternal bodies. I appreciate it so so much. This is a book published by Oxford University Press, a work of academic philosophy that highlights trans men specifically. Do you know how rare that is? Even in queer and gender studies I rarely see anything that takes the time to remind readers (on more than one occassion) that trans men exist and are part of the conversation. And she doesn't just talk the talk, Stone says in the introduction that she's going to use gender neutral language to include all people who give birth and then she actually does it!

I love this book for a lot of reasons. I think that philosophy thinks way too much about death. Philosophy leans way too far into individualism. And philosophy does not spend enough time thinking about people other than adult white men (assumed to be cishet). But Stone is talking about our natality, which means she has to think about children. By virtue of our birth we come into the world vulnerable. We need care as children, but that need for care continues for the rest of our lives. We cannot do anything in isolation. Even as an adult, everything we do is in relation to someone else, whether we know them or not. Everything.

You get in your car to go to the grocery store. Your car was conceptualized and built by many other people. Assuming your car is used, someone sold the car to the previous owner who had it and was responsible for the maintenance. Then they sold it to you directly or to a dealership or it was gifted to you by them. But you have that car because of a chain of other people. The roads you drive on were planned, built, and maintained by other people. You're probably driving surrounded by strangers in their cars acquired similarly to yours. The store is staffed by others who stock the shelves. But stock only arrives because of a long complex supply chain of dozens (if not hundreds) of individuals. And so on.

So, you might be thinking: what does this have to do with being born? Well, it is only because all of those people were born into this global society that we are able to create the world this way. And each new person born has the capacity to make this world a better place. And (I don't remember if Stone makes this argument at any point, of if it's just me putting it together this way) I think this becomes an argument for why we need to be more caring and compassionate toward each other. We are all in this together. We all rely on each other to some extent, whether we know it or not. I think the fact that we are all born into this world and could make it better means that we should be making it better. We have a duty to care for each other. And, yes, it's hard sometimes. You can't care for and lift up everyone all the time. But I think not knocking them down is a good starting place. So, when Alison Stone takes multiple opportunities to not ignore trans men fathers she's taking steps to make the world better. She's reminding people that we exist.

#trans pregnancy #ftm pregnancy #ftm #transgender #seahorse dad #whats marshall reading #being born #alison stone #transandrophobia

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mintyys-blog · 2 days ago

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Hii I hope you’ve been doing well 💕 I just happened to see your requests open and thought I’d give one of my first requests. (Also this might be uncomfy so if you feel like you can’t write about this pls feel free to ignore this)

Can you please write about the Mark variants having a blood kink? 👀 maybe liking using readers blood as lube 🩸🩸(and if your able to maybe you can add target/no goggles mark to the list? U don’t have to tho)

If you do accept this request I’d rlly be much appreciated 💕💕 much love to all your writings 🫶

HEADCANONS | variants having a blood kink

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: Blood kink, dubcon/dark themes, rough sex, bodily harm (cuts/scratches), violence-adjacent sexual content.

Proceed only if comfortable with intense kink themes.

MAIN MARK

It happened the first time by accident.

You had gotten hurt—nothing major, just a nasty scrape down your side from a villain’s blade. You were cursing and trying to brush it off, but Mark… something in him snapped when he saw it. Something ancient. Primal. Protective.

He should’ve focused on bandaging you up, on checking for infection—but instead, he pressed you against the nearest wall in the safehouse and kissed you hard. His hands trembled as they found your skin, smearing the blood across your hip and thigh, and you gasped when he pressed his forehead to yours.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, voice shaking, “I shouldn’t—fuck, I shouldn’t want this.”

But he did.

You moaned when his fingers dragged through the blood and slipped between your thighs, stroking you with warm, slick motions that had your legs quivering. The sensation was strange. Messy. Intimate. You knew he was trying to hold himself back, but his pupils were blown wide, his breath heavy and desperate.

“Mark…”

“Just a little,” he whispered. “Let me—please, just this once.”

When he pushed inside, the glide of your wetness mixed with the blood—warm, metallic, and obscene. His hands gripped your thighs, the pads of his thumbs slick with red as he thrust into you, slow and deliberate.

“I don’t deserve this,” he muttered against your throat. “But you—you let me have it anyway.”

You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. You wrapped your arms around him, burying your fingers in his hair as he fucked you like he was trying to burn the memory into his soul.

Later, when you were bandaged and in bed, curled into his chest, he kissed your forehead and whispered, “Next time… just tell me no. If it ever makes you uncomfortable. Promise me.” But the way you squeezed his hand in reply? Told him you wanted it, too. Wanted him, bloodlust and all.

SINISTER MARK

You didn’t expect to bleed that much.

It was just a little cut—barely a line across your collarbone from a shard of glass during the scuffle. But Sinister Mark noticed immediately. His eyes narrowed. His nostrils flared like a predator catching scent.

You were about to cover it with your hand when he stopped you. “No,” he said, grabbing your wrist. “Don’t ruin it.”

You blinked. “Ruin what?”

He leaned down slowly, lips barely an inch from the streak of red, and gave it a slow, deliberate lick.

Your whole body locked.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to taste you like this,” he said, voice thick and low. “You should bleed for me more often.”

The way he said it—casual, as if asking you to wear a different perfume—made your skin flush hot. Before you could protest, he had you pinned to the wall, your legs spread by his knee, your shirt hiked up to your ribs.

He used your blood to mark you—smearing it over your thighs, across your breasts, even dragging it down your stomach with slow, deliberate fingers.

“I don’t need lube,” he rasped. “I need you. Just like this.”

When he pushed inside, he groaned. Deep. Like it was the first time he’d felt something real in years. His pace was hard and possessive, his hands digging into the spots he marked, your blood smearing on his palms and hips as he rutted into you like a man possessed.

“You’re mine,” he hissed into your ear. “Every drop of you. Inside and out.”

And when it was over—when your body was trembling, painted in red and sweat—he licked your collarbone again. Slowly. Like claiming it.

“Next time,” he murmured, kissing the same spot, “scream louder when you bleed. I like hearing it.” He meant it. And you knew—there would be a next time.

MOHAWK MARK

You were curled up in bed, wrapped in a blanket and chewing your lip with irritation. Your cramps were awful. And worse—your body wanted him. But you were on your period, and the thought of him being turned off by that had kept you distant all morning.

That didn’t last long.

“Why’re you hiding from me?” Mark’s voice cut through the room, low and sharp like the edge of a blade. “You never do that.”

You glanced up. He was standing in the doorway shirtless, jaw tight, his mohawk a mess from training. His gaze swept over the lump of your blanket-covered body, narrowing slightly.

“I didn’t feel good,” you muttered, eyes avoiding his. “I’m on my period.”

He stepped closer. “…And?”

You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t think you’d wanna deal with all that.”

Mark’s lips twitched. Not quite a smile—more like hunger barely contained. “Baby,” he murmured, climbing onto the bed. “You bleed and you think that’ll scare me off?”

His hand slipped under the blanket and found your thigh, dragging upward until he could feel the pad of your underwear. When he felt the heat—when he caught the faintest scent of iron—his pupils dilated.

“You forget who I am,” he said darkly. “You think I don’t want you just because you’re a little messy?”

You whimpered when he pressed his palm over your core. Not hard—just enough to make your legs twitch.

“Fuck that. I like it. Every drop. Every sound you make when you’re sore and needy and trying to pretend you’re not.” His voice dropped, hot against your ear. “I’ll lick it off your thighs. Off my cock. Off the damn sheets if I have to.”

You swallowed hard, breath catching.

“You’re not hiding from me,” he said. “Not when you’re bleeding. Not when you’re aching. That’s when I want you most.”

And with that, he tugged the blanket away and pulled you onto his lap—uncaring of the mess, uncaring of the stain on his pants. His hands were on your hips, firm and steady, as he ground you down against him. “You’re mine,” he whispered, low and gravel-deep. “Always. Period or not.”

VILTRUMITE MARK

You didn’t say anything when he entered the room.

You were lying on your side, facing away, a clean towel under you, body curled in on itself as the worst day of your period kicked in.

Viltrumite Mark could smell it the second he opened the door.

He stood there in silence, observing—watching how you clenched your thighs and shifted slightly, uncomfortable and clearly in pain. His expression didn’t shift much. He rarely showed anything. But you heard the door close behind him, quiet and slow, like he didn’t want to startle you.

“I thought you’d be gone longer,” you murmured.

He sat on the edge of the bed, resting a hand on your waist through the blanket. “I came back early.”

You tensed for a moment.

“I’m on my period,” you said. “Didn’t want to deal with you wanting sex and me—”

“You think I care?” he said flatly, eyes narrowed. “You think a little blood bothers me?”

His hand slid up your side, past your ribs, to rest just under your chest. “Do you forget what I am?”

You blinked, turning slowly to look at him.

“I smell it,” he continued, tone low. “I like the smell.”

Your breath caught.

“I know you’re hurting. I know your body’s sensitive.” He leaned closer, brushing his lips along your neck. “That doesn’t make me want you less. It makes me want to keep you closer.”

When you finally rolled toward him, he pulled the blankets down and took his time with you—unbothered by the blood, unfazed by the mess. His hands gripped your hips like they were meant to be held only by him.

It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t rushed. It was grounding. The kind of intimacy only Viltrumites offered—the kind where violence and desire were so closely braided, even tenderness felt like something primal.

Later, when you curled against his chest, the towel a forgotten stain on the sheets, he pressed a hand over your belly.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” he said. “Ever.” And you believed him.

EMPEROR MARK

You tried to slip past him.

Just a little cramp, just a little mess—nothing you thought he’d want to deal with. You thought he’d scoff. Maybe make a face. You didn’t expect the smirk when he caught your wrist.

“You think that’s gonna stop me?” His voice was low, gravel-soft and sharp around the edges. “You think I care you’re bleeding?”

You stammered something—something about not feeling sexy or not wanting to be gross. But it didn’t matter. Not to him.

He tugged you into him, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other resting low over your belly, palm hot and steady.

“Viltrumites were bred in blood,” he murmured against your ear. “War. Birth. Pain. We were made in it.”

His hand slid between your thighs, and when he felt the damp warmth already there—unmistakably hers, raw and human and bleeding—he groaned.

“Fuck, baby,” he hissed. “You’re perfect like this.” He didn’t just tolerate it. He revered it.

To Mark, it wasn’t filth—it was proof. That you could bleed and survive. That you were soft but never weak. That you’d let him touch you like this meant something deeper than lust. And during moments like this, when he pulled you to the throne and made you straddle him with nothing but his cape under your knees, he’d murmur filth into your ear like scripture.

“Made for me,” he’d breathe, even when blood slicked your inner thighs, even when the scent of you clung to his chest. “Look at the mess you make for me, pretty girl. No one else gets to see you like this.”

And when he was done, when your thighs trembled and you slumped against his chest, he’d carry you to the baths, still clothed in his armor, letting you lean against his shoulder as the hot water turned pink between your legs.

“You bleed,” he’d whisper, “and I only want you more.”

NO GOGGLES MARK

He hadn’t meant to bite that hard.

But the moment he tasted you—real blood blooming across his tongue, coppery and hot—his pupils dilated. He paused, just for a second, the beast inside him flickering to full attention.

You winced. “Mark…”

You reached down to touch the fresh cut on your inner thigh, already smeared with wet heat. It wasn’t deep, but it was definitely bleeding—and his teeth had left a perfect impression.

His gaze dropped to your hand.

Don’t cover it.

He gripped your wrist and pulled it away, slow, possessive, before dropping to his knees like he wasn’t even aware of doing it. His tongue licked the blood from your thigh in one long, reverent drag.

“Shouldn’t taste this good,” he rasped, lips red with you. “Fuck.”

His fingers dug into your hips—hard enough to bruise—as he leaned in again, lapping, kissing around the bite like it was holy.

“You’re gonna let me finish what I started,” he muttered, breath ragged against your skin. “Gonna keep shaking while I ruin you—and you’re gonna keep bleeding, aren’t you, baby?”

You whimpered something unintelligible. He grinned.

“Mine,” he said simply, as if it answered everything. “Even your blood says it.”

He dragged his teeth against your skin again, not to bite this time, but to mark you. To own you.

And later, after he’d cleaned the cut—tongue first, then cloth, though he was reluctant—he pressed a kiss just above it.

A warning. A promise. A prayer.

“You bleed for me,” he whispered. “No one else.”

PRISONER MARK

He smelled it before he even touched you.

Warm. Sharp. Intoxicating.

You were curled up on the couch, hoodie barely covering the tops of your thighs, shifting uncomfortably and pouting. Mark tilted his head from the doorway, jaw tight as he stared. You hadn’t said a word yet. You didn’t need to.

“…You’re bleeding.” Your eyes flicked up, a little sheepish. “Yeah.” He moved closer, slow. Controlled. Dangerous. “And you’re horny.” You chewed your lip. Said nothing.

His jaw clenched. The cuffs around his wrists shifted as he flexed, and when he stopped in front of you, he crouched low—hands sliding along your thighs like he was weighing you.

You squirmed. “I—I can wait. It’s messy, and I know you don’t—”

“Messy?” he cut in, voice low. “You think I care about messy?” He grabbed your hips, pulled you forward. His nose brushed the inside of your thigh. “You’re soaked through your panties, and you think I’m walking away from that?”

Heat bloomed in your cheeks.

He leaned forward—close enough for you to feel his breath through the thin fabric—and growled, “You forget where I came from, baby? What I’ve seen? What I’ve done?” He kissed your thigh, slow and open-mouthed. “This isn’t gonna scare me off.”

You could feel your heartbeat in your teeth. “Mark…”

“I like when you’re soft like this,” he muttered. “Sensitive. Needy.”

He kissed you again, lower this time. His voice dropped further, voice thick with want. “Let me have it. All of it. Let me ruin you like this.”

You swallowed, breath catching as you met his eyes. There was no hesitation. No disgust. Only hunger.

And a need to feel all of you—every part of you—while your blood warmed his hands and you cried his name through clenched teeth.

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gothushi · 3 days ago

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mother’s day sweetness

pairing: seb x f!reader

warning: none at all, just some simple fluff for once <3

note: i banged this out a lot quicker than i thought i would … can i get this motivation for puppy play rob rn ?!

word count: 2.1k

The pancakes you were making for brunch pile up on the plate, golden brown and steaming, making your mouth water. Cubed potatoes sizzle on the other burner, turning a crispy texture.

Seb’s fiddling with something in the other room, trying to find a show on TV instead of replaying the same thing you two have been watching for weeks.

“Hey- do you want any bacon? I forgot I had a pack in the fridge!” You call out, figuring he’ll be able to hear you.

Today is Mother’s Day, and considering his living situation, Seb came over here for a late breakfast and to chill.

“Bacon?!” Seb calls out, excitement rising in his tone. Coming into the kitchen, he stands against the doorway, arms crossed. “I want bacon.” You answer his happiness with a laugh, getting the package from the fridge, pancakes now all done and waiting to be eaten.

You know he’s been having a few hard days, so you’ll never complain really about his need for affection, especially when he’s so cute in the way he comes over to hug you from behind, laying his chin on your shoulder.

The room is filled with sizzling, a sweet smell as the bacon begins to fry.

“Go sit back down, I’ll be out in a few.”

Seb pouts. “But I want to stay with you.” He whines, arms tightening around your waist, nuzzling into your neck.

“HI, honey.” You lift your free hand to blindly find his cheek, cradling him closer. You use your spatula to shuffle the potatoes around, almost all of them nice and crisped up.

He nuzzles further, a little content noise in his throat, inhaling your comforting scent. His hug tightens a bit more, mumbling into your skin with soft kisses. “Need to be close to you.”

You give an appreciative hum at the gesture, eyes fluttering for a moment before you set the utensil down. “Mm. ‘m right here.”

He wishes he could meld himself with your body, kisses wandering along your neck, pressing into the sensitive spots.

“You smell nice.” The compliment is muttered out, words muffled.

Turning your head to nuzzle at his forehead, you reply, “Thank you.. it’s that new perfume I got the other week.”

Seb takes the opportunity to bury his face against the side of yours, nuzzling like a touch starved cat. His blues close, focusing solely on the feeling of your soft skin against his. “I really like it.” His hands squeeze on your hips, fingertips just barely brushing beneath the waistband of your pajama pants.

“Alright, naughty boy.” You huff a laugh, “Go sit down while I dish everything up. Extra syrup?”

Seb relents, pulling away with a huffy, dramatic sigh. He presses one last kiss to your head. “Yes, please.”

Once he’s out of the kitchen, you’re free to shuffle around to get some plates. You dish up the food, pancakes, bacon, and potatoes, a bowl of fruit already waiting out on the coffee table.

You come out with your hands full, expecting to sit and watch TV, but you pause at the items on the table. A gift bag, a small bouquet of flowers, and a pink envelope.

“What’s all this..?” You come around the couch slowly, looking down at him.

He’s visibly nervous, biting over his lip. His hands fidget, rubbing his fingers together as he looks up at you, reaching to take the plates to set them down.

“Uh, well..” He looks over at the stuff, then back to you. “Um. It’s for you.” His tone is tinged with nervousness. “It’s, uh.. Mother’s Day, right?”

At this point, you know Seb like the back of your hand.

You pick up on his nervous tells easily, stepping past him to sit down. “It is… but why for me?”

Seb swallows, shifting his gaze down to his bare feet. He’s still fidgeting, hands twisting as his jaw clenches. He feels embarrassed, not quite sure what to say. His lips part to stammer over his words, “Because.. because you always.. you’ve been..” He isn’t the greatest with verbal words.

The unease rattling around in his bones is palpable, making you hold back a coo. You allow him a moment longer before you talk, teasingly, “You didn’t have to get me something just because you call me mommy.”

Seb’s cheeks flush at your taunt, letting out a nervous laugh. He peeks at you shyly, “It’s not.. I mean..” He’s so adorably flustered, it’s sweet.

You reach out and tuck a stray piece of hair behind his ear, smiling big. “Uh huh?”

He leans into the fleeting touch, eyes fluttering for a moment. He so enjoys casual affection, which you give so freely and without hesitation.

“It’s- I just..” He gives a sigh. He knows he can’t find the right words, so instead he gestures to the gifts. “Just open them.”

“Okay,” you whisper, pulling your hand back. “Card first?” You ask the rhetorical question as you reach for the envelope, pulling open the unsealed flap and tugging the card out.

Seb nods, watching you closely, his blues fixed on your every move. He looks nervous again.

The card itself is nothing extravagant, just a simple one he picked up at the drug store, pink with flowers on it, but he hopes you’ll like what’s inside. You open the card to find his handwriting filling the left side, penmanship unusually neat and precise.

To Y/N,

You’ve always been there for me, supporting me through everything. You’re like a safe harbor in a storm. You’ve given me so much comfort, security, advice, love, have taken care of me at my weakest.

You do so much and ask for nothing in return, and you always have my back. You give the best hugs, and you’re always there if I need someone to cry to. You’ve helped me grow to understand myself more, have given me a place to be myself, to explore new sides of me. It’s a miracle you understand when I’m upset, and it’s a bit scary how good you are at reading me like an open book, how you’ve given me new ways to cope that are a lot nicer than breaking things.

You make me feel loved. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, you are my calm.

I know I can be frustrating and I’m not easy to handle. I can be stubborn and difficult, moody. But you never leave. Even if I get bratty …

I don’t say it enough, but I love you. You’re so amazing and I don’t know where I’d be if I didn’t have you.

Happy Mother’s Day to my mama

Love, Sebby

Your eyes feel a little wet, blinking rapidly as you can’t possibly tear the smile of your face. “Seb..” You coo softly, sniffling, setting the card aside so you can lean to hug him.

It’s like all the tension melts off his muscles, arms looping around you as he nuzzles against your jaw, taking a deep breath. “You like it..?”

You squeeze on him, one hand finding his nape to scratch affectionately as you nod. “You’re so sweet, Seb.. I love it.”

Your boy melts, a purr like noise sounding in his throat as you scritch his scalp. He hugs you impossibly tighter, hiding in you. “I’m glad..”

Your other hand rubs over his back soothingly, smiling and turning your head to press a kiss against his neck, “Should I open the bag?” You pull back some, tucking that loose piece of hair behind his ear again.

Seb’s breath hitches at the ticklish kiss before nodding eagerly. He feels less anxious now, more antsy instead with a giddy anticipation. “Yeah, yeah, open it.”

A warm feeling swirls in your chest as you pick up the pretty gift bag, pulling at the tissue paper on top to peek inside. You find a handful of items, all carefully chosen by Seb. He wanted to get you something practical yet sweet, useful items but also a sentimental piece.

There’s a bottle of your favorite perfume, some scented soap bars, a small framed photo of you and him together, a cute little mug with the words “World’s Best Mommy’ written on it, and a couple of your favorite candy bars.

“Oh- Seb..” You croon, reaching down to grab the picture first.

It’s a simple frame, a deep brown, probably some vintage like one he found at a thrift store. The picture is a recent one, a day at the park where he sheepishly kicked his feet around and asked to take a photo together sat on one of the benches.

He grins, eyes gleaming with satisfaction at the way you smile. It’s pretty, the sunlight filtering through the trees behind you, and the reflection off the small lake made for nice lighting as your smiling faces.

“Yeah.. I thought you’d like it..” He feels a bit bashful, rubbing his hands together.

“Oh, I love it,” you blindly rub on his shoulder, moving your hand to his nape again, “The frame is so pretty too, it’ll match the stuff in my room.”

He melts at the touch, digging a little. It’s grounding for him, something you do often to press a bit of weight there, to focus him. “Yeah..?” He mutters, a hint of relief in his tone. There’s a small burst of pride, figuring the photo was an obvious choice, but you noticing the detail of him finding a similar type frame makes him happy. He spent days going to three different thrift stores to find a good one. “You think so?”

“Of course! You know the little painting in there? I swear it’s the same design almost.” You grin, offering that reassurance you know he’s searching for, so you can stroke the proud bubble forming. “And this is just darling. New favorite coffee mug.” You set the photo down to pull out the ceramic, smiling at the cute bubble lettering.

He smiles, pride swelling up with tinted cheeks. “You really like it?” He leans in slightly, more relaxed, “I was worried you’d think it was too cheesy..”

“No, it’s adorable.” It joins the frame so you can pull the other smaller items out. “Think that might be better than my Bratz one.” You examine the soaps, checking the scents.

He huffs a little laugh at your words. He thought you’d like it, considering you wear a necklace with the cursive word ‘mama’ on it everyday. “Better than your Bratz one? That’s a high bar to clear, you know.”

“Mmm, but you clear it easy.” You turn your head, kissing his temple as you compliment him.

Oh, how sweet of you. You do such a good job at comforting him, reassuring. He leans in closer, nuzzling at your cheek and seeking out a little kiss. “You’re too sweet to me..”

“Nothing’s ever too sweet for my babe.” Your arm hooks around him, rubbing at his back and kissing his forehead again.

He purrs like a content kitty cat, going boneless as he leans into your half hug. “You’re gonna spoil me..” He tilts up some to grin at you as you lean back comfortably into the couch. “I’ll turn into a spoiled little brat if you keep treating me like this.”

You bark a laugh, squeezing him closer. “I have bad news for you, Seb, you’re already a spoiled little brat.”

He pouts playfully, plush bottom lip sticking out in a faux sulk. He knows it’s true, deep down.

“I am not..” He protests, a glint of amusement in his eyes. He hides himself back into your neck, smiling now.

“Oh.. you’re really gonna tell me you’re not mama’s spoiled little boy? I’d have to beg to differ.”

He huffs now, cheeks coloring pink. “I’m not spoiled.” He didn’t deny being mama’s little boy though.

“No? Mama made you this nice breakfast, didn’t she?” You tease. Obviously, you’d never hold any of the things you do against him, it’s just fun to toy with him.

He grumbles playfully as if mocking you, nuzzling closer. He knows the truth, and can’t deny it even if he wanted to. “Yes.. you did.. but- I can make breakfast too..”

“Yeah?” You bring your hand up from his back, gently carding it through his honey locks. “You wanna make mama breakfast tomorrow then?”

The idea of him being given a task for you, to make you proud, to take care of you, makes him giddy. He nods shyly, “Yeah, I can do that.. I’ll make you a fancy omelette, or pancakes or whatever you want.”

“Ohhh, might take you up on the omelette offer.” Grinning, you pepper a couple kisses onto his forehead, “I love you.”

Seb’s smile widens at your affection, heart aching happily. “I love you too.” He mumbles, reaching for your other hand to take it in his larger one. “I’m so lucky to have you, mama.”

Oh.. sweet boy. Kissing on his head again, you pet over his hair, fingers curling against his. “My handsome boy..”

As you gather your plates to eat, sat back comfortably with his legs over your lap, you chime in with a quiet snort. “Does this mean I should get you something for Father’s Day?”

#seb as if #seb as if x reader

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selinymaz · 2 days ago

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Selin had contemplated going to a therapist a few times in her life in hopes that she could unburden herself from the demons that clung to her back. The weight of guilt and regrets had worn her down throughout the years but this conversation, the last twenty minutes, had done more wonders than professional could. The fact that her sister indicated she was proud of her warmed her heart and she couldn't help but smile shyly. "It sounds like there's a lot of things we should have told each other. It's better late than never." She wished she would have opened a line of communication with her when she was in the throws of postpartum and offered her help and guidance. "I wish I would have said a lot of things sooner and I should have. I was the older sister. I should have been there for you." It was never up to Leyla to ask for help while going through so much in such a vulnerable stage of life. "I appreciate that but even though I'm sure he can break an heart, I don't think he's the type of guy you need to scare off with a shovel." Wes was genuine and kind. That man didn't have a bad bone in his body and she still believed that to be true.

"I love that girl so much." Billie had been the best thing in her life as of late and she never grew tired of spending time with her. Which only enhanced her guilt at how much time she'd missed with her, and her younger sister. She quietly listened to everything Leyla had gone through and handled on her own. Perhaps she'd told her friends or other inner circle, but she should have been able to confide in her sister. The more Leyla divulged, Selin did her best to put her own thoughts and emotions in the back burner in order to focus on her sister and niece. It was their choice and all she could do was respect that. "That's normal. He hurt you and it's understandable that you weren't ready to face that or open those doors again." She couldn't imagine how scary that would be as a single mother. They weren't exactly known to face down their issues head on or else they wouldn't have fought for so long. Her head shook when she began to turn it on herself. "A letter is a letter. I know that if things were different, if there was any circumstance where Billie was elsewhere, you would crawl until your hands, knees and feet bled to get to her. He could, and should have, done more if he wanted to know her."

If she were honest, she hated the fact that Leyla was even contemplating giving him a second try. She was a big believer that when people showed themselves for who they were, to believe them. But she also realized that it was complicated because there was a little girl who deserved to at least know and decide for herself. "Billie is smart and she deserves to know the truth and decide what she wants. I hate that she even has to decide at her age but I think she'll look back and appreciate that. She'll be happy you told her everything, no matter how bad it is. For all you know, she knows him only as the nice man who facetimes her. I don't know how much he's admitted but there shouldn't be any hiding the fact that he abandoned you both." There wasn't anything she could say to make it better or easier so she leaned forward and took Leyla's hand in hers. "It's gonna suck but if you need a wine night or to rant, I'm here."

She swallowed hard when she listened to her speak on her feelings. Not the fears for her daughter but what lingered inside after the person she loved, who then disappeared, resurfaced demanding to know her child. If Selin could take her place until she got to a place where this was all in the past, she would without thinking twice. But this wasn't something she could fix. "Do you think you would want to give him a second chance? Not necessarily romantically, not even with the whole Billie situation, but just at allowing him to be in your life." He would need to be in some ways because they shared a daughter but she didn't need to allow him into her heart or life in the way others were. "You don't have to answer that now, or even know the answer but it may be something you want to think about for yourself. He may be back but you do have a choice in regard to your heart, energy, and what you want." She cleared her throat and tilted her head. "Whatever unresolved feelings are there, in general, just remember that you deserve the world and are in charge. But also that I'll skin him alive if he hurts you both again."

Leyla gave a small nod of understanding as her sister spoke, letting the weight of her words settle. There was something resolute in the way Selin carried herself now, and she could only admire it. "I get that," she said softly. "Sometimes leaving is the hardest thing to do, but also the bravest. And I'm really glad you did what was right for you. I wish I'd told you that sooner." A faint smirk tugged at her lips when Selin joked about anyone breaking her heart. "Well, if it ever comes to that, I'll be the one standing behind you with a shovel," she quipped, the humour helping to ease some of the ache. She hadn't expected the lump in her throat at Selin's words about protecting her and Billie. Deep down, she'd always known her sister was in her corner, if it came down to it.. but sometimes it didn't feel like it, and she was sure she felt the same about her. To come full circle now, and actually start to open up to one another and.. possibly heal? That made her want to melt into a puddle of tears. "Thank you," she said, voice thin, but honest. She contemplated circling around the table and giving her sister a hug, but she figured that was probably too much, too soon. She resorted instead to reaching over and touching her hand, if only for a few moments. "I've missed having you around. And Billie—she thinks you hung the moon. She lights up whenever she hears your name."

She also couldn't help but smile at the way Selin defended her — unapologetically, fiercly. She wouldn't be her if she didn't do so in that way. Leyla's jaw clenched slightly as she looked toward the window, something of a sigh escaping her. "I didn't expect it. To know that she was in contact with him already. If I'm honest, I did see a few letters come from him but.. I posted them back. I couldn't.. bring myself to open them. I wasn't ready." She returned her gaze to her sister, searching her eyes as if searching for answers. Answers that she wasn't the most horrible mom. "I haven't asked him what was in them but.. what if he'd mentioned wanting to meet Billie, to know her? What if.. I've been the villain in her story without meaning to be? I've only ever wanted to try and protect her."

She lifted her gaze from her hands and looked at Selin, her eyes tired but sincere. "When we broke up, when.. I told him he was pregnant. It's a long story but, I can understand that he wasn't ready. He hadn't really had any good examples for parents growing up." That much she knew, that it had terrified him. That maybe it.. blindsided him. It didn't erase the fact that she needed him, that she set out to do this alone and if it wasn't for Val, for her family, for the town she could call home.. she didn't know what she'd do. "I have to think of Billie first, and she deserves stability. So if he's going to stick around, if he's going to prove that.. he's not going to run away 'cause he's afraid again, then.. anyway, I need to figure it out with Billie. I haven't had the heart to ask her about him, about the calls. I don't even know how to.." The words trailed, and so did any idea of a solution to that problem.

Selin's question hung there, maybe heavier than the rest. She didn't answer right away. "How do I feel?" She repeated softly, as it trying on the words for size. For one, it knocked the air out of her a little, seeing him unexpectedly the way she did. "It's not fair. He left and I spent years putting everfything back together — me, Billie.. all of it. And now he just shows up and acts like he's ready to step in, like it's so simple." There was a pause, her eyes flicking up briefly, just long enough to meet Selin’s before dropping again. “I didn’t think it would affect me like this. I thought I’d feel angry. And I do. But also…” She stopped herself, lips pressing into a line. “I don’t know what to call it. It’s just there, sitting under my skin, like something I haven’t let myself look at too closely. Sadness.. shock.. fear, I don't know.”

#( interaction; leyla. )

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moongothic · 10 months ago

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Seen a few people too many discuss the concept of Dragodile Baby 2 and my hot take is that there's no way in hell Crocodile would ever detransition just to go through nine months of horrible dysphoria again, let alone go through pregnancy ever again (or allow Ivankov to even touch him, what if they died and weren't able to trans Croc's gender again afterwards? Hell naw, ain't worth the risk)

But this leaves an opportunity for a Funnier Option:

Dragon wants another baby? Sure, but it's his turn to carry it >:)

#Moon posting #OP Meta #Dragodile #CW Pregnancy #Iva-chan's HRT is *MAGIC* HRT. You get a fully functional cis ass body. Dragon can be forcefemme'd and impregnated WE HAVE THE TECHNOLOGY #I just. Imagining the convo that would lead to this has me in hysterics okay #Like Crocodile completely casually telling Dragon off like ''I'm not going through pregancy again. Your turn''#Like he's not even SERIOUSLY suggesting Dragon do it (just refusing going through it again himself)#But then Dragon actually considders it #Innitially horrified by the thought but then figuring like. Crocodile went through it and survived. It can't be that bad can it #Dragon would have to learn the hard way just how Bad it would in fact be lmaooo #Also hey Dragon getting to experience Gender Dysphoria in Turbo Mode would give him like a better understanding of The Shit Croc went throu #He'd be able to understand Croc's feelings and appreciate what he put up with for their baby #Which would be great if they were actually getting back together after The Divorce etc etc #Also Croc would get to be a doting husband for his temporary-wife like he was meant to be and that's just great #Dragon flipflopping between horrible dysphoria and being head over heels for his mob boss husband being so gentle with him? Adorable #((Just for clarity this is not a critique of other people's idea of Dragodile Baby 2. I just wanted to share The Funnier Option))#((You know me I love two things; gut wrenching tragedies and comedy. That's it. The two genderdsdjfghsjkdfgh))

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anna-scribbles · 1 year ago

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h-how do you ever finish any of your work? genuine question because you seem to be productive despite your agreste syndrome and I need to learn your ways. but also how do you ever finish any of your work

unclear. last night i stayed up and finished a report worth 25% of my grade at about 5am, arrived on time for my 9am lecture, and spent about half of it zoned out while thinking about seventeen year old emilie agreste. and i was one of the most active participants in the class discussion

#in some ways it IS the move to go to grad school right out of undergrad #because your body can still sort of operate like a college kid #i’m on about 3ish hours of sleep rn and this morning it felt SO over but now i’ve eaten something and we’re so back #i also don’t really do caffeine. except sometimes i’ll go get one of those panera death lemonades #i might be able to snag a short nap before work #but anyway about seventeen year old emilie. i was thinking abt how she was in that movie solitude and adrien said she was seventeen #WAIT. NO. HE SAID SHE WAS SEVENTEEN IN THAT PHOTO ON HIS DESKTOP NOT IN THE MOVIE #well. okay whatever i’m gonna tell you what i was thinking about anyway #OKAY i’m back i just checked the wikipedia page and then i watched the end of gorizilla. to make sure i’m not lying. because i’m normal.#anyway i was thinking about the solitude film and how it’s super rare and old and obscure and whatever. and how apparently #emilie wrote it herself and andre produced it #and i’m thinking about how gabe was discovered by audrey and that’s how he got his start in the fashion industry #so now i’m like?? did gabe and emilie first meet on the set of solitude? because gabe was designing costumes or whatever?#and that’s how audrey found him? have people already thought about this??#also i just checked and it doesn’t say emilie’s last name in the credits and also it’s ‘graham films’ with the twin rings logo m #so i’m assuming she’s still emilie graham de vanily at that point #anyway it comes back to seventeen year old emilie because i started imagining seventeen year old runaway emilie having her new life in pari #after escaping her british nobility life #and the first thing she does is write and star in an original movie. of course.#and she meets this repressed bisexual punk upstart costume designer who is so the opposite of everyone she’s ever known #and he’s immediately so unhealthily obsessed with her. which she appreciates.#and then they proceed to have the most toxic doomed evil relationship of all time #also she gets cheated because once gabe gets money he represses himself SO hard that he is now exactly like all the people emilie grew up w #but at least he’s still obsessed with her #this is what i was thinking about during class today. i don’t know how i get anything done either.#ml #anna rambles #asks

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aggravatedanarchy · 10 months ago

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Hello Kind Soul 💕

I am trying to evacuate my family from Gaza to safe area to save our lives ASAP 🙏

I Ask if you could support us by share my blog and boost my campaign?

https://www.gofundme.com/f/Stand-With-AlBalawi-Family

If you are generous enough, you can donate any small contribution, it really helps ❤

Of course!

Anyone who can donate, please consider doing so! It looks like they're currently at just under halfway to their goal.

If you're unable to donate, please consider reblogging this so that it might reach someone who can! (And hey, maybe consider reblogging it even if you did!)

Wishing you the best; I don't generally pray, but I will keep you in mine moving forward.

Here's a photo of my cat to hopefully get this more traction (and so I can put this in more tags)

#asks #elbalawi #free palestine #palestine #palestine fundraiser #cats #cat photos #cat pictures #cats of tumblr #catblr #jay.jpg #sappho #my pets #unfortunately I don't have a bank account so all I can do is share the link for now. but hopefully I will be able to return soon with +#+something of more substance. as I've said on another blog here recently: if you're able to show me proof that you've donated here or to +#+any other palestinian relief/evacuation funds and can DM me your proof I am willing to do art for you in some fashion #or if you just want more photos of my cat? I will also leverage those. just whatever it takes to get money goin through these #any tag suggestions are also appreciated #fucked up that I feel like I need to include something in the body of the post to illicit interaction but. what else can i do?#jay.txt #cat #also yes the sign in the back does read ''ceasefire now'' if you can't quite make out enough to guess. i tried to find a photo of her where+#+it's in view; this is the best recent one #i don't know who designed it but i can provide a clearer photo if asked

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shyfurby · 16 hours ago

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Okay the submission has been sent

But I kept thinking about him 👀

#just the one...#i cannot over saturate the market #but in the tags if i may? like obviously i have Ymir headcanons... like? my man...#first off i think he's extremely capable of/takes enjoyment in a service top role #theres absolutely a pleasure from slowly taking care of/giving someone what they need and revelling in the fact that he's able to provide #he absolutely derives pleasure from seeing others taken care of at his hand but i think hes extremely methodical #but SECOND OFF i think hes also a huge bottom and if someone reverses the roles/comes on strong he'll fold easily #he deserves to be taken care of and i think there are desires beneath the surface for that #to be lavished and doted one and to let someone take full control appreciating his body #like... put that man in a mating press. sloppy style shit. overstimulate him.#he's got that fingerussy and i know that shit goes crazy!#put your fingers in it. your whole hand. your tongue. fuck it. get that man incoherent. he'd love it.#knock that man up #i dont think this is a hot take but i dont think he's a cozy aftercare type #like. will lay there with you sure but bu no means touchy afterwards #what do you mean youre talking about stars and philosophy? now?#oh you're going to take a bath? by yourself?#i think if youre lucky you might get to take a relaxing bath with him but like.... rare #it would have to not be the first time #devon yaps

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drdemonprince · 7 months ago

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The data does not support the assumption that all burned out people can “recover.” And when we fully appreciate what burnout signals in the body, and where it comes from on a social, economic, and psychological level, it should become clear to us that there’s nothing beneficial in returning to an unsustainable status quo.

The term “burned out” is sometimes used to simply mean “stressed” or “tired,” and many organizations benefit from framing the condition in such light terms. Short-term, casual burnout (like you might get after one particularly stressful work deadline, or following final exams) has a positive prognosis: within three months of enjoying a reduced workload and increased time for rest and leisure, 80% of mildly burned-out workers are able to make a full return to their jobs.

But there’s a lot of unanswered questions lurking behind this happy statistic. For instance, how many workers in this economy actually have the ability to take three months off work to focus on burnout recovery? What happens if a mildly burnt-out person does not get that rest, and has to keep toiling away as more deadlines pile up? And what is the point of returning to work if the job is going to remain as grueling and uncontrollable as it was when it first burned the worker out?

Burnout that is not treated swiftly can become far more severe. Clinical psychologist and burnout expert Arno van Dam writes that when left unattended (or forcibly pushed through), mild burnout can metastasize into clinical burnout, which the International Classification of Diseases defines as feelings of energy depletion, increased mental distance, and a reduced sense of personal agency. Clinically burned-out people are not only tired, they also feel detached from other people and no longer in control of their lives, in other words.

Unfortunately, clinical burnout has quite a dismal trajectory. Multiple studies by van Dam and others have found that clinical burnout sufferers may require a year or more of rest following treatment before they can feel better, and that some of burnout’s lingering effects don’t go away easily, if at all.

In one study conducted by Anita Eskildsen, for example, burnout sufferers continued to show memory and processing speed declines one year after burnout. Their cognitive processing skills improved slightly since seeking treatment, but the experience of having been burnt out had still left them operating significantly below their non-burned-out peers or their prior self, with no signs of bouncing back.

It took two years for subjects in one of van Dam’s studies to return to “normal” levels of involvement and competence at work. following an incident of clinical burnout. However, even after a multi-year recovery period they still performed worse than the non-burned-out control group on a cognitive task designed to test their planning and preparation abilities. Though they no longer qualified as clinically burned out, former burnout sufferers still reported greater exhaustion, fatigue, depression, and distress than controls.

In his review of the scientific literature, van Dam reports that anywhere from 25% to 50% of clinical burnout sufferers do not make a full recovery even four years after their illness. Studies generally find that burnout sufferers make most of their mental and physical health gains in the first year after treatment, but continue to underperform on neuropsychological tests for many years afterward, compared to control subjects who were never burned out.

People who have experienced burnout report worse memories, slower reaction times, less attentiveness, lower motivation, greater exhaustion, reduced work capability, and more negative health symptoms, long after their period of overwork has stopped. It’s as if burnout sufferers have fallen off their previous life trajectory, and cannot ever climb fully back up.

And that’s just among the people who receive some kind of treatment for their burnout and have the opportunity to rest. I found one study that followed burned-out teachers for seven years and reported over 14% of them remained highly burnt-out the entire time. These teachers continued feeling depersonalized, emotionally drained, ineffective, dizzy, sick to their stomachs, and desperate to leave their jobs for the better part of a decade. But they kept working in spite of it (or more likely, from a lack of other options), lowering their odds of ever healing all the while.

Van Dam observes that clinical burnout patients tend to suffer from an excess of perseverance, rather than the opposite: “Patients with clinical burnout…report that they ignored stress symptoms for several years,” he writes. “Living a stressful life was a normal condition for them. Some were not even aware of the stressfulness of their lives, until they collapsed.”

Instead of seeking help for workplace problems or reducing their workload, as most people do, clinical burnout sufferers typically push themselves through unpleasant circumstances and avoid asking for help. They’re also less likely to give up when placed under frustrating circumstances, instead throttling the gas in hopes that their problems can be fixed with extra effort. They become hyperactive, unable to rest or enjoy holidays, their bodies wired to treat work as the solution to every problem. It is only after living at this unrelenting pace for years that they tumble into severe burnout.

Among both masked Autistics and overworked employees, the people most likely to reach catastrophic, body-breaking levels of burnout are the people most primed to ignore their own physical boundaries for as long as possible. Clinical burnout sufferers work far past the point that virtually anyone else would ask for help, take a break, or stop caring about their work.

And when viewed from this perspective, we can see burnout as the saving grace of the compulsive workaholic — and the path to liberation for the masked disabled person who has nearly killed themselves trying to pass as a diligent worker bee.

I wrote about the latest data on burnout "recovery," and the similarities and differences between Autistic burnout and conventional clinical burnout. The full piece is free to read or have narrated to you in the Substack app at drdevonprice.substack.com

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classyrbf · 4 days ago

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THIEF IN THE NIGHT! — TOJI FUSHIGURO

SYNOPSIS...toji broke into your house hoping to steal some jewelry or even find some cash, something quick and easy to make his escape with. But when he found he you in your bedroom, cute panties on, tank top slipping off your shoulders, he knew right then and there he found something much more valuable

INFO...thief!toji x fem!reader, we jumping straight into it, dark content, dub con, fantasy roleplay between toji and reader, reader is sick and twisted just like toji, reader referred to as ‘fleshlight’, rough sex, choking, degradation, finger sucking, hair pulling, toji wearing a ski mask, doggy, full nelson, creampie, reader almost passed out, squirting, free use (?), name calling, anal, spit kink, fucking you in a headlock, a lot of really disgusting shit bc why not, freaky asf y’all pls be warned, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

“Nnngh! Ah! Ah! Fuck!” You scream into the mattress, your panties ripped and discarded on the floor. His large hand presses your face into the mattress, brutally thrusting into your poor cunt, his dick splitting your open. “Oh my god!” You scream, gripping the wrinkled sheets below you.

“Tight little cunt keeps sucking me right back in,” he cockily smirks, his fingers threading through your hair, harshly pulling your head back. The fabric of his ski mask brushes against your cheek, his heavy breaths hitting your skin. His hips snap against yours, each thrust jolting you forward, the bed creaking under your weight. “You wanna get fucked stupid, don’t you? You’re nothing but a whore. Letting some strange man in a mask fuck you…how pathetic. Did you need to get fucked that bad, huh? Huh?” He mocks you, plunging his fingers in your mouth and pushing them down your throat.

Your eyes are rolling into the back of your skull, barely able to hold yourself up. Your legs are weak, his thick cock plunging in and out of your leaking cunt. You should be terrified, not turned on, not ready to cum, not dripping wet when you think about his cock down your throat . Maybe you really are a slut. You are. You are and you know it. Toji pulls his fingers from your mouth, his hand wrapping around your throat, squeezing it. The last thing he expects you to do is smile, a mix between giggles and moans leaving your lips. You’re twisted, but fuck does it make his cock throb. “Nasty bitch,” he groans in your ear, choking you harder.

“Mmmm, fuck!” Your teeth catch your lower lip, what feels like electricity shoots through your body, your skin feels like it’s on fire. “Use me. Use me, please,” you whimper, nodding your head at him as if he needed any confirmation to do anything to you. Quickly, he pulls you off his cock, tossing you on the bed like rag doll. His broad chest heaves up and down, staring at your limp and sweaty body, your tank top still halfway on. “Done already? I said fucking use me!” You taunt him. “Come on and fuck me. Fuck me or I’ll do it myself while you watch—”

His hand wraps around your throat again, quickly shutting you up. “Shut the fuck up,” he growls. “Wanna get fucked? Right?” He easily tosses you around, pulling you on top of him. He laughs, “don’t fight me now, no, no. I’ll fucking break you.” His arms hook under your knees, pushing your legs so far back that he’s able to lock his hands behind your head. “Can’t get away now.” He angles his cock towards your entrance, positioning you just right as his bulbous head pushes past your folds.

He starts bucking his hips into your poor cunt, bullying each inch inside without remorse. You can’t help but watch his cock reappear and disappear inside of you. “Ah, ah, yes, yes! Fuckkkkk!” Your eyes are rolling back again, his cock pushing up against your sweet spot over and over, dragging against your g-spot. Your pussy squelches around him, juices dripping down his shaft, only making it easier for him to fuck you at such a grueling pace.

“Look at you, can barely talk. So drunk on my cock like a fucking whore.” He sucks in a breath, growling when your pussy clenches around him. He frees one of his hands, reaching down to rub your neglected clit in messy circles.

“Ahhh!” You scream, hips jolting at the added pleasure that makes your toes curl. “Shit, shit, shit!” Stumbles from your mouth, it’s all you can say before you’re squirting all over his cock. Clearly gushes from your cunt, body quivering in his hold. His pace doesn’t falter, still unforgiving and ruthless.

“That right, squirt all over that fucking cock.” He continues to rub your clit, dragging out your orgasm and turning your brain into complete mush. “Wanted me to use you, right? Don’t start crying now.” He huffs, sweat clinging to his skin. He feels that spongy spot inside you, purposely rubbing and thrusting into it, the way you’re crying out is like music to his ears.

“It’s so deeep! Oh my god I’m gonna fucking squirt again!” You’re barely able to catch your breath, body shaking once more as your pussy gushes, soaking Toji’s thighs and your bedsheets. “Nghhh, yes!” You wickedly smile, entranced by how his dick pumps in and out of you.

Suddenly, he pulls out of you, pushing flat onto your stomach. His rough hands, grope your ass, spreading it. He gathers his spit, letting it slowly drip from his mouth and right onto your asshole, rubbing it in with his thumb. “Gonna use this pretty little ass all I want.” He smacks your has hard, the sound echoing off your bedroom walls. “Get her all nice and wet. Spread your ass for me.” He orders, and you listen without a second thought. His spit drops on your ass again, smearing it in more. “I ain’t gonna be fucking nice, so cry and scream all you want, I don’t fucking care.” His swollen head prods against your tight hole, pushing against it.

A pained sigh escaped your throat, feeling him stretch you open. “Ah!” You hiss, your face scrunching up. His spits once more, rubbing his tip against your hole before trying again. Once his head pushes through that’s all he needs to slam his cock right into you. “Owwahh,” you cry, gripping the sheets below you, trying to get used to unfamiliar feeling.

“Shut up.” His bicep wraps around your head, essentially putting you in headlock while he fucked you. His hips pressed up against your ass, yet again no remorse in his actions. “Keep your ass spread,” he barks in your ear, gritting his teeth. He chokes you harder, feeling warm drool spill from your mouth and onto his arm. “What a perfect little fleshlight you are,” He lets out a breathy chuckle.

As his cock pistons and out of your ass, your vision slowly starts to fade, on the verge of passing out. You’re barely staying awake, wanting to feel every millisecond of pleasure, greedy to cum and feel every thick inch of his cock. He takes quick notice, watch how your eyes roll back on their own and your body falls limp without you making a sound, he loosens his grip a bit, allowing to breathe. “Don’t you fucking pass out on me.” He smacks your cheek a few times. “Keep that ass spread no matter what!”

Your eyes shoot open, choked out moans barely escaping. Your poor pussy is throbbing, needy for some attention but god does getting fucked in your ass almost feel just as good. Your nails claw at his forearm, needing to grab at anything just to feel some type of stability from his ravaging thrusts. The familiar feeling begins to build up in the pit of your stomach, making it harder to hold back. Are you really going to squirt from getting fucked in the ass? Yes. Once again you’re shaking underneath him, your juices soaking your bedsheets below.

He lets out a good laugh, seeing your cunt clench around nothing as you cum. “Look at that, cumming from getting fucked in the ass…dirty slut.” He removes his arm from around your head, your screams and moans more audible as your face falls into the mattress. “That’s right, fucking scream.” He pushes your head down, baring his teeth while he fucks you like a wild animal.

“Please! Please!” You don’t even know what you’re begging for, your mind is scrambled, high off lust. Maybe you were begging for him to fuck your cunt again. You weren’t quite sure. All you know is that you needed him, needed his cock. It’s what consumed you right now. “Please, put it back in my pussy! Oh god!”

In one swift movement he flipped you onto your back, slipping his cock from inside you. “Beg. Beg like you fucking mean it.” He holds your hands above your head, running his cock up and down between your folds, nudging against your swollen clit.

“Nnngh, please put it inside my pussy again. I wanna feel you, I wanna feel your thick cock inside me, stretching me. I need you to cum in me, fill me up completely. Ruin me.” Those last two words were all he needed to hear from your pretty lips. His cock filled you up all once, earning a cry from you. He began moving at a rapid speed, hands latching onto your hips, pulling you onto his cock. You looked up at him through thick lashes, fighting the urge to pull his mask off and see who was really under there, but you didn’t. “Kiss me,” you said barely above a whisper.

His lips crashed onto yours, hungry, messy, needy, sloppy. Your tongues swiped against each other, pulling back and lolling out your tongue for him to spit on. He gladly did so before pulling you back in for the kiss, biting at your lower lip. His thrusts grew sloppier with more need, his orgasm approaching quicker than he anticipated. “Ohhhh, fuckkkk,” he drawled, focusing on the way your wet cunt squeezed around him. He quickly pushed your legs back, mounting you and putting you into a mating press, an optimal position for creampies. “Take all this fucking cum,” he snarled, slamming his hips into you one last time before his spurts of his cum painted your walls.

“Yes!” You smiled, giggling as you watch his head fall forward, his abs flexing and body twitching the longer it lasted. You gasped, “I can still feel it going.” A lazy smile tugged at the corner of your lips, jaw falling slack when he slowly pulled out of you. Heavy breathing heard from you both, the smell of sex and sweat in the air.

He watched as it slowly dripped down your ass, almost like he was signing a piece of his artwork. “Desperate fucking whore.” He grabbed your jaw, glaring at you. “If you tell anyone about this, I swear.” He warned.

“Swear what? That you’ll fuck me stupid again?” You teased, unafraid of what he may actually be capable of. “If so, please do.”

“You’re fucking twisted,” he responded. There was few seconds of silence before he spoke again, “but god, do I fucking love it.”

feel free to support me <3

#—☆classyrbf #jjk #jjk x reader #jujustu kaisen #jjk smut #toji x reader #toji smut #toji x reader smut #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x reader smut #toji oneshot smut #jjk onehsot #jjk oneshot smut #jjk x reader smut #toji oneshot #toji x you #jjk toji

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reignpage · 2 months ago

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Perverted things JJK men do (established relationship)

Gojo

Cums in your conditioner bottle. He loves knowing that you wear him with you every day, that when people brush against you and inhale your sweet scent, they’re also smelling him. Satoru likes to think that it sends, on a cellular level perhaps, a message telling them you’re taken, by him.

Intent on keeping this a secret, he does the grocery shopping every time you let him know you’re running out. Unscrewing the bottle, he places the head of his cock into the hole just as he’s about to reach his peak, jerking his long and pink cock off as fast as he can, biting his bottom lip to keep from making a noise that might alert you to the depravity that’s going on in the bathroom.

Then, once he’s spilled his seed, he screws the lid back on and shakes vigorously to ensure it’s all mixed in properly and that every pump will have his cum in it. Satoru counts the hours until you excuse yourself to the bathroom and waits, in anticipation and with a leaky cock, for you to emerge all fresh and brand spanking new.

He’s never once told anyone else this, and he himself does not understand why he feels the urge to be so perverted. Sometimes he wonders how you’d react if he told you. Would you get mad? Make him stop? Or maybe you’d find it hot or adorable?

Whatever it’ll be, Satoru’s not eager to find out anytime soon. So, he continues his routine, smiles when you get a compliment on your hair, and frowns when you say you want to stop using hair conditioner and wear a hair mask instead.

What the heck is a hair mask?

Geto

Takes advantage of your sleeping form. It started off completely innocent. He just liked watching the faces you make: your brows furrow when you’re having a nightmare, your bottom lip quivers when you exhale just a little too hard, and you sometimes smile when you’re having a dream he can only hope involves him.

But then, the urge to do something darker, something secretive overwhelmed him. At night, you’re completely vulnerable. He loves pushing what he can get away with. He’ll manoeuvre your body into positions he likes — arms wide open so he can see your breasts press against the thin confines of your tank top, nipples hard and poking through; legs spread and feet together in a butterfly position so he can see your panties tight against your pussy lips, the imprints defined and he can run his finger down the seam, pressing harder where your clit is just to hear your gasp; and keeping your body still so he can pull the neckline of your tank top down, baring your beautiful tits to the night air and wrap them around his cock.

He juts between the valley, tip knocking into your chin and leaving a wet trail that breaks off as he pulls back just to thrust forward again. Careful not to thrust too hard, lest the bed creaks and you're jostled awake, he uses the immorality of his act to get himself going, knowing that you're vulnerable to his ministrations. But Suguru isn't a bad boyfriend, so he leans back and presses hard against your pussy, rubbing you to an orgasm only your sleeping form can appreciate.

Ever the gentleman, he cums into a tissue and not into your mouth, and only then can he fall asleep beside you. Then, in the morning, he shrugs when you wonder why you're always soaked in the morning. Must have had a wet dream, he says.

Choso

Takes your dirty panties with him for moral support. You don’t know he does this and he’d very much like to keep it that way in case you chalk it up to him being a curse and not knowing what's right and wrong. He knows it's wrong. The truth is, he just really really likes you. Loves you, in fact. So, he sneakily steals a panty or two from the laundry basket and stuffs them in his pockets.

There’s just something about being able to carry you with him whenever he goes. Whether, it’s whilst he’s in the car, sparring, or on a mission. He can take a piece of you out and inhale your scent, bask in your sweetness, and memorise every part of you to heart.

Of course, his intentions aren’t entirely romantic and pure. He also really likes to jerk off with your used panties wrapped around his cock. It’s shameful and embarrassing and so depraved, he knows that, but that’s precisely what gets him going. Knowing you’d be shocked bye the extent of his adoration for you makes him thrust faster. He imagines you watching, with that saccharine sweet voice, telling him to show you just how much he loves you. And he never wants to disappoint you, so in the car, parked somewhere dark, he presses the cold, wet spot of the gusset to his nose and takes a long and deep inhale.

The car shakes with the ferocity of his jerking. One hand gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white and the other holding your panties to his cock head, connecting his tip to where you were and imagining that it’s your pussy wrapped around him. The scent, the wetness, the wrongness of it all makes him cum harder than he should. And just in time to pick you up too. This way when he gets to have the real thing with you, he’ll last longer.

Toji

Pisses you off on purpose. Can’t blame him. You’re so fucking adorable when you’re mad. Seriously. You make this pouting face when you think whatever excuse he’s giving you is complete and utter bullshit, which it is. Then, you’ll cross your arms, pushing those bouncy tits up, foot tapping and accentuating your long legs. Stomping around and yelling as if you know what you’re doing. You should know by now that raising your voice only gets him hard. And damn, when you smack his chest to get his attention, it makes his dick jump in his boxers.

Leaving the toilet seat up or not using a coaster, all of it irks you and gets him going. Of course, he doesn’t do it often; you’ll goddamn leave him if he did, that’s for sure. So, he saves his little tricks up his sleeve for when he’s really horny. Like now, when he didn’t take the meat out of the freezer to defrost in time for when you came home. You’re talking his ear off about how irresponsible he is, shrugging off your work clothes one by one until you’re left in a white button up and just panties, completely blind to how he’s grinning ear to ear, watching you bend over, showing him the smooth, round fats of your ass.

God, he loves the infuriated look on your face. You’re fuming. The best part about it all is the angry sex you’re about to have. Maybe you like to get mad at him for the same reason. Maybe you hope, as you walk up to the door of your house, that he’s fucked up something, anything. And who is he to deny you? So, with faux indignation, he grabs you by the throat and hisses for you to shut the fuck up, get on your knees and open that pretty mouth of yours. Put it to better use than yapping, he says, eyes rolling back at the intensity of your suction.

Nanami

Swaps out your birth control for sugar pills. He knows it’s wrong. God, does he ever. But the temptation is too hard to resist. Kento’s already pushing it with the fact that he convinced you to get on the pill so you can make love with no barrier between you two but he just had to go a step further and make sure that the pill is useless.

It only started recently. He just wanted to fuck once knowing he could be making you a mommy at any given moment. The thought of you all plump and round with his child drives him crazy. It makes him rut into you with no rhyme or rhythm, just pushing the overflowing cum he’s already pumped in there deeper into your pussy, tutting when they spill out of you. Thumbing the errant drops, he tells you to open up and pushes it down your throat; if his cum won’t go into your womb then it should go into your stomach, right?

The tears in your eyes from the overstimulation makes his cock throb. This one of the very rare moments he ever allows himself to make you cry and he imagines you'll also cry tears of joy when you find out you're pregnant with his child, and again when the baby, a little girl he hopes, is in your arms.

Kento knows he’ll be good to you. He’ll be so good. He’ll massage your swollen feet, waddle you over to the toilet, pulling your panties down for you when you can’t, tending to every craving no matter how odd and no matter at what time. You know he’ll be a good father — he’s sweet, caring, firm when needed, reliable and dependable. So, he reasons that you won’t mind if his seed does take hold.

You love raw sex just as much as he does, after all.

Sukuna

Makes you think he’s going to kill you. He has no remorse. The high is incredible. You have a penchant for pissing him off, so when his irritation finally boils over, you see a glint in his eyes and a tick in his jaw that very much tells you one thing: run.

Of course, he has a soft spot for you so he gives you a head start. He’s a monster, not a man. Every part of him is attune to his surroundings. He knows every inch of the estate and better yet, he knows you. Where you like to hide, where you think he’d think to look, and where your little legs could take you in the short time he gave you. Sukuna could seek you out immediately, but the fun isn’t in the victory. It’s in the conquest.

Voice loud, he taunts, “I can smell your fear, woman. I can hear your pathetic quivering. I know where you are. And when I find you, I’m going to tear you to pieces.”

For the effect, he even picks up an unnecessary weapon. A stoke or an axe, something that will make a chilling noise as he drags it along the wooden floor or scrape it against the wall, letting you know he’s getting closer and closer. His cock is throbbing in his robes, heavy and swinging, as he takes a deep inhale of the fear permeating the air. It’s salty from the sheer prospect of pain and death, but also sweet because it’s undeniably yours.

Entering your chambers, he rolls his eyes at how utterly predictable, and foolish, you are. You clear haven’t learnt from any of the stupid horror movies you’ve forced him to watch — hiding under the bed is the worst thing you can do. He reminds you of that when his big hand wraps around your ankle, fondling the frail bone, and tugs. Sukuna rejoices, and leaks cum, at the blood curdling cream you let out.

You dangle in the air as his monstrous form towers over you. When he sniffs at your pussy and smells the juices you’re leaking out too, he knows you get off on the thrill too, and perhaps, that’s the real reason he loves this so much.

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