#descendants bonny

[hannahhook7744]

Isle kid Moodboards revamped part 4;

Blake Bohumil 'Big Murph' Murphy, the 23 year old son of Black Murphy and Ludmilla.

He is a member of the Anti-heroes Club and Harriet's crew.

He is very close to his mom but not very close to his dad who isn't a big fan of children.

He lost his eye while play fighting the Gaston twins when he was younger and has a glass eye that he likes to take out to mess with people.

He is very close to Marya Rasputin since her dad and his mom were allies behind the scenes, and he often translates for her and others when a language barrier pops up (which happens a lot since Russian isn't a very common language on the isle)

He likes cutting hair, playing cards, eating cake, fishing, learning languages, taking care of the little ones, reading, swimming with the sharks, building sandcastles, wrestling, play fighting, singing sea shanties, and learning about geographical differences and locations.

He also likes collecting hooks of any kind.

He is single.

Hayden 'Hadie' Prometheus Olympian, thr 10 year old (as of d3) son of Hades. Younger brother of Mal.

He is a member of the Anti-heroes club and a wannabe detective, musician, hero, and cook who is always imitating those he looks up to. Friend of Chloe Charming, Red Hearts, Danny Darling, Maddox Hatter, Shan Deja, Edith Olympian, and his minons.

He is playful and loves coloring, cooking, playing various instruments, baking, sword fighting, parkour, gymnastics, acrobatics, and playing with animals.

He has a villian streak no one takes seriously later in his teens and has a pet dog named 'Cerberus.'

He later gets together with Danny Darling.

Lefou Deux 'Lee' Leprince, the 20 year old son of LeFou, Paulette, and Stanley Beaumont (dude from the live action movie). He's the older brother of La Foux Doux Beaumont, the younger cousin of the Gaston twins, and the older cousin of Claire Bimbette, Gil LeGume, and Gemma LeGume.

He is apart of Harriet's crew.

He's a hardworking big brother who does his best to help support his family while still being stuck under Gaston's thumb.

He works at Gaston's 'Duels Without Rules—against his will, mind you, because Gaston forces him too after all. But he doesn't complain too much about it.

He gets to steal from the register though, so it's not too bad.

He fights with various gardening tools and a bow and arrow—he's an excellent shot. He's a poet, a toy maker, and an inventor who records everything in his journal.

He loves French food, sailing, farming, reading, and gardening—even though it's difficult to do anything like that on the isle.

He also loves old photos and dancing.

Lee often makes and fixes toys for the children on the isle, and has no problem fixing things for those he loves. He's also the secret Santa Claus of the isle.

He's been in love with Claudine Frollo since first grade and they get together not long after d3.

La Foux Doux Leprince, the 12 year old (as of d3) son of LeFou, Paulette, and Stanley Beaumont (dude from the live action movie). Younger brother of LeFou Deux, the older cousin of Gemma LeGume, and the younger cousin of the Gaston twins, Claire Bimbette, and Gil LeGume. Older brother of Sylvie Leprince.

He works at Gaston's 'Duels Without Rules'— again, without choice mind you. Gaston forces him too. He is a painfully shy, playful, quiet boy who loves French food, playing games, reading, and climbing things.

He is single and not interested at dating at the moment.

Crazy Bonny, the 18 and a half year old(by d3) daughter of Bill Jukes (in my universe).

Sword sharpener and medic of the Lost Revenge/Uma’s crew.

Bestfriend of Desiree.

Student at Serpent Prep and one of the first to join Uma’s pirate crew.

She is described as crazy in patched dungarees and a torn fishnet shirt.

Vicious Desiree, the 17 year old daughter of a witch and Shan Yu (in my universe anyway).

She is the swabbie of the crew, meaning she is the one in charge of mopping the deck.

She is described as tiny and vicious in a a ragged peasant dress.

She is Bonny's bestfriend and one of the first to join Uma’s crew, and she's a member at the witch school.

Firece Gonzo, the 19 year old son of an unknown woman and Joshamee Gibs (in my universe anyway).

He is Jonas' bestfriend and is the boatswain of the crew.

He is also responsible for stocking the pantry and refilling the chum buckets.

He and Jonas are the ones in charge of the food (they don't cook it tho) and supplies, among other things.

He is described to be firece and as having long braids, a red bandana, and blue pantaloons.

He, along with Gil, Harry, Jonas, Desiree, and Bonny, is one of the first to join Uma’s crew and student—or former student—at Serpent Prep.

Ferocious Jonas, the 20 year old son of Morgana Olympian and older cousin of Uma (in my universe).

He is the Quartermaster of Uma’s crew, the fourth in command, and the gunner (the one who mans the canons).

He's described to have a scar on his left cheek, corn rows, and a scarf. Has a thing with Jade in my universe. Has been seen selling scarves before which is probably a side job of his.

He's been described as ferocious. Student/former student at Serpent Prep and one of the first people to join Uma’s crew.

[fandomhopper-shit]

Masterlist

❤️- Fluff 💙- Platonic ❤️‍🩹- Angst With Fluffy Ending 🫂- Comfort ✨- Slight Smut 🎆- Smut 🛌- Angst 😂 - Crack fic 👍🏾- Top Reader 👎🏾- Bottom Reader ✊🏾- Switch Reader 💬- Requests

Clarisse La Rue x Reader One Shots

My Warrior Princess (Daughter Of Hercules)❤️✨❤️‍🩹

Un Poco Loco (Hispanic Daughter Of Aphrodite)❤️✨

Wild Child (Daughter Of Lycan)🫂😂✊🏾✨

Royally F**ked (Royal Daughter Of Athena)😂❤️

Fuzzy Babies (Daughter Of Aristaeus)❤️❤️❤️‍🩹✨

Annabeth Chase x Reader One Shots

Coming Soon . . .

Regina George x Reader One Shots

Teacher's Pet (Church Mouse Reader)❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹👎🏾🫂 pt1 pt2

East Side (Childhood Friend Reader)❤️‍🩹👍🏾✨

Ms Steal Your Girl (Badass Reader)👍🏾❤️🎇

Outrunning Karma (Criminal Reader)🛌👍🏾🎇

So This Is Love (Shetty Reader)🫂🫂❤️

Karen Shetty x Reader One Shots

Coming Soon. . .

Hope Mikaelson x Reader One Shots

I shot Cupid (Angel Reader)🫂🫂❤️

Little Red Riding Hood (Werewolf Reader)❤️💙🫂

Lizzie Saltzman x Reader One Shots

Coming Soon . . .

Quinn Fabray x Reader One Shots

Coming Soon. . . .

Santana Lopez x Reader One Shots

Coming Soon. . .

Uliana x Reader One Shots

Coming Soon. . .

Bridget Hearts x Reader One Shots

Heart For Hearts (Pitch Black Reader)

Mal Bertha x Reader One Shots

Coming Soon. . .

Evie Grimhilde x Reader One Shots

Coming Soon. . .

Bonnie Bennet X Reader One Shots

Coming Soon. . .

Katherine Pierce X Reader One Shots

Coming Soon. . .

[idontliketomatoesleavemealone]

Harry and Uma: 3... 2... 1... HAPPY NEW YEAR! start kissing

Bonnie: guys it's not even midnight yet can you stop making out everytime the microwave goes off

[bennettmaximoff]

Damon was incredibly protective and loving of Bonnie and ended up being her soulmate in the books, and the tvd writers thought “Hm, let’s make him a complete asshole to her throughout the entire show and hurt her at every given opportunity.” They took one look at how Stefan and Bonnie’s friendship was progressing throughout S1-S2 and decided to completely retcon it and started having him disregard her the same way everyone else did. You see, none of the main male characters were allowed to have actual meaningful connections with her because god forbid Bonnie be considered a potential love interest for them and not their self inserts. Damon can’t even tell Bonnie he loves her without them making sure to include “The same way Elena loved you.”

It’s the same reason why they didn’t have Bonnie attend the Mikaelson ball even though her being there made more sense than Matt or Caroline attending since the literal hostess was going to be siphoning her bloodline’s magic. She couldn’t be seen dressed up in a pretty gown like the other girls and dance with any of the male characters because again, god forbid Bonnie be held in the same regard as the other girls and ever thought of as a potential love interest for anyone besides throw away characters. It’s the same with Bonnie not interacting with any of the Mikaelson’s outside of her protecting the MFG from them. There are numerous connections between the Mikaelson’s and the Bennetts. Ayana Bennett was Esther’s mentor and seemed to be incredibly close to all her children. Abby desiccated Mikael, Esther wanted to use the Bennett Bloodline. Yet, not once are these connections explored. These could have potentially been some of the best storylines in the show, but that would have required the writers to not be prejudice and have biases towards certain characters.

But all this begs the question…if you’re going to make a character black or a poc so you can meet the diversity requirements, yet still neglect their character and use them as nothing but a shield to your white characters, then what is the point? Because I have no doubt that if they kept Bonnie’s race the same, she would have gotten the same opportunities as the other girls and wouldn’t be seen as just a mule. She would have still been poorly written, not debating that, but she would have been treated entirely differently by the writers and the fans.

[thebenflorian]

Me and Mal hanging out

[humaforever]

Bonny of the Lost Revenge: The Medic

[leavethemtorot]

The Lost Revenge

Captain: Uma Triskelion

First Mate: Harry Hook

Quartermaster: Gulliver ‘Gil’ LeGume

Master Gunner: Ivy de Vil

Medic: Bronwen ‘Bonny’ Callahan

Main Cook: Claudine Frollo/ Desiree Marinos

Boatswain: Desiree Marinos

Assorted Members: Jonas Marinos, Ethan ‘Gonzo’ Blakeslee, Clement ‘Clay’ Clayton, Maighread ‘Maggie’ Mim

The Lost Revenge is one of two gangs that run the docks and surrounding territory. Unlike other gangs, The Lost Revenge and The Shattered Hope prefer to settle territory and other disputes between themselves, never bringing in any outside gangs.

The Lost Revenge, while rarely challenging themselves, is most often assisting others in territory disputes, especially when the opposing party is the Dragon’s Blood.

The Lost Revenge has a reputation of being one of the most loyal of the gangs, with members rarely leaving on their own accord and willing to defend their captain for any reason.

[tiredflowercrown]

 The Lost Revenge

Captain: Uma Triskelion

First Mate: Harry Hook

Quartermaster: Gulliver ‘Gil’ LeGume

Master Gunner: Ivy de Vil

Medic: Bronwen ‘Bonny’ Callahan

Main Cook: Claudine Frollo/ Desiree Marinos

Boatswain: Desiree Marinos

Assorted Members: Jonas Marinos, Ethan ‘Gonzo’ Blakeslee, Clement ‘Clay’ Clayton, Maighread ‘Maggie’ Mim

The Lost Revenge is one of two gangs that run the docks and surrounding territory. Unlike other gangs, The Lost Revenge and The Shattered Hope prefer to settle territory and other disputes between themselves, never bringing in any outside gangs.

The Lost Revenge, while rarely challenging themselves, is most often assisting others in territory disputes, especially when the opposing party is the Dragon’s Blood. 

The Lost Revenge has a reputation of being one of the most loyal of the gangs, with members rarely leaving on their own accord and willing to defend their captain for any reason.

[magentamedicines]

I need people to realize that the Jeremy being talked about in the new help wanted achievements is most likely either the Jeremy from the first help wanted or referencing the MCI Jeremy who was stuffed in the Bonnie animatronic I don't think this is confirmation about the Bonnie Bully and definitely not about him being Cassie's dad 😭😭😭

[flower1622]

Best Friends/Brothers/Couple

(My opinion)

Bonnie and Damon (Best Friends/Couple)

Percy and Clarisse (Best Friends/Couple)

Ben and Evie (Best Friends/Couple)

Barry and Caitlin (Best Friends/Couple)

Stella and Sky (Best Friends/Couple)

Romeo and Juliet (Couple)

[mercedesdecorazon]

👀👀

White Fangirls: I love when the male lead ends up with the girl next door or his childhood bff

*Girl is Black*

White Fangirls: um … the girl next door thing is so cliched.

White Fangirls: I love when the male lead pines over the girl and she’s oblivious

*Girl is Black*

White Fangirls: She’s so CRUEL. Why doesn’t she see he’s in love with her? She’s a bitch.

White Fangirls: I love when they go from partners to lovers. It’s my favorite trope.

*Girl is Black*

White Fangirls: Why can’t they just stay friends. Not every relationship is romantic. Ugh!

White Fangirls: I love when the female lead is more than just a love interest. I love when she has her own storyline and can kick ass.

*Girl is Black*

White Fangirls: Why do they focus on her so much? [Other white character] is so much more interesting.

White Fangirls: I don’t understand why there aren’t more strong female leads.

Me: *looks at all the strong Black female leads on TV*

Me: What about -

White Fangirls: There’s just no strong, three-dimensional women on TV to root for. Sigh.

[idontliketomatoesleavemealone]

Harry: Uma, you're one in a million

Jonas, absentmindedly: that means there are aproximately 45 of you in Auradon

Desiree: omg find yourself

Harry: start a very miniscule army

Bonnie, nodding along: overthrow King Beast 

[the-californicationist]

Let's get you to 100, new gif addition and prompt ask!

Reader likes being controlled, even as she chafes against it, but there's only 1 person she wants to have that privilege.

You decide who, have fun writing lovely 😏

heyyy!! im backkkkkkk 😘 sorry for the wait! had to go on a bit of a hiatus, so thanks for being patient. and thank you so much for the ask!! sexy as hell babes omg. hope you like it. i went a little overboard on the word count sorry 🫣

TW: light bdsm and contol themes, rough sex

Soft Reins

His voice followed you down the wet sidewalk as you made your escape, striding in long reaching steps to put more distance between yourself and your apartment. 

“C’mon, bonnie! Ye cannae walk in this shite. It’s pissin’ down. Bonnie!”

You waved and smiled up at Soap as he hung over the balcony of your shared space, a deep frown pasted across his mouth as he tried to dodge the raindrops. 

Living with the boys, as you lovingly called them, was full of challenges. For one, they seemed to be oblivious to deep cleaning of any kind, and if you didn’t have the primary school style chore chart hanging on the fridge, your whole house would descend into chaos. The only exception was their captain, and his standards were thankfully on par with your own. 

But, even worse, they were nosey. They seemed to love to be in your business, always making excuses to join you on nights out, standing in an all-too-intimidating pack when you brought home dates from said outings. Even Price was not above casually bullying an unsuspecting potential someone. It was enough to drive a girl mad.

You never got a call back. Any bloke brave enough to follow you back to your place, flanked by your surly entourage, was only as courageous as he needed to be to get his dick wet. After that, he’d ghost you. There were plenty of eligible partners who had much less intimidating roommates. 

In the past year, the longest relationship you had was with a man who didn’t make it over to your house for nearly four months. You had gone through all sorts of trouble to keep the boys from finding out about him, and you guarded his address like it was the nuclear launch codes. You thought you were in the clear when the team had to leave for another deployment, but one morning — when you were wearing only your boyfriend’s tee shirt — they decided to come tromping back in, totally unannounced. 

It was all over, then. Back to the drawing board. 

Gaz was the worst offender by far. Once, when you had planned a spa date for yourself, you’d been treated to all sorts of services that you didn’t order. The staff kept insisting that it was complimentary, but you knew in your heart that it wasn’t. By the end of the visit, you were left fretting about the bill. But, when you walked up to the counter, you discovered that it had already been paid. 

 “Oh! Your mister called it in. Already paid.” The clerk’s smile was blinding in only the way a clerk’s smile could be.

“And who is the mister?” You smiled to yourself, not with much joy, shoving your credit card back into your wallet.

“Well, he said he was your mister. A Mr. Garrick?”

Of course. 

You had only to turn around to see his shining red Beamer revved and waiting to take you to lunch. Gaz’s sunglasses gleamed in the daylight as he grinned down at you, standing over his car, his elbows resting on the roof, smug as could be.

You met him in the parking lot, bags and bags of essential oils and spa creams, heavy in your hands.

“Kyle,” you said curtly, “What did you do?”

“Nothin’, babes. Get in. We’ve got a table at that sushi joint you like.”

You complained that Gaz was overstepping. You moaned about Soap being heavy-handed. You lost your temper when you found the fourteenth Air Tag that Ghost had sewn into the bottom of your trainers. It was too much. You hated feeling trapped, and you thrived in your independence. But, living with these men meant that your desire for freedom was directly at odds with their desire for control. 

It wasn’t their fault, really. That was who they were. They were good at their high-profile special operation world-saving careers because they were good at control. It was what made them great soldiers. 

But, one of them was far better at it than the others. 

Captain John Price didn’t follow you down the street. He didn’t chase you in his shadowy, blacked-out Evija. And he certainly didn’t need to hide trackers in your clothes. No; his control was insidious. It made your blood boil, and it had you questioning your every move. He had a way of making you think that what he wanted was what you wanted, and when you ultimately discovered his plans, you could only blame yourself. Price was the king of control, but that wasn’t the worst part. 

The worst part was that you liked it. 

You hadn’t been home for the holidays in years. Ever since lockdown, and your huge workload at your office, you just couldn’t find the time to make it back. International flights were hard to plan, expensive, and it seemed like something always came up. When you mentioned it off-handedly to Price, he’d comforted you, 

“Tha’s alright, sweetheart. I’m sure you’ll find the time this year.”

That was in June. By December, your boss had mysteriously found out that you had a full week of extra paid time off that you needed to take, and your credit card called you to let you know that your airline mileage points had doubled. It was as if everything in the universe had aligned so that you could make it back to your family. 

You’d told the boys over dinner one night, and they celebrated with you, happy for you to be able to finally live your dream. Then, Price had grabbed your phone, reading the email and going over the fine print. 

It grated on you, but you needed to learn how to pick your battles in this house. So, you waited for his approval, tight-lipped. 

“Double miles… ah, there’s a catch,” his voice rumbled in his chest, low and even. 

“What catch?” You panicked. Nothing could upset this perfect balance you’d achieved.

He pointed down to the conditions, and you read it for yourself as he told you,

“Says here they granted double miles for two tickets purchased.”

“Two? Who the fuck am I going to get to come to Saskatoon in December?” You sighed, head in your hands, trying to figure out how you were going to make it work.

“Well, the boys are heading up to check on MacTavish’s mum, but Kate’s got me on a leash. I can ask her to make me remote on this project, if you want.”

His tone wasn’t sly. It didn’t sound like he was hiding something. If anything, he sounded earnest, and it was such a kind gesture of friendship that he would be willing to join you in order to help you see your folks. 

But, that’s what wormed its way under your skin. You knew it was him. You just couldn’t prove it. Months of God knows what kind of backdoor, black-market dealing and manipulation, all orchestrated just to…

Just to what? Make you happy?

Inwardly, you struggled against your bindings, the invisible ropes he’d so carefully weaved just to have you come to him of your own free will, bent on your hands and knees, obedient and eager for your reward.

“Jonathan…” You started to resist, to rebel. Every time you started your sentence, you were stopped in your tracks by the cold, hard truth: He didn’t force you to do anything. You’d done it all of your own free will. 

That was how it had started. But, holy fuck had it escalated. 

Price was the perfect gentleman on your flight over, mysteriously charming his way into business class seats. He downloaded some of your favorite movies onto his iPad, even though you didn’t remember ever telling him that they were your favorites. He even snuck his way back to the flight attendants’ galley, laughing and joking with them, procuring you two extra desserts from the carts since you were such a fan. 

Then, he met your family, and he fit in perfectly. It was as if he was the missing member, a long lost kin, just waiting to be reunited into the fold. Your mother couldn’t figure out what had you so bothered. 

“About time you brought a good one home. Even your Uncle Billy likes him, and Billy —”

You rolled your eyes, 

“And Billy doesn’t like anyone, I know. I know.”

“Honey,” your mother looked at you with a sternness that she didn’t often muster, peering at you over her rose-rimmed glasses, “Why can’t you just let someone take care of you for a change? He’s a good man.”

A good man. 

John Price was a killer. No, he was worse. He was a CIA-funded, black ops, government-overthrowing war machine, capable of literal atrocities. You hadn’t heard much, but you’d heard enough. If any of these people knew how quickly he could turn a crowded room into an empty one, none of them would be looking so fondly at the way he snuggled with the dog or complimented your dad’s knife collection. 

But, that wasn’t why you protested, was it? If you were really being honest with yourself, the reason why you were so against letting Jonathan War Machine Price run your life was that it was yours to run. You didn’t need anyone’s help.

You didn’t need it.  

You could handle things on your own. 

You liked being able to spread your wings, fly your own path…

You were nobody’s puppet.

But, you were starting to like the way he was pulling your strings. When he would take the pressure of choice away from you, after you’d already been making a million other decisions at the end of a long day, it eased something inside of you in a way that nothing else could. It was like he was using those huge, rough palms to massage the hurt out of your head, to show you that it didn’t need to be such a battle, you didn’t need to keep fighting. He would do the fighting for you, and he was determined to show you that he was good at it. 

Even now, as you stomped through the rain, you knew what you were running from. You told yourself you were avoiding John, that you wouldn’t let him see you struggling to hold yourself together. After a much needed switch into a different position at work, the stress of your own expectations weighed heavy on you. But, you wanted them to. You wanted to know that you could still make it alone. You didn’t need John Price. 

But, you’re wearing the slicker he bought for you when yours got left in a cab.

So?

But, you smell like oud, saffron, and bergamot; the perfume oils he found for you at that local boutique you love. The same one he always compliments when he smells you wearing it. 

So?

But, you’re tired and wet and cold, and all you want is for him to tell you what you want.

So?! 

The soft, amber glow of a cigar stopped you in your tracks. A man was sitting on your bus stop bench, his arm slung over the back of the seat, his legs spread wide, taking up as much space as he liked. He was smoking slowly, enjoying every breath, savoring the flavors. Flavors you knew all too well: vanilla, licorice, sweet cedar, and whiskey. 

His sharp, blue eyes only met yours when you let out a labored sigh.

“What are you doing here, John?”

He took another drag, letting the ashes smolder, their warm glow making him look more and more like the Devil, a fallen man bathed in the light of a fire he lit all by himself. And damn proud of the blaze, too. 

“Just waitin’ for my ride,” he smiled in the way that a cat must smile at a mouse under its paw, “Do you wanna sit down, sweetheart?”

“No! I don’t wanna sit down,” you threw up your hands, “I want you to stop meddling in my life. You’re not allowed to keep making me feel like… like I need someone… some — Like I need someone’s fucking help. I don’t need anyone but me.”

His tone shifted in a sudden heat, like a flash in the pan, unexpected,

“Do you think I have any bloody help?”

Price let the question sink in before standing in front of you, his gaze never leaving your eyes. His voice was soft and gravelly, thick with smoke, and yet each and every word cut into you as sharp as a blade,

“Do you think anyone comes to help me when I’m deep in some bullshit, fuckin’ around in Rammaza? Just me, is it? By myself?”

“I don’t… no, I don’t know…” You hated how small your voice sounded in this tiny bus stop hut, the pounding rain drowning out your words. 

John looked at you as if he was waiting on you to find another answer, and then his face softened. He flung the cigar onto the pavement and crushed it out under his boot, smashing the tobacco into the cement without mercy. The object of his affection, once consumed, now snuffed out under his own power. 

His hands wrapped around your shoulders, caging you in, warm and safe from the wind blocked by his broad back. He sighed, his mouth drawing a tight line across his face, 

“Of course I need fuckin’ help. I have my men, and they have me. And I keep you here,” he jammed a finger hard into his chest, “Deep inside me, remindin’ me what I need to come home to. I’m not… meddling in your life, love. I’m trying to put you in mine. I thought…” 

He pulled away, sitting back down, looking up at you with a unique look on his face, 

“I thought that’s what you wanted. If I’m wrong,” he let out a dark, bitter chuff, “You need to tell me right now. ‘Cause all my plans have you in them.”

The rain made the plexiglass roof sound like it was shattering, over and over, the concussive slam of the storm created an oppressive din. He was waiting there, looking at you, asking for your next move. What was your plan?

“Am I wrong, sweetheart?”

You waited, trying to see how many steps ahead he was in front of you. If you said yes, if you said no; what decisions had already been made for you? Did he know what you were going to say before you did? And the real question: Why were you fighting so hard against something you wanted so badly?

You shook your head back and forth, just enough for him to see. HIs eyes lit up with hope and energy, a renewed flame.

“Then, come home with me. Quit bein’ so bloody hard on yourself. Let’s get you dry, love. C’mon.”

So, you obeyed. 

Nothing was more humbling than climbing into a squat little sports car when you were drenched to the bone. You curled yourself right into his cage, feeling silly for ever wanting to escape from it. Why were you pulling so hard against such soft reins? Couldn’t you see that he wanted to take care of you? To remove all of your barriers, to clear your path? You would be more powerful under his wing, soaring far beyond what you were capable of on your own. Why deny yourself a bite of the apple? It was ripe, the snake had promised, and sweet. 

He helped you up the stairs to your flat, walking you past his men as they gathered together in the kitchen, speechless, for once. None of them dared question their captain’s choices, and he had chosen you. More than that, it was clear that you had chosen him. 

Once you were in his room, behind a locked door, he held up a hand and stopped you in the entryway, shivering and dripping by the door. 

“Wait here.”

You waited. 

You waited some more. 

Just when you thought you would turn around and take yourself to bed, he returned dressed in a dry tee and a pair of running shorts. He carried two large, fluffy towels, and his face was set into a serious mask. All business. 

“Take off your clothes.”

You hesitated, looking at him to make sure you heard him correctly. 

He met your gaze, standing so close to you that you could feel his breath against your cheek. His chest was inches from your face, and you had to look up in order to meet his eyes.

“Take.”

He grabbed your phone out of your hand and dropped it on his entry table.

“Off.”

He rucked the jacket off of your back, peeling it down your arms and letting it fall to the ground with a wet slap.

“Your.” 

His fingers pulled the tie out of your ruined braid, letting the elastic roll onto his wrist. 

“Clothes.”

His hands went back to his side. It was up to you to do the rest. He wasn’t here to do everything for you. You were not his plaything. You had to choose to obey him. He wanted to watch you choose to follow his orders, not because you needed to, but because you wanted to.

Slowly, and a bit unsure, you began to shed your layers. You started with your shirt, almost knocking into him with your elbows since he was towering over you, standing in your space. Then, you writhed out of your jeans, peeling them off of your legs, kicking away your shoes in the process, stepping gingerly out of your socks, needing to hold onto his thick trunk for balance. 

Now, in just your bra and panties, you waited, hoping he’d hand you a towel. 

“What did I say?” He asked in a hushed tone, the timbre containing just enough warning to make your cheeks hot. 

“No, John. The boys are here in the kitchen!” You protested, whispering in a low hiss. 

This was beyond what you expected from him. You’d been keeping him at arm’s length, despite his constant pressure to be in your life. Sure, there had been moments of weakness. You’d shared a kiss, and you had let his hands wander when you watched a movie together on the sofa last weekend, but that was as far as things had gone. Stripping naked in the bright light of his apartment suite was something else entirely. Not to mention what sort of noises would seep out under his doorway if things got out of hand. 

“Stop,” he grabbed you by your face with both hands, making you look at him, “Stop fighting me. I am in this. All the way. The only time I wanna hear you tell me no is when you really mean it. If you say stop, I will immediately stop. Do I make myself clear?”

You nodded. He released you and put his hands on his hips, impatient. 

So, you slid out of your bra, slowly letting the cups pull away from your breasts, the lace cold and damp on your skin as it joined your outfit on the floor. As you rolled your panties off of your hips, stepping out of them and shoving them under your jacket with your toe, you felt more than just naked. You felt vulnerable and a little scared. 

What would he say? What did he plan to do? You realized, with a chilly shudder, that you didn’t even know his personal preferences. He’d never even given you a cursory glance into his mind, and reading his thoughts was impossible with that serious poker face. Most men wore their thoughts right across their eyes, or some (like Soap) even muttered them aloud, unconcerned about any judgment or scrutiny. If a man wanted you, you’d know. They were an open book. 

But the captain was very hard to read. 

Suddenly, as you stood back up, warring with your own mind, you were surrounded in fuzzy, comforting warmth. He was drying you off, wiping your arms and legs with reverent care, squeezing the rain out of your hair, using the corner of the cloth to wipe your face, holding you in his arms when you felt weak, off-balance, exhausted. 

It seemed as if the more you relaxed into him, the more power you gave up, the more it began to stoke his fire. While you became soft and pliant, he shifted into a fierce protector, covering you with his hands, bracing you with his heavy bones.

Price wrapped your hair into a high bun with an unexpected level of skill, and he carefully stretched your hair tie around it. When he turned to face you, you caught him staring at your body, raking his eyes over your breasts and studying the curve of your mons. It was as if he was groping you with his eyes, and each swipe of his gaze felt like a lick from his warm tongue. It was enough of an invasion that you wanted to put your hands in front of yourself, to hide out of some sort of shame.  

But when you made a move to cover yourself, the look in his eyes was enough to make you stand with your hands at your sides, allowing yourself to be on full display for him and that ravenous glare. He hadn’t even needed to chastise you. His mere desire was enough of a correction. 

Then, almost like a reward, he wrapped the towel around you, letting you hold it tight to your chest. 

“Tell me what’s goin’ on inside that pretty head,” he commanded you, his voice quiet but firm. It was just a simple question, but you knew it was loaded. So, you brushed him off, tossing out cheap bait, wrapping the towel a little tighter around yourself, hoping he’d drop it. You shrugged,

“Just cold.”

His jaw set with a click, and that soft purr became a warning growl,

“That’s one,” he held up his finger, “The next lie will cost you that towel, pretty girl.”

You stared at him blankly, trying to find a way through this labyrinth he had — apparently — custom built for you, sending you down twists and turns and dead ends as if he knew exactly how you’d try to steal back some control. But every way out seemed like a worse fate than simply allowing yourself to trust him. Nevertheless, you tried again. 

“I am cold, and I’m tired. It’s been a long day, John,” you sighed, shifting towards him, trying your best to take back the lead to his strange dance, “C’mon, don’t you wanna take me to bed?”

You reached out a hand and snaked it under the hem of his shirt, exploring untouched skin, letting your nails scrape through a dark patch of thick hair, right above his waistband. Your fingers got as far as his navel before he snapped. 

The cold absence of him ripping the towel away from you felt worse than you expected it to. In fact, you hadn’t actually taken him seriously. You protested, indignant,

“Hey! What —-“

“You think this is the same game you’ve always played,” he snarled, throwing the towel away and shoving you to your knees, his hold crushing and cruel on the nape of your neck, “You think, because those lads will eat any scraps you throw to them,” he nodded behind you, gesturing toward his men only a thin wall away, “That I’ll be satisfied with a taste, hm?”

His tone was mocking, and there was an undercurrent of darkness that lingered between each word like a warning, like the red of a poisonous berry that shouldn’t be picked and yet sagged ripe and ready on its stem. 

“You always get your way with them, don’cha? You know that a bit of skin and a little attention will keep them on you for days. And they reward you for it. They text you at all hours of the fuckin’ night, beggin’ you for just one more look, one more bite,” his mouth was right next to your ear, bending over you, casting his shadows across your face, and all you could do was kneel there, fully under his control, unable to move against his immense strength, “But, that’s not what I want.”

Your eyes dared to slant over to the growing monster that pressed its warm body against his shorts, hanging heavy and stretching the fabric, and you dared to hiss at him, even in your compromised position, using his title like a knife, aiming to scrape him with it,

“Seems like you do, Captain.”

He smirked, you could feel his smile against the sensitive skin of your earlobe, and you could see his almost infernal expression out of the corner of your eye. Even though you were trying to get under his skin, it made you feel like you were playing right into his hand yet again, helpless to his will. 

He stood up, never letting go of his grip on your neck, pinching the muscle like you were a caught rabbit, his writhing prey. Then, with a force that made your stomach drop, Price shoved your cheek into the crotch of his shorts, bringing you face to face with the outline his swelling shaft. Your nose was buried in the fabric, and you could smell the soap of his detergent as well as the musk of his sex that throbbed underneath. 

Then, he rucked down his waistband to show himself to you, pressing his length along your cheek, the softness of his skin surprising you just as much as the size of his thick, hefty prick. 

He held your neck in one hand and his cock in the other as he began to stroke himself up and down, letting your temple  and cheekbone feel the slip of his velvet foreskin. You could hear soft, wet clicking sounds as he coated himself in his own fluid, using the clear, dripping pearls as lube. 

You tried to move your jaw to taste him, eager to know if the heady, intoxicating smell of his skin matched his precome, hungry for his reaction to your mouth. But he stopped you, tightening his grip and scolding you like a naughty pet,

“My body wants your body, love. I’ll admit that,” he chuckled, not halting his lurid, jerking pulls, using your cheek for friction, “But I want more. I don’t want a taste. Or a bite. I won’t be satisfied.”

He frowned a bit, shrugging off his confession before he continued, 

“I want you to trust me. Trust that I’ll be here for you, that I’ll always be here. So,” he tugged on your flesh, forcing you to meet his fiery gaze, “Tell me what you thought.”

What were you supposed to say? That you were insecure about your looks? That you weren’t sure if he’d approve? That you were either too much or not enough and you weren’t sure which?

You turned your mouth as much as you could, trying to at least lick along the warm underbelly of his rod, aching to taste him, but he jerked you back into place, laughing at the disappointment on your face,

“Lips to yourself, love. Only good girls get fed.”

You rolled your eyes up to him, and you knew you had to make a choice. He was joking, but it was a façade. He was using it like a shield, waiting to see if you would actually relinquish your control or if you’d cut and run like you did with everyone else. 

So, you decided to trust him, giving him what he wanted, a full confessional on burning, bent knees, eyes cast up at your new master, praying for his communion, your tongue eager for his body and his blood and his love.

You made sure his eyes were locked on yours as you spoke softly, unflinching in your resolve,

“I was worried you wouldn’t like what you saw. I needed you to want me. I was afraid.”

The relief that washed over him was nearly palpable. His whole body responded to your admission, all of that tightly-wound uncertainty melting away in the heat of your submission to him. 

“That’s it. Good,” his voice was heavy with his relief, and he almost seemed like he was slipping into a trance, rubbing himself in steady, long strokes, shuddering against your cheek, “And what now, hm? You want me to let you go? Let you free? Or are you gonna let me in?”

You didn’t break your eye contact with him, but you wavered, sure of your decision but overwhelmed when you had to say it out loud. You squeezed your thighs together, feeling the slick mess he was forging between them, trying to find some comfort. You took a breath and told him,

“I’ll let you in, John.”

His throat held back a long, low groan, the pleasure of your surrender or the pleasure of his hand forcing it from his chest. You weren’t sure which. 

His grip loosened on your neck, but he didn’t let go. His voice was barely above a whisper as he told you his rules in hushed, broken phrases, holding himself back from the edge,

“You belong to me, now, sweetheart. You might be in charge at your bloody job, but everything else is mine. Do you hear me?”

You were going to answer him, you’d even planned to tack on a cheeky little yes, sir, just to show him you were playing along, but he had other plans. Always a step ahead. Before you could even breathe to speak, he pressed the tender head of his cock between your lips and deep into the warm hollow of your mouth, his wide form forcing your jaw to fall open to let him inside of you. It shocked you to be taken that way, not roughly but so certainly, with such surety, as if there was no other choice but for him to take you. You shifted, but with his knuckles tight against the base of your skull, you couldn’t retreat. Other than lolling your tongue along the body of his shaft, or swallowing against its drooling tip, you were powerless. 

His face twisted into a hungry sort of smear full of teeth and lips, grimacing at the feeling of being surrounded by you. Every inch that he drove himself deeper, his breathing would halt until at last, as he buried himself into your clenching throat, his lungs had emptied, and he was sighing with a ragged, guttural cry. 

“When you’re with me…” He continued his dark promises to you, the words choppy and broken, only threaded loosely together between panting gasps, “Even when I’m a fuckin’ world away, I promise that I will take care of you,” he pet your cheek with the softest affection, admiring you like a work of art, “All of you. You will sleep when I say. You will eat when I say. You will come when I say,” he smiled a little more cruelly at that, watching your eyes widen. And, as you began to wish for air, planting your palms against his firm, muscular thighs, ready to push away, he looked down at you with a lurid satisfaction, “You will breathe when I say.”

You were choking. You could hear yourself in the quiet of his room, your throat gurgling, full of your own viscous drool, escaping where it could along the stretched line of your mouth, running down your chin and neck. You felt the flare of panic rise up within you, and you tried to pull away in earnest, writhing against his grip, trying to escape from him and failing, turning your body in shameful futility. 

Price bent his face toward you, folding himself to whisper his lustful words, making sure your eyes met his, pressing your nose into his soft pubic hair,

“You. Breathe. When. I. Say.”

He kept himself contorted like that, keeping his face low to watch your eyes, to witness your struggle, and you felt hot tears burn down your face, the effort overcoming you. But, you wanted to show him that you could obey. You wanted to trust him, to show him that you were willing to give him your freedom, knowing that only he was worthy of such a gift. So, you swallowed deeply, watching as it made his eyes flutter, and again, and again. Over and over, you closed your throat around his steel-hard length, choking when it became too much. 

Still, he kept you there. As brave as you’d been with partners in the past, even those moments were fully eclipsed by this one. You had never even thought that you might be capable of holding your breath for so long. 

You were sobbing wholeheartedly now, your eyes reflecting your desperation, tears pooling and spilling across your face. He was watching you cry, whispering breathless nothings, soft words of encouragement,

“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. You’re so fuckin’ good. My good girl.”

Just as purple and blue spots began to obscure your vision, he pulled himself out of you in a terrible, wet departure, leaving you clutching his hips, sobbing into his belly, watching his hard cock pounding, swaying at full height, swollen with blood and eager for its finish. You could feel those same soft, dark hairs matting down as your tears soaked into them. He ran his fingers through your hair, keeping the fallen strands out of your face, still holding you at your nape, but just to comfort you. 

You imagined him letting go, and you felt… sad, somehow. He would have to release you at some point, but you were in such a submissive state, just the idea of him leaving you without his guiding hand was too much to bear. 

Your cries turned to a twisted kind of grief, and when he heard your tone change, he dropped to the floor with you, holding you to his chest, rocking you back and forth, shushing you and talking to you in a hushed voice,

“Shh, baby. Tell me to stop. Tell me…”

You grasped at him wildly, uncontrolled, holding onto whatever part of him you could, shaking your head,

“No, no. Don’t — don’t let me go. Please, I can’t… I need… I need you to touch me.”

You planted one of your hands across his, covering the one that gripped your neck, pressing it like a plaster, like it was keeping a wound healed, like it was a dam in front of your frothing, vengeful river; it was a lifeline and you were adrift. 

“Sweetheart,” he sighed, “I’m not gonna let you go. I’m right here. Shh. Shh. It’s alright. I’m here. C’mon. Come with me.”

He lifted you, helping you walk on sore, shaking legs, your nerves sparking across your skin. Then, with his hand still firmly planted against your neck, he led you like a shepherd with his lamb, marching you to his bedroom. As you approached the bedframe, your thighs hit the mattress, and Price guided you forward until your body lay flat against it. The duvet was cool and smooth against your belly and breasts, and you tucked your arms into yourself, looking for warmth. 

You felt John plant gentle kisses across your back, trailing them down your spine, and after the overstimulation you had just gone through, even his lightest touch was electric. 

Your tears had stopped, but still you panted, sniffling, trembling from the shock of his careful kisses, waiting for whatever would come next. 

You felt his hips press against your exposed ass cheeks, his shorts now missing, and all you could sense was his warm, furry skin. You sighed into it, happy for the connection. 

“Spread your legs,” he commanded.

You complied immediately, all of your tortured resistance gone from you now, ready to trust him to take care of you. 

The unknown was what made your belly swarm with butterflies, and as you waited for his next move, your mind raced with possibilities. 

Would he be cruel? Would he punish you for your lying when he had first taken you in? His hand might strike your tender flesh, slapping your ass and leaving red, angry marks. 

Would he be lustful? Your mind fed you imaginary moments where he would press his cock into your pussy, skipping any foreplay, simply using you like his warm, wet toy. You thought that he wanted more, something more intimate, but if not, you would let him. You were his to use. At this point, you were so pliant, so open to his will, he could use you over and over and you would take him. It was a dark confidence you had never known until now. 

Perhaps he would simply stop. Maybe he perceived you as weak, as if you couldn’t take what he wanted to give you. He would simply comfort you, pitying you for your wrecked state. It was this thought that turned your stomach. Surely, he knew you better than that. John Price was not the pitying type. 

As the base of his cock lay nestled in the cleft of your ass, still as hard as a stone, his long shaft was shoved up against his lower abdomen, pulsing with unslaked desire. Then, as he settled himself, pleased with your spread display, John began to slip the very tips of his fingers into your pussy. He was just feeling your softness, plucking at your petals, laying them open with his hand, using your own wetness to paint your lips and the tight muscle of your hole, preparing you for more. 

His voice broke the trance that his touch had put you in, 

“It kills me when I have watch you putting yourself through hell. You are so strong, but you deserve to have everything you want. Everything you need, I’ll make sure you have it. I promise.”

He was so sincere, and his voice sounded so sure. It was like he was sharing an old memory, something he knew by heart. 

“John, please…” You whispered, feeling yourself slipping, slowly becoming untangled by his touch. You needed more, but you had no words. You could barely concentrate, and your mind was swimming in a liminal space, trapped in a loop of mounting bliss. 

“What do you need, sweetheart? Tell me.”

“I don’t know,” you felt your tears return, and although you were desperate for something, you couldn’t find the answer. 

“Shh, shh, shh. You’re alright,” John rubbed your back with his free hand, smoothing your skin with his warm touch, “Does my pretty girl need to come?”

You nodded, daring to glance over your shoulder at him as he worked on you, his finger now sinking deeper into you, gently prodding your walls in long, aching circles. His other fingers were cradling your folds, slipping between them with each undulating thrust, brushing beside the swelling body of your clit and making you throb with need. 

He felt it, and you saw a warm smile spread across his face,

“I can feel you needin’ me. So wet for me. Fightin’ me so bloody hard. Thought I’d be wantin’ you forever. Do you know how many nights I’ve dreamed of havin’ you under me like this? Fuck, I need you so badly, baby.”

You felt his grip tighten on your neck again as he pressed you deeper into the soft mattress, his prying hand picking up the pace. His thick finger finally slipped down to the knuckle of his fist. As he fucked you on his hand, you could hear your body’s slick as it softened for him, submitting to his power just as you had done, your body at peace with your mind. 

He pressed a second finger beside his first, twisting them together, curling the tips to rub you from the inside, making you feel the deep ache of your orgasm building within your belly. 

You tried to find more friction, rocking your hips against the bed, squeezing your legs together, needing more but completely helpless to his pace and pressure. 

Price stopped, pushing his fingers right into the tender flesh of your neck as a warning,

“Open,” he shoved your foot away, spreading them for you, “You keep fighting and fighting… fine. I’ll give you something to fight for, hm?”

You tried to twist your knees together again, but his legs stood apart, holding you open. Then, you felt his threat. He put the head of his heavy prick against your greedy hole, dipping it into your wetness like a seal into warm, melting wax.

“C’mon,” he squeezed your nape hard, once, just enough to get your attention, “You wanna drive? Fuckin’ drive, love. You think you can fuck yourself better than I can fuck you? Prove it.”

You narrowed your eyes, glaring at him, watching the muscles ripple and pop in his forearm that held you down, unwilling to give you full control, and yet allowing you to set the pace. You saw his other hand rub the curve of your hip, dropping lower to grope your ass, egging you on. 

Unwilling to beg, you thrust yourself down onto his shaft, gasping from his girth, only managing to fit half of him inside of you, physically unable to go any deeper on your own. But, you tried again, lifting away, sinking back, repeating your movements and reaching between your legs to rub your clit as you fucked him.

But, it wasn’t enough. You felt so close to the edge, and yet you couldn’t tumble over it, losing your rhythm, chasing it down, too weak to reach the peak you knew was right within your grasp. 

You grunted in frustration, and his cruel laugh made you turn back towards him again. 

He shrugged,

“I thought you wanted to be in charge. Does it feel good, sweetheart?”

“Fuck!” You gasped, trying to catch your pleasure and feeling it slip from you yet again, humping your hips against the bed shameless and desperate. 

“Tch,” Price gripped the inside of your ass cheek, shaking it and rolling your soft flesh in his hand, “Too bad, love. I wanted to give it to you. Shame, really.”

“John! Please,” you caved, sobbing out a short moan, begging him impatiently. 

“Please, what?” His question came just as he decided to press himself deeper into your body than you had been able to go, sinking into you like a hand into a glove, a tight, all-encompassing fit. 

You whined, rolling your fingers over your clit faster, feverish, ready for relief, 

“Please make me come.”

“You will come…” He stretched you, giving you no warning, the sharp feeling of his invasion making you catch your breath, “When I bloody tell you to.”

Then, as if to prove it to you, he stuffed his length into your pussy, never pulling back very far, choosing instead to massage you with his cock, using his base to stretch you wide before rolling away. The sensation overwhelmed you, and his size made your mind go blank. Any words that formed in your mind turned to whining cries of pleasure on your tongue.

There were no sounds of lewd pounding of flesh on flesh. All of Price’s work was deep and wet, churning inside of you like a volcanic sea, hot and untamed. He, however, made plenty of noise, praising you in every way he knew how, speaking in half-clipped phrases, losing his sentence to a groan of relief as he fed himself to you, filling your pussy like a hungry mouth. 

You felt yourself getting closer by the moment. Each grinding thrust was pushing you ever nearer to that gleaming, crackling fuse. He had lifted you, unintentionally, unable to understand the effect of his strength, and your toes could barely scrape the floor. You could feel your sacral core clenching around him like a delicate vice, grabbing for his cock, trying to hold him within your belly, some twisting grip of nature used to ensure that his creamy come ended up where it belonged, soaking into your womb.

Your clenching made him pause, which, in turn, caused you to cry out to him, wordlessly babbling, begging for him to return, to keep his pace. 

“Don’t you dare, sweetheart. Don’t you dare come,” his voice was like rattling brimstone, smoky and burning within his throat. 

“Please…” You whispered, unable to lift your raspy, keening voice. 

With shallow, teasing thrusts, Price used his cockhead to softly pop in and out of your soaked hole, swollen from being well-fucked. Just hearing a vibrator would have sent you over the edge at that point, and you fought him, trying to get any sort of power at all, rolling your body like a caught snake. 

“Stop,” he said curtly, “Stop fighting. Be still.”

You quieted yourself down, breathing heavy, sweating into his sheets, shivering like you had a fever, burning up from the inside out. 

For the first time, you felt his hand leave your neck, and his fingers twisted themselves into your hair at the base of your skull. Slowly, carefully, he lifted you by your head, forcing your back into a vicious arch, letting your breasts hang freely, your arms trying to balance you, mostly worthless since Price had full control of your torso in this position. 

His free hand slid around your front, groping you wildly, plucking your nipples and filling his palms with the meat of your breast. Then, he replaced your fingers with his own, pressing beside your sensitive clit, rolling it softly in long, firm strokes. 

You heard yourself make a new sound, one you’d never made, an animal’s grunting, something reckless and feral. 

Then, Price took up his stretching rhythm again, fully in charge of everything you were sensing. To you, he may as well have been in control of your mind. It was no use to you; you were at his mercy and it was everything you’d ever wanted. 

“Do you trust me?”

Your thoughts swam, unable to even consider anything but the truth, and amongst all of your vocalized ecstasy, you managed to reply,

“Yes.”

“Don’t come. Keep it. Just like that.”

“J-John!”

“Wait, wait, wait… good girl. Good.”

“Ohhh, fuck…”

His next words seemed barely human, snarled at you through bared teeth,

“Now. Come for me. Come f— fuck! Holy fuck.”

When you felt him spill into you, you had almost no control left over your own orgasm. Your heart felt like it had leapt into your throat, and all you could experience was your shining, explosive finish. You heard no sound, and your eyes went white, rolling back into your head. You couldn’t breathe, or scream, and if it wasn’t for John’s immense body holding you tight, you would have crashed into his bed, all used up.

His orgasm was as long as yours was, and he finished in slow, fearsome thrusts, burying his head into you as deep as he could reach, smearing your lips with your mixed fluids, caring nothing for the mess. 

“C’mere, love. Come to me,” Price held you to his chest, finally pulling himself from you, holding you as close as he could, laying beside you in a sweaty, spent tangle of arms and legs. 

You lay your head on his chest, catching your breath, only to tumble into a dreamless sleep with him, your body exhausted from your effort. 

When you woke up the next day, you could feel him all over you. He had left you alone in the bed, and yet your skin and bones kept his imprints. You could feel the ghost of his fingertips on your neck, and you were sore in places you weren’t sure how you could be. Everything was a wet mess, and just when you worried about how you’d cross the apartment without yesterday’s outfit, you saw that John had left you a note. 

Training day on base. I'll be back tonight. Dinner on me. Wear this. xx

Under the note, Price had laid out his favorite dress of yours, a blue satin slip of a thing, and (with the tags still on) you found a matching lace set of bra and panties in the same pretty color, just your size. You couldn’t see the price, but when you searched for the brand online, you couldn’t help but blush. He'd spent more than just a pretty penny on this outfit. You couldn't help but notice that the delicate lace would show through the thin fabric of the dress, making little raised ridges where your nipples would be.

Whatever you’d just agreed to when you said you’d let John Price into your life was about to get very, very interesting. 

AO3 Link

[radioroxx]

THE. ISAFRIN KIDS I MENTIONED. shared little ocs of my mutuals server <3 love u collection muah muah im not tagging everyone in this tho

other doodles plus some rambling below vvv

- aurore(she/they) and philémon (he/him). they have their own nicknames etc because Who Are Isa and Sif Without Nicknames but. éile is much much more partial to use his than aurore. for her its, every now and then. for him its most of the time (like how bonnie goes by bonnie and not boniface)

- i dont remember how why we started making fankids but i do remember very early on in the conversation discussing the idea of wish kids. think that one fankid meme with the baby descending from the sky. thats a wish kid

- there are. a lot a lot of silly goofy ideas weve come up with for them (such as: isa being Not very good at hair and embarrassing himself trying to help out), but i think my brain would explode trying to remember it all lol. and type it out. feel free to ask ques abt them tho :)

- one thing we did talk about a bunch is! how siffrins background would play into it. having kids + starting a family with isabeau,, maybe feeling guilty over the culture they arent able to share. to make up for it! they! do what they can!!

theres no way to know for sure for sure if siffrins cloak is a island thing. or a family tradition. or just Something his parents did. regardless they would want to do the same for their own children! isa already makes tons and tons of outfits for em (you could imagine lol), so of course he has no issue helping out sif in this new project. (they got to help put with the design of their own cloaks though! for preference)

another thing siffrin wants to share with them is. easily. stars! the stars are something siffrin grew up knowing to be important (or well, he assumes so). so thats something they would want to share too :). maybe he cant remember their names, or constellations, or what any of it Means,, but they can still teach the science behind it! which is also very interesting!! the kinda stuff the kids would take to school the next day to impress other kids with lol

(i also just wanted an excuse to draw the family together,, can u blame me….)

- we also discussed. hypothetically if loop is still around by this point. their own feelings in this situation. its been years since the time loops were broken- years for loop to come to terms with, and mourn, etc. even still theres that feeling of bitterness that lingers, knowing they couldve had this. this couldve been them-

but also its. its hard to be angsty and upset around little kids. ehe

(we joked about loop becoming an awesome babysitter. the kids love them very much.)

ok thats all ur getting for now fjkd again feel free to ask questions weve been a little insane since yesterday

[dmitriene]

𝗡𝗔𝗨𝗚𝗛𝗧𝗬 𝗕𝗨𝗡𝗡𝗬.

❝𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗡𝗧❞ 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺 𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ❝𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗦❞ 𝘕𝘚𝘍𝘞, 𝘚𝘔𝘜𝘛, 𝘗𝘜𝘙𝘌 𝘍𝘐𝘓𝘛𝘏, 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘵, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘶𝘯𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘷, 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘦, 𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 (𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘴𝘭𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨), 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘣𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘦. ❝𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗥'𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘❞ 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯, 𝘨𝘶𝘺𝘴, 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘳𝘰𝘵)

 ✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3. ˑ༄

Halloween night had descended on the base, casting a spooky and mischievous spell on its inhabitants — for most, it was a time to break away from their daily routine, enjoy costumes and laughter, and perhaps even indulge in a whirlwind of nostalgia.

But Simon "Ghost" Riley has always been a mysterious figure, shrouded in darkness and known for his stoic demeanor, never taking part in the festivities, preferring instead to remain in the shadows, observing the world with his watchful eyes.

However, this Halloween was different.

As evening fell, you appeared at the entrance to the living room, your suit was eye catching and captured hearts, Simon's gaze was particularly intense, the light in his eyes betrayed the façade of indifference he usually wore as he watched you walk confidently into the room, a soft the sway of your hips caught the attention of everyone present.

You chose a bunny costume, a delightful combination of playfulness, fluffy bunny ears sat on your head and a round fluffy tail adorned your short pinkish skirt, a cute pinkish corset accentuated your curves, and stockings and heels added a touch of seductiveness to your ensemble.

It was impossible not to notice you, and the comments of your comrades, including the always playful Soap, only added to your attractiveness.

— «Wow, bonnie, you look incredible!» Soap exclaimed, his smile widening as he looked you up and down.

You grinned, playfully twirling around in your bunny costume — «Thank you, Soap, after all, today is Halloween, i thought i would embrace the spirit of this event»

Therefore Simon, who sat quietly with his fellow soldiers, didn't say a word, instead his eyes remained glued to you, his gaze seething with a heat that could melt steel, he wasn't the type to give compliments or make fun, but today everything was different.

As night fell, the atmosphere in the common room became increasingly tense as people mingled, laughter filled the air, and the room was decorated with Halloween decorations.

Some soldiers were struggling to put on their costumes and the variety of characters and creatures was a sight to behold, with a lively dance playlist blasting from a speaker in the corner encouraging people to relax and have fun.

You caught Soap's eye and winked at him playfully before joining a group of friends on the makeshift dance floor, the music was infectious and you swayed to the beat, your bushy tail bouncing with every step.

Laughter erupted as you and your friends tried to teach Ghost how to dance, a rare sight that attracted even more attention.

Ghost reluctantly joined in, his movements were a little stiff but undeniably charming, and as you danced with him, the chemistry between you was palpable.

His gloved hand slid to your waist and pulled you closer, the music, the costumes and the fun of the night seemed to melt the ice around his heart, revealing a man who could be more than just a cold blooded warrior, but someone who could find pleasure in simple pleasure dancing with someone he was deeply drawn to.

As the night passed and the festivities continued, the group decided to take a trip to a local bar that would allow them to mingle with other Halloween revelers.

Simon, still wearing his mask, stood at the counter sipping his drink as you sat down on the stool next to him, your bunny ears brushing against his arm, the sensation sending shivers through him.

— «Having fun?» you asked in a teasing voice.

He turned his head, his eyes meeting yours through the mask — «I don't really like holidays» he answered in his low, raspy voice.

You chuckled, leaning closer — «That's what makes this Halloween so special, isn't it? A chance to let go, even if only for a short time»

He took a sip of his bourbon, thinking about your words, and something flashed in his eyes — «Maybe»

And so the threshing celebration in the bar gave way to a quieter and more intimate moment, now, in the dimly lit room of your Lieutenant, the energy between you crackled with irresistible force, the smell of alcohol and your mixed perfumes created a dizzying feeling.

As the door closed behind you, Simon wasted no time in pinning you against the wall, his gloved hands wrapped tightly around your waist as his lips found your neck with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine.

His words sounded like a hot whisper against your skin.

— «You have no idea what you're doing to me» he muttered, his lips tracing a fiery path down your collarbone — «To tease me like that in front of everyone, to show them how you're dressed, those exposed areas of your skin…»

His voice was filled with a mixture of desire and harsh possessiveness, his grip on your hips grew tighter and you couldn't help but whimper, arching into his touch as your hands tried to remove his mask and it fell to the ground, revealing his rough, chiseled face.

His brown eyes, darkened with desire to the point where his pupils matched his irises, glared into yours.

— «Simon» you breathed out his name, your voice laced with longing.

He shudders, capturing your lips with a fiery kiss, his tongue exploring the depths of your mouth, as if he didn’t have enough, as if you contained all the oxygen he needed.

The chemistry between you and Ghost had been building for a long time, and tonight Halloween had broken down the barriers that separated you completely.

The room seemed to close in around you, and Ghost's gloved hands slid under the fabric of your bunny costume, his touch burning your already hot and bothered skin.

He caressed your curves, his fingers sliding up your bare thighs, and you couldn’t help the quiet moan that escaped your lips.

— «Take it easy, Lieutenant» you teased, moaning softly as you exhaled as your eyes filled with a playful glint.

He growled lowly, the sound sent an exciting shiver through your body — «You're playing with fire, love»

But you were ready to light the flame.

With deft fingers you began to unbutton his tactical vest, each one exposing his muscular chest, Ghost's breathing became heavy as you explored his chest with your hands, your nails grazing his skin, stirring up the blood beneath his skin.

With uncontrollable power, he removes your pinkish corset, revealing your breasts in response, which spill out, nipples already hard with anticipation, looking and pleading at him.

The air is filled with desire as he looks at what's in front of him, his gaze burning into your very soul, and you feel a wave of electricity run through your body as his hands slide over your exposed skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

His strong hands lift up your short pink skirt with a playful bunny tail, exposing the stockings that tightly hug your plush legs, his touch is both possessive and gentle, his fingers touching the delicate fabric of your thong, teasing and arousing you even more.

Simon's strong hands explore the contours of your clothed cunt, the fabric of your thong creating a teasing barrier between his touch and your cunny, he deliberately presses and flicks against your mound, causing a delicious friction that sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

His voice, deep and seductive, whispers quiet praises into your ear, his words both commanding and adoring — «What a naughty bunny» he whispers, his breath warms your skin — «So wet f'me, such a nice little plaything»

Every touch, every word awakens the desire deep within you, increasing the ache between your legs, the fabric of your thong becoming wet with your arousal, the evidence of your need for him obvious.

And his praises and touches turn into a symphony of pleasure, drowning out any other thoughts except the pure ecstasy he brings to you.

With a knowing smile at your dumb expression, Simon continues to tease you, his finger now lightly pressing against your clothed cunt.

The fabric of your thong offers a tantalizing resistance as he begins to pump his finger slowly and steadily, each movement eliciting a moan of pleasure from your lips and slightly uncomfortable sickness of the fabric against your bothered folds, a testament to the intense sensations coursing through your body.

He watches you intently, his eyes filled with a mixture of desire and admiration — «That's it, my love» he whispers in a hoarse voice, his British accent adding an edge to his words — «You're fine, take my touch like a good little whore»

His praises combined with the rhythmic wiggling and pumping of his finger that sends you deeper into a state of bliss, the sensations increasing in intensity, coursing through your body like an electric current, making you crave more of his touch.

Your moans and whimpers fill the room, reflecting the pleasure he easily brings out of you.

His voice, like velvet and bourbon, envelops you, intensifying the ecstasy that permeates every cell of your being, his words ignite your desire, lighting a fire inside you that can only be extinguished by his touch, you completely surrender to his control, getting lost in the sea of ​​pleasure that he delivers.

As he continues to thrust his finger into your clothed cunt, the pressure and friction become overwhelming, pushing you closer to the edge, your body trembling with anticipation, waiting for the release he promises when suddenly your walls clamp around nothing and your body convulses in ecstasy, giving in to the intense relaxation that washes over you.

But before you can catch your breath, strong arms quickly spin you around, pinning you face first against the wall, and the sudden change in position sends a thrill of anticipation through you, your senses heightened by the element of surprise.

Slapping your bare ass firmly, making you mewl pitifully, Ghost asserts his dominance, igniting a fiery mixture of pleasure and desire, the ringing sound resonating in the air, a delicious reminder of the intense pleasure to come.

You feel a wave of flame run through your body, as if every nerve ending is on fire, craving his touch.

His strong hands guide you, pushing your panties to the side, allowing him to quickly unzip his pants, and the cool air touches your heated body only for a couple of seconds as the tip of his girthy cock rests at your entrance, his arm squeezing your round fluffy tail.

Slowly, he begins to thrust into you, giving you time to adjust to the girth and length of his cock, and you can feel the tension, the delicious stretch as he fills you completely.

The sensations overwhelm your senses, a mixture of pleasure and slight discomfort causing your breathing to hitch, the firm grip on your hips holding you steady, allowing you to feel the fullness of his cock as he slowly thrusts into you in a quick rhythm, each movement plunging you further into a state of bliss.

You can't help but moan, the sound muffled by the wall pressing against your cheek, the pleasure intensifying with each thrust, the feeling of his cock sliding in and out, creating a symphony of lewd squelching as your body molds to accomodate his shape, the connection between you growing stronger with each thrust and roll of the hips.

In this moment, you are completely his, your body and desires naked in front of him, the room filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure, the taste of leather and the quiet growls of pleasure that escapes his lips.

With each slow, deliberate thrust, Ghost's cock slides in and out of you, filling you completely, the rhythm of his movements a rushing dance of desire and vulgarity, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge, his hips slapping against your ass, making your tail jiggle.

His pace gradually quickens, the intensity increasing as he seeks to push you to new heights of ecstasy as he penetrates deeper, his cock brushing against your cervix, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body, pathetic mewls fall from your lips following your rolling eyes.

The sensation is both intense and electrifying, making you gasp and moan with every movement, the connection between you becomes stronger, it is a raw and primal connection that goes beyond the physical.

His strong hands grip your hips, holding you close to him, ensuring that every thrust is felt to the fullest, the possessiveness in his touch only intensifies the pleasure, the feeling of being wanted and desired igniting a fire inside of you, and you can feel the strength of his grip — his fingers leaving a mark on your skin as he takes full control.

As the pace quickens, the room fills with the sounds of your pleasure, the wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of you mixing with your moans and sighs, the slaps of skin against skin as the intensity of the moment becoming almost overwhelming.

You give in completely to the pleasure, your body eagerly responding to his every move, the world around you disappears and all that matters is the intoxicating feeling of his cock inside you, pushing you to the brink of release as he continues to fuck you with a primal hunger.

With a firm slap to your ass, Ghost's dominance is reaffirmed once again, the burn of his hand on your skin sending a wave of pleasure through you, making your walls tremble and clench around his cock, and that tight sensation only intensifies his desire, fueling his already desperate need for release.

His thrusts become increasingly erratic, his movements losing their subtlety as he gets closer to his own release, he feels the tension building, the tension in his balls signaling an approaching climax, and with each thrust he moves closer to the edge, his body and mind consumed by all consuming pleasure.

And finally, with a low guttural moan, he reaches his peak, his body tensing, his grip on your hips tightening as he spills his hot seed deep inside you, the feeling of his release combined with the continued movement of his cock sending waves of pleasure through your body, pushing you to the limit too.

As your body succumbs to the overwhelming waves of pleasure, your pussy clenches and flutters around Ghost's cock, the sensation is exquisite, your walls squeezing him tightly as your orgasm washes over you, and in the midst of your climax he slips out of you, his cock coated in a mixture of your juices and his own cum.

He watches intently as his cum leaks out of your cunt in thick globes, dripping down your quivering thighs, the sight of his essence mixing with yours a visual testament to the passion you both shared.

The image captivates him, your legs are trembling and your plush ass, red from the spanks, sticks out, letting your round tail quiver slightly as your ears slide from your hair to the floor, a proud and satisfied smile forming on his lips as he considers the implications of your shared pleasure.

With a gentle touch, Simon grabs your waist, holding you there as you continue to tremble from your orgasm, his praise flowing freely from his lips in a rough timbre, testament to the pleasure you've given him — «Such a good bunny, good girl» words of admiration and adoration wash through you with a wave of warmth, knowing that your pleasure was his ultimate goal.

To keep things discreet and intimate, he reaches for your panties and delicately pulls them back over you, the wet cotton fabric pressing against your sensitive flesh, ensuring every drop of his cum stays securely inside, nothing goes to waste.

taglist: @roseglazedlens, @scar-crossedlvrs, @daydreamrot, @cehrie, @kennedyswhore dm me if you want to be tagged in my works or open my taglist

[overly-dramatic-artist]

I think I’ll miss you most of all…

“Oh, you can’t sleep now, we’re almost there!” Sun’s words hardly made it through you clearly, his bright voice becoming syrupy sweet the deeper you inhaled trying to catch your breath.

“Just a moment…please…just let me rest…”

“Darling, please open your eyes! Please don’t fall asleep, Dorothy.” He watched your body go limp in his straw-stuffed arms, your breath becoming softer as the scent of poppies sank into your lungs.

“You know…” Freddy says with a heavy yawn, “forty winks doesn’t sound too bad…” and with that, the Cowardly Bear tumbled backwards with a stretch into the bright flowers.

“What’s happening?” Montgomery asked, “Why won’t she wake up?” The panic in his voice was leading to tears which quickly made trouble for his joints.

“I don’t know, I don’t know!” Sun cried, gently shaking your body. “Please wake up, darling, we have to get you home.”

Uuuuhhhhh yeah. Roxy and Chica are together, and Freddy the Cowardly Bear meets the King of the Meadow, Bonnie. Love wins 💖

And poor Copper Woodsman Monty 😭 don’t worry, we’ll find you some of that true love you desire

Princess Cassie is the ‘descendant’ of the Queen of Faeries ( @pluck-heartstrings ), being adopted by the Goddess and blessed with magic to rule Oz. The Goddess, however, is a little flighty, and thus left Cassie under the care of Roxy the Witch of the West and Chicalinda the Witch of the North