#everything goes back to him. he is the Egg.

[rememberwren]

Dichotomy of Thought || 11

Past and further chapters here.

Simon and Johnny make up.

|| Chapter warnings: Anal fingering, anal sex, baby-trapping, medication tampering, medication control.

-

Your boyfriend manages your medications, a one-man pharmacy. 

Every morning the pills are waiting for you on the table in the foyer beside where you deposit your keys in the evening. There are two of them. 

The first is oblong, tan. Your boyfriend hoards and hides the bottle, but you’d fished the information pamphlet that came from the pharmacy out of the trash, and you know everything there is to know about it from that page jam-packed with text. Sertraline, 50mg. Otherwise known as Zoloft. Just swallowing the tasteless pill makes you remember the even darker days than the ones you’re living now, the ones that had led you to that waiting room with your boyfriend in the seat beside you waiting for a doctor to see you. How do I know if I’m depressed, you had asked the doctor, bold as anything even with your boyfriend’s hand on your knee, or if my life just isn’t worth living? 

You’d learned. By God, you’d learned. 

The other pill is your birth control. Round, sometimes blue, sometimes white, depending on where you are in your cycle. Today it is white and—

It looks—different. 

He wouldn’t, you think to yourself, thumb nudging at the pill in your palm, like seeing it from a different angle might jog your memory of it. He wouldn’t do that. A kid is the last thing he wants. He wouldn’t sacrifice his own freedom just to keep you trapped underneath his thumb. 

Except—wouldn’t he? 

“Hurry it up,” he says, yawning, like you kept him up late last night. “I want to go back to bed.” 

You try to take a picture of the pill in your mind before you drop it onto your tongue, taking a swig from your water tumbler, but your brain feels so scrambled that you forget it right away. You can’t even remember the color—had it truly been white, or had it been the pale sky blue of  robin’s egg?

It goes down like a lump of chalk. He makes you show him your empty mouth before he’s satisfied that you aren’t cheeking the pills, and then he kisses you and tells you to have a good day at work, honey. 

-

“Rooster wants you in his office,” Jackie says under her breath, helping you hurriedly clear one of your tables. You’re slow with the splint on your smallest finger, the throb of pain lancing all the way up your wrist each time you use the damaged hand. Jackie has been an angel in khakis picking up your slack. 

You wish that you had one of the pills that they’d given you in the emergency department. It hadn’t taken away all of the pain, but it’d made your head feel light and floaty and like you could care less if all your fingers were broken. Or maybe you wanted one of Johnny’s pills—the ones that put him in a peaceful sleep. You haven’t had such a thing in so long that you can’t remember when, even your moments of relaxation tainted until ‘rest’ is just waiting for the next act of violence. 

“What does he want?” you ask. 

“Probably to tell you about the raise,” she says. She rolls her eyes and twirls a fingers, mouth set in a grim smile of comradery. “Fifty cents. Writing home about it as we speak. Or maybe he wants to grill you about who keeps stealing from the registers—like we all don’t know it’s Ruth.” 

Fifty cents. You can’t even turn up your nose at it. Every penny is one that brings you closer to that apartment across town. With a promise that you’ll return as quickly as you can, you step off the floor (avoiding making eye contact with any customers who would happily sideway you for refills or to complain) and into the back of the house. It’s quiet back here, cooler. Rapping your knuckles against Rooster’s door, you wait. 

There’s no response, and no sign of him in the hallway. Some of the line cooks are coming in, filtering toward the break room to start their shift. You feel their eyes on you as you stand impotently outside the door. One of them says something to the other, and there is laughter, too loud and boisterous for the enclosed space. Your heart has begun to pound, sweat breaking out at the nape of your neck. 

“Hey,” one of them says to you. 

“Hi,” you mutter, forcing a smile, unable to make eye contact. 

Still there is no sign of Rooster from either end of the hallway—never would you have considered the short man your savior. Heart racing, you crack the door open and see that the office is empty. You slip inside, shutting the door safely behind you. 

The room is as self-important as you might imagine: a desk that seems too large for the space, filing cabinets in the corner. There’s a corkboard pockmarked with holes after years of use, and you drift over to it, too anxious to take a seat in the chair on the other side of Rooster’s desk. A calendar is posted there, Rooster’s neat handwriting here and there. 

Something catches your eye: LOCKER CLEANOUT marked for two weeks from now. 

It seemed like the last locker cleanout had just happened. You had only collected five hundred dollars back then, but it was far too much to want to explain to Rooster, and you had nowhere else to stash it that was safe. In the end, it had sat in an envelope under the driver’s seat of your car while Rooster took the week and went through each of the lockers to ensure compliance with the restaurant’s rules (all because someone used to have a penchant for leaving snack cakes in their locker leading to a bad case of ants that almost led to the restaurant being shut down). It had been the longest week of your life, like driving around with a live bomb underneath the front seat. 

Now you have nearly two thousand dollars. Where the hell were you going to put it? 

The door opens. Rooster looks at you suspiciously, eyes flickering between you and the calendar. 

“Next time, wait outside,” he says, stepping in and shutting the door behind him. It makes your skin crawl to be alone with him, even if he’s never done anything slimier than asking you to pull a double shift. You know the darkness that lies inside men. All men. 

“Sorry,” you mutter.

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, taking his seat in a squeaky rolling chair behind the desk. His smile is a dismal, strained thing, like interacting with you is just as painful for him as it is for you. “Next time, just wait.”  

-

Johnny and Simon spend the day in bed. 

Johnny’s knee is propped up on a pillow, red and swollen. Simon lets his fingers hover over it, gentle, feeling the warmth of Johnny’s skin. Johnny winces, like even the brush of air against his knee hurts. 

“It looks infected,” says Simon. 

“It’s not.” It can’t be. Johnny can’t handle that—can’t handle the idea of having to go through the surgery on his knee again, the recovery, the way recovery is just synonymous with pain. No, it isn’t infected. “Just looks like that because he hit it.” 

Simon leans down and brushes his mouth against Johnny’s thigh. It’s meant to be sweet but—well. It’s the closest his mouth has been to Johnny’s cock in more than six months, and just the sight of it has Johnny’s heart skipping a beat and picking up again in double-time, his face growing flush. Not privy to Johnny’s thoughts, all Simon does is press a chaste kiss to the skin a few inches above where Johnny’s swelling starts—nevermind what else might be swelling now, too. 

The two of them lay entwined together, Simon curling up around him. He plants a hand on Johnny’s clothed chest, right over his heart, like he’s trying to remind himself that Johnny’s here. That Johnny’s alive. The look in his eyes is far away, mouth drawn down into a tight frown. All at once, Johnny’s downright sick of it—sick of them not having anything to smile about. Sick of fighting. 

Johnny takes Simon’s hand, laces their fingers, and guides it down. Down over his slim, firm belly, watching from the corner of his eye as Simon’s brows climb up his forehead. Down until their hands cup his half-hard cock. Simon’s hand shifts straight away, fingers curling around the solid length, thumb stroking up the side, the gentle rasp of his calloused fingerpad loud against the cotton of Johnny’s boxers. 

“You’re hurt,” Simon reminds him. 

“Don’t care.” 

“I do.” 

“We don’t have to fuck. I just—” he doesn’t know how to explain, how badly he needs to feel something good. How badly he needs to know that his connection with Simon isn’t ruined. How badly he needs to see that they’re still lovers, that Simon isn’t just his live-in caretaker. How badly Johnny needs to feel like a human being—like a grown man. He finishes, a little lamely: “I just need it.” 

Simon’s grip goes firm. Johnny’s eyes shut, mouth falling open at the sensation. He hasn’t even touched himself like this in weeks, and while he hadn’t necessarily been keeping track, his cock clearly has been. Simon seems content to go on like this, mapping the shape of Johnny’s cock through his boxers, thumbing over the head until a wet sticky spot appears in the cotton fabric, his hand sometimes drifting down to cradle the warm heft of Johnny’s balls. 

Johnny, usually impatient, contents himself with this torture. Let Simon tease him all day, if he’d like, until Johnny is liable to go off at the whisper of a touch. The thought has his cock jerking toward the warmth of Simon’s palm, and Johnny groans when his grip tightens. 

“Fucking pretty, aren’t you?” Simon mutters, his eyes on Johnny’s face.

Johnny snorts. He tosses his arm over his eyes, but beneath his arm, he’s grinning. “Shuddup.” 

Simon clicks his tongue. “Be good, Johnny. Let me look at you.” 

Johnny moves his arm and gives his grin room to breathe. His head feels light and airy as Simon sits up and helps him work his boxers down his thighs just far enough to draw his cock out. The first touch of skin on skin has him hissing a breath in through his teeth. Fuck, it’s good. Just as good as it always was—maybe even better, because he needs it so bad. 

“Want you inside me,” Johnny says on a whim, feeling the truth of it in his chest. He doesn’t just want it—he needs it. 

Simon leans down and kisses him, just a little too hard to be mistaken as anything but desperate. How long has it been for him, Johnny wonders. He spends every waking moment with Johnny except his perfunctory showers. Does he indulge then, between soaping and rinsing off, holding his breath to hide his sounds while he strips his cock with one slick hand? 

It takes some maneuvering to get Johnny on his side, knee nicely cushioned. He can’t reach back and touch Simon, can’t grip his hip and pull him in closer, and it’s just another reason to miss his arm. Because there are a hundred thousand touches Simon deserves that Johnny can’t give him anymore. 

They’re lucky for the shelf life of the lube. It warms Simon’s fingers as he works them past Johnny’s rim. He takes his time, hands shaking where they touch him. 

“Need it bad, huh?” Johnny wonders. 

Simon snorts but doesn’t deny it. Just curls his fingers searching for that tender spot inside Johnny’s ass that makes him grit his teeth. His cock drools onto the bedspread, red and throbbing with his heartbeat. By the time Simon slips inside him, chest to Johnny’s back, Johnny feels liable to go off at a moment’s notice. 

For all the time they haven’t fucked, Simon remembers everything: the way to touch Johnny,wrapping a strong arm around his chest to make up for the one Johnny lacks, fingers playing with the whorls of Johnny’s chest hair or teasing one of his nipples; the way to angle his hips to nail Johnny’s prostate. 

“Quit,” Johnny groans, shifting until the stimulation isn’t so good, so dead-on. His cock aches, balls heavy and tight. “I don’t want to cum yet. Don’t want this to be over.” 

“Can’t miss Johnny; dick’s too big.” 

Johnny guffaws. The sound nearly startles him—when was the last time he fucking laughed? With you in the park—but he doesn’t need to be thinking about you now, not you with your small, soft hands and the curve of your mouth…

“Fuck—touch my cock, please touch my cock—“ Johnny whines, body trembling. He’s right there, right fucking there, too close to go back now, fuck it all, he wants to cum. Simon’s strong fingers curl around his cock and strip it firmly, and the pleasure inside him bubbles up and over, left too long to simmer. He nearly headbutts Simon in the face, his body shaking and jerking and cum splatters against his belly and the bedspread and down over Simon’s fingers. 

“Just like that—so good, Johnny,” Simon murmurs. His pale hand grips at Johnny’s sharp hipbone, cum smearing against Johnny’s skin. “My turn.” 

Afterwards, Simon gently helps him undress and goes to get them both fresh clothes. Johnny’s knee throbs freshly just from his muscles tensing, but he barely feels it. For the first time since his accident, he thinks that maybe things will be okay. He has no arm—but so what? There are many with a lot less. He’s John fucking MacTavish. He can do this.

Simon has gone still at their closet, holding something in his hands. Johnny leans up on his elbows. 

“What is it?” he asks. “Did you find my lighter?”

Simon holds up with no preamble a skull-embossed balaclava. It’s worn, the fabric gone gray at its most threadbare spots, but the image imprinted on the front hasn’t faded.

“Blast from the past,” Johnny says, throat uncomfortably tight with an emotion he can’t name. “Thought you threw those out.” 

“Thought so too.” He doesn’t look eager to throw this one out though, his fingers tracing over the teeth, like he’s tracing the lipless mouth of a lover. 

“You miss it,” Johnny says, the glow of their sex fading rapidly. Of course Simon misses it. The military had been his entire life—until Johnny’s accident. Until Simon had discharged with him, to take care of him. Johnny hadn’t just blown apart his own life by going down in the helo in Kazakhstan, he had blown apart Simon’s life too. 

“No,” Simon says simply. “It’s not that.” 

Johnny frowns. “What is it, then?” 

“The night of the poker party—I was Ghost again. It was the only way I could…compartmentalize. Stomach it. I’d forgotten.” 

“Forgotten?”

Simon glances toward him. “Forgotten how useful Ghost could be.” Reaching up, Simon slips the balaclava over his head, adjusting it on instinct until it rests just right against the bridge of his nose. His hair is getting long, little blond strands visible, curling at the ends. 

“Now I want to fuck you again,” says Johnny, just to fill the air between them, and because sex used to be such an easy way to fill it. 

Simon doesn’t smile. 

“Johnny.”

“I was just teasin’—“

“Not that,” Simon says. Even his manner of speaking seems different, words clipped, tone short and no-nonsense. “What if I wanted to go visit our neighbor?”

The question lingers in the silence between them. Johnny swallows, the sound of his throat an audible click in the tense air. 

“You,” Johnny wonders, when he can speak again, “or Ghost?” 

Beneath the balaclava, Ghost smiles. 

[triglycercule]

thinking so much about horror and dust,,, gosh these SILLY goobers theyre so EYDAGHGGG!!!!! compliments to eachother,,,,,

i need them to make puns about topics that absolutely nobody should be laughing about and then DIE cackling because no waaay the punchline was a human's execution :333 (phantom papyrus is shaking his head in dismay)

need them to share stories about shitty experiences with humans and for horror to be impressed by dust's ability to keep coming up with new ways to kill his human and then for dust to also be impressed by horror's ability to handle with all different types of humans!!!

they make eachother food but dust poisoned horror's food and horror added rusted nails to his so theyre just like no you first you really should eat first i wouldn't wanna be rude no but i INSIST! they both know. it's a fun little game isnt it??? horror gets a bit scared of having to eat the food when dust's eyes turn red and cyan but it's okay because then he can just shove the shitty eggs he made into those eyes because theres literal NAILS cooked into it

sometimes they fight because thats normal and dust is annoyed at horror for hating undyne because she's a good person who just wanted to help others and horror's getting pissed because DIDN'T YOU LITERALLY KILL HER DONT YOU JUST VIEW HER AS EXP WHY ARE YOU DEFENDING HER!!! and they bicker back and forth and dust is really starting to wonder why he even empathizes with horror atp.... but its ok after a little quarrel they simmer down and move on. they dont change opinions at all the fight was for nothing

but then there's also times when they just wanna confide in each other because likeeeee theyre both shitty people who fucked up their undergrounds by their own accords and miss how peaceful life was back then. dust tells horror stories of life back before the human came because horror doesn't really remember it that well anymore and horror speaks to phantom papyrus through dust so he can pretend that this is just a conversation between sans and papyrus and everything's okay for just a moment. they both linger onto their memories of how things were before everything went to shit even though horror can barely remember and dust hates his previous self back then,,,,,

dust thinks horror's sooo much better than him for not literally mass murdering everyone but then goes around and stink eyes him for forcing his snowdin to eat humans and then leave the rest of the underground to starve. WHY DIDN'T YOU DO BETTER HORROR WHY DIDN'T HELP EVERYONE ELSE. horror scoffs because even though he kinda lowkey gets dust's philosophy of saving everyone and stopping the human through gaining LV he still killed everyone??? WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO THEM YOU IDIOT SHOULD'VE JUST FOUND ANOTHER WAY OR LET IT HAPPEN!!! the way they understand eachother on paper but then in reality despise what the other did,,,,,

ok SO WHAT if they encourage eachother's delusions. SO WHAT if they pretend the past never went away so WHAAAAT!!! it doesn't matter at least they found someone who can match their freak,,,,,, dust and horror peak duo PEAK DUO DARE I SAY OK

[mishkakagehishka]

Man whatever this user is an Eichi apologist fuck y'all

[dirt-str1der]

just wanna say im obsessed with your mind and i read your posts about kiryu like the morning paper. thank you for your service

(Sweats) e-even the ones about him laying eggs ?

[bi-writes]

an eye for an eye | knight!ghost x f!reader

your husband bends to your will. men must learn from difficult lessons how far that bending goes.

type: a continuation of a hand for a hand, but can be read stand-alone (11.6k)

cw: 1600s au, dark!ghost, reader described as curvier/plus-sized, graphic depictions of war + violence, possessive!ghost, war-criminal!ghost, inaccurate historical settings probably, unprotected piv, cumplay, breeding kink, size kink, simon "i'd do anything for my wife no matter the devasting consequences" riley (18+)

Your husband has an insatiable appetite. Such a big man he is; he towers over you, so much so that you must tip your head back always to look up at him. You had to make many arrangements in your house to accommodate his hunger–a pantry stocked full of eggs and less fabric for your skirts.

Your house isn’t like others. Neither you nor Ghost have ever lived in luxury. When he showed you your home for the first time, you had shaken your head–you didn’t believe that such a large place was supposed to be yours, and even now, sometimes you feel like a stranger, out of place when the maids ask you what you want for supper or where you’d like to take your afternoon tea. You don’t like the fuss, the asking, the women that curtsy when you come near, concentrated over the creases in your skirts or the loose thread of your sleeve or the wispy hairs that fall out of your braids. You are told all the time that you must behave like a duchess, that you must poise yourself with your new title and your new money, and you must do the things that duchesses do–but no one says the same to your husband.

He is still allowed to sleep in the barracks. Lick the blood off his gauntlets. Polish his sword in the dirt. He’s still allowed to be everything that you cannot be anymore, he still lives the life he had before.

He still kills; and he is still very, very good at it.

Your queen told you in a letter that the king is very pleased. Ever since your union, Ghost has been quite the conqueror. Bloodthirsty and very determined, your husband has been taking his men across the water. He is not any less impressive off land. Not even the pirates have tried to negotiate; they bend the knee or taste the salt water. You breathe shakily when you read your queen’s letters—her praise for your husband’s conquests, how blessed your family will be and how valuable you are to the crown, how grateful she is that Ghost is no longer a fiend in court but rather a little more polite and a little quieter.

All for your sake. Ghost’s name is now your own, and he refuses to embarrass you now that you have it.

You won’t lie; the bodies that Ghost has stacked since you’ve been wed do not scare you. He’s doing it for you. He has never said it out loud, never told you so, but you know it. He wants to show you what kind man that he is, what kind of soldier—you know he’s trying to prove himself worthy. If he killed a thousand men to have you, how many will he slaughter to keep you?

He sends you letters of his own. Not many, but he does send letters, and while Ghost seems to be ineloquent and entirely too brutish, he has quite the voice when he writes.

To my wife,

The sun falls quicker here. I’d like to come home. Tell me of your day, and I will tell you of mine. There were a fleet of ships that came to meet us at dawn. When we sank three, they begged for us to spare the rest.

I have you to think about now. So I burned them.

Simon

A poet, your beloved.

He signs his real name in his letters. Your eyes skim over most of it–you don’t even blink when he tells you what he does to them. Sometimes he writes in great detail about the screams of a hundred souls, the way burning flesh smells, the taste of dirt in a new place when you know it is finally yours. He doesn’t like having secrets. He tells you all his thoughts, even if they might scare you, because you are his wife, and he has discovered quite quickly that you have been cut from the same cloth.

Even when he is home, and he tells you these things all over again, he can’t help the way his cock hardens when you merely blink and ask him if he has added any scars to his collection.

Ravenous, naughty little duchess, and you are all his. He knows he picked well–he knows, he knows he wasn’t wrong when he saw you across the throne room hiding behind his queen, he knows now that he was right about what he saw in your eyes.

You do hate when he’s away. You’re not used to the maids helping you dress, and you secretly abhor the help. That is why when you hear the shuffle of your house early in the morning, your heart thuds in your chest knowing he’s home.

The staff get antsy when Simon is around. He is very good at keeping an estate for someone that has never had to or ever been taught to, but he leaves the responsibilities with you and only you every time he goes. He doesn’t trust anyone else to do it, and every time he comes back, he makes you sit on one big thigh as he teaches you something new that you need to remember for when he goes away. He demands much of those he employs, and they are eager to please him. Whether it is because they respect him or are afraid of him, you aren’t sure.

Perhaps it’s both.

You sit up as the bedroom door opens. You smile, big and wide and sleepy as he steps into the room. He shuts the door with his boot, slipping his hood off, and you sigh as he grips the clasp of his mask and unhooks it. He tosses it onto the floor, bare-faced, and as he makes his way towards the bed, he sheds the rest of his clothes until he’s completely naked.

You cannot stop yourself from the shaky breath you take. He is all muscle and fat, strong and entirely too scary, but it’s hard to focus on what he really is when he stands before you like this. He has fat thighs, big shoulders, carved muscle of intense labor around his middle and along his biceps. He has large hands with calloused palms and split knuckles, and your eyes meet his own as he comes closer. He’s so gorgeous, even with a face like that. He has a long scar that stretches from one brow to his lower jaw, another that cuts his nose and splits his lip, but those eyes are dark and lovely, and you can’t help the warmth that comes over you when he catches you staring at him, closer, right to his cock that hangs heavy between his legs.

Just as he begins to lower himself onto the bed, you hold out a hand, giggling.

“Simon, if you think you are getting into this bed without a proper bath, you’re mistaken!” You laugh, and he raises a brow.

“Mmm…” He smacks his lips together. “Tha’ right, my lady?” He clicks his tongue. “This is my bed. ’s oll mine. Every blanket…every pillow…” He grips your ankle from under the covers and yanks you towards him. “And every part of you.”

You giggle again, shaking your head, “Please, Simon!” You push him away with your toes. “They only changed the sheets yesterday. You’ll dirty them…” You flutter your lashes. “Will you bathe if I join you?”

He grins wide, licking over his teeth.

“Can’t refuse an offer like tha’.”

You hold out your hand for him, and he takes it gently. You watch as he brings your knuckles towards his mouth, and you bite back a smile when he decides to kiss each one, slow. He tugs finally, pulling you up, and you wrap your arms around his neck as he hoists you up into his arms. You would worry about your weight normally, but Simon holds you so easily, barely even a grunt as he wraps your legs around his middle. You don’t waste another second, cupping his cheeks in your hands and kissing him softly.

It’s never just a kiss with Simon. He slides one of his hands up your back, into your hair, and you whine as he tips your head back just enough to slip his tongue into your mouth. Simon doesn’t just kiss, he consumes. What he did to get back to you, the things he endured, the places he has seen and the bodies he has buried and burned and scattered across the places he now calls country, it’s always to get back to this place.

To you.

“How’s my boy?” He asks when you pull away. He carries you to another room, to where the tub sits, and he rings a bell by the door to call the maids in. You snatch a robe off a hook and cover him with it as he sits with you, but all he does is put a few fingers under your chin and make you look at him again. “Oi. Asked ya question, luv.”

Your lip wobbles a little, and you look away.

“I…”  You wait until the maids have gone to fetch hot water to tell him. “I bled while you were gone. I…”  You smooth your hands over the robe, distracting yourself. “I’m…I’m sorry, Simon.”

You close your eyes as he leans close, resting his forehead against yours, and you shake a little as he lets out a warm breath against your lips. He moves a warm hand over your soft stomach, cupping you there, and you lean your head back a little at the tender touch.

“It will happen,” he says finally, and your mouth opens to respond, but he sticks his thumb between your lips to shut you up. He doesn’t want to hear you blame yourself. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s his, for not being here with you, for not be able to take care of you. You give in, suckling on the salt of him, and he grits his teeth as he watches you. “I know. Seen it in m’dreams.”

Simon has dreams. Lots of dreams, but he tells you that they are not dreams, they are glimpses into something that has already happened. When you asked if he was some kind of seer, the kind that the king used to have at parties, Simon doesn’t laugh.

He says the dreams are why he knows he won’t die. Why he is never afraid, because he knows somewhere behind his eyes what’s to come even if he didn’t see the entire painting of it. It is why he knew he would marry you; it is why he paid you so much attention, why he knew he would win his battles, why he always knows whose blood it is in his mouth because he has tasted their death before and relishes in the knowing of it all, in the certainty.

It’s never I think, it is always I know, and Simon is nothing if he is not the most honest man that you know.

So if he says you will have his babe, it is as good as truth. As green as the grass grows beneath his feet, as blue as his sky, and as red as the blood that is caked underneath his nails.

When the tub is filled with water, you let Simon sink into it first. You kneel beside it, picking up a glass of oil, pouring it into your palms before sinking your hands into his hair. It’s gotten longer since he left, in need of a cut, but you smile when he leans his head back into your shoulder. You can feel his content as he relaxes into you, and you admire his physique as you use the warm water and scrub the mud and grime off of him.

“I missed you, husband,” you whisper, and he only lets you massage his hair for a few more moments before he grips you by the wrist and tugs you forward, right into the bath. “Simon!” you laugh, “my night dress—oh!—it’s ruined!”

“Too far away,” he mutters, practically ripping the silk off of you as he tosses it besides the bath. “Mmm…” He cups your breasts with two big hands, smoothing his thumbs over your nipples, and you whine a little as he pulls at them just enough to make them stiffen. “Y’should be naked when I come home,” he says lowly. “I’ll soil y’r bloody gown next time, m’lady.”

You giggle, and he smiles. A real smile. As real as he’ll ever give anyone, maybe the only one that anyone has ever even seen. He has never shown his face in court, and while it angers the women and irks the men, you revel in the fact that all of this is only for you.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

You kiss him softly. The water sloshes, warm and inviting, and sometimes you forget your life used to be anything but joy. A year ago, you would not believe that you would be here, titled, wealthy, in a stone room lit by candles bathing with a blood hungry ghost.

A year ago, you trembled whenever he looked at you. You cowered when you heard his footsteps. What a stupid little girl you had been. What a fool. She had no idea what she could have, the kinds of things she could hold in her hand.

Real power wasn’t being able to command a room with your words. Real power was being able to say anything and have it be believed as truth. Real power was making someone look in one direction and have them see what you see, even if what you see isn’t real.

He lays you down in your bed afterward and eats. Your wet hair soaks the sheets, but you can’t seem to be really bothered as he fits your legs over his shoulders and bends you at the waist, his mouth suctioned to your clit as he eats you slowly. One of his hands is spread out over your tummy, the other you can hear making a squelch as he fists his own cock. It’s slow and methodical, and he slides his tongue between your folds firm, catching what dribbles from you on the tip of his tongue before he swallows it and leans in for more.

He has eaten you in nearly every room in your house. Frightened the cooks tossing you onto the dining table, given a servant a scare as he ducked under your skirts in the library, had the gardeners fleeing as he dropped you onto the grass near the lake and disappeared with a frenzy to eat your cunt during sunrise. It’s maddening, the kind of need that Simon requires, but it’s hard to refuse when you feel so warm and bubbly and happy after he’s finished. A pampered princess you are, never lifting a finger, only awake long enough when he’s home to eat until you’re full and cum until you fall asleep again.

Maybe that’s why you’re not pregnant yet. Simon likes to be here, between your thighs, mouth fixed on your wet pussy until he’s practically exhausted himself with a sore jaw and lax tongue.

He kisses you sloppy after. Licking into your mouth, practically spitting onto your tongue, wanting you to taste—tastes so good, luvvie, don’t ya see, yeah?—wanting you to know why he’s so eager to be on his knees all the time.

You sniffle, a little dizzy, shaking your head.

“’s not what I really want,” is all you whimper, and he nods, because he knows, he always knows.

“I know, luv. I know wot ya really need.”

“I must be broken,” you sob, cradling his face in your hands, and he shakes his head.

“Not broken,” Simon assures you. He speaks so surely that it’s hard not to believe him. “It wasn’t time.”

“You can’t see the future, Simon! You don’t know!” You cry, and he snarls a little, shaking his head again.

“You listen t’me,” he growls. You shake a little as he grabs your face with one hand, fixing your jaw under his grip as he holds onto you firmly. “Wot I say goes. Y’r my wife, so listen t’me, and listen t’me good. Y’r not broken. Not time. Say it back t’me.”

Your lip trembles, and he rattles your head a little.

“Say it,” he snaps, and you hiccup.

“It’s not time,” you whisper, and he plants a fat kiss onto your tear-soaked lips.

“Just need my cock, luv,” he murmurs. “Tha’s oll. Just need me t’fuck it outta ya.”

You nod, pressing your face to his, and he tuts, reaching down and spreading your legs wide to accommodate him between them as he lays over you.

“’s oll y’need,” he repeats, and you nod again.

You have to take another bath in the same morning; and this time, you weren’t able to walk there.

You like when Simon is home because it’s quiet. The only one that dotes on you here is Simon. The maids do not dress you or do your hair or moisturize your skin. It’s always Simon.

You smile at him in the mirror as you sit at your vanity. He has a brush in one hand, and he’s using it delicately to detangle your hair how you like. His hands are practiced and gentle, and when he finishes, he leans over you as he starts to part your hair to braid it. He did not have sisters, but his mother had him always do her hair after she lost the use of her hands with age. You don’t know where his mother is, but you assume she is not here anymore, because he never invites you to meet her.

He oils your skin. He slips the robe off of you, revealing your damp skin from the bath, and he slathers oil in his hands before using it to soften your skin. He takes his time, smoothing those big hands over your shoulders, down your back, along your arms. You tilt your head back when he warms your breasts, squeezing and fondling your tits. He murmurs in your ear the entire time, and he has to fuck you with his fingers to quiet you when he stops because just his hands on your tits has you wet all over again.

He dresses you, too. Helps you slip into your undergarments, fastens the cage for your skirts over your hips. He ties them skillfully, and after he layers your skirts over the farthingale, he gets you into your corset. It’s intimate as he does this. Even with your wide skirt, he comes closer, over your shoulder, and he tugs at the laces at your back, pulling it tight with firm grunts. You sigh when he buries his face into the crook of your neck, his hand skimming over your breasts as they sit nice and perky between stiff fabric and whalebone.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck, unnerving…the way ya look…”

You close your eyes, “S-Simon, please…I’m already dressed…”

He chuckles, “I know. I know.”

But when he has to leave again, you nearly come with him. You fasten his armor for him, help him slip each piece of leather on and click every piece of metal into place. You tie his cloak and slip his mask on, and you try and duck your head when you flip his hood up, but he catches you, tilting your chin up.

He huffs when he sees your face. Tears sliding down your cheeks, lips wet with them, eyes all glassy and red. He draws you up onto your toes, pressing his mouth to yours through the mask, and you hold onto him tightly, digging your nails into his chest armor and threatening to not let go.

“I want to go.“

“No.”

“Simon, let me go,” You gasp, begging, gripping his hood in firm fists and not caring that his armor is cutting into your front. “Let me go with you, I can’t do this anymore, I want to go, I can do it.”

You aren’t sure if Simon underestimates you. You think it’s more that he does not want you to see him in a place where he is most true. Where he wears the least of a disguise. He does not know he wears it the least with you, and that you have already seen his blood and how it curdles under his skin. You like it that way. You like him angry…and mean…and terrible. You like him when his sword is dirty and his armor needs polishing and his mind thinks of nothing else besides war. He should know this by now. He should know that you see him and see what he is even more than his king, more than his men.

He couldn’t scare you, even if he tried.

“War is not where women go,” Simon snaps. His tone is harsh, even for you, and you stiffen when he grips you by the jaw and rattles your head a little. “Especially not one like you, my love. War would eat ya, eat ya fuckin’ whole. Look at ya…” He huffs, deep, sliding that gloved hand down your throat to slip it beneath the neckline of your dress and fondle your breast with a firm grip. “Beautiful. Meant for my lips…for these dresses…meant to be held in my hands, not bleed from stray arrows, because tha’ is surely the least of wot they would do t’ya if they knew ya were my wife. Now ya will wipe these tears, ‘n see me off, and then ya will come back inside like a good girl, ‘n you will wait for me here until I come back.”

Your bottom lip trembles, and you scowl up at him. Not indifference, but frustration, and Simon doesn’t think it suits you.

“I’m sick of waiting for you, Simon,” you spit. “It’s all I ever do, wait. Wait for you to come back, alive or dead, I never know. And don’t say you do this for country, that is a lie.” You shove him backwards, but he barely budges when your hands touch his chest, a rigid wall that does not give. “You do it because you like it. You’re a bloodthirsty dog, and all you do is bend to our king’s will.”

A lie, but you tell it anyways, because you want something, and he will not give it to you.

“That is my duty.”

“Your duty is to me,” you snap. “Kings come and go, but I will not.” Simon stills. He glares down at you from behind his mask, and perhaps this might terrify his men, but that you are not. You are his wife, and you are protected by that title alone. The only man to ever lay a hand on you would not live to see another second, himself included. “Now you will let me join you, or so help me God, Simon, I will not be here when you return.”

You do not expect the full-bellied laugh that leaves him. His armor shakes with him, and you grind your teeth, narrowing your eyes. He uses his thumb to force his mask up, and then he cups the back of your head and draws you in for a sloppy kiss. You resist at first, but when he feeds you his tongue, you melt. You kiss him back, letting him draw you closer, and you sigh as he tangles his fingers into your hair and cradles you with those big hands.

There is nothing more to say. Simon neither confirms nor denies, but you taste it in his mouth, his devotion. Not wrong, not right, but just so–he has many responsibilities, but you are the only one that will remain the same. One day, his king will die, and he will serve another, but the space you have made beside him will never change. Even when you die, because he knows you will go before him, there will never be someone else to fill it. You and you only, the woman he found and made his, the one he demanded lest he kill his own country for it, it will always be you. Soft and sweet, you are, but the Lord knew Simon could only have one woman, and he made it be you; the one spitfire enough to defy her own king because she trusted his love enough for it.

Would you commit treason to save his life? Would you watch a king die if it meant your beloved lived? 

Would he?

He thinks about what you have said when he takes his fleet across the water. He runs his tongue over his teeth behind his mask, breathing deep when he thinks about your proclamations of duty. Of change. Of what remains when other things move, of the kind of life that waits for him when he comes and goes with a king’s order. He thinks about how easily he is taken away from you, and he knows there is truth in what you feel. It is not really Simon that sacrifices, it is what he leaves behind, and that is you.

It’s never angered him before. He had accepted the fact, as early as your wedding day, that he would leave and come back, then leave again. It has always been the way of his life, come desire or not, so it bothers him that of all the things that surprised him in his life, it would be missing someone that shocked him the most.

Missing his wife. Missing the serene perfection of one woman, and the perfect place between her soft thighs. Every day that he finds himself between them is the best day of his life, he reckons, so now he feels bitter about staring at a freezing ocean amongst his men because he will go weeks without her.

Her. Her. Her.

He is bitter, yes, until he is not.

It comes in a letter from a messenger on horseback. They have been stationed in a foreign land for weeks now, watching slowly as the stone walls of a castle at their front crumples day after day from the stones filled with powder that ignite what is wood and break what is rock. The letter is sealed with wax, with the motif of a snake. It is given directly to Simon, whose name is scribbled in the letter, and when he reads it, he tastes ichor and smoke.

So the great phantom has come to seal my fate. I am not in the business of letting what is mine be taken. Even if you have brought your all, it won’t be taken from me.

I heard you have a beautiful new wife. I heard you paid for her in blood.

I shall do the same. I will hang your sword above our marriage bed.

Ghost is not someone that bends to the threats from foe he cannot look in the eye. Words are so empty. It is nothing like when he stands just a few meters apart from them, eyes fixed against one another, as they decide whether today they want to live or they want to die. The letter means nothing, but he’s surprised by the heat that bubbles under his ribs at the mention of his bride. He meant it when he said you were not meant for war, and that meant in this regard, too–nobody was allowed to talk about you, not like this, not ever.

When his king orders him home, Ghost crumples the note and tosses it into embers. He watches it burn, and then he orders his men to set to flame the ground around the stone walls.

So men like him can be goaded, it seems. His resolve is not as strong as he thought.

The weeks make you anxious. All you do is sit and collect dues and tell the maids which dress you want to wear and which you do not. It is peaceful and boring, and you wish Simon was here to make your days more exciting, but he is not.

His letters are the only things that keep you occupied, truly. He writes to you about war and loneliness, and you write to him about the mundane of domesticity and the ache he leaves behind. Sometimes, his letters come folded with pressed flowers he finds along the way, and you start to collect them, putting them away in small boxes or using them as bookmarks as you go through Simon’s library.

He has many books. His most loved books are those of war, of history, and you smooth your fingers over the pages he has dogeared and find comfort in reading the same words that he once did. You learn, as well. While in your studies as a girl, they made you learn arithmetic and the flowery bits of history and art, here in Simon’s house, you learn of strategy and weaponry and military tactic. Sometimes you disagree, and you write about these disagreements to Simon, and he writes back, pleased with your observations. He told you once that if you were a man, he would want you in that tent with him, beside him, deciding on which formations to take and when to strike. You responded saying that you could be that for him anyway. What did your sex have anything to do with whether you were right or wrong?

Simon agreed.

But I would never invite you here, dear wife. You have to understand that.

When your queen asks for your audience for dinner, you oblige easily; finally, you have something to do rather than add up numbers or sign a document on Simon’s behalf or read another fucking book.

You don’t want to wear all the costume your maids insist on, but you appease them after they repeatedly explain to you what your title means. With a drawn face, you let them tie your corset and layer your skirts, and you watch in the mirror as they braid your hair and drape large, obnoxious jewels over you. You grimace at the tiara they fit into your hair, and your elderly handmaid pinches your cheeks and tells you to put on a fair countenance, Your Grace, lest you make the Duke look ungrateful.

You bite your tongue from snapping at her. She should know that Simon would say nothing about your countenance; all he would do is fix whatever was bothering you until you smiled again.

You arrive early enough to have tea. Your queen is so excited to see you; she gushes when you meet her in the throne room, pulling you up from your curtsy so she can hug you tight, squealing. When you try to address her with a curt “Your Majesty,” she shakes her head, pressing her hands to your cheeks and giggling, “No need for formalities now. Call me Victoria.”

You hide your displeasure with a small smile. Now that you are no longer her lady-in-waiting, she allows you her name. Is it because she sees you more as equals, or because now you’re allowed to be somewhat of friends?

You must be some kind of friend. She sizes you up like you are one. She wears England’s colors this afternoon. A fire red dress adorned with gold accents, a dragon pin holding her shawl. She wears magnificent red and gold jewelry, but she’s looking at your dress, and you can see the slight twitch of her eye. You are wearing French lace, and she doesn’t like it. Or maybe she doesn’t like the color, the accents of navy blue and silver that you wear.

The skull motif that is woven into your tiara and printed on your coat and sewn into your dress. Does it insult her? That all your life, you wore nothing but browns and beiges and grays, were invisible to her, and now you represent your house, visit her as your guest, and bear an honorable name?

You were no one when you served her. Just a girl, no close family, no friends, just a distant uncle who gave you to the crown that hoped you could be of service. That was to be your duty for all your life–to serve the king’s wife until she wanted you no more or until she was gone. To cater to her every need and every wish, no matter the time of day or night.

Now you sit across her, more noble. Refined. Wearing a dress she despises, perhaps because she likes it more than her own.

Over tea, she gossips about the other ladies she has visit. You’ve heard this before, but you’ve never been included in the conversation. She talks to you, and she wants to hear your opinion, and you find yourself uneasy as you try to think of what to say. She is your queen, and you want her to like you. When you worked for her, you earned her favor by always warming up her jewels before she put them on, by making sure she had her tea ready in the morning at her bedside, by always holding the fan she so loved for when she inevitably had a hot flash. Now, as her friend, you weren’t exactly sure what to do. You suck in a soft breath and look at her, and then you purse your lips.

You think it best to agree with her. To be on her side. You might not be her direct servant any longer, but you still must fall under her favor. A queen’s favor can be just as powerful, especially if she occasionally has the ear of her husband.

“Well, that’s not very kind of her,” you say finally, and she laughs.

“No! She’s such a prude. I think her husband doesn’t sleep in her bed enough, if you know what I mean,” she winks at you. You giggle at that. “Speaking of husbands–” She pops another cake in her mouth. “How is yours?”

You reach up and tug at your necklace a bit, smiling nervously.

“Oh, uh…” You clear your throat, “He’s doing very well. I hear his latest campaign is quite the success. His majesty is very smart, heading for the east that way, I’m sure they will be victorious soon enough.”

Victoria smiles at the thought of her husband. His intelligence. She always used to talk to you about how many hours he worked, how she hated when he was away, how she wished he was home more so he could give her a son because she was so, so lonely.

“Wise words from the duchess, aye, my love?”

You jump a bit at the low voice from behind, and when you turn, you gasp, immediately standing and falling into a delicate curtsy. John Price waves his hand, coming further into the room, shaking his head.

“It’s alright,” he tells you. “Please, sit. You’re here as my guest.”

You stand and lift your head, trying to relax. You take a seat, smiling nervously, and Victoria smiles giddily at her husband. When he bends to kiss her cheek, she fawns, reaching for his hand and squeezing it before taking another piece of tart and eating it. John hums before motioning for one of the staff to fill your cup again with tea. He eyes you curiously, taking in your appearance. You sit up at that, performatively brushing off over the skull pattern on your corset. John runs his tongue over his teeth, smoothing a big palm down his wife’s long coils of hair.

“Since you’re here, I’d like a word, if that’s alright,” John says to you. His tone carries a little more authority now, and Victoria sighs, whining a little.

“John, please, she’s my friend. Can’t it wait–”

“That wasn’t a question, Victoria,” John bites. Her face falls a little. She swallows and tucks her hands into her lap. You’re reminded as you look at the slight wobble of her lip that there is no one truly above John Price, not even her. You keep your face neutral, but if you were invisible, you’d pity her.

What a shame her husband sees her as less than. How embarrassing. Your Simon would never. Your Simon waits until you finish speaking before speaking himself. Your husband kneels to take off your shoes, your husband tears your skirts to get a taste of you, your husband used his teeth to sever a man’s throat just to have your hand.

What did John Price do to get his wife? Who did John Price kill to have her hand? How many bruises did he earn around his knees on their wedding night from eating her out? As many as Simon, whose knees were black and blue by morning?

No, you suppose not. How unfortunate. How pathetic.

Victoria picks up her skirt and stands, pasting a big smile on her face. It doesn’t reach her eyes, and you can see the way her hands shake a little as she scurries off. She scowls as soon as she turns away from John, clearly annoyed.

“I’ll go check on dinner,” she says, but it is soft and unenthusiastic.

When she goes, the room falls quiet. At the nod of John’s head, the staff leave, and you keep still in your seat as John sits across from you, picking up one of the cakes in front of him and breaking off a piece to busy himself. He keeps his eyes on his task of cutting up the cake in small pieces, focused on his hands and how they work. You watch him carefully, steeling yourself.

You anticipate a conversation between man and woman, not a king and his lesser.

“Simon’s been away for some time. I bet that’s difficult for you.”

You straighten your posture, realizing what this conversation will be. By his tone, John seems to think you a bored, stupid housewife, perhaps. Uneducated. A woman, no thoughts in her head. You let your face relax, and you fold your hands in your lap. Maybe now is the time John should learn who you are and who you are not.

What you have become and what you no longer are.

“I do just fine, Your Majesty,” you say finally. You pick up a spoon and drop a cube of sugar into your tea, and you stir, picking it up to take a long sip. John is curious by your content. You have a quick tongue. “I could say the same to you, couldn’t I?”

John laughs. He narrows his eyes a bit at your clever response, taking a large bite of the cake and running a cloth over his beard. His eyes sparkle a little.

“So you know.”

“Know what, Your Majesty?”

“You know I gave Simon orders. And you know he didn’t listen to me.”

You purse your lips, but he sees the shine in your eyes. The lack of surprise. His face twitches a bit, and you shake your head. You blink slow, and it irks him to see you so calm. He is your king, and Simon answers to him, and you are his wife, so you must answer, too.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

“I could have your husband’s head cut off for treason for that, you’re aware, aren’t you?”

You tilt your head to the side. What an odd thing for John to say. What an odd thing for John to contemplate, since it would never come to pass. “Don’t be daft, my king. You wouldn’t want to do that.”

John slams his fist on the table, making the plates and cups rattle with his frustration, but you do not even flinch. You blink, stone-faced, and it makes his nostrils flare. He recognizes that glare, he knows it well. He has seen it before, stared it down many times in rooms just like this. Only now, he is not fighting for land, he fights for control of the one man that he has always been able to rely on. Simon has followed him into battles outnumbered by a thousand men, and only now he ignores an order? Only now he chooses something different?

“Now, let’s be civil, Your Majesty,” you say softly. You smile at him, leaning your head in your hand. “Is there something that you need from me? I have a feeling you might have encouraged this dinner just so you could see me in passing, so why don’t you just ask me what you wanted to ask me?”

John lets out a deep breath, leaning his elbows on the table, lowering his voice. He leans towards you, and you admire how blue his eyes are. John is quite a handsome king, but he does not captivate you. It has been a long time since John has tasted blood, and he lacks the edge that you crave dearly.

“I need him back here, is what I need,” John murmurs.

“My king, I couldn’t get him back here any more than you could, even if I wanted to.”

“Now who’s being daft?”

You scoff, leaning back in your chair. John is not a stupid man. He created a beast of a man, and he is trying not to poke it too hard. You shift, brushing down your skirts, and you let out a low breath.

“Why did he refuse?” You ask finally.

“What?”

“Why does he ignore your order to come back?” You ask again. “I can’t think of a lot of reasons why he would stay. So why did he ignore you?”

John clicks his tongue, smoothing a few of his fingers over his beard. He averts his eyes, looking out the tall windows, frowning a little at the grim weather. The weather is always grim here, but it irks him at the moment, makes him scowl a little harder.

“I was…informed that there was some sort of letter,” John explains. “Some threat.”

“I don’t follow. He gets lots of threats. And terrible letters.”

“Was about you this time, Your Grace.”

You close your eyes at that, shaking your head. Simon would never be so foolish as to be baited by baseless threats. He barely bats an eye when someone even in front of him draws his sword. He is so comforted by his ability to win, by his dreams and his visions that have not yet happened.

“That’s absurd,” you breathe. “Simon wouldn’t…”

John chuckles, but there is no humor there. “Wouldn’t he?”

“I still don’t understand what you expect me to do,” you roll your eyes, looking away. “Simon is…he’s not…he doesn’t listen. It’s why he’s good at this, isn’t it? He doesn’t really take orders, he’s…I…”

John has never complained before about the way Simon chooses to lead. Oftentimes, it is an order ignored that has made it so that he delivered another crown at John’s feet. Simon asks for forgiveness, not permission, and John has barely batted at eye at it. He sees Simon as some kind of distant son, but this refusal bothers him so?

John leans forward. “You need to understand something here, Simon is a rabid dog,” he spits. “And sometimes I let him off his lead, but this isn’t like anything I’ve had to deal with. I need you to call him back here.” He scoots closer. “England needs you to call him back here. To me.”

You narrow your eyes a little. England needs you to call him back? What kind of sick sense of patriotism is he trying to instill in you? John is stupider than he looks, to think a woman like you would show loyalty to country. You are loyal to your husband, and nothing else, because what has king and country ever really done for a woman like you except for dispose of you?

You wear Simon’s colors, not John’s, and you will wear them to your deathbed.

“If I do this for you, my king, then you owe me,” you whisper. He laughs again, no humor, and he picks up a goblet and fills it to the brim with wine. He drinks half before slamming it down onto the table, spilling it over his hand.

“Kings do not owe their subjects.”

“Quite right, Your Majesty,” you agree, picking up your napkin and dropping it onto the table. You stand, giving him a polite curtsy. “But I am not doing this as your subject.”

“Everything you do is as my subject.”

“You put your entire right to the throne on the back of one man,” you say softly. You are not accusing him, you’re reminding him of a truth. “Simon is why…he’s why your counsel still listens to you. He’s why your people are free from famine, why…why your taxes get paid on time, why your kingdom is still standing, no thanks to your father who wasted this place’s fortune on women and liquor.” You shake your head. “You have an eye for conquest, Your Majesty, but you lack the execution of any plan you conjure.”

You are not wrong, and John knows this, and it’s why he hasn’t spoken up yet or interrupted you. The man before, his own father, was a drunkard who spent all their money. He drank himself into the grave, and the only reason John stands before you now is because of Simon. A man who he fought beside, who he commanded, who once John’s duty became reality took up the mantle and finished what his father never could.

John would be in the next history book you read because of Simon, and it’s Simon’s name that will never be written. They do not bestow legacy to men who serve other men.

“Where…Where did you learn to speak to men this way?” John scoffs. “I am your king.”

You must have hit a soft spot. John is defensive now, and men only deflect and insult when they are cornered with the truth. They don’t like being held in front of a mirror.

“You are king because my husband made it so,” you correct him gently. “And Simon is a loyal dog, and that is good for your sake, because if he had any desire for your seat, it would be his.” You come closer, your heels sounding, and John glares down at you; but you glare right back because you are protected by your name and what you can do with it. John knows this, and it angers him, but he seems to have difficulty facing the truths of his own making. “But he is not your dog anymore. He’s mine.”

Your pen on paper is aggressive. You can tell because the splotches of ink are deep, bleeding black sinking into white as you put angry word to parchment. Not even a fortnight later, you are playing cards with Victoria, and you see Simon’s silhouette standing in the doorway, hood shadowing his masked face as he observes. When you look over your shoulder where John sits, and you meet his eyes, he looks away from you with a grim understanding.

Simon answers your call. Always.

At dinner, John is in better spirits. He drinks with a big smile, eats more than one plate, and he picks Victoria up by the waist to make her dance with him when he asks for the music to be played louder. Simon sits, fidgety, gloved hands moving in and out of fists as he watches you cut into your food and eat it with a blank face. He huffs beside you, his armor stiffening as he sits up straight, and you let your fork clatter onto your plate as you turn to glare at him.

“You were thinking with your cock, Simon,” you spit. “That is how men like you get killed.”

“You ‘ave no idea how men like me get killed because there are no men like me,” Simon growls. You roll your eyes, standing, and he grips your wrist angrily, tugging you close until you fall into his lap. You sigh, shaking your head, putting your hands on his broad shoulders and making him look at you.

“Maybe,” you whisper. “But I’m not wrong. It is how you’ll lose. You know better than that, Simon. To fight someone because they taunted you in a letter, it’s playing the fool.” You cup his cheeks, keeping his eyes on yours. “You don’t need me to tell you that, and yet here we are.”

He breathes slow, closing his eyes for just a moment. He thinks he came for this, just a little. For clarity. Reason. It comes from you in waves, and it’s comforting to hear. It is something he knew, and yet it only makes sense now that you have said it.

“I know,” Simon mutters. “I know. Y’r right. I’m sorry, luv.”

You ask him to apologize when he undresses you. You ask him to apologize again when he sinks into a hot bath with you. You ask him a third time when he is in your bed, a heavy weight between your thighs as he licks and sucks at the soft skin of your tummy. He begs, lowly, let me ‘ave it, and you will, but he has to say he’s sorry again.

“‘m sorry,” he breathes, sucking on your inner thigh, and you close your thighs around his head, forcing his mouth against your cunt.

“Again, Simon,” you whisper. “I wanna hear it again.”

“‘m sorry,” he slides a rough tongue between your folds, breathing shakily when he tastes the oil that he smoothed over your skin only moments ago. You taste so good, you smell so lovely, coming off of you like fumes blinding his senses so that nothing else but you makes any sense at all. When you open your eyes, you think about where you are, and you nearly come thinking about what you have wrapped around your finger.

Not even your king tells your husband what to do. Not even your king commands his men, they won’t listen, he’s not who they turn to when things go belly-up, it’s your husband, and your husband answers to you.

You weren’t sure about it until today. Seeing him when you asked him to come, it flooded you with something that hurt. You could tell from even so far away that Simon was salivating under that mask. You knew the only thing separating his mouth from your cunt were the other people around him (and they were not privy to seeing you naked).

It is such a thing to observe. John needed a lead on Simon when he was his dog. You need no such mechanism. Simon never strays, not with you. He sits proper when you ask, and he speaks when spoken to. He tears at unwanted flesh, and he comes when you call.

John cannot give him all that he desires. Perhaps he thought what Simon truly wanted was fame and fortune. Legacy. But like most things men do, John does not observe. He takes in only what is right in front of him, and he makes assumptions. Simon is not like other men. Fame and fortune do not matter. He does not care about legacy. What matters to Simon is what he can hold in his hands. The ground under his feet. The steel in his hand. The woman underneath him, spreading her legs, inviting him in.

You love Simon. You love Simon more than anything in the entire world, but it would be a lie to say that you are not at some advantage here. Simon is all-consuming. He is the pinnacle of duty and honor and everything that a man is supposed to be, but Simon is also weak. There is something that he wanted more than anything in the world, and now that he has it, he will do anything to keep it, and that makes him vulnerable. Subject to all kinds of new things. Revenge. Retaliation. Pain.

Manipulation.

Maybe you should feel bad about it. Maybe you should feel guilty, but it’s hard to feel anything like it when there’s a big bear of a man between your thighs slobbering on your pussy like dessert. It’s hard to feel anything but bliss when he’s tracing the letters of his name into your cunt and making you see stars and fucking you into the silk sheets like it’s the last time he’ll ever have you.

It is men who govern your world, and if this is how you must move in it, then so be it. You will not feel bad. You will not be sorry for doing what anyone else would do. John thought he could keep his hand there, muzzle his mutt, but you like him this way, and you’re certain John doesn’t fuck the way you do.

He’s mine.

It isn’t John that commands an army, it’s you; or maybe your cunt, but that belongs to you, too, so it is you, isn’t it? You’re the one that lets him inside, that whispers in his ear, that tells him things you know he wants to hear to make things move in your favor, so it’s you, right?

Not John. Not Victoria. Not their counsel. You. They have stepped on you your entire life. They have made you small and inferior and sad for all of your existence, and they gave you something feral knowing it could eat you alive, and now you are the hand that feeds, and they are forgetting that if they bite too hard, you have something that will surely bite harder.

A collar would suit him, you think. He would look so pretty. He already is, the terrible beast, prettiest thing you’ve ever seen (the necklace your drape over him does just fine, a pendant with his motif that you hope reminds him of you). You don’t care if people would say his face is quite ugly. It is, very much so, but you never see him this way. Whenever that mask falls, your stomach flips. He takes your breath away. His intensity, his raw form of love, the look on his face–there is nothing else in the entire world that will love you the way he loves you.

“You came back for me?” You ask. You have a leg tangled between his, and his fingers are between your thighs, a shadow of a smirk on his face as he feels the mixture of your cum and his. He grunts a little, and you tilt your head to look up at him, your chin on his chest.

“‘f course,” Simon mutters, and you kiss his chest gently, keeping your eyes on his.

“But not for John.”

He turns his head, looking down at you more intently, and he scoffs. You know it’s true, but you want to hear it, anyways. You want to hear Simon admit, unknowingly, that you are the tether.

“John is afraid, and I don’t listen to ‘im when he’s afraid. Makes bad choices.”

It’s almost adorable that this is what Simon tells himself. That he comes back for his own sake, and not for yours, even though they are one and the same, intertwined and inseparable.

“Simon,” you say softly, and he sighs, his eyes closing briefly when you kiss him gently. “You have to listen to your king when he asks you to come back. Making a…rash decision about war strategy is one thing, but…” You cup his cheek gently. “Make things easier for me, husband. If he asks you to come back, you come back.”

This time, at least. Just this time.

Simon snarls a bit, but you swallow it when you kiss him. You maneuver yourself over him, straddling his hips, and he grunts as you sink down on him. He swells hard again very quickly, releasing a deep breath as you give a slow roll of your hips.

“Make things easy for me, my love,” you whisper, and he leans his head back, putting two big hands on your ass and moving you with ease. “Appease your king, yes? For me?”

“Can’t say no when y’r pussy squeezes me like tha’, sweet’eart,” Simon groans, and you giggle, planting your hands on his chest and starting to move a little faster. You lean your head back, your mouth falling open, and you gasp when you sink down completely, your ass touching his thick thighs as you tighten around him. “Fuckin’ Christ–”

“I hate when you go,” you whine, digging your nails into his chest. He hisses, planting his feet on the bed, and he fucks up into you with a renewed fervor. “Hate when you’re not here, Simon, I-I miss you, miss this–”

“Nghh…fuck, I know,” Simon pants. “Can feel it. Feel you.” You squeal when he grips you by the waist and turns you over. He makes it seem so easy, tossing your weight underneath him, and your arms circle around his neck as you draw him closer, hanging onto him. “Y’r so fuckin’ pretty…”

“Simon–”

He kisses to devour. His jaw hinges wide to kiss you sloppy, breathing in the moans that you can’t contain. Simon always fucks so well, stretching your thighs as wide as they will accommodate so he can make room for the goliath of himself that he is. He suffocates, in a good way, and his cock never fails to stretch you for all that you are worth. Simon holds your jaw in place as he grinds into you, relishing in the wet smack of his hips against yours. The fat of you satisfies him. It makes him growl with delight when he grabs onto wide hips, your fat arse, the body that you hold that tells him you are fed and warm and content. It draws his grin wider, and it makes him drool thinking about having you again and again and again, until you beg him for reprieve and his heir sits in your womb.

Simon fucks for sport. He wants to see how stupid he can make you. He wants to know how long you’ll cry for, how fat he can make your tears. He wants to know how loud you will cry, how many times he can make you cum before you’re incoherent, he wants to know the extent to which he can use you that you will still be awake enough to say his name just one more time. Simon is not satisfied until he pushes your limits.

It is what a Riley does. They endure, and they eat, and they consume, and they take pleasure in the all-encompassing indulgement of things they have never been allowed to have. You are a woman, so he knows this will come easy for you. So often, he knows, women are not allowed to indulge at all, so he wants you to. He wants you to cry and moan and eat, and he wants you to do it bearing his name so that no one will ever tell you no.

Simon says no to kings, and they placate, or they die. His wife will be offered the same respect, and he’ll stand behind her with a sword to make it law. When you bear his children, he will expect the same of them–to give their mother utter devotion, lest they answer to his hand. There is no one above you, not God, not country, and certainly not blood. They will know what their father did to have you, and they will spill the same amount of blood to keep it that way. They will do it for you, and then they will do it for their own lovers, and if they don’t have the same sentiments, that love is not true, and Simon will not give his blessing.

Everything else is trivial. He knows this, understands it, because history repeats itself. It is cyclical, and you are right. Kings come and go. Sons die to other sons, fathers make bad decisions, and crowns are passed to bastards and back again, until lineage is merely spectacle and power changes hands often enough to lose generational merit. There is one thing that remains, and it is what you do while you are on earth, while you are standing on the ground you were born on. Even faiths change; when men find it suitable, they change the rules, and then you worship a different God, so Simon sees no point in staying loyal to any of it.

Instead, he is true to what he knows. To what he can see and what he can feel. With John, he remembers being a young man, fighting alongside him. He follows John, to an extent, because he knows what it is like to share blood with him on a muddy hill and take an arrow for him.

With you, time stands still. He saw you in a room, and he had to have you, and he brought nations to ruin to make certain no one would bat an eye when he asked for your hand. He saw you in a dream, too–he saw you laying in his bed of furs, wearing nothing but a tiara of his making, wet between the thighs because that is how it’s meant to be. He recognized you when he saw you that first time, and he doesn’t know how, but saying no to you, really saying no, will change that vision, and he couldn’t bear that.

Your voice echoes. You’re moaning, overstimulated, but he doesn’t stop. The hair around his cock rubs your clit too many times, and when you come around him, you’re a shaking, withering thing, back bowed and nipples pebbled. Your toes curl as you cry from the starry-eyed, hot pleasure, but he keeps moving, chasing something in the distance that he can taste, so close.

Yes, Simon ignored his king. Yes, Simon did not ignore you. Yes, Simon admits, he came when you called, and he doesn’t feel bad about it, he doesn’t care how it seems. He would do it again if he had the chance. John could give him the same answer as you in every timeline, but he will only move if the command comes from you, and yes, Simon knows it makes him a liability, but crowns come with costs, and this is the one John must pay.

Simon will fight any of John’s enemies, but he won’t fight fate. He won’t fight what has already been seen, and he won’t fight what he already knows will happen.

With Simon’s cock in your mouth, you can make him deliver on promises. Sucking on the girth of him, you can make him an honest man. Taking inside of your mouth what you can swallow, you can make Simon do your bidding, and it is a hard lesson that John learns.

“Do this for me,” you slobber against the underside of his cock, and Simon relents.

“Make me happy,” you say, swirling your fingers against your puffy pussy, and Simon kneels with an open mouth.

“Just this once,” you whisper with his cum on your tongue, and Simon seals his choice with his hands on your tits and the taste of himself in his mouth.

When you make eyes with John across the low lights of the throne room, he can’t help the way he admires you. You stand beside Simon, looking the essence of nobility and reverence in another intricate silver and blue dress. The train of your skirt glitters with delicate jewels hand sewn into the fabric, and the headpiece you wear adorns a skull insignia. Your corset has been tied just right, thanks to Simon’s hand, and your own fingers are clasped between his. Your corset and jewels are of exquisite detail–one of the newest designs from Paris, structured and elegant and accentuating every curve of soft skin.

You glow in the room. His wife must be wearing a dress just as expensive, probably more, and yet his eyes (and everyone else’s) cannot help but follow you. Your own eyes won’t leave Simon; you flutter your lashes whenever he looks down at you, big smile on your face, and even when there are people curtsying and bowing to you and giving Simon their gratitude between bites of cake and glugs of wine, your attention never really strays. 

John feels inadequate in his own fortress; suddenly, red and gold sicken him, and England tastes sour in his mouth.

In a few generations, John’s house will likely fall. He will make heirs that will fail him, he knows this. In a few centuries, his family will not sit in the same place, but a Riley will remain right where they are supposed to be. Banners of blue and silver will always fly. If Simon does not make sure of that, then you will.

It’s what happens when you force women like you to their knees. When they grow up invisible, always in the shadows, forgotten and sold to the next man who will pay a higher price, it’s what you learned to do. It’s all you’ve ever known, to make the best out of something terrible.

Simon is the same, in that sense. You understand him in a way his king will never be able to. Simon has nothing, and neither do you, and Simon was stepped on and berated and tortured to the point of no return. It is why blood does not scare him and why death doesn’t come knocking. Time will be the only thing capable of killing him, and everyone that stands up to him learns that when they eat his blade.

In the quiet of the evening, Simon undresses you. He sits behind you on the bed, fingers pinching the bows at your back and unraveling them. He traces your corset, thumb circling over the skull pattern of the belt around the small of your waist, and he tastes something warm in his mouth at the sight of it. You look so beautiful–more beautiful than he’s ever seen you maybe, decorated in his colors and wearing his motif and sitting so pretty.

“You wanna know something…funny?” You ask quietly. Simon finds the ties of your skirts and starts to undo them. He grunts in reply; he might sound standoffish, but you know he’s listening. “John…John made it…he makes it seem like you don’t really listen to him. He implied that…in the face of adversity, you might only listen to me.” You put your hands on the front of your corset to keep it from falling. “Isn’t that funny?”

“Wot’s so funny?”

You swallow, looking down. Your hands fidget, and you take a closer look at the ring you wear, the delicate gold band he gave you not so long ago.

“I…”

“Mmm…might be right, innit?” Simon snickers after a moment. You feel him stand, and you look over your shoulder as he peels his mask off and grins down at you. He tilts his head to the side, and you smile back at him a little. “Do anythin’ for ya. Disobeying a king…” Simon cackles, tearing your corset off, tossing it onto the floor as he walks you backwards. “Ignoring one…” He shrugs, “Oll in a day, love.”

“He can hang you for it,” you whisper. “Cut off your head. Cut off mine.”

Simon lays you back on the bed, spreading you out, climbing over you. You blink up at him, and he leans down, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I would ‘ave seen it. I would know.”

He would have seen it in a dream. It would have come to him in a reflection in a pool of blood on the battlefield. It would have come to him, the voices in his head, he would have heard them amongst screaming, or perhaps in the void that he finds his mind in when he’s between your plush thighs.

You can’t help the smile that graces your face when Simon kisses the curve where your jaw meets your neck. It is fun, you suppose. Fun to control the tides that set the courses of history. It is fun and almost unbelievable that a king bends to the will of one man’s wife just because it solidifies his name.

You wrap your hand around the twine that dangles from Simon’s neck. It twirls around your fingers, easy, solid. Simon’s eyes are dark, and they are yours, and when you smile, so does he, because this is where you are meant to be, forever and always.

“What if I want more?” You ask. Simon hums, low from within his chest, and you run your tongue over your teeth. “Did you see that in your dreams, Simon? Hmm? Do you know what I’m asking for? What it is that I really want?”

Simon smiles. A dark one, with teeth, and you know he hears it. What more means for a duke and his duchess. What more means when you have all the money you could ever want, all the land you could ever need.

What more means when you have climbed your way to the top and still desire more. More, more, more. There are not many steps left to climb. There are not many places left to take, not much more of the world that can really be yours, but Simon looks ravenous, and Simon looks hungry, and if you fuck him now, you’ll have him right where you want him.

When you tug on what hangs around his neck, Simon bends. Simon follows.

[a-little-ray-of-fantasy]

An analysis on how Sir Pentious' character design represents his personality and development perfectly (beware of Hazbin Hotel spoilers)

Let's get this out of the way: Sir Pentious is a snake, an animal mostly known for generally believed negative traits such as poison, deceit and betrayal. We don't know WHY he's in Hell, maybe he was a "snake oil salesman" considering he comes from the Victorian times and he's into hyping up what he does, or maybe he was into war. Thing is, he's a Sinner whose design just scream "Evil".

(BTW, a snake could also represent "fertility": looking at you, Egg Boiz!)

He always had eyes all around him not just because of a stylistic choice.

Sir Pentious always felt like he was watched, and had to watch out for any danger.

"Everyone here is too nice: obviously it must be a lie! I can sense they are planning to kill me, but when?! HOW?! I must be PREPARED!"

Sadly, he's been constantly berated by other demons, far more effective in destruction, status, cruelty and charisma. Alastor won't ever bother to remember him, Cherri always ones up him, and the Vs, the ones he admires to most, won't care less about him.

To the point that Vox sent him as a spy without the intention to save him if things were going to fail. Heck, he even openly tells him to die while calling him a failure.

So of course he's got reasons to have trust issues, or taking everything so seriously, being constantly reminded of what he can't accomplish. So he puts an air of grandure that may be very flamboyant, but is VERY frail.

But, if we have to be frank here, his biggest source of insecurities... is himself.

He has eyes on his tail (his softer, more vulnerable side, which is ironically made even MORE lieable to getting hurt because of how sensitive those organs are), and inside his hood, so he could look out better for danger when on alert mode.

Heck, even the mark on his hood kinda resembles one eye.

Problem is, when you see his hood folded, when he's at ease, neutral or sad, those are not looking at outside sources.

They're looking at him, at his back. A constant stare that happens everytime he lets his guard down and shows how vulnerable he is. A gaze that can sense all of his weakness, his struggles, his insecurities.

And it's all him.

Pentious constantly believes that his inferiority complex will fade away once he'll accomplish something grand that will make others accept him. But he is his biggest critic, his worst enemy: HE is the one who believes he's a failure, that he'll never gain approval from others.

This show takes place in Hell, but this is Sir Pentious' personal Hell: insecurity born out of self hatred. Doomed to feel everyone's gaze upon him, including his own. Believing the danger to his self esteem is from others, when it's really from him.

But then he's accepted at the Hazbin Hotel: Charlie forgives him, he bonds with Angel, Husk and Niffty who don't care a bit about what he's accomplished or not, or what he's done in the past.

He feels more comfortable in showing his vulnerable side, and no one judges him for how easy it is for him to get emotional.

Of course he's still very insecure, considering how he struggles to confess to Cherri, but notice how he stops building machines or planning to attack others as soon as he starts bonding with the others: he doesn't have a reason to destroy or attack, now that he knows he's loved.

And his final design, when he goes to Heaven, shows how much he's changed, yet stayed the same. He may have died a hero, but he's still the same awkward snake we've come to love.

Speaking of love, let's talk about that!

No more eyes on his tail, now it's just on his chest (showing he's opened his heart), his glasses are now heart shaped, and even the markings inside his hood resemble kiss marks more than anything else.

And look: the mark on his hood is now heart shaped!

Why all these hearts? Why did all the eyes disappeared from his body? Even his eyes that were looking at his back?

Simple: love. Love defeated his insecurities and self hatred. He died for love.

He died protecting his friends, his new family, his new home.

He confessed and kissed Cherri knowing full well he wouldn't have made it, and yet he went anyway.

The usually cowardly and timid Pentious actually faced a great danger with courage and determination: he acted selflessly by putting himself in harm's way, he didn't steal (naturally) and by going against Adam he did indeed "stick it to the man"!

He used his weaponry knowhow and battle experience not to conquer, but to save his loved ones.

His only thought up until his demise was: "I'll go down protecting them".

And he's been rewarded not only by becoming an angel, but also being spawned directly in front of Emily and Sera, two Seraphim, the highest rank for an angel to have, who have also been depicted as snakes of fire throughout history! Sir Pentious, the lowly demon considered a failure by everyone, actually has been noticed by the Seraphim! He's come so far!

He's now come to represent the REAL symbolism of a snake: the duality of death and rebirth, transformation and immortality (ironically a reference to the fact he's been around since 1888 without ever dying from any Extermination or blessed weapons).

And isn't so poetic that a snake, the "source of the original evil", was the first sinner to ascend to Heaven? Or that this episode was released on February 1st, or National Serpent Day?

And of course, as the Bible itself says:

"Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends."

(John 15:13)

And knowing him, I'm confident in saying he'll keep helping his friends even in his new position, like the soft hearted noodle he's always been, but was to afraid to show it up until now.

[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

A Day in Life

Synopsis: A day in the life of Jason Todd. Also, he's a househusband now. Oh, and a little plot twist.

Pairing: Househusband!Jason Todd X Gn!Reader; Platonic!Batfam

Tw: Canon level angst for Jason; Some sexual innuendos; Writer apparently doesn't know how to finish a story anymore; This is pretty slice-of-life so maybe boring?; English is not my first language.

Word count: 3,8k

Requested? No.

General masterlist | A Day in Life - Series masterlist

Wake up, make out, get up. First steps of your everyday routine. Sometimes making out turns into something more, but not today.

From his past life, as Robin, Jason learned a lot about discipline. As much as he tried to forget everything and everyone from his past before you, some habits die hard, although with time, with you and with therapy, he accepted that not all of his experience was bad or should be thrown away just because of one sociopathic clown who hurt him. Yes, Jason died, came back angry and did a lot of shit. But he was still alive and this could be a second chance.

While you, his darling spouse, get ready for work, Jason gets up, puts on his apron, fills the dog bowl for Daphne — your little brown dachshund that you adopted together four months after getting married —, opens the doors to the garden, so the dog can do whatever, and finally starts making breakfast and lunch. Breakfast so you two can eat together and lunch for you to eat at work. Sometimes you both meet up and eat together at your office or a restaurant. Today, that's not the case.

Simple yogurt with fresh fruits and nuts, coupled with a slice of chocolate cake he baked the day prior, eggs, toast and coffee for breakfast. As for your lunch box, a natural sandwich, salad, fruits and juice. He also fills up your two liter water bottle, so you feel pressured have no excuse but to stay hydrated.

Food. Until he was 12 his relationship with food was complicated, to stay the least. At first, his beloved but troubled mom would be in no condition to cook him three or more nice and fulfilling meals a day for a growing boy, he either had to learn and make do with quick instant food, eggs and old bread, or starve, since money was something he only saw when it was being handled to her drug dealer. His father was even worse. Jason loved his mom. Still suffers for her. He hated his father who was the one making her addiction worse. He’s still happy he died.

Living on the streets, food was a dream. A bad dream. It either came from trash or he had to do things that made him feel humiliated and guilty just to get some. And it was gone in a flash, he was so hungry he devoured it all in a second, and then his belly hurt.

Then he came. Jason loved his new father. Loved his new grandfather. Loved their food. So healthy, abundant and full of taste. So fun to prepare. He learned a lot from Alfred because he loved to spend time with him, play with the ingredients and make everyone and himself happy with the results.

But then he had those memories wiped out of his mind, (un)fortunately they came back, but at that time food was in the back of his mind. Sure, he didn't have to worry about starving, crime paid more than enough for that, but he didn't put much thought into any of it.

Now, with you, he's making new memories with food. He cooked and baked a lot with you and for you throughout all your relationship, and you did the same for him. He loves his kitchen, just like the rest of your house. The pantry and fridge are always full thanks to you. You take good care of him. You make his trust in you be worth it. And he reciprocates it. Healthy and nice food that brings comfort and makes you roll your eyes. Especially after he started frequenting cooking classes as a hobby, again, thanks to you.

After you are gone with a full belly and a pet in the ass (just like him, honestly), he continues his routine. He changes clothes and goes to the gym. Jason never stopped exercising, but the lack of all the activity vigilantism entails and with all the treats you two have, he started getting more soft. You loved it, he hated it. — Okay he didn't hate it, he just wasn't the most happy with it. Roy thought it was kinda funny, until Jason pointed out he also got softer after Lian. You honestly couldn't see why all that softness they were talking about was so bad since they were still very muscular and defined, just less dry and more snuggly. You honestly thought your Jaybird could go even further. — So the addiction of yoga to his routine happened.

After that, he goes straight home, eats, showers, takes care of his appearance to keep looking like a proper hubby that you can shove on your bitter frenemies faces, and makes sure to keep the maintenance of the house, so you can come back tired from work and enjoy a perfect house to rest on.

Hygiene. Another things that was complicated with his biological family. His father wouldn't touch a single plate or broom, and would beat and scream at his mom if she didn't put her high (again, because of him) ass up and did the labor. Most often than not, their house was messy, had a bad smell that his little nose was so used to that it's not like he minded, and had insects around. His clothes were dirty hand-me-downs, some fit him, some didn't, a lot of them had holes. His hair tangled and itchy.

When he went to the streets, it just got worse.

Bruce and Alfred fixed that. He finally learned what stink was because he only knew good and neutral scents. His clothes fit him. Everything around him was clean and well-kept. No holes, no stains. Hair always trimmed, soft and clean. Well maintained.

When he came back, cleanliness was basic. Of course he is gonna keep everything around him clean. Habit and common sense, you know? Clothes his size because why the hell would he use hand-me-downs when he can just buy his own? And they had to be the right size for his new 6’2 and almost 200 lbs body. Hair? Whatever. Always washed but as long as it didn't look ridiculous he didn't have time to put much thought on his appearance. He was genuinely surprised you were attracted to him at first sight.

Being with you, he learned to enjoy the little things in life again. Sometimes he finds himself unmoving in front of a random room of the house, or in front of the mirror, trying to grasp if it's all real, If this is really his life, if that's how he looks. His mind flashes memories of his childhood home and his current home. He ignores the memories of the manor not only because of the betrayal he felt for Bruce, but also because the manor was from the Wayne's. He was a Wayne. He is not anymore. This is him. His new house, with you, is what he wished he had growing up. What he always dreamed of. Love. Company. And comfort. He felt all of that while being a Wayne, until he despised the Wayne's. Not the couple that died decades ago or the centuries old descendants. But his father and his siblings.

On days where he doesn't take care of the house, he practices his hobbies. He now has time to do it all, surprising you, his therapist, Roy, and himself, he did cooking, gardening, pottery, crocheting and of course, reading. You paid for all his classes, praised him on his achievements, added his creations to the decor of the house, accompanied him on any event or place related to his interests, gave him his own library in one of the rooms in the house. He even made some friends between middle-aged women and the only other househusband and stay-a-home dad that frequented those places.

It was very funny and cute seeing rough, huge, leather jacket wearing and scarred Jason Todd telling jokes to 50-year-old white moms/grandmas and sometimes even babysitting their kids, pets and plants. You knew he could be a good dad one day if you decided to have kids. He was also more than happy to have just you, Daphne and good friends. And plants.

Warmth. When he was a kid his parents broke the heater during a fight, he wondered if they didn't have money to fix it, even with his father's activities, or if his father just refused to fix it. Anyhow, it was always cold in Gotham, freezing on winter, his dirty clothes with holes didn't help much. The streets didn't seem much different in that aspect. The manor kept him warm when he wasn't seven feet under the dirt, in a casket. When he came back, Jason always wore the warmest of clothes, even while sweating, he didn't know why. Now he did. Your house is always warm. Your body is always warm. Comfort. Your love gave him comfort. Warmth. A reason to live.

Love. His mom. Bruce and Alfred. You.

After he was done and rested for a little, Jason took Daphne for a walk in the way to the grocery shop. He wanted to try a new receipt you saw on tiktok today for dinner and had to get more flour and something for the filling.

After a few minutes of walking on his perfectly nice looking and safe neighborhood — nothing like crime alley. The type of neighborhood he saw on the television and imagined those other happy kids his age living and envied them. Dreamed of being adopted into one of their families while jumping from orphanage to orphanage. It never happened. He just got more abused. And then the manor was so isolated that you could only see mansions and plants all around. So big and far away that they looked empty of life. — he got there and strapped the dog to a post, next to a smiley golden retriever.

He got in and- fuck it, I'm going home. The empanadas can wait another day.

— Jason? Oh my god. Jason! Is that you?! — The infuriatingly familiar loud voice calls out from the middle of the shop and all heads turn to look. Shit, he can't go now without embarrassing himself in front of the cashier of his favorite and most visited shop. So he just nods, takes a basket and walks as if there was nothing interesting happening. It worked with the others costumers, unfortunately, Dick thought it was way too interesting and forgot his own basket that only contained eggs and cereal, and started following him around, this time, with a less surprised tone.

— Hey, Dick. — Jason idly muttered, that just made his coff coff brother indignant.

— Hey, Dick?! What the hell? Where were you? It's been three years! We thought you were dead! Or kidnapped! We never stopped looking for you! We were worried! We mourned! What happened? — Was it bad that Jason didn't want to give him a real answer? Probably. Especially with how much his therapist, who he saw on the days he didn't go to the gym, told him he should try to mend things with his family. So much so that he started actually contemplating it recently. But if he did it, it was going to be on his own time. Not by bumping into them in the grocery store. Oh, well. Jason was always good at adapting. The best.

And wow, three years had passed? Makes sense. Recovery does take time and he's been really happy for a while. Jason still remembers the day he decided to quit everything. It was the same day he decided you were the one, truthfully he always knew you were marriage material, the perfect one for him, out of his league, straight out of his most amazing dreams, peak goal for him, but he wasn't sure if he deserved to be the one you should be stuck with forever. He desperately wanted to, but he had to commit. Ride or die. He loved you, now more than ever, and didn't want to waste your time. He was still a bit messy at the time, but you made it all better, he was a lot better than he was before you came into the picture. You were the right choice. Jason always took you seriously, he was just insecure. So, while still in around eight months of relationship, he quit everything.

He quit his family. He quit vigilantism. He searched for recovery. And a year and a half later, with a little more than two years of dating, he made the big proposal. You married on your three-year anniversary. Got Daphne four months later. It's been around three or four months ever since.

While Dick’s math might not be exact, it is not necessary in this context, the point came across just fine.

He also knew that the fact that you both decided to not leave Gotham was going to bite him in the ass one day. One way or another.

— What happened? Oh, well. I retired. Got married. And now I'm a dad. — Daphne was like a daughter to him, so it was the same, right?

His nonchalant reply didn't seem to satisfy the other, though. Todd could see it, the urge to strangle him in his eyes. Dick wouldn't strangle his dead missing little brother, would he?

— You… You what? — Dick was in disbelief.

— You guys searched for me? Thanks, I guess? It means a lot. — Jason just sniffed and went on his way, leaving Grayson behind, paralyzed.

Maybe he could be fast enough and get out of there before the older one got a grasp of his senses back and followed him out. Part of him felt hope, the other heard yours and his therapist voices in his head, and the nagging was annoying. Maybe he never stopped being a “grump”, like you always amusedly said.

Oh, no. Here he comes again. Jason suppresses an eye-roll.

— Stop. Can you really explain? — The mix of emotions was almost overwhelming, an urge to cry, punch a wall, punch Jason's face, scream and who knows what more was running through Dick's body.

Jason sighed and finally addressed him completely. Tone lower so no one could hear.

— Okay. I met someone… Someone good. Someone special. A civilian. I was tired of everything. So I decided to retire and made sure none of you could find me. I'm surprised Roy and Lian kept the secret from you, though. Anyway. Now I'm a stay-at-home hubby, have a dog and go to therapy. You happy? — A beat of silence. — Hey, don't make that face… I was going to tell you guys eventually… When I felt like it… It's not like you guys saw me a lot. How much time did it take for you all to miss me? I made an appearance once in a while when someone asked for help and that's it. Alfred knew everything so if you’re gonna be mad at anyone, be at him too, not just me… And Roy. Don't forget Roy.

— A-Are you kidding me? Oh, yes, blame the butler! You couldn't even tell us? Like “hey guys, I'm gonna retire and take some time for myself for a while. Also, come to my wedding!” I wanted to be invited, you know?! Why didn't you invite me? Did you at least invite Alfred? Did- — Jason rolled his eyes and cut his rant.

— Yes, Alfred was there. Front row and everything. — Dick shrieked.

— T-That’s not the point! — His voice raised slightly from exasperation and both of them checked around for anyone's attention, then came back to the conversation.

Jason raised a hand to interrupt him and took a deep breath.

— Look. I wasn't in a nice place at the time, okay? I'm better now… And I was going to talk to you guys sooner rather than later… — Jason let a moment of vulnerability shine, hoping that would melt his brother's heart and fix things. It did. — We will have a second wedding when we renovate our vows in our 5th anniversary. You can be there… Everyone can be there. — Jason cleared his throat to interrupt the other again. — But now I have to get home in time to make dinner for my honeyboo, so why don't we… Stay in contact and… One of those days everyone can have dinner together and catch up, huh?

Dick took one of the deepest breaths of his whole life. Jason pursed his lips.

— Okay… — He stuck a finger in his face roughly. — But don't disappear again. Or else I promise I’m gonna personally make everyone track you down, understood? — Jason snorted. As if Tim and Bruce wouldn't do it already once they knew everything. As if Bruce didn't secretly keep track of him this whole time. Unless… Unless everyone changed and he didn't know his… His family anymore.

Why did it make him feel weird?

— Yes, boss. — Jason saluted him and left.

— Relax… — You elongated the word. — Nothing bad it's gonna happen… — You went behind Jason and tried rubbing his broad shoulders to chase the tenseness away. The sight and feel of his muscles almost made you drool, and you blinked to focus again.

— How do you know? — You pursed your lips and went to his side to try to make him take his eyes off of cleaning the countertop for the 4th time due to anxiety.

— Because they love you. And they care about you. And they miss you. — Jason deadpanned you. — Just give it a chance. If anything goes wrong, we will just kick them out and you never have to talk to them, ever again. We can even move if you want. Or go on a vacation to the same place we had our honeymoon, I can wear that skimpy piece you like… Spoil you rotten… — Your voice lowered seductively and you pressed your body to his side, running your hand up and down his arms with some pressure.

Jason’s mind went blank and he was speechless for a few seconds. Your eyebrows raised with a small, convincing smile that made all his worries go away. He sighed.

— Okay… Okay, you’re right… — He leaned down and sneaked an arm around your waist. You both shared a slow and wet kiss, bordering between sensual and calming. Unfortunately, he had to wait a few hours before having some action. He pulled his face away a few centimeters, looking you in the eyes. — I thought I had ripped that thing. — You blinked.

— You just might have. But I bought another one because I looked too good on it not to wear it again. — You shared a chuckle when the doorbell rang. You both looked at the door, then at each other. — Want me to get it? — You ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm the last of his nerves. Jason swallowed.

— No. Have to get it over with. — He took a deep breath and then let out. Pulling away from your embrace. — Put the juice on the table for me, please? — You hummed and nodded.

Without giving a second thought, he walked in long strides and abruptly opened the door.

It was like that scene in Avengers: End Game when on one side there was just Captain America against the whole Thanos's army, just staring at each other.

— Are you wearing an apron? — Damian snarked with an eyebrow raised. Jason looked down. Yes, he was. Good start.

— Take your shoes off, there’s other shoes for you all there. And here I was having hope that at fifteen you wouldn't be a demon anymore. — Jason said sarcastically and gave them space to enter.

As soon as they got in the neighborhood they were all already skeptical. If you were the only one working, how much do you earn to live in such a nice area and with this nice house? They could even see a pool in the backyard and there were TWO expensive cars in the driveway. Jason said he quit all of the crime lord thing, did he keep the savings? Did he invest?

The little dog came running and barking, taking their attention away from the house and their shoes, Damian immediately crouched to pet her. Jason let a side of his lips go up. At least that hasn't changed.

— Her name is Daphne. — Jason spoke over the cooing of Duke and Cass at the dog. He locked eyes with Bruce who had an unreadable expression on his face. He looked older, Jason didn't know how to feel about that. Then gazed at Dick, who had a shit eating grin, Alfred, whose satisfied smile warmed his heart, and Tim, who was analyzing the space while changing shoes.

— Nice place. So, what does your partner do? — Are they committing fraud? — You appeared from the corner and replied for him.

— I direct the Queen Industries’s Gotham’s office. — You answered softly with a polite smile, stopping besides Jason, who wrapped an arm around you. Everyone's gaze turning on you made you feel shy, but you held on with confidence.

— Oh, wow, so Jason really is a malewife. — Your eyes widened in surprised and you couldn't hold back a laugh. Jason let a small smile graze his lips, coaxing the easiness out of him.

— I offered to pay cleaning and cooking service, but he wanted to do things himself. — You say, a little afraid they would get angry at you for “slavering” their Jason.

— Did you buy those cars outside? — Wow, Tim really was as skeptical as Jason had said.

— Hmhmm. — You nodded simply, as if it was nothing.

Jason's siblings raised their eyebrows and Bruce cleared his throat, and took a step forward, feet clad in fluffy slippers. He offered a hand and presented himself politely to you. You wondered how much of that was his persona and how much was just a father meeting his son's partner.

While giving them a tour of the house, the family — aside from Alfred who already knew it all — observed the details, happy memories in the form of pictures of trips, your marriage, birthdays, anniversaries, Daphne's growing stages, spontaneous moments that just deserved to be eternalized, trinkets, handmade pots, plants, Daphne’s toys, and the decor that was just a mix of you both. No guns in the walls, no corpses buried in the backyard, no blood stains. The only signals that it was their Jason living here and not a clone were the books, pictures and hidden security measures. 

It was… Good. Peaceful. Clearly the change in scenario helped him. It hurt them a little, some more than others, that it took him cutting them off for him to start healing, although, maybe opening up this new side of him for them meant that it wasn't just that. And it wasn't. The fault didn't fall completely on them. Nor on Jason. And one person, you, can't be the solution for all global crisis. Mental health is complex. Trauma is complicated. Past can't be changed, but the future can. 

That night, everyone enjoyed Jason's cooking, Daphne and the new future.

Like, comment and reblog 🥰

Taglist:

@wandalfnation

[solxamber]

I wonder how would everyone in twst deal with shapeshifter!reader that shapeshifts according to the emotions they feel, kinda like penny from amazing world of gumball (mouse for fear, Medusa if they are angry, dragon when furious, etc.)

Shapeshifter! Reader shifts according to emotions

hi! thank you for the request, I'm not familiar with amazing world of gumball so if this is not what you wanted, you can let me know <3

Riddle Rosehearts

At first, he’s baffled by your transformations. When he catches you breaking a rule, and you suddenly shrink into a mouse out of fear, he goes redder than his own dorm’s color scheme. “This isn’t in the rule book!” he shouts, trying to keep a straight face while pointing at your tiny, squeaking form. "Get back here! I wasn’t that scary!"

Ace Trappola:

"This is hilarious!" Ace cackles when you transform into a chicken after a jump scare prank he pulls. "Every time you freak out, I’m gonna get free eggs!" He starts carrying around a list of emotions and their potential animal counterparts just to mess with you. He’s particularly fond of when you turn into something inconvenient at the worst moments.

Deuce Spade:

He panics when you become a snake after he accidentally insults you. "W-Wait, I didn’t mean to offend you! I swear I respect you!" Deuce waves his arms frantically, but the snake version of you doesn’t look impressed. Eventually, he ends up apologizing to a tree you slithered up, hoping for forgiveness.

Cater Diamond:

"Oh my Sevens, this is prime Magicam content!" Cater says, snapping pictures every time you transform. “You’re a walking meme factory!” He probably starts a hashtag dedicated to your transformations: #EmoshiftGoals. No matter the situation, he’s there to document your form, even if you’re a giant octopus stuck in a doorway.

Trey Clover:

Trey is unphased, which only makes it worse. "You’re a dragon, huh? Well, would you still like some pastries?" He offers you a cupcake while you’re snarling as a massive fire-breathing lizard. Somehow, his calm demeanor just makes you feel more ridiculous, and you shapeshift back out of sheer embarrassment.

Leona Kingscholar:

He’s absolutely done with it when you shapeshift into something large and ridiculous, like a lion that rivals him in size. "Seriously? That’s how you deal with anger?" he mutters, throwing an arm over his eyes and turning away. “You’re going to destroy the dorm, herbivore. Quit roaring at me before I kick you out.”

Ruggie Bucchi:

Ruggie sees dollar signs whenever you transform. “Yo, if you turn into a rare animal, I can sell tickets!” He’s already plotting ways to exploit your shapeshifting for his own gain, offering to “protect” you in exchange for some madols. You’re too busy struggling not to turn into a weasel from frustration.

Jack Howl:

He respects your ability, but he’s mildly concerned when you shift into a rhino after a workout, clearly overwhelmed by how sore you are. "Hey, I get the effort, but don’t take down the gym equipment with your horns," Jack warns, not knowing how to help while you smash everything in sight. It’s all part of “getting swole,” right?

Azul Ashengrotto:

He’s actually kind of jealous of your ability. When you transform into something like a Medusa during a heated negotiation, Azul’s glasses slip down his nose. “Let’s keep calm, shall we?” he says nervously, trying to maintain his cool. He starts drafting up a contract for your transformation abilities, hoping to exploit your forms to boost the Monstro Lounge’s appeal.

Jade Leech:

Fascinated. When you shift into a giant squid out of excitement for finding a rare mushroom with him, Jade’s eyes gleam with interest. “How intriguing... I wonder if your emotions could inspire even rarer forms.” He offers you “stimulating” experiences to study your shapeshifting, but he’s just looking for an excuse to see your dragon form again.

Floyd Leech:

He’s your biggest fan. Every time you shift into something, Floyd is there, demanding to “see the big one” — aka your dragon form. “Come on, let me fight ya while you’re a dragon! It’ll be fun!” You’d think being a massive fire-breathing lizard would scare him, but nope. He’s more excited.

Kalim Al-Asim:

Kalim finds your ability endlessly fun. “Whoa, you’re a parrot now! That’s amazing!” He just claps and laughs every time you transform, not even fazed when you accidentally turn into a giant elephant during a banquet. “This is the best party ever!” He starts planning parties around your emotions just to see what you turn into next.

Jamil Viper:

Jamil’s patience is tested when you shapeshift into an overly dramatic form every time you get slightly annoyed. You turn into a cobra when he criticizes your cooking, and he sighs, rubbing his temples. "I don’t have time to deal with this. Can’t you at least stay human for five minutes?" You hiss in reply.

Vil Schoenheit:

Vil’s irritation reaches an all-time high when he realizes you can shapeshift into ethereal, otherworldly beings, making even him feel average. The moment you turn into an angelic being, radiating beauty, he stares in stunned silence before murmuring, "I’m not envious... but perhaps you could tone it down? You’re stealing the spotlight."

Rook Hunt:

Obsessed. Rook is utterly captivated by your ability and considers it a masterpiece of emotional expression. "Magnifique!" he exclaims every time you transform, sketchbook in hand. He spends hours praising your forms in flowery French, even when you’re just a tiny bunny hiding in a corner from Vil’s glare.

Epel Felmier:

Epel is torn between awe and jealousy when you become a giant bear in a fit of anger. “Dang it, I wanna be that big!” He tries to rile you up just to see your more fearsome forms, hoping to get some tips on how to be more intimidating. When you become a giant stag beetle, he’s both inspired and a little scared.

Idia Shroud:

Idia’s both fascinated and terrified by your shapeshifting. “You’re basically a walking, talking MMORPG character with transformation hacks,” he mutters, eyes wide as you morph into a Cerberus when angry. He pulls out his tablet, muttering, "Okay, let’s not piss them off anymore, or it’s game over for me."

Ortho Shroud:

Ortho, on the other hand, is super excited about your ability. “Brother! They’ve turned into a griffin! How cool is that?” He scans you with his sensors and starts rattling off facts about your transformations like a walking encyclopedia. He keeps asking for data on each shift, even if you’re currently a three-headed dog chewing through a chair.

Malleus Draconia:

Malleus is unsurprisingly unfazed. “Ah, you’ve become a dragon,” he muses when you turn into a fearsome beast out of fury. "How... nostalgic." He gives you pointers on how to properly roar and fly, treating your transformation as a normal Tuesday. “Let me know if you’d like some pointers on being a more regal dragon.”

Lilia Vanrouge:

Lilia finds it hilarious when you shapeshift uncontrollably. "Ah, such youthful vigor!" he says, clapping as you morph into a bat out of anxiety. He starts comparing your forms to his own transformations, occasionally pranking you just to see what you’ll turn into. When you become a spider, he dangles from the ceiling, poking fun at your eight legs.

Sebek Zigvolt:

Sebek yells in disbelief whenever you turn into anything he deems less than “worthy.” “You turned into a sheep? Preposterous! That’s no form for someone in the presence of Lord Malleus!” But when you shift into a dragon, he practically throws himself at your feet. “At last! A proper transformation!”

Silver:

Silver just... naps through most of your transformations. You could be a raging tiger, and he’d probably sleep through it. When he wakes up and finds you in some new form, he just rubs his eyes and says, “Oh, you’re a phoenix now? That’s cool,” before falling asleep again.

Crowley: "This is a rare magical ability!" Crowley says, trying to use your talents to bolster the school's reputation. He wants you to shapeshift during big events, but every time you’re stressed, you turn into a giant tortoise and refuse to move. He’s not thrilled.

Trein: He lectures you on controlling your emotions to prevent transformations, but even he’s secretly amused when you turn into a kitten after falling asleep in his class. He just sighs and lets you nap on the desk.

Crewel: When you shift into a ferocious wolf during an argument, Crewel just nods approvingly. "Good, good. Use that tenacity!" He’s secretly proud of your feral forms but won’t admit it outright.

Vargas: “A shapeshifter, huh?” Vargas immediately makes you part of every athletic event, hoping you’ll turn into something big and fast. When you become a cheetah, he practically cheers. “That’s what I like to see! Speed and power! Keep it up!" He starts using your transformations as a benchmark for the rest of the class, causing you to shift into an armadillo out of sheer stress from his overenthusiasm.

Rollo Flamme:

Rollo: He tries to maintain his usual calm and collected demeanor, but every time you shapeshift into something bizarre like a raven when you’re feeling anxious around him, he gets increasingly frustrated. “This is not an excuse for chaos,” he mutters through gritted teeth. But when you morph into a seraphim in a fit of anger, glowing and majestic, Rollo's attitude shifts to discomfort mixed with awe. “We need... order, not divine intervention.”

Masterlist

[emmyrosee]

Okay hear me out…

Trying to surprise Sukuna with breakfast in bed but it goes wrong and Sukuna wakes up smelling smoke and us making a mess in the kitchen. He scolds us a little ofc but it’s all soft and fluffy still. You can make up the ending I just think this is a sweet concept lol.

I’m a sucker for bfs who fix our messes 🤭

of course he could smell fire. but sukuna's mind merely brushed it off.

in his dream, the smell of smoke appeared as a campfire himself and megumi, of all people, had started. it smells strong, like he can physically taste the smoke.

then, in his dream, there's an incessant beeping, one that comes out of Megumi's mouth in place of words.

But finally, he hears you scream in the real world. And his eyes fly open to wake up, his head spinning from the sudden shift from sleep to cognizance. Without a moment to spare, he barrels from the bed into the kitchen, dark clouds of smoke dancing in the air. There’s a baking sheet of burned cinnamon rolls crashed onto the floor- you, cradling your hand not far from it- a pan with a burnt egg sizzling on the stove, and the toaster smoking from whatever contents have now been roasted inside of it.

"What the fuck!" He snarls, grabbing a dish towel and waving it around to break up the dark clouds of smoke near the fire alarm. He leans over to shut off the stove and pop the toaster up, heat coating his arm You wince at the pain on your palm, and he furrows his brows, "fuck sake, go run it under water! What’re you doing grabbing things out of the oven with no mitt, you freak!"

"I couldn't find it!" you whimper, making your way to the sink to, in fact, run your hand under the cold water, hissing at the sting before letting yourself cry softly, be it from the pain or the stimulation of everything at once, Sukuna doesn’t know yet.

Just as soon as the chaos started, it ended, the smoke alarm silencing and the only noise being your whimpers and the running sink. He pants softly and cards a hand through his messy bed head, tossing away the rag and coming up to wrap his big arms around you. You bury your face in the fabric of his nightshirt, crying quietly.

“I just wanted to do something nice for you,” you whimper, and he sighs and rests his head on yours. “I know you’ve been working a lot… I thought I would surprise you.”

“You surprised me alright,” he grumbles, gently cradling the back of your head. “I told you, the oven in my apartment is fucking weird, don’t mess with it. And you did. Now you’re hurt.”

“Breakfast is ruined,” you sniffle, and he pulls back with a scrunched face.

“Breakfast is- babe, you literally have blisters on your hand!” He snips. “Who cares about breakfast, I’m worried about your damn hand!”

You wince slightly at his words, and he groans again, “I just want to make sure you’re okay. We can always remake breakfast. Your third degree burns are my concern right now. Since your goofy ass grabbed a damned cookie sheet square out of the oven.”

You wipe your nose with the back of your hand, “‘m not goofy,” you pout. He tucks in his lips to try and fight back the smirk that wants to spread on his face, not wanting to make you feel worse.

“How’s your hand?” He asks after a few beats of silence, pulling back to gently grab your hand and inspect the blistering burn, which you whine at clench your palm at. “I know, I know,” he soothes. Then, he presses a kiss to each of your fingers, playfully biting your pinky to make you giggle and giving you back your hand. “How about we load into the truck and get you some bandaids and a breakfast sandwich, huh? Save what bit of breakfast we can?”

“Okay, kuna.”

“Good,” he says, pulling away. “Go get on shoes. I’ll take care of ya.” When you leave to go get some shoes on, he’s quick to call after you, “I do appreciate you trying to do something nice for me. I knew you always had a soft spot for me.”

You titter and shake your head as you smile at him. “More than you could know, sukuna.”

[lymtw]

Late night phone calls with Toji where he's practically buzzing at the sound of your voice. Nothing special about the conversation, but there's just something so delicious about the static on the line merging with your voice. You sound kind of tired and you're sighing just enough to drive him a little crazy.

You have a history of having to fight to get him to listen, regardless of how many times he says that he is listening. You test him by asking questions about what you just talked about and he gets a solid 90%. Most of the time...

This time he wasn't getting anything. It's been a couple days since you last went over to Toji's so he was missing you a little more than usual tonight. But, you called later at night like you usually do to tell him about your day. You'll never get over the way he answers the phone with the most spine tingling 'hello' you've ever heard, each time better than the last, save for when you call him after he falls asleep and he answers in that raspy voice that shakes you to your core.

"Toji? Are you still listening?"

"Yeah, keep talking, princess. Tell me everything."

So you keep going because you believe him, only to be interrupted a second time by something that sounds like a quiet groan.

"Toji?"

He takes a second longer to answer this time.

"Mm... yeah, doll?"

"You okay? We can go to sleep if you want. I'll see you tomorrow, anyway."

Toji's hand is wrapped around his cock, pumping it as you keep talking. You're kindly offering an out for this phone call. He must be tired. You think maybe that's why he's not talking as much.

"Don't feel pressured to keep talking. If you're tired, you're tired baby. We have all day tomorrow."

He wants to hear your voice as he keeps going, though. If you knew what was happening, would you judge him or would you egg him on?

"Don't worry about it, mama," he groans. "Just really like the sound of your voice is all. Come on. Talk to me. What else did you do today?"

So you tell him about how you went shopping for a new dress to go out in.

"Wanna see me in it tomorrow? Or should I save it for a more formal date?"

He shudders, his abs quivering as he focuses on collecting the pearls of precum that endlessly form on his tip and smearing it all over his shaft. You have him thinking about the last time you wore a dress around him. It ended up being bunched up at your waist as he fucked the soul out of you in the men's bathroom of a restaurant.

"Think you should..." he pauses and clears his throat, muttering an unintelligible curse away from the phone. He's seconds away from cumming all over himself. "Save it for when I can take you out... we're staying in," he pants. "I'm gonna fuck you tomorrow, doll. You won't be able to walk anywhere."

Your face goes so red, and you can't help but giggle to yourself despite the rush of nerves that invaded your body.

"Gonna be good for me, right? You're gonna sleep over and let me play with your pretty self?"

At this point you feel like rolling off your bed to cool yourself down on the cold floor.

"Of course, Toji. I'm all yours."

You can hear heavy breathing laced with the static on the line.

"Oh fuck... say that again, princess. Again for me."

You've caught on to this freak's game. So you do what you can to make him drip like honey.

"All yours, Toji. Yours to fuck, yours to choke, yours to gag. I'll let you have your way with me tomorrow." You grin as you hear the muffled moans on the other end. "You can put it whereeever you want and i'll take it for you. Just promise you'll fill me up, yeah?"

With that Toji cums so hard that he's rocking his hips against the mattress, his back arching in pleasure and a barrage of expletives are released. He sounds strangled, out of breath on the other end, and all you can do is laugh at the silence that takes over the line. You know he's laying there with his eyes closed, trying to come back to reality.

"You dead, baby?"

"Fuck you," he says, breathlessly, a lazy grin on his face. "I'll see you tomorrow, baby, Better not be lying 'bout what you said earlier."

"Goodnight~"

[crimsonbubble]

Stitching Desire

cw. nsfw, afab!reader, dilf hongjoong, designer hongjoong, kinda sugar daddy joong vibes, fingering, possessiveness, marking, vibrators, nipple clamps, bondage, oral, face sitting, creampies, breeding kink, car sex *not proofread, just pure horny

[HOW TF DID I GET HERE BRUH]

dilf!hongjoong who is a devilishly handsome older man. from his lean body to his salt and pepper hair. from his pretty hands littered with protruding veins and rings to his rosy lips, and from his love-struck eyes to his thick-ass thighs.

dilf!hongjoong who is a hopeless romantic. he always goes all out for date nights; gotta make sure his pretty lady is well wined and dined before he thinks of doing anything else.

dilf!hongjoong who is the human embodiment of the word gentleman; offering his arm for you to cling to when you're walking together or keeping his hand against your lower back to guide you gently, holding his hand out to you when you're walking up steps in heels, carrying you over puddles and uneven terrain.

dilf!hongjoong who has you model all of his prototype designs, who always takes your feedback well and incorporates your ideas into his pieces. he even makes special pieces just for you to wear. he adores seeing you wear his designs; it sparks his possessiveness.

dilf!hongjoong who indulges you all the fucking time. nothing makes him happier than seeing his baby happy. it doesn’t matter what it is, as long he gets to see the smile on your face.

dilf!hongjoong who finds it increasingly amusing to tease you. he’ll sit with his legs spread just to make you ogle at his thighs; especially when he knows his pants hug his legs so well. with this, he loves to have you on his lap. it makes it easier to play with you.

dilf!hongjoong who purposefully wears chunky rings so when he fucks you with his fingers, you feel the cold metal press against you. he’ll have you sit with your back to his chest while in front of a mirror so he can make you watch him play with your wet pussy. he’ll lewdly spread your folds and tease your clit with the metal of his rings.

dilf!hongjoong who adores how flustered you get when he praises you. he rewards you with praises for everything you do, and he loves to see you avoid his eyes as he keeps telling you how good of a job you’re doing.

dilf!hongjoong who fucking loves to have you on top. he loves seeing how fucked out you get when you’re fucking yourself on his cock. his hands never leave your body, they’re either on your thighs, hips, or tits. that being said, he also really likes your tits. like he really does. Loves to hold you to his chest so he can play with your nipples while you ride him.

dilf!hongjoong who can’t keep his lips to himself. he’s a kiss fiend; he wants to steal kisses from you all the time. he’s always down for a good make out session. especially if you're on his lap and grinding your hips into his. Loves the messy makeouts and heavy grinding when you’re both needy but too enthralled with one another to take any clothes off.

dilf!hongjoong who has an ongoing possessive streak. which means that he’s constantly littering your skin with hickeys; but on days you need to look presentable, he’ll settle on having you wear a necklace with his initials that he did in fact design. who knows, he may even give you a matching anklet to dangle around your ankle when he has your legs on his shoulders.

dilf!hongjoong who always eats you out, no matter the time of day. sit on his face, grind your clit on his nose, ride his tongue, make yourself feel good on him; who knows, he may just cum untouched if you ride his face.

dilf!hongjoong who loves to use sex toys and accessories on you. bullet vibes, rabbit vibes, egg vibrators, nipple clamps and all. maybe even some fuzzy handcuffs, silk ribbons, or, his favourite way to tie you up, his ties.

dilf!hongjoong who can’t stop himself from stuffing you full of his cum. your body just reacts to him so well, he can’t help but give you all of his cum in exchange from your pretty moans. becomes absolutely mindless when he cums inside you; he needs to do it over and over again until you’re satisfied.

dilf!hongjoong who has fucked you in the backseat of his car and will do it again. he’s the type to calmly finger you while he drives. like he’s all nonchalant and whatnot, while you’re writhing in the passenger seat when his fingers curl into your sweet spot.

[fawnandferns]

thinking about hooking up with neighbour nanami…

mdni, i will block you. nsfw under the cut. ~2k words

neighbour!nanami who was just checking the mail box when he felt your presence beside him. he looked down to see you, someone new to the building as you clearly struggled with the lock. he cleared his throat, offering to help you with the tricky mechanism.

neighbour!nanami who thinks your voice is the sweetest thing he’d ever heard, your eyes catching the light in a way that made his insides twist. you gave him a smile as you thanked him, and he swore his heart stopped beating.

neighbour!nanami who can’t stop thinking about his pretty little neighbour. your mailbox was right next to his, that meant you were right across the hall. he hoped he’d see you again.

neighbour!nanami who heard a knock on his door a week later. he grumbles, opening the door with a flat expression until his gaze fell upon your sheepish smile. you explained you were out of eggs and in the middle of baking, and if he had a few to spare.

neighbour!nanami who’s heart almost melts the next morning, when he steps out and almost steps on a small container. it was filled with cookies, a little sticky note reading “thanks so much for the eggs!”, signed with your name and a little smiley face.

neighbour!nanami who goes down to the laundry room to see you down there as well. he gives you a polite smile, soft spoken greetings before his eyes caught a flash of pink.

neighbour!nanami who is suddenly pointedly trying to avoid looking at the little lacy panties you had in your basket, feeling a heat creeping up his cheeks and further down as well.

neighbour!nanami who quickly excuses himself after putting in his load, rushing to his place and hoping you hadn’t caught sight of the growing tent he’d hid.

neighbour!nanami who feels so shameful as his hand wraps around his cock, images of you in those pretty lacy panties and not much else running through his mind. he can’t help but think of your bright eyes, looking up at him so sweetly.

neighbour!nanami who makes a pointed effort to avoid you after that, listening carefully so that he might not run into you as he locked the door. who couldn’t imagine facing you after he’d done something so dirty, like a horny schoolboy.

neighbour!nanami who startles when the power goes out, lighting a candle before thinking of you. he couldn’t avoid it, he’d want to make sure you were alright.

he had knocked on your door, hearing the soft patter of feet before the click of the door. he could see your eyes widen as you peeked your head out, voice curious and hair clearly damp.

“Kento? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah — yes,” he cleared his throat, struggling to decide whether to meet your gaze, “I wanted to check if you were okay. I know you live alone, and since the power went out —“

he cut himself off when he saw your smile. “Thanks, that’s sweet. I’m okay, I was just taking a shower and, poof.”

as you spoke, you pulled back the door, his breath caught. your skin was still damp, while you wore what was clearly clothes for sleep. tiny shorts and a small tank top, clearly without a bra as pert nipples poked through the white cotton.

“Ahh, that’s good. I’ll let you be then —“

“Oh, it’s alright!” you cut him off with a smile, taking a step aside to greet him in, “I have a bunch of candles, and I wouldn’t want you to be alone in a dark apartment. Please, come in.”

Nanami couldn’t think of a reason to decline, save for ‘Actually, the only thing I can focus on is your chest. My mother taught me to respect women, so I’d quite like to leave and bang my head on a wall.’

so he broke the threshold, stepping into your warm home. his eyes trailed across the open kitchen and living room, illuminated by candles and starlight pouring in through wide windows.

“Your home is lovely.” he followed your guide, sitting down on the couch as you sat beside him.

“Oh, thanks. I’ve still got a few things to do, even though it’s been a month.” you vaguely gestured to a few boxes in the corner, “I just can’t quite reach the top shelves, and I haven’t gotten the chance to buy myself a new stepstool.”

“I can do it.” Nanami stood up without thinking, reaching towards the boxes. any chance to not be so close to you, he felt so shameful each time he met your gaze.

“Oh, you don’t have to — you’re too kind, Kento.” you had stood up as well, watching him reach for a few books which he held with calloused hands.

Nanami begins to dutifully put books on the shelves, along with a few tchotchkes you had packed away. even though he was wearing a simple cotton tshirt, he felt so warm just being in your presence.

he suddenly becomes aware of the silence occupying the room, eyes falling down to your form. his brain short circuits as he realized you were looking at his stomach, where his shirt had been raising up each time he’d reach for the shelves.

he watched as your eyes looked up, meeting his before they widened almost comically. he could see the way the tips of your ears flushed as you stepped backed, voice raising in pitch.

“Uhm, do you want some water? I’m thirsty.”

You stepped away before he could respond, quickly rushing over to the small kitchen and turning on the tap. He cleared his throat, nodding faintly as he began to put away your books once more.

“Yes, thank you.”

Nanami could hear you as you walked back up to him a minute later, setting the glass beside him on the coffee table.

he thanked you, taking a sip and soaking in the awkward silence. his throat still felt so dry, coughing slightly before turning to set the glass down, turning and —

— and suddenly his face was inches away from yours.

you eyes were wide, cheeks burning red as you froze in place. your lips parted with words you couldn’t get out, chest rising and falling as your gaze fell to his lips.

and then his lips were on yours. it was sweet, his tongue gently poking at your lips to ask for permission to enter. he felt your arms wrap around his neck, pulling yourself closer as his hands steadied themselves on your waist.

you both finally pulled away, breathless and keeping each others gaze. his eyes had dilated impossibly, carefully observing your features to make sure he hadn’t upset you.

“I’m sorry —“ the timbre of his voice was huskier now, hoarse with arousal, “I should’ve asked —“

Nanami’s words were cut off as your lips met his again, sanguine skin warm against his own. he hesitated before pulling at your waist, flush against his body. your hands were moving from his neck to his shoulders. he could feel each brush of your hands against his body, a trail of wildfire.

he felt one hand begin to move past his collarbones down to brush against his tensed abdomen. your fingers began to play with the hem which he quickly took as a sign.

your lips broke apart for a moment as he tugged the shirt off, discarding it on the floor before quickly meeting your lips once more. your touch became bolder, fingers grazing over the ridges of Nanami’s hard muscle and the faint happy trail which crept beneath the band of his pants.

he let his hands fall, gripping at your thighs and pulling you both down to sit on your couch. you were suddenly straddling one of his thighs, left hand on his shoulder and right hand hooking a finger on his belt loop. you let go soon after, letting that hand drop towards the aching tent he’d been ignoring.

he resisted a shudder as your fingers ghosted over the tent in his pants. your voice was a breathless whisper.

“can i?”

Kento couldn’t imagine a world where he said no to you. he nodded, and his breath caught the moment you finally touched him fully. your hand began to palm at his cock through the slacks. he could feel precum starting to messy his briefs, but couldn’t find himself to care.

he groaned as his lidded eyes followed down your arm to watch as you squeezed him. he canted his hips up involuntarily, body shaking with pent-up arousal.

your fingers began to clumsily pull at the button below his navel. Nanami felt his lips curl at the corners as you cursed softly, pulling back to watch your handiwork before crashing your lips back against his.

His fly was down now, allowing your hand to follow his blond happy trail down to the bulge covered only by his briefs. He felt his body shiver the moment your finger hooked at the band. You pulled it down slowly, eyes drawn down to his cock.

He could only watch your expression as you did so.

Your eyes widened, pupils blown as you mumbled, “… fuck.”

Nanami rasped out a low chuckle, trying to ignore the way you kept ogling down there.

“Is that good?”

You nodded absentmindedly, hands hesitating to touch his intimidating length.

“Mmh… yeah.”

You were practically drooling, thighs clenching around his hips as you felt heat pool in your belly. His body was herculean. Finally reaching out, your finger traced down his length and watch him twitch.

Nanami exhaled quickly, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he looked between your darkened gaze. He couldn’t stop himself, leaning in again as your lips pulled him in. He crashed against your lips once more, messily making out with you as your finger began to trace up and down. He could feel you smile into the kiss when he’d twitch involuntarily, making his body stutter.

Nanami Kento was, admittedly, quite inexperienced. Not that he was a virgin — he’d had a girlfriend in college, gotten many of the firsts out of the way. But it was brief, and it had been years since then. Most of what he knew now was learned exclusively through the romance novels he read, not practice.

So when your lips began to trail down to his jawline, the column of his neck, and his collarbones, his mind grew a blank. He couldn’t rely on his instincts. Hands squeezed at your waist and his breath shook.

As your lips worshipped the muscles of his torso, he kept watching. Hesitantly, he raised a hand to brush at a stray hair he’d noticed in your vision. His hand began to rest against the side of your head, thumb brushing against your soft hair.

You kept moving down, until you’d slid off the couch and were on your knees in between his legs. Your hands kept moving back and forth on the tops of his thighs, eyes looking up at him through long lashes, a silent question.

Nanami was a gentleman. He knew, he knew he wanted to service you first. That you shouldn’t be the one on your knees right now. But he was only a man, and when you looked up at him like that he couldn’t help but nod and whisper.

“Yes… please.”

You looked back down, tongue darting out to wet your lips. When you leaned forward, you gave a kitten lick to the tip of his cock. You could taste the precum on his tip, salty but addicting. While one hand stayed on your head, stroking your cheek and pulling back some hair, the other was fisting at the fabric of your couch, trying not to cum on the spot.

You smirked, watching his reactions as you kept licking at the tip, teasing him and enjoying the small noises he couldn’t control.

“Just…” he rasped out, trying to resist the urge to beg, “… please, beautiful.”

Though a part of you wanted to keep teasing, the other stronger, much more primal side of you knew you couldn’t keep it up much longer.

Nanami watch you lick a long stripe up his length, before taking the top of his cock in your mouth. Fuck, it was so warm and wet and he was going to have to focus so hard on not cumming right then and there.

You swirled your tongue as best you could around him as his girth stretched out your lips. You breathed out of your nose, eyes closing before pushing yourself down against the length.

You couldn’t even fit it all, not on your own. When you had fit about two thirds down your throat, you gagged around his cock.

Nanami grunted, the sudden tightness making his entire body warm.

Taking in a breath through your nose, you finally moved up and down, slowly finding a rhythm as you tried to focus on the sweet and small sounds Nanami couldn’t help but make. Your nails began to lightly scratch at his v-line, goosebumps following in your wake.

You couldn’t help but press your thighs together, feeling just how much this was all turning you on. It was almost an ache, burning down there to feel that sweet pressure.

It was so messy. Nanami watched as spit trailed down his cock, making it glisten in the low light as the lewd sounds echoed through the apartment. He was hanging on by a thread.

You watched with a glint in your eye as his head lolled back, pleasure coursing through his veins. Pulling back, you pressed the flat of your tongue against his frenulum before gently flicking at it.

He made a sort of strangled sound, eyes open as he looked down at you, all control slipping from his grasp.

“Fuck —“ he gritted out, as the coil snapped and cum began to spurt out the tip. You kept lapping it up, warm mouth bringin him through the orgasm as you swallowed the salty substance. His body shuddered, quickly overstimulated as you kept licking at his cock like a lollipop.

“Darling —“

He raised a shaky hand to your jawline, lifting your chin to meet his gaze. Your lips were glossy now, as you gave him a lopsided smile, cheeks flushed.

“Mmh?”

His eyes trailed down your figure, resting on your thighs as they pressed together, clearly aroused by the moment.

Ah. His turn, now. Good.

a/n: listen i was gonna add more, i was thinking about Nanami eating reader out and like fucking her against the window, but idk. perhaps another day. also this took longer than i thought.

[boolger]

Never getting rid of me - John Price x reader

Hi sinners, so here are some dark!john price x reader thoughts that got out of hand. Yes, inspired by the song ‘never getting rid of me’, both the musical version but also the more creepy version by Egg on Spotify.

Dead dove don’t eat. Read the tags. Mdni. 18+. Tw creepy ass Price, stalking, kidnapping, non-con and dub-con, forced marriage, forced gender role/stereotypes, non-con punishments, loss of virginity, daddy kink, squirting, just….dont read if you’re looking for a sweet fic w John price. There will also be feet kink and scent kink.

Reader is chubby and described as having a pussy and perceived to be a woman by Price. Whether or not the reader actually is this, is up to you, really. besides that, i did my best to keep the description of reader vague. I apologize for any grammatical errors. English is not my first language and i am ttired

Something something dark! Price who sees you randomly at a coffee shop where you serve him awful tea - but it’s okay, pet, because you are the most beautiful and innocent thing Price has ever seen.

Dark!Price who knows it’s best to be sweet at first as to not scare you away - he can’t lose you this early, you’re perfect for his retirement after all, even though that’s far into the future. So despite the bloody awful tea, Price does his best to be a regular at the shop.

He even walks you home afterwards, you just don’t know it. He doesn’t consider it stalking — no no, he is just making sure you come home safe after your shift! Never know what kind of men are out there after all, besides himself of course.

While you’re at work, he breaks into your house early, going through everything throughout a couple of days. After an hour or two (sometimes three if he is feeling cheeky) he leaves, going to the shop to see you. He has time off before the next mission, what else is he supposed to do?

And is that a diary? Oh my, how convenient for Price, he needs to know his sweetheart's thoughts after all. And boy, does he learn a lot of fun things in that little book of yours

He becomes obsessed with very specific things in the following days — the way you write the letter J and P. The way you organize the fridge, the way your socks and underwear smells - so sweet, so perfect. All you. He liked how you read a lot of romance, how you always drank dr. Pepper every Friday evening. 

Okay, so you might prefer coffee, but don’t worry, Price knows he can fix that! You just need to taste actual tea, good tea, not the dog piss he drinks at the coffee shop almost every day by now.

He pulls a few strings and gets access to all of your electronics and oh isn’t it fun to see what you do on your phone every day, what music he needs to get on CD, because a silly lass like you can’t be trusted to have a phone when you get together in the future, can you? Not at first at least, maybe you can earn back the right with time.

Dark!Price loves seeing what kind of porn you watch. Loves seeing what your search words are, whether it’s kinky or not.

Especially after reading in your diary that you are a virgin! It has him frothing at his mouth, the urge to take you instantly, overwhelmingly strong when he sees the words for the first time.

Of course he always makes sure to put everything back in the exact same spot and way as he found it. Can’t have you stop writing in your sweet diary, it’s his favorite book already!

The first mission he goes on is awful. Sure everything goes smoothly and even though he has installed hidden cameras all over your apartment, it isn’t the same as being there.

Dark!Price who proudly shows you off to his team - the boys need to see who their captain is in love with after all. And he trusts his men, knows that they’re just as fucked up as him — they coo at the sight of you, of the few photos he has dared to take of you while you slept. Not his fault that you live in an apartment that is embarrassingly easy to break into, is it, pet? 

Dark!Price who feels so proud as his men drool over your soft curves, talking about your tits and ass and when Price mentions that you’re untouched, he is pretty sure Soap and Gaz almost come in their pants. Possibly Simon too, Price knows him, but he pretends he isn't as affected by the words - As if Price can’t see the man’s erection in his pants.

He gets everything ready, his little house in the middle of nowhere gets fixed up. He always imagined he would move into the house much later, when he actually retired but he can’t wait that long to have you. He loves the idea of having his missus all ready for him whenever he returns from work. All his. He would never let you go, you would always be his. He would take care of you forever - he already imagined bringing you to his mom, bless her. Old and sick, but you would charm her, he is sure.

Price who asks you out after two months of coming regularly to the coffee shop, putting on his best charming smile - and of course you, his future bride, says yes! All shyly, barely able to look him in the eyes, but there is a jump to your step afterwards and you’re grinning like you won the lottery.

Price, who is the perfect gentleman at the date, he takes you out somewhere nice, pays for everything despite your protests, soaks in all of your attention, who loves every second he spends with you. He is ready to declare his love for you at the end of the night but he knows it’s too early. He doesn’t try to kiss you, doesn’t even imply he wants to get in your knickers, despite his strong urge to do so. No, no need to scare you away.

so imagine Dark! Price’s reaction to seeing your diary entry the day afterwards - you describe him as too sweet, unsure if you’re ready for a relationship - almost upsets him, until the last line. He would probably be a nice person to lose my virginity to. That’s as good as a love confession to him! A bloody proposal almost and despite not having planned to move things along this quickly, well he has to, doesn’t he?

It’s embarrassingly easy to kidnap you together Gaz. He just happens to drive by you on your way home after a long shift, and saying “want a lift, sweetheart?” is all it takes.

Gaz who was hidden in the backseat and the moment the doors closes and locks, he sits up and uses one of those fancy syringes to stab you. Don’t make a fuss, don’t be silly, birdie, it’s all good! Just take a nap, eh? 

Nikolai and the rest of the team are almost finished packing up your things - they’ve been at it all day after all, dark!Price has personally packed the most important parts of your home, like that nice diary of yours, sextoys and underwear and all those nice photo albums you have. Nothing is getting left behind! You need to feel at home at his house after all. The boys almost deserve to have their fun with you at some point in the future.

He is there when you wake up, smiling happily at you, as you groggily take in the basement you’re currently in; See how some of your furniture is down there, the nice green color he painted the walls, how it’s your own lampshade hanging from the ceiling. He lets you take in the wedding dress hanging proudly in front of the wardrobe, the little bathroom not too far from you - the cameras that hang everywhere, not even attempting to be discreet. He has to make sure you’re behaving after all.

Dark!Price who gets incredibly turned on when you realize you’re wearing a metal collar and chained to the wall - the way your eyes widens and how confusion visibly changes into fear. Like a little prey releasing they’re in a trap - and unable to get out.

he is extremely proud over how he doesn’t take you right then and there, despite how much he wants too.

Oh how adorable your attempts at attacking him are! Even though you’re still groggy from those nasty sedatives, you hit his chest and try to claw at him. Screaming and crying, throwing a proper tantrum! He can’t help but laugh as you threaten him. “sure you’ll go to the police, pet” he agrees while he easily catches your fist that was aiming for his nose, “but no I’m not letting you go.”

you scream bloody murder, as if he has done you anything. Ridiculous. But Price patiently (and easily) fights you off all day. Teasing back, pointing out that it’s not that bad down here, trying to explain that the two of you are going to be together forever.

Price who lets you run out of energy that first day, until you’re a sobbing mess - gathering you into his arms, promising you that he is never gonna leave you, that you’re never getting rid of him. Not like all those other people in your life, no don’t worry, princess! Price will be your daddy, he will make sure you have everything you need! You’re not even going to work at that lousy job anymore, pet, don’t worry, he already quit it for you. 

Dark! Price, who is all sweet and gentle as he comforts you, kissing your forehead and temple, muttering about how silly you are - that he understands that you might feel a little overwhelmed - but look at how pretty your wedding dress is, sweetheart! All in the different sizes as well, don’t worry, he has taken your measurements and bra sizes and everything, his missus doesn't have to worry about anything. He saw your Pinterest boards, Gaz and Soap showed him how the website works, and saw all the different dresses you had dreamt of. Isn’t this perfect? Just for you!!

Dark! Price who doesn’t outright admit to having read your diary, breaking in or stalking you, despite all those accusations of yours… no no, he didn’t he just … got ready for the two of you to be together - but of course he knows so much about you sweetheart, he has seen the daddy kink porn you watch regularly, yeah he knows you’re a virgin. No no, he won’t rape you, what’s that all about? No, you’re saving your virginity to marriage, you’re a good girl - the two of you can wait another week, that’s nothing.

and after everything, how nice he has been and how he has sat everything up in the basement you’re still angry with him? Don’t be absurd, sweetheart, you would come around soon - you were going to be his missus after all, what kind of wife would you be if you didn’t want to talk to him?

Something something, he ends up pushing you to the floor, holding your hands down as he takes his time to properly smell you. Your pussy, over your clothes, don’t worry - your armpits. Grabs your ankle and sniffs your foot too. Sweet all over!

dark! Price who loses control of his anger when you throw the entire tray of breakfast that he made for you, at him. The tea is not too hot because of the milk, but still. You made a mess and that isn’t nice. He takes you over his knee for that, slapping your arse and upper thighs sore, leaves you an absolute mess. He apologizes afterwards of course, not really because he feels bad about it, but because you made him do that. He has to make sure you understand that there are consequences for your actions! 

Dark!Price who keeps you downstairs in that little basement of his, while you get your worst fits over with. He expected these, you’re a strong woman after all, you just need to understand that the two of you are meant for each other. Next week the boys will swing by and they’ll be witnesses as the two of you get married - isn’t that grand?

No, the shop won’t be looking for you, bird, don’t worry about that! You already quit immediately - had to move home for a family emergency, but you were very sorry about it. You already terminated your apartment lease too, moved out already! Pesky family emergency again, innit? No no don’t cry pet, Price knows you don’t have any family you’re close with, it’s okay. Nobody is hurt! All is good! You’re just being silly, you don’t know how good all of this will be for you. How you will be a perfect missus!

He will threaten and hurt you all week, but not touch that sweet pussy of yours - grope you? Sure, but nothing more than that. You’re not married yet after all. 

Price who sweetly explains that he knows you love him, even if you can’t say it out loud yet! That’s alright, sweet pet, you will be able to soon!

Dark! Price who happily makes it clear to you that making any kind of fuss at the town hall and they will kill everyone. You won’t have to wear the beautiful dress at the town hall, no, Price got you something much more simple, they don’t deserve to see you at your most beautiful - it will be quick anyways, don’t worry sweetheart. Just sign the papers. No fuss, remember? No protest - look, all the boys dressed up nicely in suits - and look! They’re all armed as well. Would be a bloody shame if you were guilty of getting so many people killed, wouldn’t it?

dark! Price who kisses you for the first time after you sign the papers, who almost wants to lick off the tears rolling down your cheeks as the workers of the town hall coos, thinking you’re crying from happiness. And you are, but you’re also a little overwhelmed, aren’t you, pet? Better get you home again.

dark!price who dresses you up at home, forcing you to swirl in your dress in front of his men, Nikolai and Laswell. All of them ignore your attempts at asking for help and you’re a quick learner - you figure out that they’re not going to help you after a few attempts. You’re his girl, his sweet missus, and you’re handcuffed as you sit on his lap during their dinner at home, being fed all the nicely made dinner from a fancy restaurant. You don’t even throw a fuss as you eat all together, so you’re rewarded with some champagne and wine. Good tasting, aren’t they?

Dark!Price who grins as he sends his guests on their merry way, while you begin to cry again, begging to not be left alone with him - aw, you’re so sweet when you’re getting nervous. Is the wine getting to your head?

Dark! Price who throws you over his shoulder then, not bringing you down to the basement but instead into your new shared bedroom. Laying you down on the bed, taking in the sight of you like this. In your wedding dress, surrounded by rose petals, painted all warm colors by the sunset. Cooing at you as you hiccup and cry and hide your face behind your hands, saying you don’t want to. Don’t worry, he will be nice! All gentle for you, pet, it will feel good!

Dark!Price who cuffs you to the bed, pushing up that nice dress of yours to expose your bottom half. Looking at the pretty lace he forced you into earlier, praising you for how beautiful you look! He kisses your thighs, keeping your legs open with his strong hands, taking his time. Finally the two of you are married. You’re going to be his in every way now! With a ring on your finger, a new name — losing your innocence to your husband.

Dark! Price who eats you, Mrs. Price, out all lovingly, enjoying the sounds that escape you against your will. Loving your taste, loving the way your legs shake, the way you cry as he ducks on your clit. He makes you come on his tongue and then fingers, and you’re perfect! Squirting for him! He is lapping up the sweetness that pours from you! See, he will make it feel good for you. He even frees your hands. 

Dark! Price who shushes your cries as he pushes his fat cock into your hole, ruining your sweet pussy for everybody else; he can feel how wet you are for him, croons at how good your cunt feels. How daddy will take care of you, just breathe. Yeah, just like that, c’mon princess, look down to see how the two of you are connected! He pushes in the last couple of inches the moment you look down, taking in your cry with pride, drowning in pleasure and ownership.

You’re so wet and warm around his big cock, he couldn’t help himself, lass! His perfect wife with a perfect cunt, feels so good - he is going to fill you up, don’t worry, but not until he has made you come again and again.

dark!Price who whispers “i know I know, pet,” as you whimper over how it feels weird, how it hurts because his cock is so big. Who drinks in the sight of you as he licks two fingers before slipping them in between the two of you, gently rubbing at your clit and oh, that feels nice, doesn’t it?

Dark! Price who finally begins to fuck you then - no, he isn’t fucking you, he is making love to you. The first round is all sweet and gentle, he is claiming you, taking his time. Covering you in kisses as he rolls his hips, touching all those soft places of yours. He wants to run his tongue over those stretch marks, wants to fuck his cock in between those two breasts of yours. But for now he fucks you as you deserve, enjoying your little moans and whines that grows stronger and louder, the way your body shakes and the way you grab onto his shoulder and back. How those sweet nails of yours digs into his skin.

Dark! Price who makes you come twice, cooing in your ear about how you wanted it after all, how you’re his wife forever now - before he comes himself, hot cum shooting deep inside of you.

The second round isn’t as gentle in any way - it’s after twenty minutes of holding and kissing you, cuddling you and declaring his love, that he takes you again. He fucks you, properly. He makes the bed rock as he fucks into you, making you scream and trash, before surprising the both of you by squirting again. 

Dark! Price who almost fucks you the entire night - yeah, he might have taken some viagra, but he honestly wouldn’t even have needed it, because you naked in front of him is enough. Wedding dress ripped to shreds, cum all over it and over you. You’re fucked from behind, then in a mating press. You pass out during the last round, much to his amusement! Sweet missus, all tired, eh? That’s okay, the two of you got the rest of your lives together - forever and ever, because you’re never getting rid of Price. Never.

[cakelitter]

Mine

Leon x Puppy - Hybrid Fem! Reader

Warnings: age gap, puppy reader, spitting, thigh riding, daddy kink, oral (f recieve) , p in v, praise kink

Summary: Puppy reader gets jealous over Leon

Words: 3.7k

a/n: reader is such a hater in this one, but it fitting. If you see some typos, no you don't. anww enjoy!!

Life has never been better. You have all you could ever need and more.

A hoard of squeaky toys. Check

Piles and piles of cute clothes. Check

The best and the most handsome owner ever. Check

Leon is the best, you lucked out hard on this one. While other hybrids are on the streets, scared and hungry. Your bundled up in your own room, with a massive vanity and a walk-in closet stacked with expensive clothes. You sleep in your king-sized bed with silk sheets, only having to share it with the absurd collection of plushies you have.

You don’t even sleep on it, instead you prefer to overtake Leon’s bed. Usurping his space, and making it your own. Sure, yours is extremely comfortable, pink sheets, bouncy mattress, with plenty of pillows for your singular head. But it doesn’t smell like Leon, it doesn’t have Leon’s warmth, nor the massive biceps you can hide under when there is a thunder storm.

 While other hybrids, search day and night for something edible to eat. You get to be picky with what you put into that bratty mouth of yours. Your morning eggs need to be perfectly cooked, not too dry, but not too raw either. Your like orange juice, but not if it tastes too much like oranges. And god forbid your bread is too stale.

Leon has built that attitude of yours, brick by fucking brick. Complying to everything you say to make you happy, cause seeing you happy makes him happy. Want this skirt even though you have the same exact one back at home? You got it. Want to try a definitely over priced banana milk shake, even though you don’t like bananas? How can he to say no to you.

You are practically a show dog without even competing. All you do is sit at home and be pretty. Leon doesn’t even let you lift a finger. He does all the laundry and cleans up after the mess you make without ever complaining cause according to him, he adopted you, so he should deal with it. And you are completely fine with that mindset. The two of you have an unsaid deal, you empty Leon’s pockets, and in return you shower him with love. Not that it’s difficult for you to do that, the man goes above and beyond for you.

Some call you spoiled, bratty and picky, but how is it your fault if your owner provides you with a life that most humans can’t even afford.

Well, this peace of yours was disturbed with a knock on the door one Sunday afternoon. Leon walks over and opens it cause you’re not allowed to open to strangers. You do however hide behind his shoulder, eyes peeking over the muscles, with your tail wagging.

Did Claire come to visit?? Or is it Sherry?? Wait maybe it’s Chris!

The door opens revealing whoever is behind it. And it’s… who even is that?

“Hi!” A random woman greets, she looks about your age. Honey blonde hair, long and luscious with few highlights here and there, full face of make up, long stiletto red nails, and wearing the tightest shirt and jeans you’ve ever seen. “I’m Irene, just moved in the apartment across from you and wanted to say hi.”

Her smile is blinding, it’s bright… too bright, you hate it. Leon smiles back greeting her as well, tone polite and friendly. You don’t say anything, lurking behind the safety of his broad shoulders, nit picking the appearance of the woman in front of you. She hands over a plate of chocolate chip cookies, wrapped up and tied with a pretty pink ribbon that matches the plate. “These are freshly baked, my grandma’s recipe.”

Why is she so happy and cheerful? You have a bad feeling about her. Your owner takes the plate from her, thanking her for the gesture. People still bake cookies for their neighbors nowadays? She must have a lot of free time huh.

Well, whether you like her or not, it doesn’t mater cause she’s going to leave anyways. The two of you never interact with your other neighbors, and she shouldn’t be any different.

“Wanna come in?”

“Yeah sure.”

What the fuck. Your mouth falls open at how quickly she answered that. She didn’t even take a moment to think, it’s like she was expecting him to offer. Knowing Leon, he probably asked to be polite, and expected her to refuse like how most people tend to do. How normal people do. The shocked expression that appears on your owner’s face for less than a second backs your claim.

He steps aside for her to enter, and you remain glued behind him. She walks in, the clicking sound of her heels echoing through the apartment. The older man ushers her to the living room and they take a seat on the couch. You stand in place at the doorway, watching them from a far.

Listen, your no social expert. You’re just a puppy hybrid, that’s way too spoiled and you spend all day doing nothing at home. But stepping into a random neighbor’s apartment after just moving in sounds like it’s not the smartest thing to do. Especially since Leon clearly looks at least fifteen years older than her. Something smells fishy, and your nose is never ever wrong.

She starts making small talk, about where she’s from, what she does for a living. Things you couldn’t care less about. However, what you do care about is how she laughs too hard at Leon’s stupid jokes, throwing her head back and all. The way she flutters her lashes at him the way you do. The way she tilts her head to the side while nodding as he talks. She’s definitely hitting on him.

The sound of Leon calling your voice, shifts your attention off of her and onto him. He must’ve told her about you, he always parades you around like a trophy to everyone and anyone he has ever known. You walk over to them hesitantly and stand next to his side.

“Aww she’s adorable.” She coos. “I love puppy hybrids.”

Liar, this bitch didn’t even glance your way the whole time she’s here.

“Yeah, she’s a good girl.” Leon adds, with a smile on his face like you’re his biggest accomplishment. Your heart flutters at the way he praises. ‘Good girl’ you’ve heard those two words about a million times ever since you stepped into his home. Yet, each time it never fails to make you get all shy. “Go baby, go say hi to Irene.”

You don’t move a muscle. Usually, you are never one to disobey Leon, he’s too nice for you to treat him like that. But you really don’t want to say hi to a woman who is shamelessly hitting on him in the middle of your living room.

“She’s probably a bit shy.” And she’s clearly stupid, cause someone who’s shy wouldn’t be glaring at her like this. With her incapability to read the fucking room, she does the mistake of reaching her hand to pet you.

Naturally, you start growling, the meanest growl that’s ever come out of your mouth. Ears moving back, eyes shooting daggers at her, and a stiff tail. You honestly don’t know who you are at this point. But it does the job, and scares her enough to retract her hand and leave you alone.

Leon is shocked at your actions as well. You’ve never growled at anyone in your life. Sure, that mouth of yours could use some manners. But you wouldn’t hurt a fly.

She chuckles nervously and leaves not too long after. Once she does, Leon turns around and faces you. Shit, he’s giving you that look. The “I’m disappointed” look, the “I expected more from you” kind of look, the one he gives you when you walk into his office uninvited and mess with his documents. You can sense yourself shrinking with shame under his gaze. But with no regrets.

“We growl at people now?” he says crossing his arms. God, him and those stupid rhetorical questions. “She was nice, and even got us cookies.”

Yeah, ones you can’t even fucking have cause you’re not even allowed to have chocolate. If anything, she’s trying to kill you and he’s upset over a harmless growl? You knew she was bad news, that push up bra of hers is doing wonders at infecting his brain.

Ever since that day, Irene has been stuck on Leon, like gum on his shoe. Asking for his help to clean her “broken” sink, which was never broken by the way. It would be something minor that even you could figure out. She then would play it off as her being silly, and offer a cup of coffee to have him stay longer.

She’d try to make small talk about his motorcycle. What kind it was, when did he get it, how fast it can go. Leon being himself he would explain and ramble on and on about it, sometimes you think he loves that thing more than he loves you. He would get into the nitty gritty of it all, and she would nod her head mindlessly, eyes only focused on his face.

She’d always be touchy around him, gently caressing his arm and giving him unwanted hugs here and there. She was once over at your apartment, even though no one even invited her. They were both in the kitchen with you sitting alone in the living room eavesdropping on their conversation. When she had the audacity to ask him if she could touch his muscles. You felt sick, disgusted, and nauseated. She touches his muscles once and what next? They fall in love and get married? She’d never let you stay in the house or sit on the couch. You’d start eating out of dog bowls and do chores. You can’t let that happen, over your dead pampered body.

Thinking fast, you slam a nearby vase on the floor and quickly lay down next to the shattered pieces, faking a fall and start whinning. Leon rushes out the kitchen and over to you, asking what happened and if you were okay. Long story short, you told him that you slipped and fell breaking the vase along the way. And he bought it, why would his sweet pup lie to him anyways? Although you had to put on your best act and feign an ankle injury for a week, you managed to keep Irene’s hands off of him while successfully getting extra attention.

Today, when you and Leon came back from your daily walk she was ‘coincidentally’ about to knock on your door to give you a new batch of brownies that she baked. As if she hasn’t been coincidentally doing that for four weeks now and it’s getting exhausting.

Like always, Leon thanks her and you both head into your apartment. You can’t stand it anymore, her constantly berating the two of you with her weekly attempts to start a conversation with Leon. Her trying to mesmerize him with her tiny skirts and “fuck me” eyes, it’s honestly pathetic.

Leon is supposed to be your owner. Your supposed to have his attention, his time, his everything, because he’s yours. And so, you grab the plate from Leons hand and you dump everything into the trash. He follows you into the kitchen and stares in shock for a moment.

“Hey! just cause you can’t have those doesn’t mean I can’t sweet heart.” He jokes, tone trying to lighten up the mood.

A smile creeps up on his lips, he thinks its another one of your silly tantrums cause you can’t have any of the things she bakes. However, his expression softens when he sees the tears brimming in your eyes as you look back at him.

“Oh baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you wanted to have some too. I can get you one-”

“It’s not about the stupid fucking brownies Leon.” Tears are now wetting your cheeks. You can’t tell if you’re crying out of anger or out of jealousy, or both.  You’ve been bottling up all this rage for so long and now you’re finally let it all out.

“She keeps trying to flirt with you and get in your pants and you’re so oblivious to all of it.”

He connects the dots and his brows furrow with an emotion you can’t quiet read. Letting his shoulders relax, he steps closer. “Honey, its not like that. She’s just-”

“Being nice? Or is it kind?” you interrupt, your sadness turning into anger. “She literally only bakes for you, she only talks to you, she doesn’t even bother glancing at any of our other neighbors.”

He’s speechless, the lines between his brows disappearing as he tries to figure out what to say.

“I’m sorry sweetheart, didn’t know that made you feel uncomfortable.” Is all he managed to say back.

You two stand there in silence, eyes staring into each other. He doesn’t get it; he still doesn’t get why you’re acting like this. You shouldn’t do it, you really shouldn’t, but impulsivity wins and you do it anyways. Grabbing his face, you crash your lips onto his, claiming them in a possessive kiss.

‘A dog is a man’s best friend’ well, your Leon’s half best friend, but what’s the other half? His roommate? His pet? His lover? It’s a question you thought about every day since you discovered that you had a crush on him. A question you were always too scared to ask, fearing that you’re going to be disappointed with the answer.

He’s not kissing you back, he’s not even doing anything. Fuck, what did you just do. Stepping back, with your heart beating out of your chest. You look up back into his eyes with whatever courage and dignity you have left.

He looks at you for moment, eyes piercing through you. You’re so sleeping on the streets tonight, you better start waving goodbye to all of your twenty-three plushies and start searching for a card board box to sleep on for tonight. Irene didn’t even have to bother to kick you out, you single handedly did that yourse-

He’s smiling.

You’re so confused right now.

His hand grabs your chin forcing your eyes to stay locked on his, then he leans down to reach your level. “You could’ve just said that you were jealous, you know?”

The sultry tone of his voice, and his hot breath near your ear only makes your brain processing speed slow down even further. Moving away from you, he drops a delicate kiss onto your lips, and your knees almost give out.

“But you couldn’t just do that, huh. That ego of yours wouldn’t handle it.”

You nod, you can’t even muster up the courage to say anything back with the way his sky-blue eyes are staring at you.

“Fuck, I spoil you too much.” His lips connect with yours once again. They feel so soft, softer than you expected, juxtaposing the roughness of his stubble that is grazing your skin. You kiss him back nervously, all of that prior courage, nowhere to be found.

He leads you backwards till the small of your back is flush against the cold kitchen counter, one of his hands gabbing the surface next to you while the other caresses your waist. Amidst you focusing on his lip movement, you feel one of his legs separate yours, placing itself between them.

Both your lips detach with a string of saliva still connecting them. Your bottom lip is puffy and shiny, he notices and a grin appears on his face. “Such a sweet little thing I have.” He mutters, the jean clad thigh placed between yours closes the proximity with your cunt, causing your brows to furrow at the feeling.

The hand on your waist drops to your hip, ushering it to move in a rocking motion. You can feel the heat from the slick pooling on the gusset of your panties as you let out a sigh of pleasure. A hand creeps up towards your chin once again, grabbing it and gingerly coaxing your mouth to open.

Looking up at him, your greeted with lustful eyes instead of the usual tired yet affectionate ones. He leans in, spitting into your mouth. The hot saliva hits your tongue, and he opens your mouth a bit more to watch it. “Swallow for me.”

Without even thinking twice, you comply. You feel hot all over, you’re pretty sure that you leaked through your panties and onto his jeans. “Always such a good girl.”

He places a soft kiss on your forehead as you continue riding his thigh. It feels so good, yet not enough. Apparently, the feelings mutual. Removing his leg, he grabs your arm, turning your around with your back flush against his.

His hands drop down to your hips, grabbing and moving them backwards till only your ass can feel his warmth. You hear him drop down to his knees behind you, his hands move up from your thighs all the way to your ass, bunching up the skirt that you’re wearing. With your panties exposed to him, he can see the wet spot that is now formed on the fabric. Cursing under his breath, he plants a kiss on one of your thighs then the other, before his finger hooks on your panties, pulling them to the side.

With the cold air hitting your dripping core, you can sense his prying eyes taking in the view in front of him. A thumb grazes your weeping core, then drops down to your clit. The sensation causes your hips to twitch, earning a low chuckle from his lips. Feeling his warm breath on your pussy as he licks his lips. Before placing them on your center with an open-mouthed kiss. Which is then followed by his tongue flattening out and dragging up your folds.

He laps up the slick coming out of your cunt a few times before fully committing and beginning to eat you out. You moan, spreading your legs even further, welcoming his mouth. Groaning, his hand grabs the plush of your thighs, spreading you, and giving himself more space to work with.

Your hand moves up, cupping one of your breasts as you keep gushing on his face. He pulls away, grabbing the hem of your panties and pulling them down to your ankles. Out of curiosity, you turn your head to see what he’s up to. Your eyes lock, and so he seizes your thighs with both hands spreading you open once more, before he spits on your cunt.

Moaning at the sights and at the warmth coating your opening, you see crows’ feet forming at the corner of his eyes as he attaches his mouth on your pussy once more while maintaining eye contact. He starts sucking on your clit, then moves up fucking you with his tongue.

When your legs begin to tremble and when your hips start squirming, he picks up on the fact that your peak is near. Your hand holds on to that counter for dear life, as Leon disappears behind you, and all that could be heard are the dirty sounds coming from the apex of your thighs.

“Gonna cum on my face baby? Mark me as yours?” he whispers, before going back to pleasuring you. His words float into your brain forcing your orgasm out of you. The idea of marking Leon as yours, letting everyone know that he’s off limits brings you near tears as you cry out of pleasure, with your mind completely blissed out.

Your legs threaten to collapse, but rough hands hold them in place. Hearing Leon rise to his feet, the wet noises are now replaced with the unmistakable sound of his belt getting undone that is followed by his pants dropping on the floor.

“Turn around sweet heart, wanna see your face.”

Doing what he asked you to do, he grabs your thigh pulling you closer you him. Your hands are placed behind you, gripping the counter for balance. Dropping your eyes over to his dick, you watch as he strokes it lazily, the tip pink and precum pooling on top. You bite your lip and you go back to looking at his face once again. He watches you with hooded eyes, as his hands continue stroking. Heat rushes to your face from embarrassment of facing him now.

Feeling his cock slap against your clit a few times. He kisses you once again before fucking into your heat, coaxing a muffled moan out of both of you. He begins thrusting shallowly, and one of your hands moves over to grip his shoulder. Placing his forehead on yours, his thrusts become deeper, drawing out more breathy moans out of you.

Thanks to the position you’re in, his dick is hitting all the right spots, even making the slight pain pleasurable. It doesn’t take long for him to bottom out completely, hips making contact with your inner thighs. His hand makes its way to your bundle of nerves, rubbing firm circles as the tip of his cock kisses the opening of your cervix. The pace begins to pick up yet it still feels very intimate, your thinking skills dissipating by the second.

“Daddy… please”

“Right here sweetheart, right here and all yours.”

You pull him into another kiss by his shirt, whining at how sensitive you’re getting. Kissing you back feverishly, the hand on your clit moves quicker doubling the pleasure. A series of begs and moans leave your lips and before you know it, another release washes over you. Your cunt squeezes down on his dick causing him to suck in a breath of air.

“Squeeze my cock baby, yeah just like that.” You’re seeing stars at this point, making his voice feel so distant yet near. “Fuck, always been a daddy’s girl.”

He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, hips still slamming into yours as he chases his own high. And only after a few moments, his breaths get heavier as he releases his load into you. A blissful smile emerges on your face at the warm feeling, a souvenir to remind yourself who you belong to incase the collar wasn’t enough.

Pumping a few more thrusts into you, he pecks your forehead sweetly. His large hands cupping your cheeks and mouth kissing yours.

“All yours sweet thing, heart and soul.”

divider by: @/thetaey

[darkfantasysworld]

F!reader x M!cecaelia (half human, half octopus)

Reader is assaulted and used as an incubator for the cecaelia's eggs.

You went to the beach and got in the water, you went out further than you wanted. You turned around to look at the shore and started walking when you felt something grab your thigh, you looked down but were already too late. It dragged you underwater, you tried to fight back but it was too strong and you passed out. When you awoke you felt something in your bikini bottoms, it was rubbing against your most sensitive place, you tried to protest but a thick tentacle was forced in your mouth, preventing you from speaking. "You're mine now," A deep voice whispered in your ear "I'm going to make you a mother." the voice said, low and menacing. You tried to cry and struggle but the unknown male had a strong hold on you.

You felt something slid into you and you cried out although it was muffled by the thick tentacle. You tried to struggle again, crying and thrashing, you tried to say you didn't want this but it was too late. "My ovipositor tentacle won't hurt, just be a good whore." The male said, the ovipositor attached to your cervix and you felt small round objects being forced past it. You cried more as your legs were spread open and a second tentacle moved under the fabric of your bikini bottoms, this one had a sucker that immediately attached to your clit, sucking it. You watched as your stomach got bigger from those small round objects, you felt helpless but the feeling of your clit being sucked made you whimper with pleasure.

It didn't take long before the ovipositor tentacle removed itself from you but it was replaced with a human cock, his hand pulled you bikini bottoms aside so you could see everything a little better. You cried out as it stretched you. "You're perfect.. so tight.. filled my eggs.. just let me properly fertilize them.." the voice said, strained with desire as he moved his hips. The tentacle in your mouth was finally removed and you moaned but started begging to be let go, you didn't want this. "Shh.. you're mine.. all mine.." The male responded to your pleas. He went faster, harder, he hit all the right places, you couldn't help but let out involuntary moans. Suddenly you felt a warm substance as he slowed his thrusts, his hips still moving, he was determined to make you cum as well even if he didn't last as long as you.

You tried not cum but with him still going and his tentacle sucking your clit you ended up cumming, feeling disgusted with yourself as the pleasure subsided. "Why… why me…" You cried as he laid you on a bed. "Because you're beautiful, plus no one else goes that far into the water." He kissed your neck and rubbed your stomach, full of his now fertile eggs.

Part 2?

[helluvapoison]

rating how hazbin characters would handle a break up with you (except it progressively gets worse)

warnings: angsty, obsessive and unhealthy behaviors, alcohol, sex and drug mentions

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

Charlie ⁎⁺˳✧༚

4/10 • She’s her father’s daughter, that’s for sure. Inconsolable, Charlie makes a cacoon out of her blankets and doesn’t leave for a couple hours… days… Putting on a brave face is hard for her. How is she supposed to invoke inspiration when she feels so fucking hopeless? As long as she doesn’t see you, she can force a smile and continue to run the hotel

Vaggie ⁎⁺˳✧༚

3/10 • So this is what betrayal feels like. Sharpening the blades around her wounded heart and rebuilding her wall of defense, Vaggie vows never to make this mistake again. She goes through the 5 stages of grief but lingers on anger for a really long time. Not at you, never at you, but herself

Angel Dust ⁎⁺˳✧༚

2/10 • Throwing up the illusion he’s unbothered only works for so long. Angel can snort, drink and fuck until he’s numb all over but the void in his soul refuses to be filled by anything that’s not you. You, unwittingly, threaten his chances at redemption because he’d rather go back to Val’s place than live under the same roof as you when you’re not his

Sir Pentious ⁎⁺˳✧༚

6/10 • He’s devastated, don’t get it twisted, but has a really interesting way of always picking himself back up. Pen would be courteous to you, albeit awkward, trying to understand the fresh dynamic between you. Catches himself when he tries to reach for your hand or sit next to you. It’s hardest when he’s alone, not even the Egg Boiz can cheer him up

Husk ⁎⁺˳✧༚

1/10 • It’s not an accident or a cry for help that he drowns himself in alcohol to the point he can’t get up. He’s stopping himself from falling to his knees before you and begging for you to come back. The bar goes unattended for the longest time, he can’t bare the thought of seeing you

Alastor ⁎⁺˳✧༚

-500/10 • On the outside he’s right as rain! His smile never dropped before, you certainly won’t change that. Alastor doesn’t appreciate the sensitivity around the subject, loudly declaring that everything is fine. The room get’s notably colder when he walks in it, like he’s intentionally sucking up the light and warmth. If you thought parting ways with him would be easy, g̵̛̻ǘ̶̮͜è̶͔̫s̸̝̅s̵̯͒͝ ̵̺͚͛̈ą̸̫͝g̴͈͗̈́ā̷͉̻̋i̶̯͓͊n̵̳̓