#like how much of a bastard do you need to be to do that
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kisssukuna33 · 1 day ago
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Can i request Sukuna hyping up and being very devoted to his wife who is insecure about her body after having a baby?
Husband Sukuna comforting Wife reader who's insecure about her body after having a baby
"He finally went to sleep" Sukuna said letting out a big sigh of relief as he sat down on the couch beside you.
As much as it was a blessing, being first time parents really took a toll on you both. It's only been 2 months so far and the baby has pretty much changed your life upside down. The dark circles visible in both of your faces say that enough.
"He kept crying even after you left to check the restaurant this morning" a displeased sigh left your mouth matching your husband's.
"I told you to sleep woman" Sukuna said gently grabbing your face into his hands as he observed the dark circles under your eyes, a concerned expression taking over his face.
"Tell that to your son, he's the one keeping me up"
"That's why I told you to call me if he started to give you shit. That's it, I'm closing the restaurant for 3 more weeks" Sukuna said, no almost like he scolded you.
"You're going to lose customers if you keep closing it like this" You voiced your concern because you know Sukuna didn't spend time in the restaurant more than 4 days since you have given birth. Everytime he had to leave he looked at you like he's leaving you alone in a Battlefield.
"That's not something you have to concern yourself with, I pay the workers anyway" He got up from the couch as he went to your shared bedroom and came back with a bag in his hands.
"Besides I already earned enough for my family to be comfortable, you know that" He said as he put the bag in your hands.
"what's this?" You asked curiously taking a peek inside the bag. A dress. A gorgeous tube dress with a large flower in the middle and cut out from the sides. You can never compete with Sukuna's taste when it comes to choosing clothes. He knows what looks good on you everytime and you never doubted his taste until maybe now.
You have given birth only 2 months ago, your post pregnancy belly and the stretch marks surrounding it is still pretty much visible, not to mention you are completely a different size from before. You anxiously check the inside of your dress to see the size Sukuna bought you, in deep down you wanted to check if Sukuna also took notice in your change of weight. But for some reason the size tag has been ripped off from the dress already. That sly bastard.
"Wear it, We are going out for dinner. I already called Choso so he will babysit tonight" Sukuna said as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your hair. He wanted to make you happy, he really did. He didn't want you to remember the early part of your parenting journey as only stress. He thought maybe finally going out for dinner can be a good change for the both of you. But it didn't take him that long to notice the sour expression in your face.
"uh Kuna how about we-"
"No we are going, you have been inside the house for 2 months. You need this" he said in a stern voice leaving no room for arguments.
You sigh thinking of another way to not wear this dress.
"This looks expensive" That earned an eyebrow raise from Sukuna.
"of course it isn't. When the fuck have I ever bought you cheap shit?" Sukuna said like he's personally offended by your comment.
"That's not what i- Anyway maybe this is too much for a dinner" please work! Please work! You mentally chanted as you continued with the lie "I'm gonna save this for a special occasion".
Sukuna wore a dumb look on his face. Clearly trying to figure out what nonsense are you spouting because he can just buy you a new one? Like he always do?
You avoided meeting meeting Sukuna's gaze because that man can read you like a book.
"Woman what are you- And Why do you keep looking that way? Look at me" Sukuna said as he kneeled down in front you.
He cupped your face with one hand as he brought it closer to his face.
"spit it out"
You left out a sigh as you began telling him how you felt about your post pregnancy body and it didn't take long for Sukuna's face to drop. He felt like it was his fault that you felt this way. It's been few weeks since you two shared intimacy and Sukuna wasn't able to remind you how much devoted he is to your body even after you gave birth ( your doctor said 4 weeks of no sex but Sukuna being the protective husband he is, decided to wait atleast two months).
The moment you finished your explanation Sukuna picked you up into his arms. He wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you to the bedroom.
He gently put you down the bed as he started to take off your shirt. You were a bit nervous at first but decided to let him do it anyway. The moment you see the scars visible in your belly you looked away hiding from Sukuna's gaze.
"Look at me, Don't look away"
Sukuna brought his face closer to your scars. First he ran his fingers through them. Like a blind man reading a book and touching it with care. Then his lips started to touch your skin. He kissed you softly slowly making his way around your scars. He kept bringing his eyes to yours reminding them to keep watching. Sukuna didn't miss a single scar, no. When he finally separated his lips from your body, you felt like he casted a spell on you. A purifying spell making all the negative energy around your body go away.
"You went through hell with the brat, those scars are reminders that how strong of a fight you put up. Scars or without scars you are still the same gorgeous woman I fell in love with 2 years ago" listening to Sukuna's words you can't help but let the tears fall down. How much lucky you must be to have this man in your life. If you could marry him again you would do it in a heartbeat.
"And don't you dare call my wife ugly I will fucking kill you"
That earned a giggle from your part as you smacked his chest playfully.
"Your wife must be a very lucky woman then" you murmured wrapping your arms around Sukuna's neck as you pull him into your embrace.
"Nah, I'm the lucky one"
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glamourscat · 2 days ago
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FLOWERS? ISAGI YOICHI X READER
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the bastard mĂŒnchen vs pxg match HAS FINALLY ENDED. A lil (late Valentine’s) childhood bestie! x Isagi fic because I love him so much
Pathetic.
That’s how Isagi felt; truly and utterly pathetically in love.
It was foolish of him, really, falling for his childhood best friend. The one person who knew him better than anyone else, the one constant in his life. And yet, he had fallen anyway.
He had known you since before you could even string proper sentences together, back when the biggest problem in your tiny world was who got to play with the fluffy teddy bear. He had been there for every phase of your life, just as you had been for his.
The bad haircuts, the breakouts, the braces. The cringe stylistic choices that made you both groan whenever old pictures resurfaced. The triumphs and failures, the reckless dreams and harsh realities. Every best and worst moment you had been by each other’s side.
And because of that, maybe he should have realized sooner.
Your parents, his parents, had always teased. “You two will end up together eventually.” A statement so casual, so inevitable in their wise eyes. Maybe that was why he held back for so long. Maybe it was out of sheer defiance, or maybe it was the terrifying truth that you already saw him. Every flaw, every insecurity, every crack in his carefully built walls.
And yet, you still chose to stay.
To love someone who truly sees you, all of you, and still stays by your side? That scared the shit out of him.
But Blue Lock is over now. He felt like he had aged thirty years in that soccer prison, but it had been worth it. Because now, he was here. Walking freely through the streets with the weight of his dream in his hands. He was part of Japan’s World Cup team.
And you, his best friend, his everything, would be by his side, not just as his anchor but also as the team’s manager.
Isagi exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair as he stared at the selection of flowers before him.
He had faced some of the greatest strikers in the world. Outwitted geniuses on the field. Fought, struggled, won.
And yet, confessing to you on Valentine’s Day? Felt like the biggest challenge he had to yet face.
“Roses are too much, right?” he mumbled under his breath, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he stared at the bouquets like they were an opposing team’s defensive lineup. Puzzle pieces hardly connecting in his brain. “I mean
 yeah, they literally scream romance, but isn’t that kind of obvious? Too predictable? Shit.”
The old lady behind the counter glanced at him, unimpressed. She had seen countless lovesick fools in this exact position before, hell, today alone and Isagi fell right into that category.
Tulips? Too plain. Sunflowers? You might think he was calling you bright and cheerful, which—yeah, fair, but what if you took it as a joke? Lilies? What do lilies even mean?!
“You need help?” the florist finally asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No,” he admitted immediately. “I mean—yes? No. I’m just trying to figure out what flowers match a card that I, uh, may or may not have rewritten six times
 as a valentines gift. Which turned out fine! I think. Maybe. Hopefully.”
The florist hummed, giving him a long, knowing look before glancing at the selection in front of her. “Alright, what kind of message are we going for here? Romantic? Sweet? ‘I’ve been in love with you since childhood and only just realized it because I’m a dumbass’?”
Isagi choked. “Why would you say it like that?!”
She gave him the flattest stare of his life. “Because that’s exactly what’s happening.”
He groaned, running a hand down his face. “Okay, yeah, fair point.”
The florist smirked before plucking a bouquet from the display. “Here. Go with these. A mix of daisies, lavender and forget-me-nots. It says you care, but you’re not coming on too strong. Subtle romance, but meaningful. Perfect for an idiot in denial.”
He took the bouquet, staring at it like it held the secrets of the universe. “Huh. Yeah. This
 this actually works. How did you—”
“Experience, kid. Now go before you start overthinking again.”
Isagi nodded, clutching the flowers like they were the winning ball in a match. Alright. Flowers? Check. Card? Done—well, kind of. Cake? As good as it was gonna get.
Now, he just had to actually go back home and give them to you.

Oh, shit.
This was really happening.
This might actually kill him.
He is pretty sure his heart is beating faster than the last goal he scored while playing for bastard mĂŒnchen. He feels like throwing up. Was this normal? Probably not. But despite everything he wants you to know. He needs you to know that at the end of the day, pathetic or not, Isagi Yoichi is in love with you. And it was damn time he did something about it.
But for his luck, as he walked out of the flower shop, he almost crashed into someone.
“I am so—“ before he could even get the words out his soul almost came out of his body.
YOU. Out of everyone, you. In front of him. With a bouquet of flowers too. Wait, FLOWERS? Who— you
. Did— who gave you those?
“Yoichi” you say, words coming out slightly higher pitched than intended, trying to act normal, but you’re pretty sure the panicked expression you were trying to fight off with a smile came off more as you were constipated, more than anything else.
“Y/n” he says, seemingly unaware of your mental state, thankfully? Or maybe you should be worried that he was so oblivious to it.
“ Are you g—“
“Who— gave you those?” He said so quickly, not even allowing you to finish your sentence.
Your eyes fall to the flowers in your arms, if your cheeks weren’t red before, you’re pretty sure they are now.
“Who gave you those?” you say, nodding to the flowers he had in his arms. Trying to change the subject.
“I asked first.”
“I asked second”
A moment of silence before you two burst out laughing from the strange moment.
“Alright— alright. On the count of three? Together?” You says amused
One. Two. Three.
“I got them from you” you two say in unison.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.
That’s what his brain was screaming. He probably looked like an absolute moron, standing there with a confused expression and jaw open as he looked at you. Huh? Him? YOU GOT FLOWERS FOR HIM— AKCKEPWLCNGIVVIFNRNWPW.
“You— eh?”
That was it. That was all his brain could come up with. World-class striker, future ace of Japan, but the second you said you got flowers for him? Immediate system failure.
You smiled, shy but warm, the edges of your expression softening in that way that was playful yet so beautiful. It made his heart feel like it was about to spontaneously combust. “Yeah, you—is that so weird?”
Yes. No. Maybe. His brain was still rebooting.
“You—you got me flowers?” he repeated, as if the words might make more sense if he said them out loud.
“I mean, yeah,” you said, shifting your weight from foot to foot. The bouquet in your arms crinkled as you fidgeted with the wrapping. “It’s Valentine’s Day, isn’t it? I figured i had to be clear because you’re so dense sometimes.”
“I’m not dense!” he argued immediately.
You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
“Okay, fine. Maybe a little dense,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, drowning out the rest of the world. “But—wait, why did you
?”
The words hung heavy in the air. Why did you get me flowers?
You took a shaky breath. “Because I like you, idiot.”
“I—wait—what?” He blinked, gripping his bouquet tighter like it might hold him upright. “Like
 like-like?”
“Damn
 and you say you aren’t dense” a small snort left your lips. “Yes, like-like!” you huffed, but your voice trembled a little. “I’ve
 kinda liked you for a while. And I figured—if I didn’t say anything today, I’d probably chicken out forever and cry myself to sleep for the next month. Maybe two.”
“You like me,” he repeated dumbly, trying to wrap his head around it.
You tilted your head, exasperated. “Yoichi, please tell me those flowers are for me or am I about to die of embarrassment right now?”
“What? NO—I mean, yes! Yes, I like you too!” The words practically exploded out of him, way louder than he meant to. “I’ve liked you since—God, I don’t even know when. Probably since that stupid teddy bear fight when we were kids.. And—” Lord, he is rambling now. “And I have made you a card. A beautiful one, I think you will like it. And a cake. Though I burnt it the first time. Maybe the second time too. But, fuck yes, I like you too”
For a second, neither of you said anything. You just stood there, two idiots clutching flowers, blushing like middle schoolers with their first crushes.
Finally, you exhaled, shaking your head as you tried not to laugh. “Wow. We’re really bad at this.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt. “But, like
 at least we’re bad at it together?”
You rolled your eyes, but the teasing smile tugging at your lips was impossible to hide. “Together, huh?”
“I mean
 if you want that. If you want me.” He said, trying not to look more giddy than he already is.
“I wouldn’t be standing here holding flowers and trying to not burst into flames after a confession that I definitely did not rehearse in my head twenty times for you if I didn’t, genius.”
In a rush of courage, Isagi moved closer and wrapped his arms around you, bouquets squished in between your guys’ chests. You smelled like warmth and home.
“Can I—uh,” he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, “can I kiss you?”
“Yoichi, if you don’t kiss me after all that, I’ll start overthinking and we know—.”
He doesn’t need anything else. His smile shushed you, as his lips finally met yours in a kiss that was a bit messy, yet soft and sweet. You tasted like that tea you like so much. A mix of honey, flowers and sugar that makes him greedy for more. Despite being in the middle of the sidewalk and in retrospect, he will for sure be embarrassed about the pda later.
But that’s a problem for later. Because the realisation that fuck yes, he is finally kissing you, settles in. And for the first time that day, but perhaps in his entire life, his brain went completely and blissfully quiet.
© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)
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bunnyinvanilla · 3 days ago
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🍓| laaarge age gap, price is in his late 40s and fem virgin!reader is 21, kissing!
dads best friend john price! having you sitting on his lap while your father’s away, facing him, your legs around his sides as you look at him with the sweetest and shyest expression and red, blushing cheeks after you’ve asked him to ‘teach me how to kiss, please sir?’
john has been trying to remain resilient, to resist your pleads and clear feelings towards him, because you’re so, too young for him, he doesn’t deserve such a sweet, pretty girl, he’s an old, worn out and mean bastard — but, how could he deny those doe, sweet eyes of yours? so tender and kind, it almost kills him how badly he wants to steal you from your father and just have his way with you.
he’s a man of outmost control, after so many years of experience behind his back, the military has taught him to keep his composure and master patience and control — he’s trying to be a responsible adult, although he yearns to have his way with you in the harshest way possible.
so he just sighs, saying “just one kiss, doll”, and lifts his hand to hold your chin with his rough fingers, gripping your chin firmly and tilting your face upwards to push your glossed lips out “open.”
you do as he said, parting your lips slightly —when he bends his head to press his mouth on yours, you hold your breath, not knowing how to react. the kiss is slow at first, but it’s clear that he’s holding back, just moving his lips steadily and gently against yours, his thick beard scratching your warm cheeks. it tastes so good, the warm hint of smoke and a minty liquor. 
but then your hands grip his flannel tight, and he hears a little whimper from you that makes him groan lowly, the fabric of his jeans tightening around his growing bulge. you press yourself closer, wanting to feel more of him — and suddenly the kiss becomes rough, hungry, animalistic, his lips move fast and eagerly against your mouth, licking and kissing with an intensity that makes you hold onto him, your chests pressed together. his tongue pushes forcefully into your mouth, licking and pressing against your own as little whines bubble from your throat. 
john knew you didn’t need to learn how to kiss because you’d never kiss anyone that wasn’t him, and he’d only ever let you kiss him, “if a guy ever tries to do this to you, sweetheart,” he grumbles against your lips, tilting his head to gain more access, pecking your bottom lip and biting it with his own teeth, “you slap him and come to daddy, aight dollface?”
you nod against him, breathless and already panting, poor girl, this is your first kiss and you’re a blushing mess ;( he pulls back slightly and pinches your chin, sprawling his fingers over your jaw “open up for daddy, come on, stick out your tongue f’me, good girl, that’s it, sugar”
and he dives right back in, a feverish kiss full of biting, tongue and teeth, but just as you throw your arms around his neck and mumble a soft ‘’more
” and shift impossibly closer to his lap, he grunts against your lips, letting out a warning sound — he slows his pace down, kissing you slowly now “said just a kiss, angel,”
you whine, pressing an open mouthed kiss on his mustache, your glossy eyes full of need, “please sir, wan’ you daddy, pretty please
” gosh, if only you knew how much he wanted you. 
you’re making it so hard for him, he can’t corrupt your innocence. you recognize the look of restraint behind his eyes, and he just squeezes your hip with his free hand, holding your face close to his until your warm breaths mingle together “im too old for you, sweetheart, you shouldn’t want a old, broken man like me, you’re too young and sweet f’me, love” 
“please sir, i just wan you..” you whine timidly again, feeling the unfamiliar sensation of something hard pressing against your inner thighs, right above your clothed girlbud — your cheeks flame up, red and bright, blushing like the most beautiful flower and ripest fruit, and you pout like a puppy. 
“doll, don’t think for a second i dont want you, princess, but you deserve better, and if your father found out
” he mutters a short, fake chuckle, letting his hands roam freely all over your waist and lower back, the only think he allows himself to indulge into. he knows how much he wants to throw you over his shoulder and take you home with him. 
“you’re still mine anyway, little one, regardless of what we do or don’t do, be sure that you’re mine”
maybe he could only give you a little glimpse, only let you get off on his clothed thigh? teach you how to do it with him and him only?
how long will it take for him to finally give in and give you what you both want?
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unadulteratedsoulsweets · 3 days ago
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A DC X DP IDEA #43
Stitches
Imagine dis

I was just cleaning my room when I came across an old stuffed toy of mine. It is full of stitches like an amateur trying surgery for the first time and flopping it. I just remembered sewing my stuffed toy together as a kid. Like I was playing on them too harshly or one of my younger siblings got a hold of it and roughed it all up. So when I noticed my mom had no time to help me stitch my toy, I did it myself and the results varied



John Constantine, aka the Laughing Magician, wasn’t an idiot. A drunk? Absolutely. A smoker? You bet. Had the worst bloody taste in romantic or sexual partners? Well, that’s a given. But an idiot? Not a chance. He knew, better than most, that the world he lived in was held together by nothing more than spit, lies, and a hell of a lot of bloody stubbornness.
But lately, something felt off

Every time some wanker in a bright-colored cape and spandex punched, both literally and figuratively, through time or ripped an open hole to another dimension, it began as if reality was fixing itself.
He still remembered the bloody heart attack he nearly had the first time he read those sodding reports on time travel and dimension hopping. The second his eyes skimmed over the first few lines, he buggered off without so much as a goodbye, diving headfirst into the mess to sniff out whatever godawful consequences those spandex-clad pillocks had left in their wake. So imagine his surprise when, after dragging his sorry arse across the whole damn world, he found
 nothing.
Not a damn thing.
No lingering paradoxes, no dangerous tears leaking out eldritch nightmares. It wasn’t natural. And anything unnatural coming from the bastard that split his soul like some two-bit, overachieving Voldemort, made his skin crawl.
So, like any poor sod with a knack for bad decisions and a bloody inconvenient conscience, he followed the ripples.
And that’s how he ended up standing in the inky void between worlds, a cig hanging off his lips, watching some scrawny teenager go to the fabric of reality that was torn apart by yet another one of those bloody spandex-wearing tossers, with a needle, like the universe had personally pissed in his pint.
The kid sat cross-legged in the void, stabbing his bloody needle through the fabric of space-time, and from the looks of it he was fueled by nothing but caffeine and a serious dose of spite. The thread he was using was bright blue, flickering with silver and white specks. Like tiny stars in each thread. Each stitch yanked the frayed edges of existence together, a bit rougher than necessary, like he was pissed off at the whole damn universe.
Constantine blew out a long stream of smoke, taking in the mess around him with a grimace. A sorry bloody sight, that’s for sure.
The kid had already clocked the audience, rolling his eyes so hard it was a miracle he didn’t give himself whiplash. He didn’t even bother with a glance, clearly unimpressed.
The kid introduced himself as Danny, then stretched out another few feet of thread and got back to stitching, like he hadn’t a care in the world.
The kid, Danny, if Constantine heard right, grunted, clearly unimpressed. He didn’t stop working, shoulders hunched in exhaustion like he’d been doing this for far too long. The whole cosmic janitor routine: they rip holes, he stitches 'em up. Same old, same old.
Bloody typical.
Constantine crouched down, eyeing the erratic stitching with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. This wasn’t normal, not by a long shot.
Danny let out a sharp, humorless laugh, clearly fed up. He jabbed the needle into a particularly stubborn tear with all the force of someone who'd had enough. The sarcasm practically dripped from him. Seems he was well and truly done with his unglamorous role in this cosmic mess.
Constantine felt a prickle of unease, the kind that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He didn’t need to ask, but he did anyway.
What happens if you stop?
Danny’s response was all sarcasm and sass, if there was any doubt left, it was gone now. He didn’t even need to elaborate. The answer was bloody obvious if the kid, Danny, ever stopped stitching.
Danny snorted, flashing Constantine a wicked grin, all teeth and mischief. The kind of smile that made his gut twist.
Ah. Bugger.
Constantine didn’t need a bloody prophecy to know what that meant. If the kid stopped, the world wouldn’t just fall apart it would unravel, slow and steady, like a seamstress unpicking stitches, one by one, until nothing was left. And worse? There’d be no afterlife waiting to catch the poor sods caught in the collapse. No heaven, no hell, no second chances. Just the abyss, swallowing everything whole. No way in. No way out.
Now Constantine was scrambling, doing everything in his power to keep the kid from buggering off while there were still holes left to patch. And, just as importantly, making sure those spandex-clad pillocks finally got the memo, no more bloody time travel or dimension-hopping shenanigans.
The kid must’ve clocked what he was up to because, without a word, he handed Constantine a green-glowing bat with “Creepstick” printed on the side. He didn’t think much of it at first up until, after one particularly miserable day, he swung the thing in frustration and accidentally clocked Superman, who had just been reaching out to ask if he was alright.
For a second, Constantine felt guilty. Then he remembered that the Kryptonian had probably punched more holes in reality than anyone else. That guilt? Gone. Replaced by pure, unfiltered glee.
With renewed purpose, he set his sights on the next offender, the red spandex speedster responsible for most of the timeline’s headaches. The rest of the heroes caught on quickly that he was on some kind of unholy warpath. So when he casually knocked the Man of Steel on his arse with a single swing and grinned like a serial killer who’d just found his next victim, they did the smart thing they got the hell out of his way.
Some of the ones with super-hearing overheard his next target: one of the Flashes.
Constantine knew damn well he wasn’t getting into any afterlife, but for fuck’s sake, if they didn’t stop tearing holes in the bloody universe, none of them would have a place to go. No heaven, no hell just the abyss waiting to swallow them whole. And he wasn’t about to let that happen on his watch.


 PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.
PPS: I tried using Constantine POV throughout the entire prompt and as you can see that I over did at the Brit slang.
PPPS: Though, how did I do?ïżœïżœïżœ.
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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 2 days ago
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@jollyhunter
Okay, I'm finally home and this was such a wonderful thing to read through! It made my day 😊
Girl, let me tell you I was also giggling the entire time I wrote this. This fic was so self indulgent because the reader IS me, one billion percent, the awkward anxious person who has no idea how to catch someone's attention 😆 But I love it resonated with you too (but I'm also sorry it took you back to your past trauma lol 😂)
I love your writing style and especially the way you add humor!! Like this had me already cracking up - Butcher and the boys x LotR, where’s my funfic, hm??
Oh goodness THANK YOU SO MUCH! đŸ„° I literally laugh to myself the whole time I write and most of the time I'm scared no one else will get the jokes, but thank you that really means a lot 💗 But YES the subtle Eomer drop... if you haven't read As Tradition Dictates, you need to because it's so good and it's been living rent free in my head since I read it. And oh my word the cross over would be wild- Soldier Boy does act like an Orc sometimes, but we love him for it anyway đŸ€Ł
It’s a real struggle 😭
Amen it is đŸ«¶đŸ»
Sneaky bastard - I feel like he’s only saying that because he’s afraid that he will fall for her. (Probably already has and is taking his chance now since she’d basically friend zoned him 😂)
He could be... 😏 You could be getting dangerously close to the truth there my friend 😉
EDIT: I FORGOT TO COMMENT ON THE FRIGGIN LOCUSTS SUPE - I’d pay to see that scene; Butcher and Soldier Boy running from a swarm of locusts because they can’t punch or shoot their way out as usual and making a deal to never talk about this embarrassing moment again đŸ€Ł
You know, I am so happy you pointed this out, because I really didn't think that in depth about what that scene would look like. And I hate locusts so I was like... what supe power would just be too much for me. BUT THAT IS SO FUNNY! I can see Butcher firing off like two shots into the swarm, while Ben kinda holds up his shield half-heartedly debating if it's worth it (it's not), and the reader and Hughie are already in the car with all the windows rolled up just watching it unfold. Even funnier would be her not letting Butcher or Ben into the car because she doesn't want any of the locusts to get in and she's shooing the two of them away. 😂
NOW WHERE‘S MY PART TWO?? I’M READY
Running joke I have is that I really can't write a one-shot to save my life... and this fic is no exception. I would love to make this a series (and I sort of accidentally plotted one out for this lol). The problem is I'm trying to finish up a soulmate AU series I started last year for Soldier Boy called If The Stars Wish It So and I have a prompt celebration running so I want to finish up those two things before I start a series based on this fic... BUT I do want to, because I love fake dating and I think that I could make this exceptionally awkward and funny lol.
But I am so happy that you liked this one sweetie and thank you so much for all the lovely feedback! 💜
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Promise Not To Fall In Love With Me
Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader and a little bit of Billy Butcher x f!reader
Prompt: "I find him very attractive." /"I'm standing right here"/ "I know."
Requested by: @angrydragon90
Tropes: Fake Dating, Pining.
Summary:  When you first joined Butcher's team the last thing you expected was to develop a crush on him, but after two years of pining, you get a proposition from the last person you'd expect to care.
Word Count: 5K
Warnings: I'm gonna label this 18+ just in case (I don't really think it is). Some cursing, Sexual innuendo, References to sex, Over glorification of a man's shirtless body (I'm not complaining) Reader is a little anxious/anxiety/socially awkward? Drug use/Drinking (Soldier Boy), Soldier Boy being Soldier Boy (He's a warning, we all know it and somehow still love him for it).
Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!
Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.
Main Masterlist
Dean Winchester Masterlist
Prompt Celebration Masterlist
A/N: This is the third fic for my prompt celebration! This one was requested the incredible @angrydragon90 💗 Had to do something with a little bit of Valentine's Day spirit, but I'm going to be honest, this one turned into something that I didn't expect... let me know what y'all think. I also was thinking about @zepskies fic As Tradition Dictates for the more *ahem* gratuitous descriptions of Butcher 😉
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Butcher’s muscles rippled over his bare chest and broad shoulders with every swing of the mighty axe down to the earth. Each strike of the axe against wood sent chips of bark flickering in the air around him like sparks. Sweat rolled down his sun kissed skin curving in the dips of his muscular torso, along the tensing muscles of his back, and through the dusting of hair on his torso, before disappearing into the waistband of the dark jeans hung low on his hips. 
Heat kisses your cheeks and darkens the skin the longer you watch him and you bite your lip hard to keep the appreciative sigh of the scene in front of you at bay. But it does little to stop your eyes which rove over the rugged man chopping wood. 
No man his age should look that good. 
Butcher props one of his feet up on the tree stump he’s been using as a table oblivious to your attention, shouldering the axe for a moment to glance at the stack of firewood he’d chopped, looking like a mighty warrior surveying his lands. 
Your mind starts to slip into a fantasy of a shirtless Butcher riding horseback across a desolate plain, his dark hair long, and a sword strapped to his saddle commanding a group of riders behind him to his every whim. Before scooping you up onto his saddle to ride with him, his strong arm wrapped around your waist, and his face buried in the soft skin of your neck, his rough whisper in your ear a grating caress as he-
You clear your throat, cheeks darkening crimson, and take in a shaky breath to dissipate the daydream that usually starred in several of your fantasies. The same ones that probably came from the romantasy book that you’d brought along on this trip and were too embarrassed to read when anyone else was awake.
He raises a hand to wipe the sweat from his brow, shuffling it back through his hair that turns a chestnut brown in the light of the setting sun that flickered through the thick forest surrounding the small cabin you were all staying in.
Oh to be a drop of sweat.
You think mournfully, taking a long sip of your lemonade out of a brightly colored bendy straw, the same lemonade that you’d made in hopes of enticing Butcher over for a break.
It had worked, but only for twenty seconds.
Twenty glorious seconds that you got to bask in Butcher’s presence so close that you could smell the familiar cologne and the scent of sweat clinging to his skin while he drank the lemonade and you tried not to stare at his bare chest for too long. You hoped that Butcher thought the flush on your cheeks had everything to do with the heat and nothing to do with all the things you were imagining him doing to you. 
And then there had been an additional two seconds when Butcher smiled at you and said “Thanks poppet” in the swoon worthy accent of his that made your knees weak before he sauntered back over to the woodpile and you watched him go shamelessly. 
Hughie says something to Butcher you can’t hear, but it makes Butcher laugh. He throws his head back with a wide grin that makes you sigh to yourself again, hands tensing where they sit poised over the tangle of wires in your lap. 
You were supposed to be working on a new gadget to help grapple up buildings, one that you and Frenchie had designed together, but you were distracted by Butcher. 
You were always distracted by him. 
It had been three days since Butcher, Soldier Boy, Hughie, and you arrived at the cabin in the middle of nowhere after a mission went wrong. The specifics weren’t important, let’s just say that there was a miscommunication and what the four of you thought was a supe who could turn into a single locust, was actually able to turn into a swarm of locust so thick you couldn’t see an inch in front of your face. 
You had a sneaking suspicion that MM and Frenchie had something to do with the miscommunication, given how eager they had been to stay behind at headquarters and do paperwork, and the secretive smiles they had shared at the briefing before your team left.
But needless to say, none of you had been eager to live through a reenactment of the eighth plague and all decided to lay low to consider your options, while hoping the locust supe didn’t decimate all of the corn in the midwest.
You shudder remembering the crawl of the scratchy legs along your skin, the flapping of millions of wings like the beat of a drum, the crunch of locusts underfoot, and the low pitched hum of the swarm that vibrated so loud it made you feel your body shaking from the inside out. 
At this point I would have taken a swarm of guinea pigs.
The cabin wasn’t the worst place you’d stayed at in all the time you’d worked with Butcher. There was running water and several rooms inside including two bedrooms with lumpy pillows and mattresses with creaking springs, a living room with a sagging floral couch, and a threadbare kitchen with dusty cabinets and doors that fell off whenever someone tried to open one. 
Outside the cabin there was a small patch of wildflowers that fluttered in the strong wind that blew from the East, an overgrown garden where tomato plants, potatoes, and herbs grew without care, and a small front yard that was more of a grassy clearing. 
Sure the cabin had it’s quirks, but the real problem was that the four of you were trapped here in the middle of summer with a generator that only did so much for electricity, but had no air conditioning whatsoever, which meant it was cooler to sit outside on the porch than inside the sweltering cabin. 
Overall, it had been three days of nothing, but listening to Soldier Boy bitch about the lack of extracurricular activities, three days of nothing but hearing the soft chuckle under Hughie’s breath when he texted Annie, and three days of nothing but you lusting after a man who was twice your age chopping wood.
Why was he chopping wood when it was so hot and none of you needed it
 You had no idea, but you figured that the universe was finally throwing you a bone because you got to watch him do it.
The porch was cooler than sitting inside. There were two creaky rocking chairs that faced the overgrown “front yard” that was more of a clearing and the breeze did weave under the overhang of the roof to wick the sweat that gathered at the back of your neck, but the problem was, it was impossible for you to feel anything but warm, especially with what was unfolding in front of you. 
The weather isn’t the only thing heating up.
You think to yourself watching Butcher lean down to pick up another piece of wood, admiring the way his worn dark jeans cup his muscular ass.
Fuck, I’m just as bad as Soldier Boy. 
The truth was, you’d been crushing on Butcher for the better part of two years since the moment the two of you met on your first day when you’d tripped and dropped the giant pile of blueprints you were carrying to your desk and he was the only one who stopped to help you pick them up. 
After Homelander had been stripped of his powers and exposed for the narcissistic psychotic freak he was, you’d started working at Supe Affairs, thinking that it was the perfect way for you to make a difference in a world reeling from the revelation. It had shaken quite a few people to know that the so-called heroes they looked up to were in fact just as crooked as a line drawn by an elephant on a tricycle. 
But you liked your job
 sometimes. 
Sure, the pay sucked, the benefits were dismal and the hours were long, but you didn’t care about any of that. You felt like you were making a difference, using the engineering degree that your dad had insisted on for something other than trying to figure out how to build a bridge that withstood the force of a punch from someone as strong as Homelander. 
And you hadn’t meant to develop a crush on William Butcher of all people, you swore that each day to yourself, but it happened without warning. He was nice to you, he always had your back on missions, and sometimes when you were working on something after hours on a mission- like the gadget in your lap- Butcher would sit with you while everyone else slept, nursing a glass of whatever it was he had, and he always made you feel like a valued member of the team.
Yes, he might be a little rough around the edges, but you liked that about him, that he didn’t pull punches, rather he told it like it was. It was refreshing in the world you lived in when everyone else was so afraid of offending someone that they just kept their mouths shut. 
But the problem was that you were younger than him and a little inexperienced. 
Well
 a lot inexperienced. You’d never been in a relationship before, never really done anything before because there wasn’t time when you were in school getting your degree, not to mention you had spent the last two years imagining yourself in a relationship with a man who didn’t know you existed.
That might be a little harsh, he knew you existed, obviously, but rather he didn’t see you as anything more than a teammate or at least like a little sister. The nicknames that he called you were all some form of “kiddo” or “poppet.” Nothing like the things you’d read about men calling the women they loved in books or heard in movies. 
The most experience you had in the realm of love and relationships was binge watching Sex and The City (you could quote it by heart), flipping through Cosmopolitan Magazine and other articles about love on the internet like they were opioids, and reading through romance novels reverently as if they held the secrets of the universe. 
Not to mention the draft of the romance novel on your computer
 but you’d go to the grave before anyone ever saw that, and if they did see it you’d take them with you. 
Reading about relationships was easier than having one, at least that was what you told yourself to feel better. It also didn’t help that you’d seen two out of three sisters married with kids, with the third one getting married in a few weeks and you without even a shadow of a date for the wedding.
That meant you would be stuck at the awkward reject table again with your weird fourth cousin who always came on to you and tried to show you the rooster tattoo he had on his hip bone, your dad’s brother who cleaned his dentures in public after he ate and his wife who always asked you what you were “doing” with your life and curled her lip up in distaste no matter what you said, and the gaggle of their ungrateful children who were always sticky for some reason and chewed with their mouths open while spilling food all over the table like cavemen.
Sitting there with them made facing the locust supe more appealing.
But even with the pressure of trying to find someone, anyone to take, you couldn’t muster up the courage to tell Butcher how you felt about him. 
Butcher glances over as if he can sense you and you immediately drop your eyes to the bundle of gears and wires in your lap pretending to fiddle with something that doesn’t need to be fixed.
Yes, because that’s the way I’m going to win him over, by making absolutely no eye contact. Perfect, masterful. What can go wrong?
What the books, magazines, tv shows, and movies didn’t prepare you for was how to find the courage to talk to someone of the opposite sex without feeling like your tongue was going to drop out of your mouth or like you were going to throw up. 
You wait a few beats until you’re sure that he’s no longer looking at you before you raise your head to watch Butcher again. 
Ben chuckles under his breath where he sits beside you in the other rocking chair, leaning back with one of his hands behind his head. His muscles tense in the black t-shirt as he adjusts his arm. 
“What?” You ask him. 
He exhales a long and obnoxious cloud of foul smelling smoke from the joint he has in his hand. “I think you’re a hypocrite.”
“And why is that?”
“Because you’re out here eye-fucking that asshole and you yell at me for staring at you.” He chuckles with a wide smirk as he takes another hit from the blunt.
How can he smoke that? It’s like 100 degrees out here!
“I am not!” You reply as loudly as you dare, glancing over to Butcher to make sure that he didn’t hear Ben’s comment, anxiety prickling along the back of your neck, but he’s still talking to Hughie about something. “And you don’t just stare at me! You come up behind me like some gremlin out of hell, with your big hands and-”
“We both know how much you like the attention doll.”
“I do not!” Your cheeks flare bright red. 
The only downside to working on Butcher’s team was sitting directly next to you. When you found out that you’d be working with Soldier Boy, one of your dad’s favorite heroes, you were excited to meet him, and then you had and he turned into another giant disappointment. He was loud, brash, short-tempered, rude, and was always either ogling you, coming on to you, smoking something, or drinking. 
You supposed it could be worse. You didn’t hate him, and you got along with him, but he was always around. The plus side was that Ben was the one of the only people you didn’t have a hard time talking to.
Yes, he was attractive, but his particular lifestyle didn’t appeal to you and for that reason whatever nerves you had about talking to attractive men of the opposite sex evaporated when it came to Ben. 
It was unfortunate that such a skill was wasted on him of all people.
“I just-” You hesitate, eyes dropping back down to the grappling device in your lap, not sure why you’re about to admit this to Soldier Boy when you haven’t been able to admit it to anyone else. 
Probably because I’m sick of singing the line from Frozen “conceal don’t feel” over and over in my head.
“I find him extremely attractive.” You mumble on a shaky breath. 
“I’m sitting right here.” The frown in Ben’s voice is prominent, but it only makes you roll your eyes at him. 
“I know.” Your eyebrows furrow together. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Why are you looking at him when you could have my full attention.” He leans forward, dark hair falling forward into his eyes, mouth pulling up in a confident smirk. "I mean there's nothing else to fucking do, might as well do me."
Your cheeks flush with his words, but you tilt your head to the side to study him, eyes slipping over his rugged features. Tracing over the neatly trimmed beard on his cheeks, the brilliant green eyes that seemed to glow, the way his muscular body filled out his black t-shirt and blue jeans, the soft dusting of freckles that contrasted the hardness of the man he was flecked over his skin, and his full lips that are curved up in a sinful smirk that would make even the strongest woman crumble. 
But not you. Ben was
 Ben. He was brash, obnoxious, handsy, impatient, and disrespectful. 
At least, that’s what you thought.
Sure you didn’t work with him often, but you believed you had a pretty good grasp on the kind of person he was. You did, right?
“You’re not my type Benny.” Your eyes flick back to the project in your lap, moving your fingers deftly through the wires of the internal mechanism.
Ben recoils at the use of his nickname, but he recovers with a low chuckle. “Don’t call me that and I’m everybody's type.”
“Not mine. I don’t like supes.”
You weren’t sure if that was 100% true. You liked Kimiko. What you meant to say was that you didn’t like supes like him. Supes that used his powers without care for the consequences, Supes like Homelander who didn’t give a shit who got hurt as long as the job was done. 
And you weren’t a supe, which meant that if you were with a supe there was always the possibility of you dying during sex or dying before you had sex in the first place. Your job also presented the possibility of you dying before you’d had sex, but you weren’t going to let that hold you back.
“But Butcher has-” Ben begins to say.
“Temporary powers. Not all the time.” You correct, unable to stop your eyes from drifting back over to where Butcher has begun to start swinging the axe again. “And look at him. Fuck, he’s over there like Paul Bunyan, rugged, chopping wood-” You sigh continuing to watch the man who probably has no idea you exist.
Ben rolls his eyes. “I could do that.”
You don’t pay Ben any attention, because Butcher is bending over again and you bite the inside of your cheek hard. 
Ben sits there for another few beats watching you watch Butcher. The wind chimes that hang above your heads jingle merrily as the breeze picks up once more bringing the smell of the wild flowers and wet earth from the forest surrounding the cabin. 
“You know I could help you.” Ben says slowly.
Your eyes flick back to Ben from Butcher in confusion. “Help me?”
What is he talking about? Does he think he can figure out how to fix the grapple gun? The other day he couldn’t figure out how to open the automatic trunk of a car and he just ripped the trunk door right off.
“Get him.” Ben nods his head in Butcher’s direction, but you’re still confused.
“How?”
And why? Why does Soldier Boy want to help me of all people?
“Well, I could help you make him jealous.” Ben leans towards you, his eyes sweeping once over you as he does, lingering too long on your chest and the edge of the jean shorts you were wearing.
“And how would you do that?”
“Well for starters you could come sit on my lap baby, see how you like it.” Ben winks. “Take me for a little ride.”
“Pass.” You roll your eyes. 
“Oh I see you want to have a more advanced lesson.” He smiles, scooting his chair towards yours, a dull scrape of wood on wood, so now his knee is touching yours. “He could catch an earful of us tonight. I’d be happy to fuck you. It’d give me something to do.” Ben takes another hit of his joint, the smoke making you scrunch your nose in distaste, while he gives you an appreciative once over. “Fuck knows the only entertainment I’ve had for three fucking days is my hand and it would be good to have a nice tight-“
“No thanks.” You interrupt, face flushing when you imagine what he was about to say.
Ben stiffens in surprise. “What?”
“I’m good.” You shrug. “I’m gonna get him the old fashioned way.”
The same old fashioned way that I’ve been using for the past two years and had absolutely no results.
“And what way is that? Pining after him and hoping that one day he’ll finally notice you?” Ben scoffs. “I can see how well that’s working for you doll-face. How long have you been working with him?”
“Two years-”
“Fuck, two years?” Ben sputters. “You should just tell him that you want him to fuck you.” 
“That won’t work.”
Ben’s face scrunches in confusion, the joint clasped in between his thumb and forefinger forgotten. “Why the hell not?”
“Because-” You glance down at your hands, thumb running along the jagged edge of the grappling hook slightly embarrassed. The last thing you wanted to tell Soldier Boy was that you were a virgin. The guy would mock you endlessly. “Because I’m younger than him and he’s-”
He’s experienced. 
“So? You think that he hasn’t thought about fucking you?” Ben takes a long sip from the whiskey sitting beside his chair. “He’d be lucky to have a little piece like you.”
You blink in surprise. It was the closest to a compliment that Ben had ever given you. He did tend to compliment your figure whenever you were around, but you usually ignored that because he did that to everyone. 
Truthfully, the thought of dating Ben didn’t appeal to you at all, but the thought of using him to make Butcher jealous was not a terrible one. And at this point, you didn’t have anything to lose. 
Well
 except THAT, but you wanted it to be special, at least that’s what you’d always told yourself.
You sigh, a little frustrated, watching Butcher out of the corner of your eye swing the axe in a glorious arch to the earth. You weren’t sure how to get Butcher’s attention. You’d tried the usual things

Leaving the room as soon as he walked in to avoid a conversation.
Gone completely mute when he asked you a question.
Pretended you didn’t see him whenever he walked into a room.
Tried to bring him coffee, but then chickened out and drank his and yours and then immediately had to go to the bathroom to avoid shitting your pants while having heart palpitations.
Basically the social anxiety was working wonders on the office romance you wanted so badly. 
“Ben?” You say tentatively, hands tightening on the contraption in your lap. At this rate you were never going to fix it and Butcher was going to have to figure out how to fly. 
“Yes, gorgeous?” Ben raises an eyebrow. The blunt is between his lips now and he’s looking at you curiously.
“If we did pretend to be
” You swallow nervously. 
“Fucking?” He leans forward eagerly, eyes twinkling with interest.
Well
 I’ve never understood what it meant when someone wrote “his eyes darkened” until this very moment. 
“Dating” You correct holding up a finger.
Does his mind always go to the gutter?
You remember everything you think you know about Ben.
Yes. Yes it does.
Ben leans back with a frown. “I don’t date.”
“Well it wouldn’t be real! You’d just be helping me make him jealous and it would be nice to have a little practice maybe
”
“Practice?” He looks confused. It wasn’t the first time he had in this conversation or within the last five minutes, but like hell you were about to admit without at least one drink to Soldier Boy the extent of your dating life.
“Yeah. I’m not the best at talking to people or-”
“You’re talking just fine right now.”
“You’re different.”
“Why is that?”
“Because you annoy me and I don’t know you’re easier to talk to for some reason!” 
“Thanks.” Ben says dryly. 
By now all the anxious energy has begun to pop and crackle against your skin at the thought of what the two of you could be doing and at the thought of you two actually pulling this off and you having a shot with Butcher. Not just a shot in hell, a real shot.
“But if you’re serious about helping me get him-“ You continue.
“I was.”
It was odd that he was the one who had suggested this in the first place, and even weirder that he didn’t seem hesitant at all to be doing this. 
Maybe he thinks that we’re going to have sex. Your throat tightened at the thought, eyes widening, your nerve endings electrifying with anxiety. Oh holy fuck what if he thinks that if we do this he’ll get to do whatever he wants to me?
You clear your throat, heart beating just a little bit harder in your chest. The entire situation was making you regret the extra cup of coffee you had this morning. “What exactly would I have to do?” You don’t recognize your voice. It comes out a little more wobbly and just a little more tentative than it was. 
You didn’t know what Ben was expecting you to do and you didn’t want to say yes, only for him to force you into sleeping with him like he’d suggested earlier, the most you'd thought the two of you would do is just make out a little-
Oh holy fuck then we’d have to kiss and I don’t know if I’m a good kisser and he’s definitely kissed more than one person not to mention he’s-
The thought made you flush to the roots of your hair. 
Ben hesitates, eyeing you and you wonder if he can hear the deranged monologue inside your head or if he can hear just how hard your heart was beating. You hoped not. 
“You wouldn’t have to do anything, doll. I’m not going to force you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.” There’s something genuine in his eyes when he answers your question, something that you’d never noticed before. 
Your mouth drops open in surprise. 
It wasn’t that you believed that Ben was that kind of man, but rather that what he just said to you might have been the most caring thing that he’d ever uttered in front of you. He was the last person that you’d expect to care about someone being uncomfortable or care if someone else was okay with everything that was happening in the bedroom.
Maybe I don’t know him as well as I think I do.
In all honesty you only knew the way Ben acted, you didn’t know anything about his life. The man kept his cards closer to his chest than a well-seasoned card player and his poker face, forget it. You couldn’t crack that combination even if you wanted to. 
Everything else you'd heard about him was through the grapevine of gossip at work. None of it was first hand.
Ben sighs and shakes his head at you as if he’s a little annoyed with himself for saying that out loud. “But I still think it would be easier if you just told him that you wanted him to fuck you. Would’ve worked on me.”
“I’m not good at that sort of thing.”
And it was true. You could take down a target, diffuse a bomb in less than ten seconds with a thin mint and a bobby pin, but saying something out loud like that to something else made you feel nauseous.
Ben hesitates again and in his hesitation the anxiety and embarrassment starts to come soaring back into your chest.
You were asking Soldier Boy, Soldier Boy, to pretend to date you so Billy Butcher would fall in love with you. 
Well kids, this must be what rock bottom feels like. I might as well just pray that the locusts come back to take me away. 
“Fine.” Ben states. 
“Really?” Your eyes widen.
He shrugs, but doesn’t answer.
“We’d have to have rules.” You blurt, and Ben makes a face.
“Rules? Never been too good with those, Sweetheart.”
“And I’d need you to promise that you wouldn’t-” 
You lose your train of thought in the wind chimes that rattle over your head and the sound of Butcher’s laugh.
“Wouldn’t?” He arches an eyebrow.
“Lose control.”
Honestly, sometimes you were a little afraid of Ben. You’d never say that out loud or admit it, but he was stronger than Homelander.
You knew Ben's reputation around the office- heard the hushed whispers of the women in the break room who said he was the best fuck of their lives, heard the horror stories of what he did to his old team, and had seen first hand what his temper was like. You also knew about his powers and worried that Ben might have a little bit of a control problem or at the very least anger management issues.
“I’m not going to fucking hurt you if that’s what you think.” Ben growls, his eyes narrowing at your insinuation. “I’m not some fucking monster, doll.”
“I don’t think you’re a monster Ben.” You sigh. “I just- I don’t have powers and you’re kinda strong and I-.” You take a deep breath to steady your voice. “I don’t think that you’d hurt me on purpose. But-”
Ben’s hand comes out to touch your chin, tilting your gaze up to him and stopping the bicycle of babbling you were about to ride around the block. Your eyes widen slightly with the contact, you weren’t used to people touching you, certainly not like this. 
Keep it together
 
“I wouldn’t hurt you by accident either.” Ben’s green eyes are focused on yours, and you can see just a sliver of emotion behind them that you can’t identify. “But if we’re going to do this you gotta promise me one thing.”
“What?” Your voice comes out like a squeak.
“You’ve got to promise not to fall in love with me.” He sends you a saucy wink that makes you want to punch the strongest man on earth, instead you settle for pushing him back from you.
But you’re not prepared for the wave of disappointment you feel when he lets go of your chin. 
“I’m not in any danger of that Benny. You’re not half as smooth as you think you are.” You start to lean back in your chair, but Ben reaches out to grab your wrist, his touch surprisingly gentle, the contact burning through your body, as he pulls you forward, so close you can smell his cologne. Somehow it's something that smells classic and modern at the same time, a hint of spice that tickles your nose and makes your throat tight. 
His voice lowers into a purr that vibrates through his chest, his next words expelled on a warm breath that weaves through the air between the two of you. 
“Sweetheart, you’re about to find out just how smooth I am.” 
What have I gotten myself into?
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A/N: Again, not what I was expecting, but I really love this one y'all and I probably laughed way too hard at bits when I was writing it.
Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated! I love hearing what y'all think! 😊 If you'd liked to be added to my taglist please let me know!
Taglist
@roseblue373 @livya99 @mrsjenniferwinchester @zepskies @waynes-multiverse
@jollyhunter
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shatcey · 2 days ago
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Victor theories. Contradictions and links
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This is probably the last part of my theories about Vivi before his route came out. Most likely, they have nothing to do with reality, which we will see pretty soon. I will kill someone if Cybird release someone from Vogel first. Do you hear that, Cybird? I'll buy tamagotchi and kill it!!!!! You don't want that, do you? Poor defenseless little creature

When I read other theories and events about Vivi, I had some thoughts, but I haven't finished them, haven't put them together, and
 I think it's finally time to do it properly.
I should probably add warnings. I'm mentioning the details of Alfons and Harrison's routes. And also provide fragments of events that had not yet been in the EN game (only in JP). And
 a bit about Azel's route (but I'm warning you about this, and you can easily skip to the next part without reading).
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There were many events with Vivi. I made a list when started preparing for this post
 Not all of them contain anything that I can use within the described boundaries, but they all provide few or many hints. So
 it took some time to check. I hope I didn't miss anything.
If so
 remind me, and I'll make one more "last post"
 it becomes an endless story.
His personality
@maladaptivedaydreamsx assumed that Victor isn't his real name, but was given to him because of Queen. I thought about that as well. As I mentioned here, Victor thinks of himself in quotation marks, as if it's not his real name, but a role he's playing. And that actually sounds pretty fitting. On the surface, he's a cheerful and positive, with a sweet, mama-type vibe. But when we read the stories from his perspective, he feels completely different. Very dark and even scary. His thoughts show how much he notices and thinks before making any decisions, how much of a calculating bastard he really is (lovingly). But is his cheerful side a role he's playing? Or is it just part of his personality? From the Bond story "The Other Side"
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and kiss event...
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Victor insists that this is just a part of him. And I'm inclined to believe.
There is a theory that Victor is actually immortal. @.reccyls mentioned this here last time. And this theory is possible. Not only because Victor is so determined to treat all the members of Crown and Kate like children. But also because of this Willy's remark from the 1st Victor's birthday
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There are two possibilities that Willy could be hinting at.
The first
 Vivi is a god. The God of death.
But
 this may have a different meaning. Vivi is very closed to God or any other immortal being. Vivi often talks about death as a living creature. Perhaps the fact that he is a "constant companion of death" makes him a kind of expert in this matter.
And that's why I tend to think that the second option is closer to the truth. It's from the very beginning of the same 1st birthday.
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Yes, Harry often says that Victor lies a lot, but I don't think that applies to this situation. The wording is very strange. He doesn't seem happy about this fact. Like
 "I wish I had more time". Maybe it's just me.
Oh, I forgot about another option. Vivi could have been a god, but now he's a human. This explains why he's so annoyed by the fact that he needs to sleep. Hmmm
 I like that option.
If assumed he's a very old and powerful being
 who, despite this, has not lost interest in life as such and can still find joy in it (reminds of someone, right?). How did the Queen manage to get him as her aid? A contract? We have another Black butler?
And if everyone thinks of him as a very strong person, then no one will ever assume that he needs anything. No one ever considers him human. This thought crossed my mind when I talked about the Mirror event, but I decided not to voice it. But
 what the hell
 this is the last post, where else should I talk about it?
It was the same with Azel (if you haven't read his route and don't want spoilers, skip right to the next point). People didn't see him as a human being, they only asked for help, advice, and so on
 In their eyes, he was only giving, after all, he is God. But
 this is a rather selfish way of thinking. Even if a person seems completely independent and strong, and
 perfect
 this doesn't mean that he has nothing to wish. I can easily imagine Vivi in this concept. And that explains why he was so surprised when Kate said she liked helping him or taking care of him. This has never happened before.
But he doesn't have to be an immortal being for people to consider him inhuman. He succeeds in everything he does, and people may think that he doesn't need anyone's help.
His contradictions
Kate described him very accurately at a Drunk event, translated by @.reccyls.
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I would also add that he takes care of the garden and himself (see how his hair is
 it's a lot of work, you know) and it looks like he's sleeping normally. My baby Ally has dark circles under her eyes due to lack of sleep. But Vivi
 there is no such thing. So
 Yes, he really seems like the perfect person.
But behind every great accomplishment is a lot of hard work. We don't know what it is
 he just has a habit of using every second of his life to the fullest, or
 a kind of magic. But he really does a lot, and
 I can understand why he wants to
 relax sometimes. He can't admit it for some reason (pride or some restrictions) but he wants to anyway. And at the same Drunken event, he tricked Kate into putting his head in her lap and hugging her. As if he needed a reason for that. It feels like he's constantly preventing himself from doing what he wants to do. At the very end of Butler's event ("Your Hand, My Lady" translated by @.reccyls) Willy hints at this...
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He's happy because Victor is FINALLY doing what he wants to do.
I got the impression that curse of the boys is a sick joke of fate. It is contrary to their true nature. Like a absolutely honest and straightforward Harrison have to lie because his curse forces him to do so. Or Ally, who wanted only one thing in life... to be remembered, and the curse did not allow him to got this. So I see the same contradiction in Victor's behavior
 is his curse. He is literally obsessed with the idea of freedom. And the way he lives makes it seem like he's not free at all. And his desire to get something for himself sometimes is like getting some fresh air before he finds himself back in the dusty tunnels
 He literally doesn't do ANYTHING for himself, he doesn't even ask others for anything. This is from the 2nd Cristmas event, translated by @.reccyls.
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And this is from bond's story "About Freedom"
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Despite the fact, he joked afterwards that he is as free as the wind. In this phrase, he said "I", not "you" or "people" in general. I'm sorry, Vivi, but I don't believe you're free. In fact, you've probably never been. That's why you dream about it. And it's a little sad.
Connections with the Queen
The bond between Vivi and the Queen is very strong and mysterious. He is absolutely devoted to her and literally does everything she says. But how long has he been doing this? Why does he feel like he belongs to her? As he told William at the very end of Butler event ("Your Hand, My Lady" translated by @.reccyls.
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The first thing that comes to mind is the Black Butler. Sebas demonstrates absolute dedication without asking questions. And he is a demon who is devoted to man. Actually Vivi said at the first Christmas event (Wreck the halls) that he had made a deal with death

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Perhaps it has something to do with the Queen. I'm not saying that the Queen is the Death (we never know for sure), but the way he's devoted to her, and the way he convinced that the connection with death is not so easy to break, seems somehow similar. Indestructible.
@.velisle has posted a really huge post with facts and theories about Vivi
 I added my thoughts here. There was a theory
 That's the kid Victor talked about at the Secrets event

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...In fact, he is.
But there are two things that prevent me from thinking that way. The first
 he doesn't know if the Queen could make them smiles. If he was that kid, he would know that.
And the second. If we assume that he is not a vampire or another magical creature that lives exceptionally long (or endless), then it is quite difficult to imagine. The calculation is simple. The game takes place around 1890. And the queen begins to rule in 1837. More than 50 years have passed since. And Victor looks like he's 40 at the most. So
 He's NOT that kid, but
 it could have been his parent or
 an older sibling. Or
 even someone related to Kate. I wouldn't be surprised if the developers link them so tightly.
@rou-luxe assumed that Victor made a promise to the Queen many years ago and continue fulfill it. It seems very correct, but at the same time not quite. No matter how much you like sticking to your promise, at some point you will feel tired or pressured to keep it. But here
 he does it willingly, even with joy. So my idea
 he is very grateful to the Queen. As if she had saved his life or given him a new life that he wouldn't have been able to get otherwise. This brings me back to my previous thought. That the Queen is not really human. But she is
 at least the real Queen Victoria, who lived and died (which makes her a normal person). If it's just gratitude, then what exactly did she do for him to get him for a lifetime? This is
 THE question!
Connections with Crown boys
We know that Vivi and Willy immediately clicked on the common desire to free people. The way we were shown Vivi's cursed ability (as I mentioned in a previous theory post) is somewhat similar to Willy's. I'll just add this part from the 1st birthday story.
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We will not talk about that this is technically impossible to strangle yourself. Don't try to prove me wrong, check on Google.
The fact remains
 Vivi orders the man to die or Death to take him away. But for some reason, his victim feels happy to follow this order.
It doesn't matter how, but the cursed ability of both of them (Victor and William) deprive a person of freedom. So
 no wonder they understand each other so well, they literally went through the same struggles.
I don't think Vivi is particularly kind to Harry just because of his reaction (which is always so good). But also because he feels a little guilty about the death of Harry's father. He did not predict, did not find out, did not fix the problem in time. Yes, Vivi claims that he is not a kind, but rather an evil person, but he is a good teammate, he respects and helps all his partners. And he and Marco had a good team
 From a distance, completely ignoring each other
 but in the end, they really help each other a lot. So Vivi may feel guilty for missing something.
I didn't notice any special treatment for anyone else at the Crown. Well
 Kate is an exception. But I would like to talk about her separately.
Connections with Kate
First the facts. Victor dragged Kate to the Crown because he thought it would help the boys. From his 1st birthday.
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He said (will say) the same thing in the 1st anniversary (my summary). He thought she would change something. What does he think needs to be changed? He used a rather interesting phrase in 1st birthday...
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Usually, when he said something like that, it's "succumb to your wickedness". Vivi often say that when he sends the boys to work. Did he assume that Kate would help them become better at their work? Is it related to work at all? Maybe about their course? Maybe it's about understanding themselves better? Or
 about something completely different? But I tend to think he was looking for a way to combine them together.
They're all pretty strong and independent, they don't have much in common, they literally split into several groups, and he wanted to find a reason to unite them into one team. It's a very noble cause. He would probably reject such an idea as not fitting his wicked nature. Why do my favorite boys try to argue with me when I say good things about them? They're so weird.
But there's something he doesn't want her to know. Again from the 1st birthday...
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It feels like he's afraid. It feels like he's been through something and doesn't want to make the same mistake again. Or he's constantly fighting
 probably with his own curse
 which forces him to do something to her (remember that his curse contradicts his essence). Vivi says something about it at the 1st Christmas event. This darkness demands that he stains her and whisks her away (I wrote about it here).
But his expectations of Kate really came true. She really brought change. And she even changed him. This is from his 2nd birthday story translated by @.reccyls.
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It already looks like we're in the middle of his route. He feels that he is becoming less like an observer, he feels that he wants more for himself.
And now my assumptions, which, in fact, are based on nothing at all
The only thing we can be sure about is a kiss on the forehead. It was mentioned twice (I talked about it at the kiss event). The fact that Kate mentioned it twice means that developers are most likely to use it on one of the main routes. It could be Darius or someone we don't know about yet, but I think
 that it's Victor. And it's not just his reaction to that kiss that makes me think so. But the DARK IF event.
I know it's an alternate world, but
 the essence of the characters is the same, and it's quite interesting to imagine his main route through the prism of this event. Vivi's story hasn't been released yet, but in the second part of the event, there was a story for 95k points, and it's gorgeous. Translated by @.reccyls.
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And this part is from a letter from this event. Not quite, but let's put it this way. Translated by @.reccyls.
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The one and only. The soulmates. Actually, this theme is very strong at this event, and maybe I shouldn't even focus on it. But
 for some reason, this concept seems very fitting for Vivi. The Vivi we know from Victorian London. And I really like to see this theme on at least one route in this game. Why not on Victor's, right?
So
 my theory
 Victor and Kate met when Kate was still a child. We haven't determined whether Victor is human or not, so I won't talk about him, but Kate was a child and witnessed something very bad. Something that could easily break the psyche for life. Victor solved the problem and kissed her on the forehead
 and that's literally the only thing she remembers. It was probably just a short meeting, but for some reason they both remembered it. And now
 after all these years, they meet again because they are destined to be together
 I got goosebumps.
I think we should expect a second Tamamo route. With the "I want to be your friend so you won't be alone". They will work together, but this time she will help him with his work, and someone from his past will appear. Don't tell me he was a king as well
 Thatever. And
 so the hot scene will only be after the last avatar challenge (or even only in the epilogues).
Dark times are ahead... Patience to all of us.
@ethereal-blossom, Michelle, dear, I haven't found how to use your theories
 my brain is burning up a bit after two days of thinking. But I'd like you to look at it. Maybe you could point out my mistakes or would like to add something. You know I'm always happy to read your thoughts.
The design of the spikelet on the dividers I took from Designed by Freepik
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🔝 𝕊𝕋𝔾ℝ𝕋 â„™đ”žđ”Ÿđ”Œ 🔝
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vandme12 · 2 days ago
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i LOOOOOVEEEEEE your fics omgomg
i was wondering if you could do hcs on Ronin from KC in a relationship ( with us ) if you havent already ? ? tyyy
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Ronin in a Relationship!
Flirtation is a Weapon – Every interaction is a battle of wits and double meanings. Ronin flirts like it’s a game, but every joke has a sharp edge, every smirk hiding something deeper. He wants you flustered, but more than that? He needs you to flirt back.
Obsession Disguised as Devotion – He won’t call it obsession—he’ll just call it attention to detail. Your favorite food? Memorized. Your schedule? Oh, he’s painfully aware. If something’s off, if someone’s bothering you—he’s already taken care of it.
“What? You wanted them alive?” – Speaking of taking care of things
 yeah. Ronin’s love language? Murder. Someone so much as looks at you wrong, and suddenly they’re a missing person’s case.
The Devil’s Full Attention – Ronin has a short attention span for most people, but you? You could be doing the most mundane thing, and he’s watching you like you’re the only thing that exists. And if you’re ignoring him? He will make himself impossible to ignore.
Touch is a Privilege – He’s not big on casual affection with anyone else, but you? He’s constantly draping himself over you, an arm around your shoulders, fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin. If you try to move away, he just tightens his grip with a smug little tsk—as if to say, where do you think you’re going?
Possessive, but in a Fun Way (Mostly) – “Babe, you’re mine.” That’s not up for debate. But he’s not the jealous type—he’s the let them try type. He wants someone to think they can take you from him, just so he can prove how wrong they are.
Every Threat is a Promise – He doesn’t make empty threats. You know this. If he says someone’s on thin ice? They’re already under it. If he promises to “ruin you,” well
 hope you didn’t have plans tomorrow.
You’re His Favorite– He plays with everyone, but with you? It’s different. He wants you to push back, to challenge him. If you can keep up, if you can toy with him right back—oh, you might just be his new addiction.
Sharp Kisses, Sharper Words – He kisses like he talks—slow, teasing, always promising more. He bites. A lot. Your lips, your neck, your soul—nothing is safe. He loves hearing you gasp, loves knowing you’ll still want more.
Murder as a Love Language – He doesn’t bring you flowers. He brings you knives, guns, evidence of someone who needed to die. “Look, sweetheart, I got you a gift~” he hums, presenting a bloodstained ring from some poor bastard.
Meta Hints That He’s Too Aware – He drops cryptic little comments that make your skin crawl. Stuff like, “Why didn’t ya run when ya had the chance?” or “We both know this story ain’t got a happy ending, sweetheart.” And yet
 you stay.
Always One Step Ahead – Good luck hiding anything from him. He knows when you’re lying. He knows what you’re thinking before you say it. And if you try to surprise him? He just grins. “Aww, babe, ya really think I didn’t see that coming? Cute.”
Sleeps Like a Cat, Clings Like a Demon – Ronin doesn’t need sleep, but when he does sleep? He sleeps on you. Limbs tangled, face buried against your neck, completely dead weight. Try moving. I dare you.
No Such Thing as “Too Much” – You wanna be obsessed with him? Good. He expects it. In fact, if you’re not at least half as obsessed with him as he is with you, he will make your life a living hell until you prove yourself.
Surprisingly Soft, When No One’s Looking – He’ll never admit it, but sometimes, just sometimes, when it’s late and no one else is around, he’ll just hold you. No teasing, no jokes. Just
 holding you like he’s scared you’ll disappear.
The Only Opinion That Matters – He doesn’t care what anyone else thinks of him. But you? Your words sting if you’re not careful. If you tell him he went too far, if you tell him you’re disappointed—he’ll laugh it off. But later, when he’s alone, it eats at him.
He Will Ruin You – But only so he can put you back together again. He wants to watch you rebuild yourself and see if you can handle it. If you can? You’re his forever. If you can’t? Well
 he did warn you, didn’t he? you're still his.
The Devil Keeps His Promises – If he says he’ll protect you? Consider yourself untouchable. If he says you’re his? There’s no escaping it. Ronin never breaks a promise. Ever.
You’re the Only Exception – He doesn’t care about most people. But you? You’re different. He won’t say it outright, but it’s there in the way he watches you, in the way he makes sure you’re always within reach. The Devil may not have a heart, but if he does? You’re the only one holding it.
Cuddling is Mandatory – He doesn’t ask to cuddle. He decides cuddling is happening, and you just have to deal with it. One second you’re minding your business, the next? Boom, he’s on you, arms locked like a vice. Hope you didn’t have plans.
Cold Hands, Warm Heart – His hands are always cool, and he loves using them against your warm skin. Back of your neck? Chilling touch. Slipping under your shirt? You yelp every time, and he lives for it.
Insists on Being Your Pillow – No, really. Whether it’s his chest, lap, or arm, you are sleeping on him, not the other way around. If you try to move? You don’t.'
Loves Watching You Sleep – Not in a creepy way. But when you’re completely relaxed, he can’t help but trace his fingers over your face, memorizing you.
You Can Steal His, But
 – If you take his jacket, his gloves, or god forbid his scarf? He’s gonna make a show out of how you owe him now. “Aw, babe, ya wanna wear my stuff? That’s cute. But I’m gonna need payment in kisses, minimum.”
His Laughter is Just for You – Ronin doesn’t laugh for people. He laughs at them. But with you? It’s different. When you make him genuinely laugh? It’s softer. Less mocking. Almost... human.
Surprise Hugs from Behind – You’ll be focused on something, and then—bam—arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder, a lazy hum against your neck. “Whatcha doin’, sweetheart? Thinkin’ ‘bout me?”
Hates Waking Up Without You – If you get out of bed before him, you will be dragged back. “Uh-uh, sweetheart. Where d’you think you’re goin’? You’re my prisoner ‘til further notice.”
Loves when you're playing with his Hair – It’s a habit, a distraction, or just an excuse to touch him.
Your Happiness is His Favorite Reward – If you smile at something he does? That’s the good stuff. He won’t admit it, but he feels happy too.
Kisses are a Game – You kiss him? He has to one-up you. Peck on the cheek? He’s got one for your nose, then your jaw, then— yeah, good luck getting out of this.
Acts Like You Owe Him for Existing – “Babe, I graced ya with my presence today. A thank-you kiss is the bare minimum.” He’s only half-joking.
Secretly Loves Being Pampered – You run your fingers through his hair? Give him a massage? Kiss his scars? He melts. But he’ll never ask for it outright—you gotta catch him off guard.
His Definition of a “Date” is Unhinged – A normal dinner? Boring. A walk under city lights after he just disposed of a body? Now that’s romantic. He likes doing weird, chaotic things with you—something that makes for a story.
Loves Ruining Sweet Moments – You’re having a heartfelt moment, staring into each other’s eyes, and then—“You’re really into me, huh? Kinda embarrassing for you.” You will smack him, and he will laugh.
Hand Holding is a Power Move – If he interlocks fingers with you in public? He’s making a statement. It’s less affectionate and more this one’s mine.... No, It's to tease you
You’re the Only Person He’ll Apologize To – If he ever actually upsets you? He’ll brush it off at first, but later that night, when it’s just the two of you, he’ll mutter something like, “Didn’t mean to piss ya off, y’know. Won’t happen again.” And with Ronin? That’s as real as it gets.
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sillygoofyqueer · 1 day ago
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I know that this is going to get weird but bear with me. Also this isn't meant to be as horny as it might seem.
I think that PIDW Logicâ„ąïž would give the middle finger to the whole point of bird demons having genders in the first place and make all bird demons lay unfertilised eggs about once a month, unless they get fertilised while still in the bird demon of course.
Crowyuan would be no different even if he's the heavenly demon variety.
I think Binghe would be jealous of Crowyuan's eggs.
I think Bingge might cook them if Xin Mo got to him.
Oh Binghe would be SO normal if he could naturally have children with Crowyuan.
And imagine how shocked and kind of horrified one of his followers/Binghe/the peak lords/the disciples would be if they were to find (one of) his nests with AN EGG in it. There isn't a baby in it or anything but STILL.
The crow family knows what's up but they still get a little surprise every time because SY doesn't bloody tell them when it's That Time Of The Month: Bird Demon Edition.
I am so so sorry the mpreg part of my brain leaked a bit into the Crowyuan part of my brain.
Henlo, Anon! Thank you for the ask, I very much appreciate it. I need to preface this with the fact that I read this ask, thought "huh, this doesn't feel very horny to me!" and then showed it to one of my mutuals as a sort of second opinion if you will, and they just said 'damn, egg layer Yuan' and that sort of put it in perspective for me. Despite that, I still don't think it's very horny, so either I'm just desensitised to it all, or this isn't horny! ANYWAY, if you want mpreg, we can literally have mpreg. Crowyuan now has mpreg. I don't know if there's a secret group of people who have been praying for this moment, but if there is, you can now rest. Put down the blackmail plans. We're going to look at Original Crowyuan, then Crowyuan on Cang Qiong but with the mpreg lens because that's FUN. (Also jiuyuan) ((To that one irl friend, my bestie booboo bear, you do NOT fucking see this. You never did. Dear GOD, YOU FUCKING DIDN'T.)) Original Crowyuan usually has his unfertilised eggs in his crow home, surprising his family at first but then they learn how to track his...'cycle' if you will, so they aren't caught off guard if there's a random egg in his nest. However, when he starts spending more time at Bingge's castle, it's a constant fucken wrestling match over eating the unfertilised eggs. It's like Crowyuan being like "DROP IT!! DROP THAT EGG!" and Bingge is holding it above his head and being like "I'M GOING TO MAKE SCRAMBLED EGGS AND NOBODY CAN STOP ME!! IT'S A WASTE!" However, I like to think that Bingge is also like "this egg could be fertilised. This could be my child. But noooo, it's devoid of a baby, so I'm going to fucking eat this." Dude I forgot the tag for the Crowyuan that's just chilling on Cang Qiong, but he's obviously just hanging around Cang Qiong and making nests on most of the peaks, so he does just have unfertilised eggs lying around. I imagine that Shen Jiu is the first to find out because (as stated in a previous post, I think) he's got disciples/a record on every single nest on Cang Qiong, so he sees this fucking egg just...lying around in one of the nests and is like "Oh. My God." and then like well what the fuck would he do with this? His pretty crow demon is going to be a mother! He must not let any of the bastard peak lords learn about this, 'lest they try and 'take responsibility' and step up to be a father to his demon's children, so HE must do it first. (When Crowyuan learns of this, he feels so bad because Shen Jiu is so determined about it, so he has to like...actually have a child! Cue mpreg.)
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mythals-whore · 1 day ago
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Facts about Davrin that are my headcanon but are Just True:
He is so into this monster manual that if you ask him about anything related to it you are trapped for at least 45 minutes while he yaps to you about his personal anecdote and what all those other bastards got wrong in their monster manuals
He is a huge nerd
He is a polyglot, totally has a working knowledge of at least five languages (common, Elvhen, Dwarvish, Orlesian, Tevene)
He smells like wood/sawdust (choose whatever wood you feel, but this is true.)
Grew up really scrawny so as soon as he got hot he became a slut. Just absolutely giving it away (and i love that for him)
He is a munch
Likes whiskey (idk he has a cowboy vibe to him, this is just True)
More likely to call a romanced Rook “sweetheart” or “baby” than vhenan.
Makes his bed every morning
Can draw! Mostly sketches, mostly of monsters/animals but could definitely draw other things/learn to paint if he tried.
Is very patient*
*and therefore good with children, but for a very long time after VG says “Assan is more than enough trouble” if you ask him
Doesn’t care much about an official ‘marriage’ but more so because he feels very dedicated to a partner already and doesn’t need the ceremony for it to feel official**
**but if its important to his partner he would absolutely go all out
Snores, but denies it.
Is bad at Wicked Grace but only because he pouts when he gets a really bad hand (he does not know he does this but literally everyone else does)
Has the Thedas equivalent to a burn book with the names of all those monster manual guys he hates, anyone who ever tried to rip him off, and anyone who ever called him knife-ear/rabbit/etc. This man holds a grudge. He will remember the face, the name and the offense.
Big history buff!!
Reads a lot but doesn’t join the book club bc he’s a big non-fiction guy. He’s out here reading the Thedas equivalent to a WWII Biographies/Nature Guides/encyclopedias
Ribs you when training to get a rise out of you
Ribs you in general to get a rise out of you
Is a picky eater (hates broccoli, probably weird about olives) but will eat it anyway.
Was closer to his mom than his dad
Disorganized organization—there is clutter around his room but he knows where everything is
Always gives gold to beggars
Has a massive—
Stares at aromanced Rook’s ass every time they turn around (the glances are decidedly NOT small)
Knows how to cut his own hair/patch his own clothes
Talks you through it
Early riser—if nightmares/Assan wakes him up, he’s up. Does not understand the concept of “sleeping in” (he will happily stay in bed to do other activities)
Has a good singing voice but will not do it for anyone except Assan. And possibly a romanced Rook. Eventually. Maybe.
Makes a quill out of one of Assan’s feathers but swears its for practicality (it is 100% sentimental, he has plenty of other quills)
Okay that feels like a lot. Please feel free to reblog/come to the replies with your Davrin truths(:
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arc-misadventures · 21 hours ago
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The 'Maid'
Bulphrik: Thank you, Sir. Arc, and Mr. Ren. I greatly appreciate the help you did to reclaim my lost property.
Jaune: Think nothing of it!
Ren: We're just doing out job, Sir.
Bulphrik: Well... if you'll now excuse me I will prepared your entry permits, and your... rewards...
Jaune: Please take your time, My Lord.
Bulphrik: While I away I will have a maid bring you something to drink.
Ren: Much apricated your, Grace.
Jaune: ...
Ren: ...
Jaune: Noble twat...
Ren: Bloated boar...
Jaune: Haa... I doubt we'll see ten gold coins from that greedy bastard.
Ren: We'll be lucky to see ten silver coins...
Jaune: Haaa... If it wasn't for the fact we need these city passes to get into the city I wouldn't be dealing with this bullshit.
Ren: Why can't more nobles be like you?
Jaune: Like...?
Ren: A horn dog!
Jaune: ...
Ren: Honestly I want to say nice... But, that was the first thought that came to mind...
Jaune: I would have preferred playboy, but horn dog?! There's a difference between the two! I've met some true horn dogs, and well...
Ren: Well?
Jaune: Well, I've killed them.
Ren: Oh... There's that much of a difference...
Jaune: Trust me, you don't wanna know.
Ren: Okay.
Jaune: Haa... Let's just wait here, that fat pig should be back soon with are entry permits, then we can get the hall out of here.
Ren: Alright...
(Click)
: Hello! My name is, Fiona! I'm a maid working for, Lord Piggy... I mean, Lord Bulphrik! I'm here to bring you your drinks!
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Ren: Oh thanks!
Jaune: ...
Ren: So, how long do you think it will take for your Lord Piggy take to write our entry passes?
Fiona: He's counting his money trying to give you an 'appropriate amount.'
Ren: As little as possible?
Fiona: Less than that.
Ren: Cheap bastard... No matter, we came here for the entry passes we're fine when it comes to coin.
Fiona: Well, if there is anything I could give you, just say the word!
Jaune: Anything?
Fiona: Anything at all!
Ren: Jaune, no!
Jaune: What?
Ren: You just saw the maid, and you're already wanting to bed the maid?!
Fiona: What?!
Jaune: Wrong!
Fiona: Awww...
Jaune: I want to smash the slime girl!
Fiona: Oh~?
Ren: Why?!
Jaune: Sleeping with a slime girl is an experience all onto of it's self! A man who has bedded a slime dame would never pass over the slightest opportunity to do it again! You would know this if you weren't as sexually repressed as eunuch monk!
Ren: I'm not that bad!
Jaune: Ren, you've been hit with a succubus's pheromones, and you fell asleep!
Ren: ...
Ren: I get the coins... you can have the slime girl...
Jaune: Yeah! Ahem...
Jaune: Tell me my fair lady~! Would you grace me, a humble, Paladin of the Summer Maid a moment of your time?
Fiona: The Summer Maiden~? You, Sir Knight, may have me as long as you want~!
Jaune: Wonderful~!
Ren: ...
Ren: I'm not that sexually repressed... am I...?
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simplyraeblue · 18 hours ago
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King and Captive
(Hunter and Hunted Spin-Off) read here
modern au a chance meeting with Sukuna quickly turns into a nightly routine you can't escape. as the lines between game and something more blur, you start to wonder—how long can you keep playing, or will Sukuna make you his next conquest? !Sukuna x !femreader
chapter warnings/tags: swearing, light drinking, MDNI, NSFW, Gojo is a menace to society, stalker Sukuna?, smut smut smut, p in v, creampie, unprotected sex A/N: I literally had this part written out and rewrote it entirely bc I ended up hating the direction I took initially đŸ„Ž also if you can’t tell I love writing Gojo and I stg I wish he was my friend (with benefits) index part eight | part ten
part nine word count : 4,580
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It had been two weeks since Sukuna had found you in the bar. Two weeks since you’d sent him that text. And two week since he last felt sane.
Being kept at arm's length hurt more than Sukuna would like to admit. He’d tried everything – good morning texts, sending you flowers, even having lunch delivered to your office. We’re talking the fucking works, and yet you were still hesitant to trust him fully. You were still determined to keep your distance, and he understood that. Hell, he knew he deserved it. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.  
He missed you. Fuck he missed you a lot more than he thought possible. You brought a light back into his life, challenged him, made him feel alive. And, to make matters worse, Sukuna couldn’t bear to hear Gojo whine about your absence like a child anymore. 
Speaking of... one thing he hated worse than the cold shoulder? Finding out that you’d been secretly befriending the enemy.  
That was the issue he hated even more than your cautious distance—the growing friendship between you and Gojo. To Sukuna, Gojo might as well have been the enemy, even though he wasn't really. But seeing the self-satisfied smirk on the little shit’s face when he replaced Sukuna as your after-work companion was more than he could bear. Gojo delighted in rubbing it in, especially after enduring two weeks of distance from you, never letting him forget it. 
Sukuna swore he was not a jealous man. No, he had enough of an ego that he didn’t need to be concerned about such trivial things. But this stung. Were you really not affected by his absence? Did you really have to stoop so low to make Gojo your best friend? Gojo – of all the fucking people? 
This inner turmoil had driven him to this moment. Now, Sukuna sat hidden in a shadowy corner of the bar, his hood drawn over his head, watching you laugh and drink with Gojo. It was torture seeing you so close yet so out of reach. In the bar you two spent so much time in.  
And Gojo seemed to know exactly what he was doing. Sukuna was sure that bastard had a sixth sense because the moment you both walked in, Gojo's icy blue eyes had clocked him from the doorway. Yet, you seemed blissfully unaware, and Sukuna was left to brood in silence, wondering when Gojo would drop the bomb. He’s sure he’d enjoy it. 
Gojo was in fact enjoying it very very much.  
He had Sukuna in the palm of his hand right now. Gojo never thought he’d see the day the Sukuna cowered against the wall like a hurt little puppy, and he was relishing in the sight. "So, what's on tap for today? Cosmo? Lemon drop?" Gojo teased, pushing his sunglasses down his nose with a smirk. "Sex on the Beach?" 
You rolled your eyes, dismissing his antics. "Quit acting like a child," you chided, resting your chin on your palm. 
When the waiter approached to take your orders, Gojo didn't hesitate. "Whiskey, neat. And a Sex on the Beach." he said, winking at you. Before the waiter could walk away, Gojo called out, "Oh, and add one of those little frilly umbrellas to that cocktail, please!" 
"You just wanted to order that so you could say something inappropriate," you retorted, sticking out your tongue playfully. 
Gojo grinned back, leaning in his seat with satisfaction. "So, how's this little dry spell going for you, babe?" And there it was. You’d think after starting to hang out with him more regularly you’d have gotten used to this by now. “I mean, are you at least touching yourself?” 
“Gojo!” you exclaimed as your cheeks warmed in embarrassment. “Other people can probably hear you!” 
Oh, Sukuna heard. Every word sharpened his focus, his attention fixed on your interaction with Gojo, his ears straining to catch your response amidst the hum of the bar. 
Gojo's gaze flickered towards Sukuna for a brief moment, though you remained oblivious to the silent exchange. "Well? Are you gonna answer my question or am I going to have to pry it out of you?" he pressed, a teasing lilt in his voice. 
"No." Your answer was firm, spoken softly enough that Sukuna had to lean forward slightly to catch it. The truth was, the emotional turmoil of keeping things casual with Sukuna had consumed so much of your energy that you hadn't allowed yourself time to consider much else. 
Gojo leaned back, seemingly satisfied with your response, though his eyes still held a mischievous spark. "Alright, I'll let you off the hook... for now." He glanced back at Sukuna, a silent challenge in his gaze, then turned back to you. "You know, if you ever need to talk—or not talk—I'm right here." 
Your gaze shot up to meet Gojo's, who wore a mischievous grin that you knew all too well. If you had something to throw at him, you would have; but lacking any handy projectiles, you were left to fend with your words. "Don't be an asshole, Gojo. You know I wouldn’t do that—not to Sukuna, and certainly not with you." 
Sukuna let out a sigh of relief. God, he knew Gojo was just purposefully pushing his buttons at this point, but he didn’t know what he would’ve done if you’d taken him up on his inappropriate offer. Probable would’ve dragged Gojo outside by that perfectly well-kept hair on his head.  
Gojo’s grin only broadened at your response, clearly enjoying the rise he was getting out of you. "Oh, come on, I'm just stirring the pot a bit. You know I wouldn't really suggest something like that." He glanced subtly in Sukuna's direction. "It’s all in good fun, right? Just trying to lighten the mood a bit." 
“Yeah, well lighten it some other way than suggesting I fuck you to get over him.” You couldn’t help the slight snap in your voice as the words came out. But you couldn’t help it – you weren’t just frustrated over the whole situation... dammit you were sexually frustrated too.  
You’d had a taste, and now you were like an addict without their fix. 
Gojo beamed at your irritated reaction, either oblivious to the concept of self-preservation or simply reveling in being the instigator. Just as he opened his mouth to continue his playful torment, the bartender arrived with your drinks, placing the cocktail in front of you and the neat whiskey in front of him. 
As soon as the bartender turned away, you switched the drinks. “I’m really trying here, Gojo,” you said abruptly, lifting the glass of whiskey to your lips and allowing the sharp burn to wash away the swirling thoughts. “I could cave at any second – truly. Is that stupid of me?” 
“Yeah, probably,” Gojo replied with disarming honesty, causing you to pout until he playfully ruffled your hair. “But let’s be honest, you were ready to cave the minute he showed up here after your text weeks ago.” 
Ugh. You hated that he was right. “Okay, then does that make me weak?” 
“No.” You exhaled a sigh of relief at his response, only for it to be cut short as he shot you a knowing smirk. “It makes you in love.” 
Heat rushed to your face, coloring it from the tips of your ears to your chin. Flustered, you began to wave your hands defensively. “What? No. We haven’t even said that yet. Are you sure there’s not too much alcohol in that drink? I mean, look at it, it’s—” 
A slender hand clamped over your mouth to cut you off. “Listen, it’s cool. We all can see it in the way you look at each other,” Gojo told you, his voice low and certain. Your muffled hmph vibrated against his palm, but he only shook his head at the sound. “I can only call one thing you’ve done stupid in the time I’ve known you.” 
He removed his hand from your mouth as you scowled at him, your curiosity piqued despite yourself. “And what’s that?” you asked. 
“That you haven’t given him another chance yet,” Gojo said simply, his gaze piercing and his voice earnest, cutting through the noise of the bar and hitting right at the heart of your fears and hopes. 
Sukuna's attention was zeroed in on the exchange between you and Gojo. Every word hit him like a physical blow. He sipped his drink quietly, the sharp taste of the alcohol barely registering as he absorbed Gojo's words and your reactions.  
The mention of love made his heart race. Love. The word had weight, carrying with it all the possibilities and dangers of a deeper commitment. Sukuna had considered his feelings for you many times, analyzed them, fought them, and now, hearing them so bluntly mirrored back through Gojo’s teasing, it struck a chord. 
As Gojo’s hand covered your mouth to silence your flustered denials, Sukuna found himself frowning, a protective instinct flaring up within him. He knew Gojo meant no harm, but the physical gesture was enough to stir a discomfort he hadn’t expected to feel. He watched closely, his gaze intense and unwavering as Gojo removed his hand, giving you space to respond. 
While you stood silently, probably weighing your thoughts, Sukuna’s entire body sat taught. He was waiting on the edge of his seat for your response – crossing his fingers, maybe even fucking praying that you’d give him some shred of hope in the next few words.
Otherwise, he might hurl himself out of the glass window he leaned against.  
You let out a sigh, a mix of resignation and determination settling in. "Fine. I’ll give him a call, does that make you happy?" You glanced up to see Gojo's grin widen, his delight clear even without words. 
“You should do it right now,” Gojo suggested nonchalantly, crossing his arms and casually leaning against the bar. Unbeknownst to you, his position was strategically chosen to give him a clear view of Sukuna’s reaction, anticipating the drama that was about to unfold. 
“Fuck,” Sukuna muttered under his breath, his hands diving into his pockets in a frantic search for his phone. His heart hammered against his ribcage—was his ringer on? What if it suddenly blared out loud? “Goddamit.” 
He patted down his pockets in a panic, finally noticing the phone peeking out from under the table. It must have slipped out when he leaned forward earlier, straining to catch every nuance of your voice. As he reached for it, his fingers barely grazed the device before his ringtone shattered the tense quiet of his hiding spot, your picture flashing brightly on the screen for anyone watching to see. 
Sukuna's heart skipped as he snatched up the phone, silencing it with a swift press. He glanced up, his eyes scanning the bar to see if anyone had noticed. Gojo’s knowing smirk told him everything he needed to know—the gig was up. Gojo had planned this, he was sure of it, manipulating the situation with the ease of a conductor leading an orchestra. 
With no other option left, Sukuna took a deep breath and answered your call. 
“Why are you hiding like some kind of stalker?” you demanded, your voice clear through his phone speaker. Sukuna glanced up, startled, and saw you marching towards him with a mix of determination and irritation marking your features. 
He didn't respond until you were standing right next to his table, arms crossed firmly, with Gojo looming behind you wearing a grin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sukuna muttered defensively, darting a desperate glance at Gojo, silently begging for some semblance of support or at least a quick diversion. 
“Oh, he’s been here the whole time. You didn’t notice?” Gojo chimed in, his tone laced with feigned surprise. “I saw him as soon as we walked in.” 
Your eyes widened with shock, and a slight sense of betrayal tinged your response as you processed the reality that Sukuna had been there all along. You leaned closer, your voice dropping to a fierce whisper. “Were you eavesdropping on us?” 
“No,” Sukuna replied swiftly, a little too quickly, avoiding your gaze as he did.  
“You totally were!” You accused more sharply this time, pointing a finger directly at him. “How much did you hear?” 
“I’m sure he heard every word. He probably paid extra attention when I mentioned you mastur—” Gojo started to say, but you cut him off mid-sentence with a swift smack to the back of his head. 
“You knew too,” you said, glaring at Gojo who was now massaging the spot where you’d hit him. “You should’ve said something.” 
“Yeah, what kind of friend does that?” Sukuna jumped in, seizing the opportunity to deflect some of the focus from himself. However, your icy stare quickly silenced him, and he grimaced under your scrutinizing gaze. 
“Did you two plan this?” you asked, your voice thick with suspicion and a hint of anger. 
“No,” they both responded in unison, almost too quickly.  You didn’t know if you should believe them, but the reality that Gojo and Sukuna would work together to pull this off was just too insane.  
“So
” Gojo began, slowly backing towards the exit, sensing perhaps that his presence was no longer helpful. “I’m gonna go. Let you two catch up. Maybe open the flood gates for that dry—” 
“Stop talking about it!” Your voice clashed with Sukuna’s, both of you shooting daggers at Gojo. He quickly picked up the cue and scurried away from the bar, leaving the field clear for a more private conversation. 
As you plopped down in the seat across from him, you really had no idea what to expect.  
- 
Well, you definitely didn’t expect this.  
How did you get here? You barely exchanged words with Sukuna before he walked you home, claiming you’d had too much to drink – you'd barely sipped your whiskey – and needed company. You had half a mind to refuse, but you couldn’t bring yourself to.  
What was supposed to be goodbye at the door turned into something more.  
Being folded into a mean mating press was the last thing you thought would happen. Yet here you were, weak in the mind and in the body. Every inch of your skin had been worshipped ten times over by now – and Sukuna showed no sign of stopping.  
Balls deep inside of you with his teeth latched onto the soft skin between your neck and shoulder, he wasn’t wasting a second. “Fuck, I missed this.” he grunted against your skin, tongue circling around the bite mark he’d left behind. “Tell me how you wan’ it, princess.” 
Your brain could barely form a sentence with how deep his cock was slamming into you. “I - mmmm – I want...” You trailed off at a particularly mean thrust, moaning out his name instead of actually answering his question. 
“Yeah? Right there?” Sukuna was in awe at the sound of your wet cunt stretching to fit him. You took him so well, and he missed this too much to be considered sane. “Wan’ me t’ fuck you like this?” 
As his large hand splayed across your abdomen, slightly pressing down so your walls tightened around him, his other hand reached up to grab your chin forcefully. “Yes! Yes like that!” You shouted as your eyes screwed shut. “S’ good, Ryo!” 
Sukuna grinned at the nickname – it had been so easy to pull it back out of you, to feel like things were back to normal. He leaned in close while his fingers pushed through your lips, tugging your mouth open for him. “That’s my good girl, y’like it like that?”  
You nodded fervently at him, wide eyes locking with his as he did the dirtiest thing you thought you’ve ever seen. Sukuna’s lips pursed for a moment before you could only watch as he spat into your open mouth. The wad of saliva landed on the flat of your tongue. 
And when you swallowed his spit, Sukuna swore his entire body shuddered with pleasure. “Shit, I knew you were dirty, princess.” He whispered before his lips crashed into yours, the collision almost painful until you felt his tongue inside your mouth, working to taste every bit of you.  
His hips moved at a faster pace after that, thrusting almost inhumanly to bring you to the edge of your orgasm. “Ryo, fuck, ‘m close!” You gasped out while your entire body began to go taut from the buildup. “’m gonna cum for you – hah – don't slow down!” 
“Not a fucking chance, baby.” Sukuna growled before repositioning to destroy you. He leaned back onto his knees as his hands found purchase around your hips to literally pull you towards him to meet his hips. God, his balls were aching with the need to fill you up, but with the way your walls were so tight and warm around him he needed to feel you first. “Go on, cum for me. Now.” 
Your orgasm crashed into you at full force, stars in your eyes while your back arched above the mattress to find some sort of relief to your muscles tightening. Sukuna audibly moaned at the sight – and he was so enamored that he almost missed the best part

The sound of your pussy just gushing around him, clear fluid spurting from you and onto his abdomen. You would be embarrassed if it didn’t feel so fucking good. “Holy shit, princess.” Sukuna groaned as the reality of what just happened caused his dick to give one final thrust before his own release had his body shaking.  
You were still in the peak of your orgasm when you felt him filling you up, warmth spreading through your core as he continued to thrust his cum into you with each curse that left his lips. And when he collapsed on top of you, you were warm all over, still feeling his cock spasming within your cunt... and still cumming. 
“Are you still –” 
“Nngh yes.” Sukuna bit out before actually biting onto your shoulder as he rode that wave as long as possible. He didn’t remove himself, fully intent on plugging you full and not wasting a single drop.  
When he finally rolled onto his side next to you, the sound of labored breathing filled the silence. 
"Are you okay?" Sukuna's voice was soft, his words tinted with concern. After everything that you’d learned he just had to make sure – had to make sure that he didn’t fuck up again. 
"I'm okay," you whispered back, a gentle smile curving your lips. You understood the depth of his question, the genuine worry etched into the furrow of his brows, and it reassured you more than you could express. This wasn’t the same Sukuna you’d heard about, and you had no reason to fear him. 
As you both lay there, the room dimly lit by the moonlight beginning to spill through the window, a comfortable silence settled between you. Sukuna’s hand found yours under the sheets, his fingers intertwining with yours and giving it a gentle squeeze.  
The night deepened around you, and your conversation drifted to lighter topics. You talked about everything and nothing – some drama at your work, something stupid that Gojo and Geto had gotten into, and even how much Sukuna missed you.  
Eventually, the talks began to slow as sleep tugged at the edges of your consciousness. Sukuna's voice became a soothing hum, his words blending into the quiet rustle of the sheets as you both shifted closer. His arm slipped around you, pulling you into a gentle embrace, the feeling of his chest rise and fall becoming your lullaby.  
"Thank you," he murmured into the quiet room, his voice low and filled with a warmth that vibrated softly in the dark. He wasn't entirely sure if you were still awake to hear his words. 
"For what?" came your drowsy reply, a gentle whisper that seemed to float in the still air between you. 
"For trying. For coming back to me," Sukuna said, his voice heavy with tiredness and the relief you brought him. 
He was silent for a moment, then leaned in to kiss the top of your head, a simple action that said all the things he couldn't put into words right now. "You earned it," you whispered back softly, and he swore he caught the slightest smirk on your face. 
As sleep began to pull him under, Sukuna's thoughts were calm and grateful. Lying there with you, he felt a peace he hadn't known in a long time. The journey here certainly hadn't been easy. It took a lot of talking and facing some hard truths about himself. Which usually, he fucking hated. 
But here you were, showing him that people can forgive, and things can get better. That made him want to make sure he never fucked up this second chance. As he drifted off, he made a quiet promise to himself to keep working on this, to keep you happy.
It was his only desire now – to see you smiling at him.  
In the soft, quiet comfort of the room, with your gentle breathing beside him, Sukuna felt hopeful. It was like all the broken pieces were starting to come back together, making something good and new. For the first time in forever, he felt content. 
âŠč. ʁ˖ . ʁ₊ âŠč . ʁ˖ . ʁ₊ âŠč . ʁ˖ . ʁ₊ âŠč . ʁ˖ . ʁ₊ âŠč . ʁ˖ . ʁ₊
taglist : @mangiswig @sorahatake @osohchoso @clp-84 @sterzin @csolya @emochosoluvr @aldebrana @ravester @marie-is-in-the-dark @makingtimemine
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meizimao · 23 hours ago
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Rhapsody in a Rainy Night
Main Pairing: Jason Todd(Red Hood) x Reader
Secondary Pairings: Dick Grayson x Reader, Tim Drake x Reader
All pairings end in a bittersweet or tragic ending (BE).
You can also read this on my ao3đŸŒč
Warning: Major Character Death
“Darling, can you grab the ketchup for me?” You shot a glance at Jason, sprawled across the sofa without even a twitch of effort. This guy was useless sometimes.
“Jason~ I really can’t get to the fridge right now~” You stretched the last word out, hoping for any sign of life. Still nothing. With a soft sigh, you padded over to the other side of the kitchen, only to catch sight of him glued to the TV, furiously mashing buttons on his controller.
“All you ever do is play games
” you grumbled under your breath, your frustration bubbling up as you returned to the stove.
“Dinner’s ready. Come eat while it’s hot.” The slight edge in your tone was unmistakable, but your actions betrayed you. You heaped Jason’s bowl with spaghetti, nearly overflowing it, as if worried the bottomless pit that was Jason Todd might go hungry.
“So, aren’t you going home for Thanksgiving?” You sat across from Jason, twirling a forkful of spaghetti. A bit too salty.
“I’m not going back.” Jason’s reply was flat. He poked at the pasta a few times before setting down his fork. “Too salty. I don’t want it.”
“Hey! You—” You stared, stunned, as Jason pushed his chair back and walked off. The door slammed shut before you even registered what had happened. “Wait
 you
”
By the time the reality hit you, your cheeks were already wet with tears. You sat motionless, gazing at the empty chair across from you, watching steam slowly curl from the spaghetti.
“You said you wanted spaghetti
” You muttered under your breath. He had dragged you into the kitchen earlier, all excited, saying how much he missed your cooking. Now? Now he was gone.
You quietly finished your plate, while Jason’s untouched bowl sat cold and forgotten. You wrapped it in plastic wrap—it would make a decent lunch tomorrow.
Washing dishes, drying them
 everything became a mechanical routine. Your mind wandered back to Jason, to how he used to insist on helping with the chores. He’d smile as he grabbed the dish towel from your hands, teasing you for being too slow. And now? Now, he was nowhere to be found.
Sliding down to the floor, you leaned against the closed door, your head thudding softly against it, again and again. He could hear you. You knew he could. Jason would come out. He had to come out and stop you.
“Tim, Y/N’s hurting herself again,” Tim said into the comm, his eyes glued to the screen. He had been watching you all night—watching you cook, watching you talk to the empty air, watching the tears stream down your face. No one could understand how much it broke him. He never should have let you go to that bastard. Promises of forever? What a joke. Jason had left you all alone.
“I’m on my way.” Dick Grayson tucked his Nightwing suit carefully beneath his shirt. You didn’t need Nightwing tonight—you needed Dick.
He’d been standing outside your door all day. He hadn’t planned to see you, but fate had other ideas.
Did he want to see you? Of course he did. But not like this. Seeing you in so much pain felt like someone carving deep wounds into his heart, one tear at a time.
Ding-dong— It had to be Dick, right? He was the only one who ever showed up at your door. You wiped your tears quickly, trying to compose yourself, before stiffly getting up to open it.
“Hey.” The door opened just a crack, and sure enough, it was Dick. “What are you doing here?”
“I was on my way home from work and thought I’d stop by to check on you.” The lie slipped off Dick’s tongue easily, though the truth was he hadn’t been to work at all today. He just didn’t want you to worry. He gave you what he thought was a comforting smile, but before he could say anything else, it quickly faded away.
“You’ve seen me, I’m fine. You can go now.” You gently but firmly rejected his request to come in. “Jason’s not in a good mood today. You should leave.”
Jason. It always came back to him. But Dick couldn’t bring himself to confront the truth that Jason was dead. The last time Tim tried to explain it to you, he told you that the “Jason” you were seeing was just a figment of your imagination. But that revelation had driven you into a frenzy, leaving you to harm yourself. Tim had held you tightly, but you couldn’t stop screaming and shouting. In the end, he had to use medication to make you fall into a deep sleep.
When you woke up, you seemed like a completely different person. From that point on, Jason’s death became a taboo subject, something no one dared mention. Tim had been cast aside, labeled an “unwanted guest,” turned away at the door. Even when you saw him, you wouldn’t meet his eyes.
At least Tim could still be near you, talk to you. But Dick wanted more than that. He didn’t just want to be around, he wanted to hold you, to comfort you in any way he could, to soothe the brokenness in your heart.
But you wouldn’t let him do it.
“Alright, take care of yourself. I’ll come back tomorrow,” Dick said, his voice soft as he stepped back from the door, watching helplessly as you disappeared from his sight. He had hoped to stay on the rooftop across the street, keeping watch over you, but duty called in BlĂŒdhaven. He had no choice but to leave Gotham.
Meanwhile, in the Batcave, Tim sat in front of his computer, his eyes bloodshot from countless sleepless nights, finally finding the answer to the question that had haunted him. His fingers trembled as he pressed the play button on the security footage.
Time rewound—the fateful night, the day Jason had sacrificed himself.
In the footage, the man and woman stood in the rain, neither of them holding an umbrella. It seemed like they were arguing about something. The man was holding the woman’s hand, trying to stop her from leaving, but in response, she slapped him hard across the face.
The man appeared shocked, not expecting her to hit him. He stood there, motionless, watching her walk away.
He remained rooted to the spot for a full ten minutes, the rain blurring the camera lens, obscuring his expression. Then, he bent down and picked up the red helmet that the woman had thrown on the ground. He dusted it off, placed it on his head, and turned to leave.
That was the last time Tim saw Jason.
The rest, as everyone knows, was history—Jason died, and you fell gravely ill. When you woke up, it was as if you didn’t even remember what had happened. You were convinced that Jason wasn’t dead. Every day, you would cook for him, setting the table as if nothing had changed, speaking to the empty room as if he were still there.
Bruce called in magic experts to examine the situation, but they found no traces of any ghost or supernatural presence. The conclusion everyone arrived at was simple: you were sick.
Y/N, why did you get sick?
It was a question that Tim couldn’t stop thinking about, a question that gnawed at him day and night. But it wasn’t until he watched the footage that the answer hit him like a cold wave.
Y/N, were you punishing yourself? Were you blaming yourself for that slap? The thought made Tim’s heart race, his hands shaking as he quickly rewound to your home’s surveillance footage. But what he saw was nothing—just an empty room and an open window.
For a moment, Tim’s breath caught in his throat. Without wasting another second, he jumped from his chair and rushed out, but not before alerting Dick.
“Dick! Y/N’s gone!”
It started to rain, the wind howling fiercely.
You pulled your black coat tighter around your neck, but your mind kept wandering to the figure walking ahead—Jason. Would he catch a cold in this weather? But then you reminded yourself, he was one of Gotham’s toughest vigilantes. A little chill wouldn’t bring him down.
“Jason, where are you going?” You asked, but he had just tossed you a “follow me” before heading out the door. No matter how many times you asked, he wouldn’t answer. You had no choice but to quicken your pace, fearing you might lose him.
As you walked, the path beneath your feet started to feel eerily familiar. It was as if you had walked this same road countless times before. You glanced at the street sign nearby—
“Gotham Cemetery.”
“Jason?” You hesitated for a second, but by the time you looked up, the tall figure in front of you had vanished without a trace. “Jason? Where are you?” Your voice cracked with desperation, like a lost soul searching for its love.
You ran into the cemetery, frantically looking for the familiar figure, weaving between the cold, lifeless tombstones. But no matter how hard you searched, you couldn’t find Jason. Exhausted, you collapsed to the ground, crying in the pouring rain. As you lifted your head, you saw the familiar name.
“Jason Todd.”
When Dick and Tim arrived, they found your frail body lying next to your lover’s grave. The wilted white roses intertwined with the black coat, blending into the rain-soaked ground.
You would never be apart again.
The end.
Hello everyone, this is a translation of my own work. The original was written in Chinese, and since I am not a native English speaker, I hope the translation isn’t too difficult to understand. I hope you enjoy my work ❀
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turtle-paced · 13 hours ago
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how do you think Ned would’ve reacted if he found out Robert was sleeping with women and had a daughter Bella during the rebellion whilst claiming his undying love for lyanna and playing up his heart break?
Ned was already aware that Robert did more than his share of philandering. He himself visited Robert's bastard daughter Mya in the Vale. What Lyanna told him about that fact stuck with him all the way up to AGoT: "Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man's nature."
Remember too that this is a society where "a man's needs" are very much a thing. Catelyn thinks about that very thing in relation to Ned and his supposed bastard son fathered during the Rebellion. Unmarried Robert, on campaign for a year, having sex with other women even as he wages war in part to get his betrothed back? Well what was he supposed to do, stay celibate? For the sake of a woman he wasn't even married to yet? Ned wouldn't and didn't make the same choices, but a lot of Ned's peers would likely have been sleeping around too - not just Robert.
No, Ned would not be surprised. Disappointed, maybe, but not surprised.
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bisexual-horror-fan · 3 days ago
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"Show Me How You Do It." Bo Sinclair and Rusty Nail X FEM! AFAB! Reader.
So! I have been talking about doing a cross-over fic with these two for a while, you know, the fucked up chain-smoking, truck driving, southern bastards who would totally get along AND make each other worse. So I went kinda hard on this, it gets pretty messy and nasty and violent, I hope you all love it and enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! And most importantly, Happy Valentines Day!
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Rating. Explicit. Length. 5.6K. Bo Sinclair and Rusty Nail X FEM!AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: EXTREMELY DUB CON. Blood. Gore. A Mutual Murder Hobby. Chase. Predator/Prey. Kidnapping. Restraints. Duct Tape. Nipple Clamps. Masochistic/Pain Slut Reader. Blow Job. Rough Oral Sex. Throat Fucking. Gagging. Knife Play. Pain Play. Degradation. Dirty Talk. Insults. Voyeurism. Torture. Vaginal Sex. Branding. Crying Reader. Cream Pie. Raw Sex. Sloppy Seconds. Serious Threats. Forced Orgasm. The Idea Of Wound Fucking.
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The pair met by chance, a totally random run in, they figured out each other's hobbies and proclivities by pure happenstance, but a strange friendship was forged all the same as a result. 
Rusty had been on a truck route he'd done multiple times, so when he came across someone rude and in need of correcting? It was all too easy to go after their clique, safe in the knowledge he could indulge his murderous thirst and still hit his destination on time. He'd been on the group for two days, it was near midnight, her car was badly damaged, finally died with a sputter. 
The massive truck comes to a stop, and she sees him in the rearview mirror, she curses and gets out of the car, all her friends are dead, she is alone as she makes a futile attempt to run, key word is attempt. They had got in a nasty fight earlier, Rusty took a tire iron to her leg, pretty sure he broke the bone, but she'd wriggled away, got back to the car had made a getaway, except now if she wants to continue her escape, no other option but to do it on foot. It's amusing how pathetic it is as she limps away. Rusty gets out of his truck and makes his way, not in a particular rush, following behind, she can see him coming, try to speed up, he laughs, then he breaks into the lightest jog and catches up so easily. 
He locks a hand onto her shoulder, leg kicks out, his foot connects, and he violently dislocates her knee, causing her to go down like a sack of bricks with a sharp scream that matches the sound of the sickening crack of her bones breaking. She sobs weakly as Rusty stands over her prone form, back lit by his truck lights, he pulls out a pocket knife, flicks it open, lingers for a moment, simply watching and then he lowers down. A hand is in her hair, he stabs home, sinking into her throat, then tugging, dragging from the left to the right and cold metal tears through fragile flesh and hot blood jets out onto the pavement, staining his knuckles as he removes the weapon from her now dying body. He stands and waits, crimson dripping down silver, drop, drop, drop onto the asphalt. He watches until she stops making those sick gurgling sounds from choking on her own blood and stop moving all together. 
Rusty admires the scene for a moment, and that's when he hears it, the unmistakable sound of an engine turning over, the headlights flicker on and wash over him in profile. He turns his head to see the pickup truck that created the sound, it had been turned off, partly hidden off-road in the grass. He can't see who is at the wheel, his hand tenses around the knife, the door opens, and a man gets out, he leans against the door and calls out, “Nice work.”
Rusty pauses, he isn't sure what to make of the supposed compliment, he keeps his guard up as the stranger approaches, soon he is standing close enough, bathed in the lights from Rusty's truck. He looks to be in his 30s, dark hair, a navy blue jumpsuit, a baseball cap, a crooked smile and the one thing that makes the tension ease, blood speckled across his own features. Rusty considers him, then asks, “You have a good night too?” 
Bo laughs, genuine and joyful rolling off his tongue, “Oh, the best. Wanna hear about it?”
They drag the body off the road, move Rusty's truck off to the side, the pair of them lean against Bo's truck, they both talk and smoke. Bo opens up first, an olive branch, sharing how he and his brothers have their small town project, how people who run through get adopted into the “repopulation effort”, and how he had dispatched the last one who tried to get out of the town. Bo had the corpse in the truck bed, he showed it off, and that was pretty good proof for Rusty.
After that, Rusty shares the indiscretion that idiot made, the cross state chase, the friends he murdered that led to the finale’ Bo just witnessed. It was an entertaining hour to say the least. 
“I gotta finish my delivery, but I got some free time after that, would love to see this town you’ve been talking up in person.” Rusty admits, which has Bo telling him, “Would love to have you, don’ wanna keep you an’ I have to head back myself.” 
Rusty made a move to pick up the body and Bo brushed him off, “Nah, I can handle that for you, if my brother can’t do somethin’ with her, she can go in the gore pit.”
That intrigued him further still, “The gore pit, huh?”
Bo jerked his head behind him, a vague gesture in the direction of where it was, “S’ where undesirable bodies go, you know the ones too fucked up for our purpose, spare parts and whatever can’t be salvaged, t’aint far from here.”
“Well, mighty kind of you, thanks.” Rusty said it sincerely, he hasn’t met someone with his same hobby and certainly not someone willing to be so helpful. Bo told him, “Don’t mention it, I’ll see you round. I’ll make sure to warn my brothers who to look out for so they don’t do nothing untoward to you.” 
They parted ways and Rusty held true to his word, he was back around here in a few days time, and it was all true, just as Bo said. He was shown everything from the gore pit to the basement, and now he had a home away from home and some friends to come visit, like-minded people who he can truly be himself around. They both got along on at least their shared motivation, setting right people who have a distinct lack of manners, Lester’s collection of knives and hard work ethic appealed to him, Vincent’s art was as impressive as his brutal nature, but he got along best with Bo, they were the most alike overall. 
So it became a regular thing, swinging by and stopping when he was in the area, and the friendship grew over time, one of the best times they ever had was when Rusty stuck around for a few days and got to see them all in action when some unlucky people passed on through, he even helped out and fuck, if that wasn’t some of the most fun he ever had. Killing was usually such a solitary activity, sharing it with someone else with an affinity and talent for it, against trespassers and rude individuals? It threatens to border on the euphoric. 
The friendship has developed to the point that they didn’t just spend time hanging around Ambrose, some nights they venture out, do it the Rusty way, find some “talent” and go from there, and that night at the bar, is how they meet you. 
You don’t get nights out as often as you’d like, honestly, this was a rare occasion, you were headed to the table with a fresh drink when they noticed you.
“How bout her?” Bo asked, a glance to the man atop the stool next to him, once he caught his eye he tilted his head in your direction. Rusty followed the movement, looking you over as you settled into your seat, fingers gripping the cool glass in front of you, yeah you were definitely to his tastes, but it wasn't up to him.
Rusty focuses his attention back to Bo and replies honestly, “S’ your birthday, more about what you want than me.”
“True. So I want the illusion of bein’ polite, sue me.” He grinned before taking a sip of his own drink. 
Once they had their sights on you, it was going to happen no matter what, the pair ganging up on you made it laughably easy, especially since the facade only needed to be maintained to get you out of the bar, into the truck and down the road.
The next time you got up the “meet cute” was executed, you were partially distracted and being convinced you knocked into Rusty and spilled his drink due to not paying attention was very believable, as opposed to the truth of him forcing it.
You were thoroughly embarrassed, offering napkins you snatched off the nearest table, stumbling over an apology, “Oh my God, I am so sorry-” 
“S’ fine, accidents happen.” He assured you with that long southern drawl that caught your attention with an easy smile, and you insisted, “Really though, I am sorry, is there any way I can make it up to you?” 
“Well actually
This drink? Was for my friend, not only that, it's his birthday, maybe buy a replacement and come sit with him?” He gestures over his shoulder, and you look in the direction he indicated, not a bad looking man at all, neither was the man in front of you. 
Honestly, there were worse ways to spend your evening, it was more than agreeable. You look back up to his face, partially hidden from his hat, asking a question of your own and answering his query at the same time, “So what's he drinking?”
Once the drink was purchased and introductions were made, you were pleasantly surprised by how well you got along, the conversation flowed easily, the tone a bit flirty and when the offer to attend Bo's birthday party was made a long while later, you thought why not? 
You took a cab here and had already had a couple of drinks, so riding with them in Bo's pickup truck just made sense. The mood on the way there remained light, music playing, and you were excited by the sound of the upcoming festivities. The drive flew by, leading to you riding up the main drag in Ambrose, you were at ease and distracted so you didn’t notice the lack of any other car on the road, or any other living person, but you would come to question that as soon as you were out of the truck and in front of the large dark house. You expected lights, music already pouring out, life, not this, the utter still and quiet that was permeating the street.
“Where is everyone else?” You asked in slight confusion and the pair shared a laugh, Bo asked, “What do you mean?” 
A quirk of your brow with a point to the house, before your hand opens, palm flat and up as you press, “The party? You said there was a party here?” 
Another laugh, this one much more devoid of humour, “Sorry for the confusion darlin’ see, this is the party. One-” Bo points to himself, “-two-” then pointing to Rusty, “-three.” He finished pointing at you.
“A party of three sounds pretty great to me.” Rusty agreed with a grin and Bo confirmed, “A threesome sounds like the perfect gift, hm?”
You would be lying if you hadn’t thought about that earlier in the bar, with the certain touches, being pressed between them, thought maybe the night might trend that way in a different set of circumstances, you were into the both of them, but the choice being all but removed is a horse of a different colour. The response in you is automatic, you turn, and you bolt, you run back the way you came, and part of you was very aware you wouldn’t get away, but wasn’t this your fault?
You should have known better than this, then to get in a truck with two strangers you had just met, it was stupid. Now you were running down the street, terrified, and judging by the lack of help from your calls and cries and no people around, this town is deserted save for you and the two of them. Any other town running down the main street screaming for help would at least get some attention, but clearly this is no normal town. 
This is all calculated, and you played right into it, you can hear them behind you, hooting and hollering, they gave you a small head start, but now we're coming quickly, this is part of it obviously, the chase. You wonder how many times they have done this, if you would ever be found, if your story would eventually be covered on some morbid as fuck true-crime podcast, you push yourself harder, lungs burning, thighs straining and feet hurting from how hard you were pounding the pavement in an attempt to get away. 
Of course, they catch you. 
The one named Rusty had been the one to get his arms locked around your waist, yanked you up with a delighted, “Gotcha!” 
“Damn, she almost made it all the way to the church!” Bo sounded like he was genuinely happy and your stomach twists, you scream, Rusty whistles in response and Bo comments, as if you weren’t there, “Good set a lungs on her, huh?”
Rusty grunted in the affirmative as he tightened his arms around you, keeping a tight hold as you attempt to squirm, kick and struggle. “Let’s get her into the basement.”
The basement? The last fucking place you wanted to be alone with these two was the fucking basement, it was futile, but you tried, you called out into the dark nothing of the night.
The basement under the garage was a dank dirty place, you don't take in many details, but your eyes do scan the photo wall, the mattress with no sheet on it, but the focal point is obvious once it enters your line of sight, the chair. Leather and metal, able to change the position, an archaic dentist chair.
You are put in it, held by one tightly and your wrists and ankles duct taped by the other, several loops around your knees and elbows further restricting your movement, in less than two minutes you know you weren’t going anywhere.
“Think this'll hold?” Rusty asked, grip loosening, and Bo hummed, “Yeah it should, has before.” 
Confirming you are definitely not the first, then again the simple fact this room existed communicated that, a knife is drawn, and he says, “Too bad you are so restless, might have been able to save these pretty clothes if we coulda stripped 'em off before we had to tape you up.” 
Rusty follows Bo's musing by saying, “Yeah, now we'll need to cut them off to get to what we want.” 
“Shame.” He says it in a tone that gets across his overt joy at the situation. 
You say nothing because you know it won't help, there are a few displeased sounds that escape when he begins to work regardless. The thin strap of your top is caught with the blade, he pulls it up and the strap snaps, the second one follows, next the shirt's hem is gripped with one hand and the knife saws up until the fabric is able to be yanked off your frame. You are pulled up from your sitting position and your nice jeans are cut in multiple places before the blade is put between his teeth and then strong fingers slip into the open spaces, then tearing until only some denim is left on the lower half of your legs, thanks to the tape. He nicked you with the knife a few times, and each time you inhaled sharply from the small jolts of pain, the blood slowly running.
Rusty sat idly by, on a chair of his own, watching this all go down, you wonder why he isn’t getting in on it himself, most he is commenting on what's going on, at the moment he is talking about your underwear, saying it's  “Cute, think she was looking to get laid tonight?”
“That's a great question, let's ask her, she's been too quiet.” A hand is in your hair, jerking your head up to look at him instead of the cut he left on your inner thigh. “The panties are real nice, you dressed up cuz you were lonely? Desperate for some company?”
So maybe you were, perhaps that was the main reason you were out there tonight, but that doesn't mean you had to admit that to them. You don't want to not respond, so you lie, “It's for me.” 
“Oh really? Don't know nobody who wears stuff this slutty just for themselves, do you, Rusty?” Bo's hands are on your body, knife off to the side as he starts to feel you up, fingers playing with the lace edges and delicate material covering your chest.
“Personally? No, I don't. Wearing something like that is just asking for it, inviting all sorts of attention.” Rough palms explore your tits, thumbs brush already hardening nipples and your breath catches. You bite out a response, “Ever heard of the saying look good feel good? That's all it is.” 
Mutual scoffs and laughs, before Bo taunts, “Yeah, sure, let's follow this line of thinking, you look good to feel good, so I'll help you feel real good.”
“So generous.” Rusty complimented and Bo thanked him. You thought about how isn't this what you wanted in a roundabout way, you might as well try to enjoy it, right? Might be sick and twisted, but so is this whole situation, you’d be a filthy fucking liar if you said you weren’t into the idea of being restrained, perhaps if you mentally reframe this you can get almost as much enjoyment out of this as they are.
“You gonna put some of that to good use?” Rusty asked with a gesture to the wall, your head turns to see a series of what looks like torture implements on hooks and racks. 
“Course I am! That's half the fun right there.” Bo left you on the chair as he headed over, your eyes went wide with panic, and you said, “What about what you just said? About feeling good?”
“Awe, you don't get it, see, the hurt is gonna make what does feel good, feel even better.” He said it slowly and carefully, as if you were stupid, and he needed to spell it out for you to be able to begin to comprehend it. You resent that, hate how much it arouses you.
He came back over, something in his hand that you couldn't quite make out, his opposite hand reached out, fingers hooked in your bra, and he pulled it down under the curve of your breast so it would stay in place. Bo says casually, “Nice tits.”
You laugh, a shocked nervous thing from how casually he stated it, that laugh is cut off abruptly when he flicks your nipple, you yelp and then that makes him laugh in turn. Some more flicks, hard pinches and twists led to him saying, “You look ready.”
Both his hands get into the mix, and you find out what he brought over, nipple clamps, worse still clover clamps. Traditional clamps pinch from two sides, clover clamps resemble their namesake and instead provide four points of pressure, like the directions on a compass but more sadistic in nature, boxing the sensitive bud in on all sides. He takes his time placing and tightening both of them until you can't hold back your whimpering, the pain is burning, more than slightly distracting, the chain connecting the clamps that currently rests between the valley of your breasts is freezing cold. You are trying to reign yourself in, not show just how much of a pain slut you are, but it is one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to do. 
“Looks good.” Rusty praised, and Bo followed with, “Have to say I agree.” 
You are repositioned, the chair is moved, the leg rest stretched out, you are pulled forward, and adjusted to his liking until you are on your knees and elbows, eye level with his belt buckle. 
“I can't resist it, I gotta have that mouth, but M’ not stupid, I know it's dangerous, so keep those teeth in line, or I'll make it hurt much worse-” As he speaks he is opening his belt and dragging down the zipper on dark washed jeans, staring down at your face. “-you do a good job we can get to you feeling’ good too, faster.” 
Makes sense, you do love sucking dick, you can fake some added enthusiasm, you can do this.
You had noticed how hard he was through his pants, and now he was standing before you, thick and hot shaft in his hand, he nudged his hips forward, the head of his dick to your lips. You resist for a fraction of a moment, but even that is enough to displease him, he grips and yanks your hair, breaching your less than willing mouth, he starts to slip inside you, closing your eyes and taking him halfway down on the first stroke, rewarded with a pleasured hum from him. The taste is strong, salty, but by no means bad, just the kind of flavour you’d find from a man who hasn’t showered in hours.
You pull back and then rock forward, you tighten your lips around him and suck, you think to other times, different circumstances to fuel you, a running track of your thoughts, “Act like you love it. Act like a slut. Give it your all. It might just save your life.”
And that is exactly what you do, you press your tongue to the underside of his shaft, dragging up and then forcing yourself down harder, sucking all the while, but you don’t just do that, you make sure to provide some good variety. You pull him almost totally out and focus on the head, tongue swirling around the tip, eyes open, and you look up to meet startlingly blue eyes, “Not a bad start.”
You can do a lot better than that. Rusty piped up, and your eyes shot over, watching as he is opening his own pants now, “How about you give her some more motivation?”
Sinking down again as your captor says, “I love how you think.” Bo reached over, you falter, and he said, “I didn’t say slow down.”
His tone is harsh, you fight a wince and step it up, picking up the pace and making sure to hollow your cheeks on every upward movement. You only got a few bobs of your head in until he had whatever he needed in his hand, he reaches down, and soon you are clued in, the harsh pull on your nipples, the chain pulled taut, now it was crystal clear, he added a weight. You were feeling it, back arching slightly to try and ease it, but there was no helping it, the pain in your nipples nearly doubled, and you had to fight to maintain momentum in sucking his dick. 
Your focus is on Bo, but Rusty still checks in, and you can hear him openly jacking off at this point.
You begin to find your footing, some semblance of confidence, when Rusty cuts in again, “You're being so nice to her, M’ shocked.” 
That gets the intended rise out of Bo, him muttering, “Shut up Rusty, I’m not fucking nice, and you know it.” 
Rusty hits back with, “Coulda fooled me.”
Bo picks up the discard knife and holds it to your cheek, a shock of fear runs through you, body tightening up, and he barks down at you, “Is that the best you can do?”
Christ, you are being put to work. You begin to throat fuck yourself roughly, hoping that will please him enough, that the added pressure of the head of his cock penetrating the tight wet heat of your neck will soothe him. He does seem to enjoy it, in fact he enjoys it so much that the knife slips slightly and cuts your cheek, you whine around his dick, and he groans at the mild vibration. 
Rusty even notices your efforts, calling out, “Look at her get after it.”
He can’t help himself, hips starting to move, fucking into your mouth that is steadily leaking drool down your chin. 
You had been faring pretty well but with him getting increasingly rough, the pain from your chest and the second, fuck, third cut on your cheek, the lack of air, you feel your stomach turning, you gag too hard and pull yourself back with a gasping breath. 
No rest is given, no kindness show, an open hand hit to your bloody cheek makes you cry out before fingers tangle in your hair and twist, pulling you closer to him, you don’t comply immediately. You are still trying to breathe, to rein in your stomach and not be sick, but he isn’t having it. Head pressing to your closed lips, and you shake your head, tempted to tell him you need a second, he tells you, “Open that addictive little mouth again.”
You shake your head, and he tightens his grip on the knife, “I’ll get in that mouth one way or another, even if I have to make a new hole to do it.”
The severe look on his face tells you how serious he is, you should have realized sooner that he is the kind of man who would get off on fucking an open wound. His fingers prod at the slice on your cheek and the image of him ripping it open with his own brute strength just like he did to your jeans earlier filters through your mind, like water rushing over a rock.
That convinces you, mouth back open, he shoved inside, and you find a way to make it work. The worst thing about all of this is how it is getting to you, the extreme situation, the degradation, the audience and pain, him using your mouth with no regard, your inner thighs are soaked. In a few more minutes, the extreme nature of the throat fuck has your eyes tearing up and when he catches the shiny wet tracks pouring down your cheeks he cannot help himself. 
“She puts on a good little show, doesn’t she?” Rusty praised and Bo grunted in agreement.
He is hauling you up, no concern for how it hurts and pulls on the clamps, he throws you down onto that dirty mattress, you are on your back and that eases the pain on your chest a bit. 
You wonder how he is going to do this with the tape around your ankles and knees, your legs are together and straight, but the answer comes quickly, your legs are brought up, rested on his chest, feet placed beside his head on his left shoulder. Rusty gets up, not bothering to put his dick away, “I got you a present, don’t let me stop you, I’ll get it ready.”
He is able to get great leverage, have complete and total access and still look down at your, as he puts it, “Pretty cryin’ face.” 
One hand falls down, and he touches your soaked cunt for the first time, his fingers swiped up between your folds, and you arch, a gasp slips out, and he laughs, “Holy shit, you are soaked!”
Bo holds his hand up for Rusty to see, and he pauses whatever he is doing and laughs too, your eyes close, and you bite your tongue, suppressing a groan, you just want relief, you want him to keep touching you and hate yourself more than a little for that fact. You are wet, yes, but unprepared for how swiftly he enters you, essentially no preamble, it tears a loud moan from you and all pretense is abandoned, you can’t even remotely pretend this doesn’t feel incredible and exactly what you need. It both soothes your need and stokes it at the same time, the thick shaft dragging along your swollen walls, stretched to what it feels like their limit. 
He doesn’t waste time, he is rough, cruel, he slams his hips into you with such force it hurts the backs of your thighs, but the positive far out weighs the negative, it feels amazing. 
You lose yourself, moans and curses spill forth from your lips as you rock with him, his hands are needy, busy grabbing on you, feeling the soft planes of flesh within reach, the sound of skin on skin and his own curses and groans fill the space. Whatever Rusty is up to has totally fallen away in the background.
 Even when he first got inside of you, actually cumming wasn’t honestly on your radar, and yet, here you are, hurtling towards that edge. You swear that at times with attentive partners giving it their all you can’t get off, and here is this total asshole, with zero care for your pleasure, his fingers brushed over your clit all of one single time, and he might just make you cum harder than anyone else ever has. It creeps up quickly, going from the thought, “I think I might actually cum-” to gasping out, “Holy fucking shit!” cumming with an ample gush in the span of less than two minutes. 
The pleasure makes you shiver, body trembling, every small inhale noisy, you feel like your body isn’t your own and yet you are still locked inside of it, helpless to the complete overwhelming force of it sweeping through you. The walls of your pussy rippling around his shaft, as if trying to pull him even deeper, an impossibility because he is slamming every single inch into you on every forward thrust of his hips.
Bo groans loudly, his head tipping back, a swallow that makes his Adam’s apple bob heavily, “Christ I could die in this cunt happy.”
You are overstimulated, still struggling to come down from your high, when Rusty’s voice filters through your pleasure induced haze, “I think I got something to make it even better.”
Bo looked over his shoulder to Rusty, you can’t see him from your angle, but Bo gasps, “No you fuckin’ didn’t.”
“I sure as shit did, so you want it?” Rusty asked, and you hear a grunt in the affirmative, “Yeah, fuck, hurry tho, M’ gettin’ close.”
You hear the steps coming closer, even over the obscene sounds of your sex, the wetness and meeting of your bodies, you try to brace yourself, but you have no idea what you are preparing for, still struggling with your body weak from the evening's strenuous activities.
“Got a place in mind?” Rusty asked and Bo said, “Anywhere, you’re the expert.”
Bo’s voice sounded strained, his hips are flattering, but every thrust that does fully connect is somehow even harder, he really is close, and you know there is nowhere else he is going to cum but inside of you.
You don’t see it, you feel it first, the pain is unlike anything you have ever experienced, the pain is blinding, the scream that it rends from you is the loudest you have ever let out, no doubt. It goes on for a solid twenty seconds, your entire body locks up, naturally your cunt is included in that, and it proves too much for Bo, it pushes him over the edge, and he holds deep, cumming fully in your seizing pussy. You are begging, broken and nonsense, begging all the same, just for whatever they are doing to you to just end. 
When Rusty steps away, your vision takes a moment to come back into focus, once it does, you see it, he is holding a branding rod, the still angry red capital B, they branded you, right on your outer thigh near your hip. Long after this night is done, if you make it out alive, a permanent reminder and souvenir from this, branded for Bo, his birthday present always, even if you manage to get away. 
The pain is still ruling your mind, you are not at all focused on it when Bo pulls out, he lets go of your legs and lets them fall to the mattress you don’t notice the cum pouring out of you because of the sudden terrible pressure on the brand makes you sob. You don’t notice Rusty getting onto the mattress next, vaguely hearing him ask, “Mind if I finish up in her? I got real close earlier.”
“Go for it.” Bo encouraged, wiping at his forehead with the back of his hand as you continue to cry. “Shhh, I gotcha.” Rusty puts you on your other side, taking all the pressure off your brand mark, thankfully, he lines up and slides into you with a deep groan, the sound of it makes you clench around him. 
Rusty taking him up for sloppy seconds provided essentially no relief, the waves of pain radiating cuts through any pleasure, it is too strong for even a little masochist like you to enjoy. No way you are going to cum again tonight.
Rusty must have been very close before because he is cumming in you, adding to the mess, less than five minutes into fucking you. You feel pretty out of it when he pulls out too, you know you are making a mess, stuffed with far too much cum for any one hole. You lay there, still taped, sweaty, more tired than you think you have ever been when you hear Bo say, “Lets go have another drink and then see if we wanna come back and play with her some more tonight or leave her for tomorrow.” 
“Love the way you think.” Rusty replies, you hear them head up the stairs, and you lay there, bringing your still bound hands up to take off the clamps still fixed on, far too tired to even think of escape, hoping they leave you for tomorrow and that the pain ebbs enough that you can get some much-needed sleep.
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nowimjustastranger · 5 hours ago
Note
What is this, a crossover episode?
Oh please, I'm not that cliché–
Part 2
(Art by @tearosepedall đŸ„°)
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It started with a wanted poster.
Ford had been exploring a promising alien market in the Dirzan Quadrant when he saw it, displayed on a large board cluttered with other wanted posters. The fact that this particular wanted poster was made out of paper was what ultimately drew him closer. Paper was a bit too old-fashioned for this particular galaxy because hologram technology had been invented nearly eight decades ago.
The wanted poster was for a ‘Jerk Ford’ from Dimension PJC311 and promised a substantial reward to anyone who killed him. And, although the wanted poster was clearly photocopied, the word 'Jerk' was fully capitalised and heavily underlined, almost like someone had nearly torn through the original paper in their vehemence.
Well, a little side quest wouldn’t hurt so long as he was home for dinner. Lee was slow-cooking a chuck roast with vegetables in a crockpot and Ford would have to be a cooling corpse to miss out on such a lovely meal prepared by his equally lovely brother. And, if Jerk Ford was truly as much of a bastard as the people who put the bounty on his head claimed, then Ford would put the funds he got in return for his
 services to good use.
Although, for a wanted man, Ford-PJC311 hadn’t been all that difficult to find.
Not everyone had the abilities or technology that Ford did though. He repressed a shudder at the unpleasant memories that tried to stir at the reminder that his prescience was highly sought after in the multiverse even now that he had made a name for himself. Ford had learned to be more cautious of who he trusted through betrayal and captivity and pain– so much pain. The only thing that had kept him sane was his white-hot rage and the unshakable belief that he deserved every bit of it.
“Tell Bezos he'll get his shipment from the Cannibal Department when he proves he has the permits to store human kidneys.”
Ford blinked down at his target from his perch, ripped out of his thoughts and back to the task at hand. His target was in the alley below, slumped against the wall with what looked to be a cellphone pressed against his ear. There was a spotty trail of blood behind him, indicating that he was seriously injured. It seemed that someone had gotten to ‘Jerk Ford’ before him, but that only gave him an edge.
According to his sources, this Ford was very good at evading those who intended to maim or kill him.
Basically, he was a runner, and slippery on top of that. Ford would have to box him in first, make it harder for him to get away before Ford could catch him. Ford was confident that he could restrain Jerk Ford if he could manage to get a hand on him, Ford’s custom-made gloves reinforced his grip to the point that it was nearly impossible to break free once he got his hands on his target.
"Hey, I know you're there. What do you want? If you wanted to kill me you would have done it five minutes ago.” Jerk Ford lazily tipped his head back to look right at him as he spoke, his eyes a little hazy from blood loss but otherwise lucid.
Shit. How long had he known? Had the call been some sort of SOS signal? Jerk Ford had only one known ally: Anti-Ford. Even so, Ford could subdue them both if need be, especially considering that Jerk Ford was wounded and would soon be out of commission once the blood loss caught up to him. The only downside was that Ford couldn’t interrogate him if he wasn’t awake and aware.
"You're that Batman-Punisher-Die Hard version of us right?” Jerk Ford asked when the silence dragged on. Ford figured he either liked the sound of his own voice or that he was masking his nervousness by talking. Perhaps it was even a combination of both. "Are you about to give me a speech about how you have a very particular set of skills?”
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“You are Ford-PJC311, correct?” Ford demanded, uninterested in indulging Jerk Ford’s attempts to offend him. Ford shifted forward to gracefully drop down from his perch so he could loom properly, landing on his feet only a handful of meters from Jerk Ford’s position. Since his initial plan to take his counterpart by surprise was no longer a viable option, Ford kept his distance to avoid spooking his target; he’d rather not have to hunt him down again.
"Ah, you did your research. I thought that would have been scrubbed out of spite by now.” Jerk Ford huffed, still leaning the majority of his weight against the wall. He appeared unaffected by Ford’s proximity at first glance, but there were cracks in his composure. Had Ford been less observant, he might’ve missed the tells.
Ford had to admit, Jerk Ford had an impeccable poker face. Easily the best that Ford had ever come across in any of his counterparts.
However, Jerk Ford’s unwavering stare gave him away, his unwillingness to blink a clear indication of his wariness. Jerk Ford had already established that he knew who Ford was –or was at least aware of his reputation– so Jerk Ford had obviously realized that things weren’t looking good for him considering his clear disadvantage.
He was injured prey watching a predator circle, anticipating the lunge.
“It seems that you're aware that you've garnered quite a bit of negative attention.” Ford said mildly, his helmet scanning Jerk Ford now that he was within range in order to identify where all the blood was coming from. And the results were grim, to say the least. There were five holes littering his torso, four of which were caused by lasers but the fifth was a bullet. Likely a 9 millimeter.
"That's nothing new– for a lot of us, actually.” Jerk Ford said dismissively, adjusting his posture in increments, probably to avoid drawing Ford's attention to his movement. Unfortunately for him, the system in Ford's helmet picked up on it and alerted him to the change. His target was preparing to bolt at the slightest provocation, that much was obvious.
“No, I suppose it's not.” Ford said agreeably, the tension steadily mounting as they both waited for the other to make the first move. After a few seconds of strained silence passed, Ford spoke again, gesturing to Jerk Ford’s torso. “Although it appears as if the negative attention has caught up to you.”
"Oh, this? I got shot five times this morning. I think one of those shots were a real bullet, the rest were lasers. I prefer the lasers, they self-cauterize. Hate Club again, they really think they'll get the drop on me. Maybe they would if they would stop forgetting that we're The Same Guy, with the same intelligence.” Jerk Ford scoffed with a pointed look, a subtle reminder that they were also the same.
“And why exactly are you the target of a hate club?” Ford asked, his head tilting. Something about this wasn’t adding up. Jerk Ford was on edge, and rightly so, but he wasn’t openly hostile. If Jerk Ford were a threat, he would’ve tried something by now; and yet he hadn’t even attempted to run. Of course, that could be due to his injuries, but somehow Ford doubted that was the case.
"Overall or recently?” Jerk Ford grunted, moving his hand away from the actively leaking hole in his side, hand coated in blood. He glanced down at his own appendage and wrinkled his nose, though it came off as more annoyed than disgusted. Ford could certainly relate, wounds –grievous or otherwise– tended to be more irritating than repulsive or even alarming.
“This instance in particular, if you would.” Ford clarified, mouth pressing into a thin line as his brows furrowed. Thankfully the helmet visor’s dark tint ensured that Jerk Ford wouldn’t notice his inner turmoil, as his indecision could be used against him. He needed more data before he settled on how exactly to proceed.
“I heard Ford 46'\ became the King of the Finger Dimension, so I found a guy with seven fingers and took him there to usurp him." Jerk Ford scoffed and Ford was suddenly struck with the desire to pinch the bridge of his nose, his hand twitching at his side as he repressed the urge.
"Why bother?” Ford asked, genuinely confused as to why Jerk Ford would go out of his way.
"Do you really want any version of us to be the king of anything? Just look at what happened with Megalomaniac Ford.” Jerk Ford bit out with a roll of his eyes, implementing a clever way to take stock of his surroundings. It confirmed that this Ford was not only intelligent, but cunning as well. A dangerous combination.
"That
 is a valid point. But it still doesn't explain why you interfered with another Ford in the first place.” Ford huffed, though he wasn’t entirely surprised. Fords were egotistical and self-absorbed, so of course they’d take issue with another Ford bringing them down a few pegs. With that said, Ford failed to see how this made Jerk Ford so terrible. It was somewhat childish and equally harmless.
"I'm the 'Jerk' version of us, everything I do is to be petty. Depth is just a word to me." Jerk Ford stated with a half-shrug, his body still poised to bolt but visibly less tense. Ford wondered if the shift was caused by fatigue or he just no longer viewed Ford as an active threat. "Also I thought it would be funny.”
"I'm certainly amused.” Ford admitted, mouth and tongue shaping the words without his say-so. He was usually more disciplined than this, unused to simply blurting things out. What a novel experience, though he wasn’t entirely sure he liked it. Any loss of control could spell disaster or even death. He couldn’t afford the reins he had on his emotions to slip from his hands.
And yet Ford’s eyes flicked down to Jerk Ford’s blood-soaked hoodie.
"Would you like assistance with your injuries? I have an extensive first aid kit.” Ford offered after a quiet moment of contemplation, mouth pressed into a thin line. It wasn’t his business. He was here to assess the Ford, do what needed to be done, and move on. He rationalized that he couldn’t properly question Jerk Ford in his current state, it would be better to address his wounds and then pry while his guard is down.
"I had expected Anti-Ford to be here by now to help me out because my own supplies are low
 do you have something to do with that?" Jerk Ford asked, narrowed eyes scrutinizing Ford, clearly searching for some indication that he was indeed the culprit.
“No. I didn’t interfere with your communication device.” Ford retorted flatly, taking Jerk Ford’s lack of protest as permission to assist. Ford’s hands moved to his utility belt, collecting two serums and several medical supplies from the pouches with practiced ease. “Although in hindsight I should have.”
"How'd you find me anyways? I have to try really hard to stay on the down-low, so I wanna know what blindspot you were able to exploit.” Jerk Ford grumbled with an almost mulish frown, his sharp gaze following Ford as he closed the distance between them.
"If I tell you then it would no longer be an advantage that I can utilize.” Ford hummed as he reached for the bottom hem of Jerk Ford’s hoodie, the man twitching away. Ford’s hands drew back as he glanced at Jerk Ford, a quick scan revealed that his heart rate was elevated, indicating nervousness.
"Oooh you're so cryptic, do you stay up all night practicing those dramatic lines in a mirror?” Jerk Ford drawled, appearing unaffected even though his instinctual retreat and heart gave him away. Jerk Ford was stalling, but Ford hadn’t the faintest idea as to why. Jerk Ford needed help and Ford was offering it, simple as that.
"Your chances of survival become more and more abysmal the longer you procrastinate.” Ford huffed, scanning Jerk Ford again to get an update on his vitals, which appeared to finally be wavering. He needed medical attention, and soon.
"I've survived worse." Jerk Ford said dismissively, though the effect was unceremoniously ruined when the man made a wet, choked noise a moment before blood gushed from his mouth. His clothes were not spared, though a good cupful managed to splatter onto the ground between their feet, speckling Ford’s boots due to their current proximity to one another. "...Alright, I'll accept your help if you're offering.”
Jerk Ford spit in a vain attempt to clear the lingering blood out of his mouth, scowling at the new patch of red on his hoodie. He didn’t seem to be in pain, implying that he had a high pain tolerance like Ford himself did. Though Ford could say with certainty that if he was riddled with holes, he would be feeling it a little more, so this particular Ford clearly had an advantage over him in that regard.
"Be still." Ford sighed, making a mental note to use one of his sanitation grenades to clean up, it wouldn’t do to leave any trace of his presence behind. Ford grabbed Jerk Ford’s shoulder to gently but firmly guide him to lean back against the grimy wall, the man moving without any resistance. Once Jerk Ford was settled, Ford got to work. He moved slower this time, telegraphing what he was going to do before he actually did it, and the tense line of Jerk Ford’s shoulders eased some.
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brynnsasha191 · 2 days ago
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This "gotcha" moment in comments under my previous ask is so funny. No, I don't think that Alicent was unhappy and should be pitied. She successfully married a king who was kind to her and, yes, allowed her too much. She's not a victim. As for Rhaenyra, was her first son born a year after her marriage? So how long have they been trying with Leanor - a couple of months? As a princess in the Middle Ages, she had to either give birth to her children from her husband or not give birth at all, and not think about "love" lol. Marriages at that time were unions for the sake of duty, not for the sake of feelings. Laenor should have realized this too, by the way, and found a way to impregnate his wife.
Hold on, I want to get @reignof-fyre on this one too.
So much to unpack here, imagine saying a gay man should man up and suck up his gayness to do something he is incapable of.
What you people don't realize, if it was at all possible for Rhaenyra and Laenor to have biological children together, they would have. It wasn't for lack of trying or effort. It was just the way the cookie crumbled.
Rhaenyra was not thinking of love when she slept with Harwin. She needed to provide two heirs to two great houses. And by your logic, if she couldn't have Laenor's children she shouldn't have had them at all, and then the men of the realm would see her as deficient and say stuff like "if she can't do a womens job how can she do a mans" so Rhaenyra can't win.
Corlys, Viserys, and Laenor all claimed them as sons/grandsons. The only people who were bothered by it was team green. In the book, many people who supported Alicent even admitted it wasn't likely they were bastards and it was just an article of faith she made them take. The lords of Westeros were racing to marry their daughters to the princes because they were princes. I'd rather be ruled by an illegitimate but good king, than a legitimate tyrant. But it doesn't matter because Jace is legitimate because Viserys says so!!!
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