#since it's no longer very secret

[ikemenomegas]

stop, myy oc's former classmates offering to set them up gave me an idea. so what if they had this super pushy classmate who just wont take no for an answer and pesters them about setting them up with someone they know every time they see each other at reunions. So so like what if the day before their reunion, gojo sets the myy oc's wallpaper to something that shows that myy oc is not single but in a super discreet way. Maybe a picture of myy oc at a cafe that gojo took and gojo's glasses or cup of coffee or anything that suggests the presence of a second person in the picture is shown and gojo makes that the myy oc's wallpaper

oh no T.T this is so cute anon. It's also the perfect mix of subtle and blunt haha, which suits him

"I can't believe it's been ten years already," you murmured.

"From what?" Satoru asked.

He plucked the piece of paper you were looking at from your hands and peered at it.

"My junior high school reunion."

"Didn't you just have one of those?"

"It feels like it sometimes," you said softly, taking the paper back.

"You gonna go?"

You tapped your foot against the arm of the couch. "I don't see why not." You were planning to go. Some old friends from back then had already messaged, insisting they wanted to see how you were holding up. It was really just an excuse to drag you from the outskirts of Tokyo and into the city.

Even after all this time, they had some impression that you were some kind of ultra industrious hermit. You never told them about all your journeys around the country. You wouldn't know how to answer if they asked what you were doing there, what kind of work could let you travel that much...

"Go and show off your new wrinkles," Satoru nodded.

You just sighed up at him. Disappointed.

He pouted, sticking out his lower lip ridiculously.

"... I don't have wrinkles."

"Sure," he agreed, and then bounced off to whatever little project was keeping him occupied these days. Or to bother Megumi.

You rolled off the couch.

You rushed into the restaurant where the reunion was kicking off while trying not to look like you'd been rushing. The start of curse season this year had been as unpleasant as usual, and you'd just finished a last minute call.

You'd changed clothes in the car, lucky that the auxiliary knew you well enough to simply clear their throat and not ask any questions when they dropped you off at a train station.

Someone called your name in bright, cheerful tones that cut through the noise.

"Hirose-san," you said back, waving and making your way over to that part of the table.

"We were worried you weren't going to show up," Oda Konoka said immediately, leaning forward across the table.

"Sorry," you apologized. "Someone from work called..." you offered a easily interpreted truth.

"Work, work, work," Maeda Hikari all but slammed down a mug of something like it was a beer stein, making Konoka jump. "The last time we saw you it was work, this time it's work. All you do is work!"

"That's normal," Hirose Asami said placidly, smiling at you over her folded hands. "For most people."

You gave Hirose-san a slightly embarrassed smile back, dipping your head in thanks for her coming to your defense.

A waiter caught your searching eye and came over. Soon the table devolved into a flurry of words, menus flapping around as people started ordering around the part of the room at which you sat. Looked like you had been a bit late then, probably one of the last to arrive.

After a somewhat clumsy-feeling start, at least from your point of view, everyone in your little cluster of familiar and less familiar faces was more or less caught up, starting to chat with their neighbors or old friends, eating well.

And as it often seemed to at these kinds of things, conversation eventually turned to dating life. It was funny, listening to Hirose-san complain about something for once. Apparently the last person she dated told her she was too scary to stay with, which made Konoka start laughing ... and not stop.

"It's really not that funny," Hirose-san was saying, a slightly cross look on her face.

Hikari was failing to stifle a snicker, mostly at Konoka but also at Hirose-san. "It kind of is. Didn't someone you met at that expo you told us about also say something similar?"

"That's not fair," you protested, a light smile on your own lips. "That was years ago, and only because she was yelling at one of the interns--"

For some reason that set Konoka off again, clutching her stomach with one hand as tears sprang to her eyes.

Oh, right. She'd been there... oh well.

"I think you're lovely," you said earnestly. "It's really not your fault. I'd go out with you--"

"If," Hikari turned towards you suddenly, cutting you off. "I'm sensing an if. And my if sensor is never wrong."

"There's no--" you backpedaled immediately as Hikari honed in on you like a shark scenting blood in the water.

"I don't believe it. All the rest of us have met someone. Even permanently intimidating Hisa--"

"Please don't call me that."

Konoka laughed harder.

"-- single to the end-of-life Hisa--"

"Worse," she said mildly while Konoka leaned helplessly on her shoulder, tears at the corner of her eyes.

"--and I refuse to believe that someone like you hasn't even gotten a confession."

"I've gotten confessions before," Hirose-san protested.

"Yeah and you always turn them down," Hikari shot back. "My point is I have a perfectly nice little someone who could be just your type--"

"Oh here we go," Hirose-san said, but she no longer looked interested in saving you. A familiar glint was in her eye which said she was settling in to watch the show.

"I really don't need--"

"But you do," Hikari said. "You see maybe one of us every six months and you went to that tiny high school out in the sticks--"

"It was still in Tokyo."

"--barely, but how many people did you say were in your graduating class? Three? No. There's no way. That's what friends are for, meeting people, getting you out of the usual wandering blah of normal life."

"Have you taken a breath at all?" Hirose-san asked, amused and still unhelpful.

Hikari waved her off and lifted up a finger. "Flexible work schedule so you can't pretend not to have any time to meet up." A second finger. "Dresses well, smells nice. The people we meet are constantly asking about perfume and cologne, it's a ridiculous amount of people." Third finger. "Kiiiind of a weirdo," although this was said with a grin.

"Hikari," Konoka finally gasped, sitting up. "You can't just say that. And to someone's face!"

Hikari grinned at Konoka's mild outrage. "It's the only thing left at our age. So many people have already given up or decided they don't want to be paired off or--"

It was such a rookie mistake, taking your eyes off of a threat just because it came from a non-sorcerer. As your eyes turned towards Konoka's sudden movement, Hikari lunged, plucking your phone from the table.

"--and I have their number right here, and I bet you haven't changed your code since high school at least."

That was not true. You'd changed it three years ago because Satoru kept breaking into your phone and installing weird games on it.

Hikari fell silent, squinting at the screen.

Konoka leaned over to see what was the matter.

"What?" you finally asked. They were just starting at your lock screen.

Hirose-san craned her neck as well. "It looks like a very nice cafe," she offered. Laying out the bait for Hikari.

"What?" you asked again. The image last you checked had been one of you and Shoko, leaning over the rail of some stupid expensive hotel where you'd stayed as her guard when a minor emergency had required her presence.

Hikari leered.

"No one I know uses pictures of themselves, alone. Two cups of coffee. The chair opposite you is out of place, flowers on the table, two forks with the cake. There's a reflection in the window. You clearly didn't take this picture and from your reaction, you didn't put it on here either. Which means the change is recent and someone you trust enough to leave this lying around did it."

You," Hikari concluded, " have been lying to us." Dramatic, melodramatic. Satoru would love this old little crew of yours if you hadn't long ago made the decision to never let the two parts of your life mix.

You scrambled for an explanation. "That doesn't mean it's a date."

You knew exactly which cafe that picture would have been taken at. It would have been ten months after you'd married Satoru and it was very much a date. And the flowers had been an apology because a mission had forced him to stand you up at the nine month anniversary. The cake had been your apology for not being able to hold out and wait up for him.

Hikari's smile was downright evil. "I never said it was a date you were lying about."

Konoka turned a very scary look your way. "It's like Sherlock Holmes," came the slightly awed, slightly taunting whisper.

Satisfied, Hikari returned your phone. "Sooo. Name? Age? Blood type? Job? Favorite color? Where'd you meet? How long have you been hiding it from us?"

Stunned, you decided to look at the picture while you decided whether or not to lie.

You were sitting by the window at the cafe, leaning down to stiff at the flowers, the cake slice untouched in front of you, the box just visible on the ledge behind your thighs, the coffees still with steam curling from the cups. Golden light flooded in from outside.

"Oh," you said with some surprise. "That's actually a good picture."

Konoka burst back into giggles.

[dandp]

Kinda insane with all the miscommunication and scrambling going on that they likely planned to announce the tour even later than they did and give us less time. What is the rush my guys

[linagram]

[ 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚗 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚜: 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟷 ]

(i hope the image isn't too eystrain-y AAAAAAAAA)

wooooooo i'm finally done with these

okay basically these voice dramas are about what happened to the prisoners three days before their crimes and they're supposed to reveal more about their life, what kind of people they are and all of that stuff. they will be separated into two parts bc the voice dramas are pretty short, so this part includes akio, aimi, shun, naomi and kei and the next one will include eiko, asahi, yurika, riku and reina.

warnings: a mention of bullying and an implication of a child being seriously injured in aimi's vd, shun is being a stalker, a description of physical and emotional abuse in naomi's vd, mentions of torture and homophobia in kei's vd (there's also some implications of the latter in akio's vd, but like, if you squint really hard)

[ Akio's Confession ]

(the sound of a school bell ringing)

(the voices of other students can be heard in the background)

Akio: *sighs*

Akio: *thinking* "This class was way too easy.. All classes were too easy so far, honestly."

Akio: *thinking* "Though that's just something I have to deal with as a genius that I am, haha.."

Akio: *thinking* "It's just.. I thought that an elite school like this would be more interesting."

Akio:*thinking* "But when I look at my classmates.. Yeah, I can see why the teachers would go easy on them. How did they even get- Oh, right, probably because they're rich and all."

Akio: *thinking* ".. My parents have worked so hard so that I could attend this school and now I'm complaining.."

Akio: Hm...

(sounds of someone's footsteps getting faster and faster)

Arata: Akioooooo!~

Akio: *screams*

Akio: W-what are you-

Arata: Come on, you promised that we'll have lunch together! 

Arata: Come on, get up, get up!

Akio: C-can you-

Akio: *whispering* Can you.. you know.. be quieter? This is embarrassing, everyone is staring at us.

Arata: *whispering* I know, I'm acting like this on purpose.

Akio: Wha-

Arata: Okayyyy, let's go, let's go!~

Akio: I-I haven't even brought anything with me-

Arata: It's okay, as your boyf-

Arata: Uh.. 

Arata: *clears throat* Ahem, as your best friend, I have prepared something very special for you myself!

Arata: Now let's go!

(sounds of footsteps)

Female classmate: These two are.. really close, aren't they?

Akio: I still can't believe that out of all the hobbies you could have, your hobby is.. cooking.

Arata: What, I don't look like a perfect housewife? You're breaking my heart..

Akio: Ugh..

Akio: C-can't you just act.. you know.. normal?

Arata: Nope. Now say "Ahhh~"

Akio: I am not a child-

Akio: !

Arata: See? Tastes good, doesn't it?

Akio: B-but again, everyone is staring at us..

Arata: And? They're just jealous.

Arata: You know, you look so plain, but you've got someone like me as your boyfriend! You're so lucky!

Akio: Plain?..

Arata: U-uh, I find that cute about you.

Arata: Also, you stole the "most popular guy" title from me! You're so cool!

Akio: We both know you weren't popular because of your looks or intelligence or anything.

Arata: Haha, yeah, being the son of the headmaster kinda makes you popular by default..

Arata: But like, not for a good reason.

Akio: You're still creepy though, obviously they would find you intimidating.

Akio: And you also have a lot of power in this place, so..

Arata: Y-you think I'm creepy?!

Akio: Yes.

Arata: So cold!.. But that's what I like about you!

Akio: Also, about me stealing your title and all..

Akio: .. That title also was stolen from me recently.

Arata: Huh? By who?

Arata: .. Oh.

Arata: You're talking about that guy, right?

Akio: *nods*

Arata: Well, he joined us only a few months ago and he also used to be homeschooled. I think it's his first time actually going to school?

Akio: Yeah, because of his health problems.

Arata: Of course a guy like him would get everyone's attention.

Arata: They just feel sorry for him. Don't worry about it too much~

Arata: I mean, have you seen his grades? A guy like him won't survive in this place.

Akio: Should I remind you about your own grades?

Arata: Ahaha.. At least I have you~

Akio: You're not dating me just because I can do your homework for you, right?

Arata: Well, that's one of the reasons why I like you, but..

Akio: I'm breaking up with you.

Arata: No, no, wait!

Arata: Also, Akio, aren't you dating me because I can make you look good in the eyes of the headmaster?

Akio: ...

Arata: He likes you a lot! He said that our school really needed a student like you. 

Akio: ...

Arata: You really are a genius, Akio. I'm sure you'll become famous in the future.

Akio: .. B-but I want to be famous now.

Arata: And you will! I can just make everyone here bow down to you if you want. 

Arata: Both figuratively and literally.

Akio: .. I hate him, Arata. I hate him so much.

Arata: I know. 

Akio: Sometimes I wish I just could-

Akio: ...

Akio: Never mind.

Arata: Hm? What is it?

Akio: I said, never mind!

Arata: Come on, say it, say it!

Akio: Shut up already-

Arata: Say it, Akio.

Akio: ...

Akio: .. Wouldn't it be nice if he just..

Akio: You know..

Akio: .. Died?

Arata: ...

Arata: Haha..

Arata: Ahahahahahahaha!

(sounds of Arata laughing and falling on the ground)

Akio: .. Yeah, I can't just ask you to act normal again, can I?

Arata: S-sorry, sorry.. 

Arata: It's just.. I've been waiting for you to say it.

Akio: Huh?

Arata: I don't know, something about you hating him so much to the point of wanting him dead..

Arata: It's just so exciting, you know?

Akio: .. There must be something wrong with you.

Arata: With you too. That's why we're perfect for each other!

Arata: So, how do you want him to die?

Akio: Arata, for God's sake, can you just not talk about murder while we're having lunch and there are other people around?

Arata: Nope, talking about murder is fun.

Arata: Also, you still have some food left. Open your mouth.

Akio: Why would you find talking-

Arata: Anyway, we should head back to class, the break is going to end soon.

Akio: R-right..

(sounds of footsteps)

???: Ah! Akio-kun, Arata-kun!

Akio: ...

Arata: There he is.

???: I've been looking for you two everywhere! I just thought it'd be nice to have a lunch together, haha..

???: B-but it looks like you two are already going back to class.. I'm so slow, haha..

Akio: .. I thought I told you not to call us that.

???: What?

Akio: We're not your friends. Why did you even think we'll agree to spend even the moment of our precious time with you?

???: U-uh..

Akio: Seriously, this is why you always have no choice but to eat alone. You're so stupid-

Arata: Now, now, calm down, Akio. 

Arata: Please forgive him, he's not in a good mood today.

???: Really? Why? Did something happen, Akio-kun? C-can I help-

Akio: DON'T CALL ME THAT!

???: ...

Arata: ...

Akio: *breathing heavily* We're not.. friends, Kitami.

Akio: I don't even want to hear you say my name. 

Akio: Don't stand in my way. Arata, we're leaving.

Chise: ...

Chise: .. Hey.. 

Chise: That's not very nice of you, Akio-kun..

Chise: You know I've worked really hard on this, right?

Akio: D-do you think I care?

Chise: Judging from the way you stutter, I think you do.

Akio: ...

Akio: (to Arata) W-why are you still standing here?! I told you we're leaving!

(sounds of Akio and Arata leaving)

Arata: The guy looked like he was about to cry. Are you proud of yourself?

Arata: Not judging you, by the way.

Akio: ...

Arata: Hey, are you listening-

Akio: Why?

Akio: Why does he want to be friends with me?

Akio: He just wants to annoy me, doesn't he? He's just jealous of me and he's trying to make me angry on purpose so that I'll end up yelling at him and ruin my reputation because he's everyone's favorite right now?

Akio: Why do people even like him?! He's so pathetic, so weak, so dumb, so..

Arata: Hey, calm down. 

Akio: ...

Arata: You're better than him. Remember that.

Akio: I KNOW THAT, IDIOT! I JUST WANT OTHERS TO REMEMBER THAT TOO!

Arata: Well, I know for a fact that you're better than him. You're better than everyone here~

Arata: .. Hm? What's wrong?

Akio: .. Ahaha..

Akio: He really doesn't know his place, does he?

Akio: So annoying..

Arata: ...

Akio: Hey, can you help me out with something?

Arata: ...

Akio: Come on, I know you like me.

Arata: .. Haha, so now you're accepting the fact that we're a couple.

Akio: Oh, I was just acting shy. 

Arata: So.. Do you want to.. 

Arata: You know.. 

Akio: I just want to teach him a lesson. Nothing more than that. I'm strict, but I'm not evil. 

Arata: ... Oh. 

Arata: Well, our school's lucky to have a king like you. 

--------------------------------------------------------------------

[ Aimi's Confession ]

(The door opens)

Aimi: I'm back! 

Aimi: ... 

Aimi: Hey? Is anybody here? 

Aimi: ... 

Aimi: "Haha.. It's like I have no choice but to be alone.."

Aimi: "Just what did I do to deserve this-" 

???: Oh, there you are! 

Aimi:"Great. Out of all people, it had to be him."

Aimi: Nii-san!

(sounds of Aimi and her brother hugging)

Aimi's brother: Sorry, I was wearing earphones and didn't hear you.

Aimi's brother: If you're wondering where mom and dad are, they went to check on the park, they've heard it's been doing.. not so good.

Aimi: Really? What happened? 

Aimi's brother: One of the rides suddenly stopped working and two kids fell off. One of them is fine, thankfully, but the other one ended up in the hospital. 

Aimi: Oh.. 

Aimi's brother: Also, Yori is walking Maru and Mochi right now, just so you know. 

Aimi: Oh, right, I got scared for a second, haha.. 

Aimi: By the way, why are you wearing an apron? 

Aimi's brother: Oh, Fumiri wasn't feeling well, so I offered to cook today. 

Aimi: You can cook? 

Aimi's brother: Okay, rude. 

Aimi's brother: You're not gonna eat then?

Aimi: No, I will! I'm okay with whatever Nii-san decides to make~

Aimi's brother: I'm almost done, so you don't have to wait long. Go wash your hands.

Aimi: Oh, right! I forgot, haha.. 

Aimi: I didn't know you were this good at cooking. It's shocking, really. 

Aimi's brother: *laughs* Why are you so mean to me today? Did you have a bad day at school?

Aimi: ...

Aimi's brother: Oh.. 

Aimi's brother: Sorry. Sorry, I didn't mean to-

Aimi: N-no, it's okay, it's okay! It's just..

Aimi: It's.. Um.. 

Aimi: M-my classmates.. 

Aimi's brother: ... 

Aimi's brother: *sighs* What did they do this time?

Aimi: Well, um.. 

Aimi: Haha.. 

Aimi: Emi-chan said that I'm too violent and because of that others tend to avoid me.. 

Aimi: And.. She said she thinks I'm.. 

Aimi: Scary, haha.. 

Aimi's brother: ... 

Aimi: Am I scary, Nii-san? 

Aimi: Am I violent? 

Aimi: I always try to be kind to everyone I meet! I would never want to scare anyone or hurt them! 

Aimi: I'm not violent! I'm really not! 

Aimi's brother: I know. I know. 

Aimi's brother: Why do you think she called you that? 

Aimi: I don't know!

Aimi: I don't want to say that she.. 

Aimi: Uh.. 

Aimi's brother: You don't want to suspect her, right? 

Aimi's brother: You don't want to believe that she had bad intentions, right? 

Aimi: ... 

Aimi: W-why would she? 

Aimi: I mean, she's not evil or anything.. 

Aimi's brother: Well, maybe she's jealous. 

Aimi's brother: Maybe she's jealous of your wealth or your looks. 

Aimi's brother: Maybe she wanted to provoke you and make you act "violent" in public. 

Aimi's brother: You know, like that time with Sao.

Aimi: I-I didn't hit her on purpose, I swear! 

Aimi's brother: Of course, I know that. 

Aimi's brother: But that's just how the world works. If somebody doesn't like you, it doesn't mean that they will be straightforward about it. Maybe they will just try to make it look like it's your fault for making them hate you.

Aimi's brother: It's not their fault for being mean to you. It's your fault for getting angry. That's how their thought process goes.

Aimi: BUT I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG! 

Aimi: I JUST WANTED TO BE FRIENDS WITH THEM! 

Aimi: Would they like me more if I wasn't so rich? Would they like me more if I wasn't so pretty? 

Aimi: I always was so nice to them! I bought them so many gifts, I always offered my help when needed..

Aimi: I THOUGHT THEY WERE MY FRIENDS! BUT THAT'S NOT HOW FRIENDS ACT! 

Aimi: ... 

Aimi's brother: Aimi, dear, I understand you. I understand your feelings so well. 

Aimi's brother: This world is full of evil people. You're one of the few people who stay kind no matter what. 

Aimi's brother: And most people prefer to just ignore all the evil others do.. 

Aimi's brother: But I don't agree with that. Honestly, I think people like that don't deserve to live. 

Aimi: .. "Don't deserve to live"?

Aimi: So what you're saying is.. 

Aimi: ... 

Aimi's brother: Just trust me, okay? You can always rely on me. 

Aimi: B-but then.. 

Aimi's brother: I'll go wash the dishes. How about you play with Maru and Mochi when they come back? 

Aimi: Nii-san, you're not going to.. 

Aimi:Do anything to my classmates, right? 

(sounds of Aimi's brother washing the dishes) 

Aimi: Ugh, he can't hear me.. 

(sounds of dogs barking in the background)

Aimi: Oh, is that-

Aimi: They're back! I'll go greet them, hehe~

----------------------------------------------------------------------

[ Shun's Confession ]

Shun: I see. Thank you, this helps a lot.

Old woman's voice: You're welcome. To be honest, I did have my suspicions about that boy..

Old woman's voice: But you seem really nice. I'm sure she still misses you.

Shun: Ahaha.. Thank you so much. I hope so too.

Shun: Have a nice day.

(sounds of footsteps)

Shun: ...

Shun: *sighs loudly*

Shun: God, that was so scary..

Shun: Ugh, socializing shouldn't be this hard..

Shun: But at least I've learned more about her..

Shun: .. Shouldn't I have known that already if she was my girlfriend?..

Shun: N-never mind.

Shun: Okay, let me just go through my notes-

Shun: !

Shun: I-I almost dropped my phone..

Shun: Okay, so.. 

Shun: Inaba Hina, 21 year old. A university student, psychology major, also has a part-time job as a babysitter.

Shun: So she's good with kids, huh.. Haha, they're going to love her.

Shun: Was born on August 28th, lives alone, but regularly picks her little brother up from school since her parents can't do that because of their job and his school is very close to her apartment.

Shun: Come to think of it..

Shun: R-right! She's supposed to pick him up soon!

Shun: I have the address written down, hold on..

Shun: That's it, I'm finally going to meet her!..

Shun: "Okay, I'm finally here.."

Shun: "Huh.. It looks like her brother isn't here yet.."

Shun: "I guess I'll have to wait."

Shun: "Oh, maybe I should try to become friends with her little brother too? If I show her how good I am at taking care of kids, I'm sure she will fall in love with me again!"

Shun: Ehehe.. This plan is definitely going to work..

Shun: I should just wait until her brother-

Shun: Oh, isn't that..

Shun: "Okay, just act normal."

Shun: Hello there. Sorry for asking, but you're Inaba Renji, aren't you?

Renji: .. Um..

Shun: I know this may sound weird, but I'm your sister's.. friend and-

Renji: W-why do you know my name?

Shun: Your sister told me! She loves you a lot and she told me that you're a very good kid so I thought-

Renji: .. And what's your name?

Shun: O-oh, uh..

Shun: I-it's Ishizu Shun. You've probably heard it before.

Renji: Nope. Never heard a name like that.

Shun: ...

Shun: "S-she.. Never told her brother about me.."

Renji: Hey. I don't know what your deal is and I don't know anything about your relationship with my sister, but like..

Renji: C-can you.. leave me alone?

Shun: Oh, uh, s-she asked me to pick you up from school since she's too busy today!

Renji: ...

Shun: ...

Renji: Dude. That's like.. What all child kidnappers say. 

Shun: What?! No, no, you got it all wrong! I swear, I really am her friend-

Renji: I am going to scream if you don't leave me alone.

Shun: But-

Renji: *takes a breath*

Shun: Okay, fine, fine!

(sounds of Shun running away)

Shun: *breathing heavily*

Shun: That.. did not go well..

Shun: .. So she.. never told her brother about me..

Shun: .. Did she even love me?

Shun: And if not.. Why did she even date me?

Shun: I'm not that attractive and I'm not that smart..

(sound of a phone notification)

Shun: Hm? What's that?

Shun: O-oh, right, I forgot about Merurin's stream!

Shun: At least I have her to comfort me..

Shun: Did I bring my earphones with me-

???: Here you are!

Shun: *screams*

???: I've been looking for you everywhere!

???: Did you even read my messages?

???: Or did you forget as always?

Shun: .. I-I forgot.

???: *sighs* You have work today, you remember that?

Shun: .. I forgot.

???: Why are you like this..

???: Let's go. We're gonna be late, but honestly, I don't really care.

Shun: ...

???: Don't look at me like that. I'm not doing this because we're friends or anything.

Shun: O-oh, right. Sorry..

???: Hey, what were you watching anyway-

A voice from Shun's phone: Hewwo, my adorable little kittens! How are you all doing today? 

Shun: ...

???: ...

A voice from Shun's phone: Aw, I wish I could just give you all loooooots of headpats!~

???: .. You know what, I think you'll be fine without my help.

???: See you at work. 

Shun: W-wait!

Shun: ...

Shun: ".. Fine. I'm going to see Hina soon anyway."

Shun: "Or actually.."

Shun: .. Ehehe..

Shun: "Maybe I should invite her new boyfriend instead?"

---------------------------------------------------------------------

[ Naomi's Confession ]

(sounds of children laughing and running around can be heard in the background)

Naomi: Okay, okay, everybody, sit down~ We can't have a tea party while you all are running and jumping like this, right?

Naomi's students: Okay, Chiba-sensei!

(sounds of children sitting down)

Naomi: Great! Now, I didn't forget about anyone, right? Everyone has tea to drink and snacks to eat-

Female student A: Chiba-sensei! Natsu ate my cookies while I wasn't looking!

Naomi: (to Natsu) Really? Did you do that?

Natsu: .. *nods*

Naomi: Come on, that's not a good thing to do. If you wanted some, you could have just asked me. 

Natsu: .. S-sorry..

Naomi: Here, you can take these. But please apologize to Rimi-chan, okay? 

Natsu: (to Rimi) U-um.. I-I'm sorry.. They just looked really good..

Rimi: Hm.. Fine, I forgive you! But never do that again!

Natsu: I-I promise!

Naomi: *laughs* Here, Rimi-chan, I still have some for you left.

Rimi: Yay! You're the best, Chiba-sensei!

Female student B: Chiba-sensei, why other teachers are so boring and strict compared to you?

Female student B: You're so nice!

Male student A: Yeah! You're like a friend to us, but like, a friend that's much older than us!

Naomi: Haha, are you saying that I'm old?

Female student C: Ugh, boys are so rude..

Naomi: Well, um.. I don't know, I just.. I don't want you to see my classes as something.. bad, I guess?

Naomi: I don't want you to be afraid of me or hate me.

Naomi: And also, I try to treat you all with respect, because that's what you all deserve, even if you all are much younger than me.

Naomi's students: Whoa..

Female student D: Chiba-sensei is so cool!

Female student B: How can anyone hate her-

???: .. Ahem.

???: So what you're saying is that you don't want people to see you in a bad way? 

???: You're afraid of people hating you, right? Even if those people are just kids?

Naomi: ...

Female student C: Way to kill the mood.. 

Naomi: Haha.. Come on, Tao-kun, you know that's not true-

Naomi: A-and even if it is true, what's so bad about it? Nobody wants to be hated-

Tao: Yeah, but you're an adult.

Tao: And you're still trying to please everyone and never say no to anyone.

Tao: I don't think it's because you're so kind, but because you're just too scared of being hated.

Tao: Do you really like us? Or do you like us because it's easy to manipulate us and make us think you're the nicest person in the world?

Naomi: ...

Male student B: What's your problem, Tao?! 

Female student C: That's why nobody likes you.

Female student B: Chiba-sensei is nice to us because she loves us. Simple as that. 

Tao: You are not her kids! We're just her students. There's no reason for her to love us.

Female student C: Well, she loves us more than your parents love you, that's for sure.

Tao: !

Tao: Shut up-

(the door opens)

???: Chiba-san? Someone wants to see you.

Naomi: .. O-oh. S-sure, I'll be right there.

Naomi: *stands up* Please wait for me, okay? Don't eat everything without me~

Naomi's students: Okay!~

(sounds of Naomi's footsteps)

Naomi: *thinking* "But who could have possibly wanted to see me-"

Naomi: ...

Naomi: .. Mom?

Naomi's mother: Well hello there.

Naomi's mother: What's with the kids laughing and screaming? I thought you were supposed to have classes today.

Naomi: U-um, we planned to have a tea party today, since everyone's been doing so well lately and we also finished working early, s-so..

Naomi: I just thought it would be nice to reward them with something, you know?

Naomi's mother:Is that a cookie crumb on your cheek?

Naomi: .. Oh. S-sorry.

Naomi's mother: You're so unprofessional..

Naomi: M-mom, I am a 30 year old teacher. Stop visiting me like this. It's embarrassing.

Naomi's mother: You're a bigger embarassment. I have no choice but to check how you're doing.

Naomi's mother: Seriously, you act more like a child than your students.

Naomi: ...

Naomi: B-but they seem to love me-

Naomi's mother: They don't see you as a teacher, Naomi. They see you as another child. You're a friend to them, not a teacher. You won't be able to become a good role model for them.

Naomi: I-I just want them to feel safe, since most of them come from.. families with all sorts of problems.

Naomi's mother: Nobody can be safe with you around. I literally keep visiting you exactly because of that.

Naomi: ...

Naomi's mother: Don't look at me like that. 

Naomi: Please, just.. leave. My students can hear us.

Naomi's mother: And what exactly are you so afraid of? It's your fault for being like this.

Naomi's mother: If you wanted to become a teacher to make me proud, then at least act like one.

Naomi: I-I'm trying..

Naomi: But someone keeps distracting me from doing my job-

(a sound of Naomi being slapped)

Naomi: ...

Naomi's mother: Don't you ever blame me for doing this.

Naomi's mother: I'm doing this for your sake. You have left me no other choice.

Naomi: .. Someone could see you doing this to me, you know.

Naomi's mother: Oh, so now you're blackmailing me. Seriously, you should be more grateful.

Naomi's mother: You don't have to "worry" about me. With my reputation, people would never think I'm in the wrong for doing this.

Naomi's mother: .. They never did.

Naomi's mother: Now, go back to work.

Naomi: .. You really just came to traumatize me again? The hell is wrong with you?

Naomi's mother: .. We'll discuss the way you talk to your own mother later.

Naomi: I am not a child-

Naomi's mother: Again, I have no choice but to treat you like one. 

Naomi's mother: Now, go and play with the kids your age.

(sounds of Naomi's mother's footsteps becoming quieter)

Naomi: ...

Rimi: Chiba-sensei..

Naomi: Ah!

Naomi: Rimi-chan.. what are you doing here?

Naomi: D-did you see-

Rimi: *nods*

Naomi: ...

Naomi: I'm so sorry. That was.. not a teacher-like thing to do-

Naomi: !

Rimi: .. W-when I told you about my parents, you hugged me. You hugged me, even though I was so loud and annoying and couldn't stop crying..

Rimi: S-so, um.. I-I thought that maybe this can help you feel better too.

Naomi: ...

Naomi: C-come on, an adult should be comforting a child, not the other way around..

Naomi: Let's go back, okay? I'm sure everyone is waiting for us.

Naomi: ".. I just hope Tao didn't see this."

-------------------------------------------------------------------

[ Kei's Confession ]

(a woman's screaming can be heard in the background)

Kei: Shh, it's okay, it's okay~

Kei: Can you smile for me, please?

Kei: Or, actually, never mind, your expression is already perfect. 

Kei: Anddddd we're done!~

Kei's boss: Seriously, you're enjoying this way too much.

Kei: I just love my job a lot, is that bad?

Kei's boss: Well, your job is to take photos of people in the worst conditions imaginable. Most people wouldn't really like this job, unless they've got some screws loose.

Kei: Haha, come on, you know that with a father like mine, I'm used to this.

Kei's boss: True..

Kei: Also, I'm sure this cutie over here has already fallen in love with me-

(the woman's screaming gets louder)

Kei: .. Maybe not.

Kei's boss: Anyway, just take the money and leave. 

Kei: Oh, you know I'm not doing this for the money-

Kei's boss: Ahem.

Kei: Got it, got it. 

Kei: (to the woman) See you later, sweetie! Uh.. If you survive, that is.

(the door opens)

Kei: Ruka, I'm home!~

Kei: Ruka?..

Kei: "Where could he be?"

Kei: "Nothing happened to him while I was gone, right?.."

Kei: !

Kei: RUKA!

Kei: "What if they've done something to him while I was-"

Kei: Huh?..

Ruka: Oh, you're home.

Kei: .. What are you doing?

Ruka: I'm taking a bath. I thought it was obvious.

Kei: .. While fully clothed?

Ruka: Of course. I remember doing so even when I was alive.

Kei: .. O-okay.

Kei: *breathes out* I was so scared..

Ruka: Why?

Ruka: I won't drown or anything. And I won't try to kill myself. I'm already dead anyway-

Kei: I know, I know! It's just..

Kei: Well, uh.. You remember what happened.

Ruka: .. Oh.

Ruka: You can come here, if you want.

Kei: Again, while fully clothed?

Ruka: What's your issue with clothes? Do it, coward.

Kei:*laughs* Fine, fine.

(sounds of Kei getting into the bathtub)

Kei: This feels so weird.

Ruka: Hearing that from a guy like you sounds weirder.

Kei: .. Am I really that weird, Ruka?

Ruka: Yeah.

Kei: But why?

Ruka: Every single thing about you is weird.

Kei: Well, name one then!

Ruka: You're sitting in a bathtub with me right now and we both have our clothes on.

Kei: .. That was all part of your plan?!

Ruka: Yep.

Kei: .. *laughs* Then you're just as weird as me.

Ruka: Probably. I'm dead anyway, might as well do whatever I want.

Kei: .. Maybe it would be nice to die, actually-

Kei: No, no, what am I saying, haha..

Ruka: Nope, you have to live.

Kei: Huh? Why?

Ruka: Uh..

Ruka: 'Cause you have a job and I don't?.. And well, we still need money, so..

Kei: *laughs* How do you just.. Let things like this come out of your mouth?

Ruka: Maybe that's because of your influence.

Kei: .. Ruka, you love me, right?

Ruka: Dunno.

Kei: Meanie.

Kei: .. I don't want to leave this house anymore. 

Kei: Everyone is too mean.

Kei: They're too mean to us.

Ruka: Listen, your friends' reaction was understandable-

Kei: It was not! They were so rude!

Kei: I probably should have expected it, they were always saying weird things about guys who like guys..

Ruka: *sighs* It's not because of me being a guy.

Ruka: Actually, I'm not even sure if I'm one-

Kei: You are one. At least, uh.. physically. Your gender is up to you to figure out though.

Ruka: Sure, whatever. Anyway, that's not because they acted like that.

Kei: THEN WHY?!

Kei: Ugh, the water is so cold..

Ruka: You just noticed?

Kei: They were so mean...

Ruka: .. Are you going to cry?

Kei: Shut up.

Kei: I wish I could prove to them that my way of showing love is normal..

Ruka: I doubt you can do that.

Kei: .. I think I have an idea.

Ruka: He has an idea. Great.

Kei: They always said things like "Kei, come on, you're going to steal our girlfriends at this point!" or "Seriously, our girlfriends are going to fall in love with you, if you keep at it!"

Kei: I think that's because they knew that their girls would gladly choose me over them.

Kei: So.. Why not invite them here? I can give them as much love as they want from me~

Ruka: Oh no, I'm feeling so jealous..

Kei: You sound more emotionless than ever.

Ruka: Anyway, I'm against this.

Kei: Why?!

Ruka: You should just forget about your friends. Seriously. 

Ruka: Do you even see them as friends?

Kei: Um.. Not really..

Kei: But..

Kei: If I want to appear "less weird", I need to have friends..

Ruka: .. Hey. 

Ruka: .. Have you ever had friends? You know.. before them?

Kei: .. I think I had one.

Kei: But I don't really remember him that well..

Kei: H-he probably left me or something, haha..

Kei: .. Hey, the water is way too cold. I'm getting out.

Ruka: You're not actually going to invite them to our house, right?

(sounds of Kei getting out of the bathtub)

Kei: Why not? I can treat those girls better than their boyfriends.

Ruka: Kei, I don't have a good feeling about this.

Kei: Aw, so you really are jealous!

Ruka: .. You already have me. You don't have to try and get those guys' trust back or whatever.

Kei: ...

Kei: I don't like the way wet clothes feel. I'll go change.

[tamayokny]

"The truth is… I knew. The 'Mu' in 'Muichiro' is the 'Mu' in 'Mugen'. Infinity. For the good of others… you… can tap into infinite strength."

In honor of Yuichiro Tokito officially debuting in the Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba anime, I am sharing the playlist that I recently finished making for him. Please enjoy. If interested, you may also find my Muichiro playlist here.

[valiant-portabella-pirkko]

been thinking a lot lately about the Regrowth AU Squad's skyscales thanks to SotO, so here's some bits about each of these critters because why not.

COMMANDER PIRKKO'S SKYSCALE: LARIMAR

- most of Pirkko's various mounts were previously branded creatures that have since been liberated in a risky fashion; she and Aurene worked together to brand over them with the prismatic dragon's influence, replacing Kralkatorrik's bond with their own. her skyscale, Larimar, is no exception. his egg was caught in a brandstorm before Gorrik retrieved it from Dragonfall, tainting it with the crystal dragon's influence before he was even born-- and when it finally hatched after Kralkatorrik's death, he was sickly and weak. the asura didn't believe he would even survive hatching, let alone long after.

- but Aurene's brand was enough to mend the tiny creature in a last-ditch attempt to save him, allowing the hatchling to recover and eventually grow into the Commander's sturdy and loyal companion under her care. due to the prismatic branding, Larimar always knows when Pirkko needs him-- and has even been known to aid Caithe as well at times. when the Commander is out in battle, the young skyscale often circles nearby to search out stranded or wounded soldiers and civilians to evacuate. his bold and selfless nature is often said to remind people of the Commander herself. some medics like to 'tip' the skyscale for its services by giving him a magic-enhanced snack, like a handful of bloodstone dust or a couple diflourite crystals.

CEARA'S SKYSCALE: FOXGLOVE

- Ceara's skyscale was obtained at about the same time; one of the other hatchlings that Gorrik was raising didn't... quite mesh with the others. for one thing, she had fur and feathers, suggesting a pretty significant genetic difference. for another, she really, really didn't like him, frequently nipping and tending to avoid the other hatchlings. at a loss, he and Taimi finally (RELUCTANTLY) called in the other magic and dragon expert... and it didn't take long before Ceara had it sorted out. as it turned out, the hatchling had a very, very good memory, and didn't like the tracker that Gorrik had implanted in her leg; the magical tracking signature was irritating the skyscale's ability to detect energy. so, she promptly removed it, then gave the moody critter a snack of bloodstone-infused meat as a peace offering.

- trouble is... then she wouldn't stop following Ceara, but still hated basically everyone else. so Ceara agreed to keep the skyscale and raise it herself, naming her fluffy little menace 'Foxglove.' she's quite a handful, mostly due to being WAY too smart for her own good. she can't keep Fox out of the pantry and has long since given up trying. she has calmed down over the years though, and may even let strangers pet her these days if they provide an 'offering' first. (she's maybe even more prideful than her partner and that's saying a lot)

SAOIRSE'S SKYSCALE: NIGHTSHADE

- the Harbinger of Oblivion wouldn't find her own skyscale partner until much, much later, during the events of Secrets of the Obscure. she would be the one to obtain an abandoned egg at the Astral Ward, helping to raise the newborn creature and eventually teach it to fly. they bonded quickly as it would happen, Saoirse's softer side coming out as she comforted a small, nervous little creature that had been abandoned in his nest. they knew the pair were meant to be when he started sneaking out of the skyscale hatchery just to follow her around-- even marching fearlessly right into danger.

- Nightshade's fiercely protective nature didn't take long to show itself; his first fireball was in defense of his new partner, spat at a sky-chak that was getting just a bit too testy. Saoirse may not have needed the backup, but appreciated her new friend's efforts nonetheless... neither can stand aside when the people they care for are in danger. even if the skyscale's flames weren't strong enough to do much yet, she could recognize the fiery nature beginning to kindle within; he was a creature after her own heart, for better and for worse.

[siobhanromee]

had the most miserable experience today.

[wheelsupin-five]

Thinking about how they didn’t let Hotch have hearing problems for longer like with Reid and his addiction 😭

That's what the secret good canon that lives in your head is for !!!!

[reflectionsofgalaxies]

.

[bi-writes]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To my wife,

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

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

Simon

A poet, your beloved.

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps it’s both.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He grins wide, licking over his teeth.

“Can’t refuse an offer like tha’.”

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

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

To you.

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

Your lip wobbles a little, and you look away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mine. Mine. Mine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sniffle, a little dizzy, shaking your head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say it,” he snaps, and you hiccup.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckles, “I know. I know.”

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

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

“I want to go.“

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That is my duty.”

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

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

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

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

Would he?

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

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

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

Her. Her. Her.

He is bitter, yes, until he is not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Simon agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What you have become and what you no longer are.

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

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

“So you know.”

“Know what, Your Majesty?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now who’s being daft?”

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

“Why did he refuse?” You ask finally.

“What?”

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

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

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

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

“Was about you this time, Your Grace.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kings do not owe their subjects.”

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

“Everything you do is as my subject.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Simon answers your call. Always.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Manipulation.

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

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

He’s mine.

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

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

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

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

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

“But not for John.”

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

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

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

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

This time, at least. Just this time.

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

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

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

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

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

“Simon–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wot’s so funny?”

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

“I…”

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

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

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

“I would ‘ave seen it. I would know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[gojoest]

curiosity — gojo satoru

MDNI, f! reader, childhood friends to lovers, satoru is painfully aware of his own feelings while reader is not, mention of past girlfriends (and how they all looked like you), handjob (m! receiving), cumming in pants (and in your hand), not proofread, wc: 2k, dividers by @/cafekitsune

synopsis: gojo satoru is your childhood best friend. you’ve been inseparable ever since you were little. spending day and night together, you’d often have sleepovers together — a tradition you both carried on throughout your college years. at least once a week you’d drop by his dorm room and stay the night, or vice versa. but compared to your childhood days, you no longer share one bed. that is, until . . .

part 2

a/n: this is a further (and very lousy) elaboration on this post of mine but hey, HAPPY BDAY TO MY ONE AND ONLY

“i think we should try sleeping together”, you suggest one night.

“wah—“, satoru gasps, a teasing glint in his eyes. “didn’t know you felt that way about me”, he smirks.

“just sleeping”, you quickly clarify. “whatever obscene thing you just thought of — it’s not that”, you add, giving him a roll of your eyes.

“you should pick your words more wisely”, he scoffs. “if you go around telling people you want to sleep with them, they will misunderstand”

“ugh”, you huff, “i obviously didn’t mean it like that, and you know it”

“yeah, i do”, he lets out a soft chuckle. he knew exactly what you meant, but still he disguised his wishful thinking behind a teasing remark. “why though? all of a sudden?”

“dunno”, you shrug. “just feeling bad that you always take the floor”

“if that’s the case we can just swap”

“no — i cherish my comfort. come on, we used to do this all the time”, you pout.

indeed you did. but you were kids back then, things were different.

his heartbeat would race and his face would get all hot and red, the heat would fester through his entire body. but when the lights were off it was easy to hide it, the signs that he liked you. after making sure you were fast asleep, he would hold your hand and childishly smile to himself, he would peck it softly, secretly. one time you woke up in the middle of the night and almost caught him but he, startled, kicked you off the bed. yelling at you, lying, how you pushed your finger in his nostril in your sleep… he was so embarrassed, but also relieved you believed what he said was true. his secret was safe.

but now?

when you stand too close to him his body starts acting up in more mature ways. while he is better at controlling his facial expressions now and hiding his nervous heartbeat behind a nonchalant attitude, he struggles with keeping his urges at bay. he’s no longer the boy that blushes while secretly holding your hand; he is a man who craves you.

even when he’s laid on the futon beside the bed you occupy, the sound of your breathing alone gets him hard. you lie there, sleeping innocently, unaware of how much of a pain in the crotch you are being to him. when you leave in the mornings, he climbs onto the bed that is soaked with your scent and shamelessly jerks off. he stands on his knees and sprays his load on the bedsheets. eyes shut close, he pictures you beneath him.

he sighs in defeat. “fine”

“the right side is mine — it’s only natural, because i am always right”, you snicker and quickly pad over to the bed, plopping your body down on the mattress. “sure”, he chuckles and follows after you, sinking himself right next to you.

it is a bit awkward, you must admit. you are laid on your sides facing each other, in silence.

it’s cramped indeed, your knees are brushing against his and the space in the middle separating your bodies from one another is very scarce. but that was to be expected, the beds in the dorm rooms were designed for one person after all.

“so”, you break the silence. “how’s your girlfriend doing?”

“she’s not my girlfriend, anymore”, he states dryly.

“but it’s been barely two weeks since you started dating”

“well, things didn’t work out i guess”

the girls he dated, all of them looked a bit like you. same height, same hair color and length. similar facial features… he never lasted long with any of them though. all of them, visibly bothered by your presence in his life, would too soon ask him to make a choice — either them or you. neither of them aware that he chose to be with them in the first place only because they reminded him of you, and that it was never the question itself that drove him away from them. it was bound to happen, sooner or later. they could never be you.

you hum. “i see”

as you shift to make yourself more comfortable, you feel the shirt he gave you to wear to bed roll up ever so slightly, revealing the bare of your belly. a bit self-conscious now that he’s next to you, you are immediately urged to cover yourself. you slide a hand under the blanket, rummaging around to get a hold of the hem, but oh...

…the back of your hand brushes against something stiff. the friction incurring a low pant from the man, your best friend, next to you.

“fuck”, satoru hisses. his hand clasps around your wrist, pushing it away, but along with the movement his knuckles graze the flesh of your stomach. “fuck”, he curses again.

“satoru”, you say his name, voice hushed and timid but there is a note of underlying curiosity he is way too familiar with.

this is exactly why he was avoiding the one bed scenario — his boners were too hard to hide at this age and this size of him.

“satoru”, you repeat. “are you hard?”

“i wish you didn’t ask the obvious”, he mumbles, embarrassed. warmth washing over his face uncontrollably, just like in the past. but there was a bigger problem now — down in his pants, and the fact he got caught.

“is it because of me?”

“no”, he clicks his tongue, his grip still tight around your wrist, keeping your hand at bay. “it’s because i didn’t jerk off tonight, you know — it’s a natural thing for us men to randomly pop a boner throughout the day”

…which was true. but it was not the case right now.

“can i play with it a little?”, you ask, sneakily twisting your wrist in an attempt to free your hand.

“oi!”, he yelps. “did you hit you head or what?”

“i am curious”, you blurt out. “just a little?”

“stop”, he warns. “it’s weird”

his resolve is hanging by a thread right now, you’re too cunning to tempt him like this. he knows things will get awfully messy between you if he lets you cross this line. but still, he can’t flat out deny you. deep down he wants you to persist, a little bit more… if you ask him one more time, maybe he’ll crumble. surely, he will.

“it’s not”, you reassure. “i won’t jerk you off, i’ll just touch it”, you explain. “please? just a little?”

well. fuck it.

“this is a bad idea”, he says, but loosens his grip around your wrist. “fine”, he mumbles. “but just a little”

you nod, pulling your hand away only to slide it down his body.

you’re not really sure why you were so happy to hear the news about his break-up, but you always felt more at ease when he belonged just to you. your best friend, and not someone else’s boyfriend. you don’t know why you were doing this right now, or why your heart was racing. maybe because it really was weird? or maybe you were just horny?

finding his cock wasn’t difficult, it sure stood out from the rest of his body.

“you really are hard”, you gasp, running your fingers across the bulge in his shorts, dragging out a throaty groan out of him.

“yeah”, he mumbles. “like i said, stop stating the obvious”

“it’s a bit wet here”, ignoring his words, you thumb the spot where his tip is, making him squirm. his body slightly jerks as you press your palm against it. cupping it inside your hand you squeezing it gently. “it’s warm too”, you keep exploring further. “it has a pulse”

satoru lets out a helpless whine. “you sound so dirty right now, it’s weird”

he’s longed for this type of intimacy with you for years. but in his head, he pictured it differently. it was him who was supposed to do things to you, not the other way around. he was supposed to be the confident one, delving into your layers, making you squirm and fall apart under his touch. not the other way around… but this was good too. too good for him to oppose it. you were his weakness, after all. you always have been. no matter how much he teased and picked on you, in the end he always let you do as you pleased. this was not an exception.

you giggle to yourself. “yeah? you like that new side of me, don’t you?”

“…maybe”

sneaking your hand through the front of his shorts and boxers, you feel the flesh of his cock directly. it was twitching, his tip slick with precum. you put the tip of your index finger on his slit and rub circles around it to smear the pre oozing out of it, getting another soft whimper out of him. the head of his cock all slippery now, urging you to rub it all over the rest of his length.

your fingers wrap around his cock as you start to move your hand up and down, slowly, smearing his own slick onto his own flesh.

he tries to swallow the moan stuck in his throat. “you said you were not going to jerk me off, but what now? you’re playing a bit too much, don’t you think?”

satoru can last long. under normal circumstances, that is. but having you — not just his hand, but you, his first ever love, his only love — touch him like that, he could barely hold back. the urge to bust has been there since the moment you put your hand on his cock.

“why? you gonna cum?”, you slip your hand lower, down to the base of his shaft — where his balls are. you caress them tenderly, incurring yet another soft groan from him, before you go back to stroking him again. with each drag you pick up the pace. the room is filled with the squelching sounds caused by your hand, at this point, confidently fisting his slick covered cock, and his heavy breathing. 

“hey”, he puts his hand on your cheek, softly pinching on it with his fingertips. an attempt to make you snap out of it, but alas — you don’t back away. “don’t regret this”, he whispers, almost beggingly. but his voice comes out too shallow for your ears to pick up on.

“are you close?”, you peek at him, watching his face with rapt fascination, grateful that you left the night lamp on.

never have you ever seen him like this. his cheeks so hot and flushed that his pale skin was lit completely red, up to his ears and his neck. beads of sweat across his forehead with strands of his hair stuck on it. mouth agape — huffing and puffing. his brows knitted, desperately. pleadingly. his mouth telling you to stop, yet his face told a different story. so did the part of him inside your palm. it made you throb, down there, and squeeze your thighs together. your own wetness spurting out from your slit, drenching the inside of your underwear”

“fuck—", he growls. “i am— c-close”, he stutters, struggling to control his breathing and the moans that roll out of his mouth.

you feel his cock twitch in your hand, differently. the pulse on it beating faster and more brashly, like it almost made his skin stretch and push against the flesh of your palm. and then, there was a delay. a few, very short seconds in which his cock stood still before violently exploding, pumping out a thick shot of cum. then some more, and more, and more — until the pouring turned into a light dribble toward the end.

“ugh”, he throatily groans, his body relaxing after oozing all the tension out. although slower now, you keep stroking him, running your fingers across his softening cock.

“oh wow”, you gasp, his cum sticky on your skin, drenching the space between your fingers. “what a mess”, you giggle.

“you’re trouble”, he sighs. “is your curiosity satisfied now?”

you nod.

“if you get curious about other things”, he pauses, scratching the back of his head, “come to me. don’t go to other men”

“i’ll think about it”, you smirk.

after that night, you stayed over for an entire week.

this little play time turned into routine, and you were no longer the only one playing.

[liketolaugh-writes]

I've been playing with a no-one-knows AU where Danny has been married to Jason for years but hasn't told him his secret. Jason knows that Danny isn't human, but hasn't pressed because Danny is so terrified when he approaches the topic. The Batfamily do not know.

Presently, the GIW are in Gotham and closing in, and the Box Ghost has come to Danny seeking help.

----

“You’re a ghost,” Jason said gently, pulling one of Danny’s hands away from his face to wrap it in his own. Danny let him. “Aren’t you?”

Danny’s breath hitched again.

Surprisingly, the Box Ghost looked almost as horrified as Danny.

“What? NO! I, the BOX GHOST, would not out Danny Fenton to his human family! For he is as human as I once was!” He flailed his arms in blatant panic. “There is nothing to reveal, for Danny Fenton is most certainly NOT a ghost!”

“What’s wrong with Danny being a ghost?” Box Lunch wanted to know, tilting her head up to peer up at her father in confusion. “Is it a secret?”

“BOX LUNCH!” the Box Ghost wailed, every inch a mortified parent.

“Yes, it was, or your father would not be so blatantly lying about it,” Damian told her, taking pity on the child ghost.

“Oh!” Box Lunch nodded seriously. “Danny isn’t a ghost!”

Danny let out a slightly hysterical laugh, and then started to cry, gasping quietly with tears pouring down his face, hunched down to hide from them. He didn’t pull his hand out of Jason’s.

“It is no longer a secret here, as it has become apparent,” Damian elaborated.

Box Lunch scrunched up her nose. “Oh.”

“Ghosts are not bad,” Cass said softly, “if ghosts are Danny.”

“Danny.” Jason scooted closer and pulled Danny against him, and Danny let him, pressing into him without unwinding at all. “Danny, I already knew. I’ve known for years.” Danny tilted his head up to give him an incredulous look, and Jason grinned at him. “You’re not good at hiding it, stardust. Your freckles glow when you’re excited and your eyes flash green when you’re frustrated. You walk through closed doors when you’re sleepy and things fall through your hands when people startle you. I’ve known you aren’t human since we moved in together.”

“…Oh,” Danny murmured, guilt and relief and wonder swirling together in his still-wet eyes.

“Phantom!” the Box Ghost scolded. Jason took note of the sudden change in address. “You are the worst secret keeper ever!”

“Shut up, Boxy,” Danny snapped. He pulled away from Jason and wiped his eyes, sniffling. Their hands stayed locked together. “We, we need to hide you and bitty-bite b-before we talk about this any more. I wasn’t joking about the Guys in White.”

The Box Ghost flapped his arms dismissively. “They will not find us! They are looking for YOU, and their instruments will not be prepared for such subtle spirits as Box Lunch and I!”

“They are looking for me while I am hiding,” Danny said, soft but barbed. He wiped his face again and turned around to better face the other ghost, glaring sharply. “Something I am well known to be very good at. Far better at than you.”

The Box Ghost went so pale he was almost translucent.

“You don’t look like a ghost at all,” Tim said, studying Danny. “Your skin is pink, you don’t glow… most of the time, no pointed ears or fangs. Your eyes are normal.” His eyes narrowed. “Is this… not your natural appearance?”

Danny flinched. “I… I…” He swallowed, staring at nothing, and then forced his attention back onto the Box Ghost. “Your base signatures are pretty low. If you stop using your powers and suppress your auras as much as you can, you can probably bring them low enough to hide.”

No answers would be forthcoming for now, Jason understood. He signaled sharply to Bruce and Tim, the most likely to try to interrupt. Wait. Time-sensitive, finish operation before proceeding.

Bruce didn’t look pleased, but he nodded sharply. Tim just watched, thoughtful eyes fixed on Danny. Damian was scowling, Dick frowning faintly, but Cass’ curiosity looked borderline idle. Jason watched Danny interact with the other ghost with a healthy blend of interest and concern, and tried not to wonder if Tim was right.

“Box Lunch, do you know how to land?” Danny asked. It seemed like a silly question until Box Lunch wrinkled her nose and cocked her head.

“Land?” she asked, audibly uncertain. For that matter, her father looked vaguely baffled too. “Like… with my feet? On the floor?”

Danny managed a smile and nodded. Box Lunch eyed the floor, then drifted down to hover at floor level. “Like this?”

“Not exactly,” Danny said, sounding more fond than anything. He slid off the bar stool and knelt down in front of Box Lunch. Jason couldn’t look away; he’d been deprived of any open knowledge of Danny’s nonhuman side for so long that his curiosity was damn near insatiable now. And Danny teaching a kid of his species? That was doing things to Jason. Good things. “Close your eyes.” Box Lunch did. “Feel the energy in the air. Do you feel gravity? Do you sense how it pulls things down?” She nodded uncertainly. “Hold onto that feeling. Let it hold onto you. Do you feel it?” Nod. “Good. Now- let go of the sky.”

The instructions didn’t make a lick of sense to Jason, but Box Lunch dropped right out of the air and landed on her feet. Her eyes flew open, and she pinwheeled dramatically until Danny caught her.

“Ahh!” she squealed, looking dismayed. “I’m heavy!”

Danny chuckled. “No, bitty-bite, you’re still light as a feather.” He picked Box Lunch up and held her out in front of him, smiling. She squealed again, kicking her feet, her eyes bright with delight. “Good job. Do you think you can hold that?”

“Um, sure,” she mumbled, not looking at all sure.

The Box Ghost landed on the floor with a grunt - Jason suspected that he’d been listening to Danny’s instructions too. He held out his arms for Box Lunch, and Danny handed her over willingly.

“Now what?” the Box Ghost asked tentatively, staring at the floor like it would eat him. Yeah, Jason could definitely believe that he’d never landed before either.

“Now, you listen to me,” Danny said seriously. He reached out and grabbed Box Ghost’s arm, demanding his attention, and forced eye contact. From the Box Ghost’s wide eyes, this behavior was as new to him as it was to Jason. But then Danny continued, speaking as firmly as if he were willing his words into existence. “You are not a ghost. You are not a ghost.” Understanding flickered across the Box Ghost’s face, and he screwed his eyes shut. His glow started to dim. “You are solid. You are heavy. You are warm. You are made of flesh, blood, and bone. You are not a ghost. You are not a ghost. You are human.”

The Box Ghost’s glow receded and disappeared. Except for his blue skin, he almost looked human now. He opened his eyes uncertainly, and Danny gave him a weary smile and a nod, letting go of his arm and leaning back.

“But what about Box Lunch?” the Box Ghost asked anxiously, looking down at Box Lunch. She’d squeezed her eyes shut to try and follow Danny’s instructions, but didn’t seem to be meeting with the same success.

Danny sighed. “I’m not sure how to explain it to her,” he admitted, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair as he looked at the little girl with worry. She opened her eyes and gave him an anxious look, and Danny gave her a small smile. “It’s not your fault, bitty-bite. It’s just… you’ve always been a ghost, so you don’t have your dad’s memories of what it felt like to be human.”

Box Lunch stomped her feet. “I can pretend!”

“Then pretend,” Danny said seriously. “It doesn’t have to be perfect. Just do your best.”

“Wehh!” Box Lunch flailed her arms, brow furrowed in concentration. “I am human! My body is super solid and I crash into things a lot! And I run around on the ground and eat human food! Fear me!”

It was so cute that Jason muffled a laugh, and he wasn’t the only one. Box Lunch ran a circle around the floor, then crashed into a wall on purpose and bounced off, giggling. Even Bruce’s hard expression softened into a fond look.

“That should keep you off the sensors,” Danny said to the Box Ghost, voice low. Something about his eyes looked exhausted. “Just make sure Box Lunch maintains it. Maybe keep playing human with her.”

The Box Ghost nodded uncertainly. “Thank you, Phantom,” he said quietly. “I know that we can count on you.”

[kentopedia]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ my girl — nanami kento

summary: you know the kid that kento mentors has a little crush on you; why wouldn't you use that to your advantage?

contents: 18+ mdni, fem!reader, brat taming, possessive sex, semi-public sex, hair pulling, pet names, praise, dom nanami, jealousy, ino has the hots for you, unprotected sex, kinda deg, slight dumbification, um i think that's it clearly i am so desperate for nanami and i haven't even watched the new episode — 2.3k

under the table, you slide your palm up kento’s thigh as he speaks.

he's explaining something about sorcerer politics that you’re not really interested in hearing about, not when there’s an ache between your thighs that he refused to take care of before you left, and his sleeves are rolled up in the way he knows drives you crazy. 

across from the two of you, ino sits, attentively listening to your husband as, every few seconds, his eyes subtly slide over to you, the pink flush on his cheeks returning each time he glances at the soft smile that rests on your glossy lips. 

ino’s crush on you is no secret. he is, really, quite obvious about how much he wants your attention.

of course, he knows about you and kento, has known since he first set eyes on you at a sorcerers’ meeting and asked you, slyly, if you were single.

kento had come up behind you not a moment later, smiling with a golden band on his ring finger, asking ino if he forgot to introduce his wife. 

and though the younger sorcerer respects nanami, perhaps more than anyone, it does little to quell the attraction he has for his wife… especially since you are so insistent on teasing the poor kid at every chance you get. 

you can’t help it, really, when it riles kento up so easily. the way he vibrates under his skin with anger, irritated that another person could ever think of his wife in any manner that is less than respectable. 

kento sets your hand gently back down on your lap, jaw clenching as his fingers twist around your wrist tightly. though he hides his irritation well, you can tell from the sharp glint in his eye, the tension in his shoulders, that it is getting the best of him. 

your husband may be sweet, a lover that never acts rashly out of anger, but he has a possessive streak he’s never been very good at taming. 

as kento stiffens, you smile sweetly at ino, who exhales heavily, shifting all of his attention on your husband. though, you are staring him down, listening attentively to every word that he says.

while ino speaks, you slide your hand back over kento’s thigh, vying for his attention. he clears his throat, a warning, as he grips your wrist once more and pushes you away.

it won’t be much longer before he snaps. kento's sitting straighter, back taut as he focuses his gaze sharply on the younger man across from him. whatever the two of them are speaking about is dull, repetitive talk about work that you are bored of. 

“so, ino,” you finally ask, the lull in the conversation that you've been waiting for. you speak up before kento can ask any more questions about the sorcerer’s progress. “any pretty sorcerers caught your eye?” you lean froward with a small grin, your breasts fully on display as you set your chin in your palm. “surely someone as charming as you already has a girlfriend."

ino turns red then, a flush spreading from every corner as he tries, so hard, not to let his eyes fall. you admire the effort, really, even though kento catches the moment the younger man's gaze drops, the half second he stares at your tits and squirms in his seat. 

“n-no,” ino stutters, nervous for the first time in this conversation; he is usually so loud and outspoken, never feeling shy about the words that leave his lips. “can’t seem to find many sorcerers my age.” 

you laugh. it’s true that there are few sorcerers from his year, but you know it is the wrong thing to say.

anger radiates off your husband, and with a sense of satisfaction, you trace your fingers back up his thigh before grinning, batting your eyelashes at ino.

“why not go for someone older, then?” you ask, palming a hand over the steadily growing bulge in kento’s pants

ino chokes, and kento grabs your hand roughly, shoving your fist back onto his lap as he steadies all his anger and buries it down.

“excuse me,” kento suddenly interrupts, and his voice is so calm, so smooth, that its almost like nothing is out of the ordinary. he slides out of the booth, running a palm over his slacks, palms sweaty from his annoyance. “i just remembered i’ve got an important phone call to make. could we put a pause on this conversation?” he is so polite as he nods his head, and ino blinks, looks between the two of you, uncertain if he’s done something wrong. 

“of course,” he says, leaning back in his seat. “take you time.” 

“would you come with me, sweetheart?” kento turns to you then, and he sounds normal, like there’s nothing wrong, but his hands flex at his side, and his eyes are narrowed almost imperceptibly.

kento’s mad, and you know you’re fucked; but you can't help the desire that sits heavily in your stomach, the way you’re already soaking your panties, wanting him inside you. 

“sure, ken.” you nod, smiling at him. “sorry, ino, we’ll back right back.”

you stand next to your husband, who places a heavy hand on your shoulder, a warning. but you love the feeling of his skin on your own and it does little to stop your teasing; it only makes you want him more. 

ino says nothing as kento leads you around the restaurant, takes you to the back of the shop where there are two single-person bathrooms. one is occupied, and the other, empty. 

the two of you go inside.

“are you trying to embarrass me?” kento says angrily, shoving you into the bathroom as he locks the door behind him, his eyes hungry at the sight of your flushed cheeks, the way you are already so desperate for him. he pushes you towards the sink, eyes flashing as you reach for him, hastily undoing his tie. “you’re acting like a fucking brat whose husband doesn’t know how fuck her right.”

“maybe you don’t,” you counter, yanking off his tie so you can unbutton his shirt, slide your hands across the expanse of his chest. god, you want him so fucking bad. you’re aching, arousal pooling in your panties as your husband lifts you, shoves you back onto the sink. “you wouldn’t even take care of me before you left—“ 

“don’t start.” he glares and unzips his slacks to free his half-hard cock, stroking it as you try to get your hands on him. though that attempt is feeble as kento grabs both your wrists with one hand, pinning them above your head. with the other, he hikes your dress up, pushing it along your smooth thighs.

his voice is low and dangerous, deepening as he dances fingertips along your skin. “you’re so fucking desperate for attention that you’ll take it from anyone.” he pins you with his hard gaze, and you’re hot all over, legs shaking with anticipation. “i bet you like that he wants to fuck you so bad, even when you know i can fuck you better.”

you whimper, eyelids fluttering as kento reaches under your dress to pull down your panties.

“prove it, then” you say, and you know you’re only digging yourself a deeper hole, annoying him further as you grope at him. you squirm, trying to release your wrists from his hold, but he’s so strong; you’re only left a writhing mess under his touch. “i want you, kento.” 

“yeah?” he asks, yanking your panties roughly down your thighs, the pair that has already been soaked through. “if i give you what you want, will you sit there quietly like a good girl, and stop flirting with the kid who wants something he can’t have?” 

the tone sends aching need throughout you, and the commanding presence of his voice is almost too much. “i promise,” you say, shaking as you lock your heels around his hips. “please.” 

“please,” kento repeats mockingly, eyes hard as he slips a finger inside of you. he slides right in, barely needing to prep you before he fucks you. “you should be embarrassed; you’re this fucking wet just from looking at me." his eyes harden. "so impatient that you can’t even wait until we get home.” 

“i’ve been patient all day,” you say, high-pitched, but you’re quickly silenced as kento slides in and out of you, setting a steady pace while his thick fingers squelch inside your aching pussy. “need you to—“ 

“stop making demands." he releases your wrists to place a hand on your hips, stop you from fucking yourself on his fingers. “shouldn’t even be giving you what you want, but i can’t help myself. you’re so pretty, so desperate to have my cock inside you that you can’t even sit still.” 

“kento, fuck,” you groan, grabbing his shoulders as he stretches his fingers deeper inside you, past the walls that clamp down on him. in a desperation to keep quiet, you try to kiss him, moan into his mouth so no one else can hear you. 

but he grips your hair tightly, pulls you away from his lips as you moan, loudly, into the tight space of the bathroom. “nice try.” his fingers pump in and out of your soaked cunt. “but i want everyone to hear those pretty sounds, sweetheart. need them to know who’s fucking the brat out of you.” 

you try to pull him towards you, shift him closer with your ankles. “kento—”

“louder.” 

“kento, fuck, baby, please. i want you so bad, i love you—” you’re almost screaming, desperate to cum as his thumb brushes against your clit, teasing, and not enough for you to find complete release.

but you’re squeezing so tightly around his fingers that he must know you’re close, even as he pulls out of you, the juices from your need for him soaking his knuckle. 

finally, he smiles at you, softly.

“there’s my good girl,” he says, and it reminds you why you never want anyone else but him, why you need him, desperately, all the time. kento’s cock is already aching, leaking, and he forces it into you without warning, grunting into your neck. “sometimes, you're just so fucking stupid when you want my cock.” 

you nod, whimpering out a breathy moan as he thrusts into you, hard and rough, still holding you by the hair so you can’t kiss him, even as much as you want to. 

you’re so hot all over, skin burning as he stretches you. “please, let me cum, ken,” you say, and there’s tears in your eyes; you’re so close, but you want to be good for him, want to show him how much you love him. 

he hums against your neck, watches you writhe as he forces himself deeper into you, burying his cock in your pussy completely.

you can’t help the sinful noises that leave your throat, echoing down the vents to the kitchen, to the dining room. and maybe everyone in the restaurant can hear your husband fucking you, but you don’t care, not when you’ve waited this long for him to be inside you. 

“so pretty,” he says, sharply, and finally, he lets his hands fall from your hair, holds your hips instead, bringing you harder onto his cock. 

a tear rolls down your cheek and you bite down on your tongue to keep from screaming, whimpering at the aching pleasure in your entire body. 

“you’re mine,” kento says, kissing you sloppily, hungrily as you thread your fingers through his hair. his tip brushes the sensitive spot inside you, and you're not sure how much longer you can stop yourself from cumming. “mine, mine, mine. no one else should ever get to fucking look at you if they can’t tell who you belong to.” 

“i don’t want anyone but you,” you say, and you’re almost shouting, saliva all over your mouth as you drool from his harsh kisses. "i'm yours, kento."

you feel him smile against your lips. “that’s my girl,” he says, voice rough as he grips you tightly, nearing his own orgasm. “you wanna cum, pretty? make a mess on my my cock, sweetheart. i’m so close.” 

his thrusts grow sloppy, and you grip his shoulders as he fucks deep into you cunt, forcefully, and, finally, you cry out, toes curling as you cum, hard, around him.

kento’s face is flushed, sweat at his hairline as his tips edges against your cervix, almost painfully, before he’s toppling over the edge, biting down hard on your shoulder with a groan. hot ropes spill into your cunt, and you're still writhing, moaning from sensitivity as his warm seed settles deep within you. 

he’s so pretty; you kiss him over and over, the loose hair that sticks to his forehead, the flush on his cheeks. “mmm,” you hum, tasting the coffee on his tongue. “love you so much, kento,” 

“you say that now,” he says curtly, slowly dragging himself out of your tight walls. “but wait until we get home.” 

already, your pussy aches again, and you’re too warm, sweating as kento fixes his hair in the mirror. 

you try to slide your panties back on, reach for where they've pooled at your ankles, but kento is faster. he yanks them away, folds them up nicely to tuck into his pocket. 

“kento—”

“leave them off,” he says, sniffing as his cheeks slowly return to their normal color. “maybe ino will stop thinking about fucking my wife if he sees my cum running down her thighs.” 

you stare at him, blinking, but you don’t have the energy or the willpower to fight anymore. instead, you obey, standing as a mix of kento's cum and your own juices seep onto your inner thigh, creating a sticky mess between your legs.

your husband unlocks the door, and you follow him back into the dining room, where ino is subtly sliding back into the booth, his cheeks red, a bulge obvious in his pants. he glances between the two of you with wide eyes, and darts his gaze back down between your legs, before staring at kento uncomfortably. 

“did you get your call sorted out?” he asks, and his voice is higher, squeakier as you sit down with your husband. 

kento smirks, satisfied. “it’s been taken care of.”

i need him to fuck me so bad

[buckyalpine]

18+ Minors dni Enemies to lovers with some massage therapist Bucky. Breeding kinnk, aftercare, Bucky is a secret softie, all that.

Imagine Rival Biker Bucky x f reader. A smutty, slutty little concept while I add the finishing touches to another fic, just getting this out of my system first. I just love the idea of a sexy, bad boy Bucky getting his hands on the one girl who won't give him a second glance because she's too good for him and they're from opposite worlds. Since childhood. Now he's a biker. Covered in black ink. He works in an auto shop. Owns the bar that brings in chaos. He's smoke, whiskey and leather.

She, however, is soft, pretty, smart and does not have the time to entertain someone like him. She has her degree. Working on a second. She has a career. She does not associate with the likes of him, not as the police chiefs daughter. She'll be damned if she has to even breathe the same air, especially when his gang is the cause for half the problems in the town that her father has been trying to get rid of.

Now, imagine that hours of working on her notes and papers leave her with unbearable knots and kninks in her back. She doesn't want to take a break but the pain only gets worse as the week goes by. It doesn't take long for her to shoot her regular massage therapist a message to book the very first available appointment.

-

You unclasped your bra, folding and setting it off to the side while waiting for Wanda in the warmly lit room. You could have sworn she was a witch with the way she made pain disappear; she’d also become a good friend after your many visits.

The knock at the door interrupted you as you slid your shorts off, leaving you in your panties, not rushing to jump onto the table considering it was just Wanda anyway.

“Come in!” You smiled, making your way to the massage bed as the door clicked open- “Oh my God!!” You nearly shrieked seeing Bucky walk in, a shit eating from spreading across his face as you scrambled to grab the tiny towel to cover yourself though it was a futile attempt. “What the hell are you doing here?!”

"You have an appointment, don't you?" He quirked an eyebrow as if it was clear as day why he was there.

"Yeah, with Wanda, why are you here, did you get lost on the way to jail?" Your face scrunched in a mix of confusion and disgust ignoring the roll of his eyes while you snatched your shirt to better cover up.

"Well Wanda couldn't make it in but she sent me" He said with a shrug, sighing when he saw your less than impressed face, "Don't flatter yourself, I'm just training under her as part of my physiotherapy internship"

"I'm sorry, you're trying to tell me you of all people are learning how to give massages? Please"

"Physiotherapy" Bucky corrected, "You're not the only one who has a degree, princess" Bucky watched as you groaned realizing you hadn't put your bra on, opting to stuff it in your bag instead of putting it back on in front of him.

"You are NOT laying a finger on me-ow!" You hissed, feeling the knot in your back tug at the rest of your muscles.

"You're not gonna be able to do a whole lot with that much pain" Bucky smirked, only half joking. He wasn't wrong. The pain was worse than before and you needed this an you really didn't have the time to reschedule.

"Fine" You mumbled, turning away from him so you could take your shirt off again, glaring at him when you noticed he hadn't turned away. "Could you at least give me some privacy instead of lurking in the corner like a pervert"

"Whatever you want, princess" He bit his lip as he faced the wall, hearing your feet pad across the tile to lay down on the massage table.

"Alright" You huffed after covering your lower body with the towel, now laying face down, immediately second guessing yourself as he walked over.

"Let me know if anything's uncomfortable or if you want me to stop" His voice was no longer snarky; in fact he sounded professional. "Where do you feel the most tension?"

"Um-shoulders and-lower back" You mumbled out the last bit, he was going to massage you there anyway so there so no pointed hiding it. You tensed at the feeling of his oiled fingers starting to work at your muscles, he had no right to be that good. At all.

“Shit” you hissed trying to keep your voice down, ignoring the clench of your stomach feeling his rough fingers press down on the areas that were tight. Little did you know Bucky was struggling far more than you were.

It went against every bit of professionalism he had. Every moan you tried to silence went right to his cock, his hands making their way lower before trailing up again. Fuck, you sounded so pretty...

"Better stop making those sounds"

"Or what" You challenged back before you could even stop yourself.

"Princess..."

"Your attitude is what needs fixing" Bucky growled, professionalism be damned, "fuck this"

-

You have no idea how you ended up here. It didn't matter though, not when there wasn't a single cohesive thought in your brain as you wailed letting Bucky absolutely rail you. Your back didn't feel an ounce of pain as he took you on all fours, pulling your hips to slam back against him, gripping your ass with enough strength to leave you sore.

"Feel better now huh baby, not trying to stay quiet anymore, are ya" He let out a low chuckle which melted into a groan feeling you tighten on his dick, "Such a good little princess like you letting me put my dick in you, dirty girl"

You hate to admit it but the clench of your cunt betrays how much you love this. It was so wrong. You had no business fucking someone like him and yet where you were letting his precum paint all over the inside of your walls.

"What would your daddy say princess, if he knew where you were right now, what you were doin'? Thinking you're studying when you're actually all pretty and naked, letting me rub that gorgeous body up and down, bet you'd let me put my cum in you too, huh? Bet your dad would love that, his perfect little girl all knocked up with some bikers baby"

You could have said no, stayed silence, just about anything but nope. You screamed feeling his fingers reach around the massage your clit, your orgasm wasting no time hurling towards you.

"Ja-Ja-JAMESSS"

"MMMPHH I love the sound of that baby, could get used to hearing you sayin' my name, say it again princess, say my name with my cock in you, c'mon, that's it"

"Fuck-James-I-James" You were a mess and loving every bit of it, tears starting to flow down your cheeks, all the pent up stress you were feeling finally releasing. You felt your throat tighten, a sob escaping your lips as you let go, your arousal making a creamy mess on the dark curly hair on the base of his cock.

"God, you're milkin me, you want my cum that bad huh baby, want a little biker baby in that tummy of yours, I'll give it to you, give you so much I might even put twins in there-FUCKK"

-

"Shhhh" Bucky cooed, wrapping you up in a fluffy towel while cuddling up your limp body, wiping away any remnants of tears while you stayed floating in a subby, post sex haze. "I got you, you did so good princess" You only manage to let out a weak whimper, giving into his warm, thick arms that rock you.

"You alright angel?"

"Mph" you mumble against his chest and he reaches over for a glass of water that's nearby, bringing it up for you to take a sip. You're surprised at how sweet he's being, drinking up before snuggling into him again. Damn him for being so warm and comfy.

"Y'know, there might be a little Bucky in there" He whispers with a playful smirk in his voice, fingers tickling your lower belly, chuckling when you narrow your eyes at him.

"You wish" You sass back, ignoring the butterflies you feel.

"I do" He admits, biting his lip, his previous cocky demeanor replaced with a shy one, though he tries to mask it. Poorly. His cheeks are pinker than the time you threw paint on him for pulling your pigtails. When you were both 4. "I'd want Bucky jr. to have your brains though"

Imagine that incident sets off a very interesting chain of events. A confession of feelings. You both couldn't be happier, meanwhile your father is grumbling about how he knew this fuckin' day would come, God damn it.

"I never liked that boy" He struggles to keep a scowl on his face watching you giggle like you were 4 again, running to the door as soon as you hear the rumble of his bike.

"Shut up, you love him" Your mom chides, watching Bucky swoop you up for a loving kiss, heading you a bouquet of yellow flowers as he always does.

-

"I still don't like 'em" Your dad says while you roll your eyes, your arm linked with his as he walks you down the aisle.

"Is that why all the files you had to build a case against him all suddenly went missing?" You tease and your dad shugs.

"Wasn't me"

-

just an idea.

[tteokdoroki]

ೀ⋆OCT 1ST PRINCESS DIARIES ━━ satoru gojo + breeding !

୨୧ — caution, you are now watching. satoru gojo + breeding. thirty days until you become queen, thirty days to get married and thirty days to stop sneaking around with the man trying to steal your crown… (5.2K)

୨୧ — rated r. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, royalty!au, enemies to lovers (?), forbidden romance, infidelity and cheating, spit kink, breeding kink, daddy kink, pregnancy kink, breast play, agoraphilia, baby trapping, oral sex (f!recieving), unprotected sex, princess + fem!reader, lord!satoru gojo.

୨୧ — director’s note. woo happy spooky season my loves. welcome back to another tteokdoroki kinktober! im excited for you to see whats in store this year, hope you enjoy this fic to start off mwah! - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ✧

you have thirty days to get married.

being from a small town, somewhere that’s not even on the map — you never expected your family name to carry much meaning aside from the one you carved out for yourself. let alone expect your name to come from royalty.

if you thought discovering how to be a teenager at sixteen was hard, then try discovering how to be a princess at sixteen on for size. everything you’ve ever done since finding out you were royalty has been for your family. you’ve kept your head down, out of the spotlight aside for the occasional appearance and charitable events. you’ve studied hard, double-majoring in international relations alongside political science and diplomacy. 

you’ve prepared yourself thoroughly enough to feel ready to take the mantle of queen — especially with your grandmother planning to step down. all of your accomplishments have been leading up to this very moment — it’s so close that you can practically feel the weight of the crown on your head. 

except there’s one itty, bitty, little problem.

you still have to get married in thirty days. otherwise, your family title will be poached from right beneath your nose.

satoru gojo (aka public enemy number one) is the nephew of a member of parliament who just so conveniently knows genovian law better than your grandmother does. since satoru came of age before you did, and he’s lived in genovia for longer than you have, and has some random distant relative in connection to the first king — the men of parliament have decided that he too is in line for the throne. 

especially if you, the princess, do not marry before your coronation. 

how ridiculous is that? 

and not only is this satoru gojo an evil, conniving, crown-stealing bastard. but he’s charming, a silver tongue wrapped around each and every one of his words. charming, like a prince (blegh) he’s also stupidly attractive. with deep sapphire blue eyes that are gorgeous enough to make the crown jewellers weak in the knees and a smile so sweet it feels like a sugar rush whenever he looks at you. there’s something so unique about the frostiness to his soft white hair, matching his unfairly long lashes — the ones you know girls back home would kill for. 

it angers you to know that you’d been dancing with your rival at your welcome ball, pains you to know that you’ll never forget his slender fingers splayed out against the small of your back to guide your every movement. if you had been back in college (and had a few litres of hard liquor in your system), perhaps gojo would have been the type of guy you’d have snuck into the dorms for a night of fun and an NDA in the morning — your secret signed away from the paparazzi’s keen eyes. 

alas, these are very different circumstances and there’s a lot riding on you being sensible about the situation. yet, satoru proves himself to be a problem every chance that he gets — cornering you in closets with his breath hot against your ear, trapping you against the walls while the ghost of his touch feels like heaven against your skin… on the staircase too, insistent on reminding you of the passionate dance you once shared.

all while you’re set to marry the duke of another country so you can keep your fucking crown (pardon the language, your highness).

suguru geto would be the perfect king consort if you managed not to mess this up. he is warm, where satoru is a flip between disastrously hot and frustratingly cold. he balances you out, a mellowness to your clumsiness whilst understanding your need for a rushed proposal and wedding. raised a gentleman, suguru is mindful of you in every action he takes. he doesn’t stare too long but smiles when you think he’s not looking and he’s a wonder with your grandmother — the parents, too. his family gem (a serpentine, making you feel much like a snake) sits heavy on your ring finger, dazzling under camera flashes at your engagement dinner…. and he recognises duty and honour above anything else too. 

if satoru is your enemy, then guilt is your friend. no matter what either of the men in your life do, you find yourself comparing their every move. when you’re with suguru your mind is away chasing the fairies, imagining the touch of another man who sets your heart alight in a cool blaze — like gasoline trickling through your veins waiting for its candle match. when you’re with satoru, all you can think about is how wrong this is. how geto doesn’t deserve this. but you’re an addict without a cure, and your drug is satoru gojo and you don’t see yourself ever  quitting him.

you're in desperate need of a wake up call and a nicotine patch, the cocky yet lecherous air about him almost acting like a smog in your healthy and capable lungs. sometimes through the fog, you wonder if satoru knows how much he weighs heavy on your mind— though if he did, you’d never hear the end of it. 

the current queen tells you not to worry about the white haired man that’s slowly freezing over the four chambers of your heart. you tell yourself that suguru geto is the only man that you need, one that could help you rule and create a beautiful and better kingdom for many years to come. geto tells you that he loves you, that he can’t wait to marry you in two or three weeks time and you respond with equal (yet, faux) excitement.

perhaps that’s why you find yourself sneaking away from this respectful, loving man to be with the one trying to ruin your life?

why are you following satoru gojo deep into the royal gardens, where the rose bushes are the only witness to your sick and twisted sins?

your back hits the jagged pattern of tree bark before your brain can catch up — causing a little wet whimper to bubble up on your pinky-peach tainted lips. the flutter of pain just beneath your skin only lasts for a second before it’s replaced by the sensation of satoru’s fingers traversing up the dips and curves of your body. he soothes you where it hurts the most, rough fingertips leaving bruising marks made with affection along your thighs and small of your back while he swallows your sweet gasps — licking into the wet cavern of your mouth to taste you. 

“you’re not even…” his words spill into you, adding fuel to the spark of lust beginning to form a pit in your stomach. “you’re not even attracted to him,” he spews, surging forward like a storm knocking on your door to press his greedy spit slicked lips to yours. his tongue, syrupy and wet, intertwined with your own, filling you up and giving you something to suck on. 

before you can even think of kissing your rival back, he retreats and takes his swollen lips with him — latching onto your neck and weaponizing his teeth against it. you gasp, your angel’s song tipping out into the rose garden while your fingers tangle in silver-moon locks and let him work against you, claiming you just below the neckline of your dress where no one will be able to see. 

except for maybe your fiancé and only god knows how you’ll be able to explain the marks to him tonight. ‘oh you know me, suguru. i’m way too clumsy for my own good.’ you’ll say, all while thinking about how the man after your crown blew your back out at your engagement party. 

you know why satoru’s acting such a fool — taking risks that he wouldn’t normally. the dress you’re wearing, the colour of his eyes, drives him fucking insane. you can’t say that you didn’t ask for this, like it wasn’t on purpose. 

“can’t fucking stand you,” gojo groans against your skin, nose pressed to your collarbone as he inhales the candied notes of your perfume. “been giving me those angel eyes all day. knowing that i can’t take my fucking eyes off of you when you wear that colour, princess.” 

he’s insufferable, but here you find yourself at the mercy of his touch — offering up your body to satoru gojo like a sacrificial lamb as your back arches away from the tree and presses your chest into his eager strawberry tongue. it leaves a slimy track over your neck and dips between the cleavage of your dress while gojo makes his descent down to hell — tasting the shimmering crystals of salt on your skin. 

satoru gojo belongs on his knees. 

kneeling before you with the royal blue tule of your dress between his shaking hands. you can tell he’s trying not to rip it off of you. born to worship you.  mirth weighs down his lashes and desire dances between the navy blue flecks in his sapphire eyes — he needs you so bad it might kill him. from this position he can practically smell how turned on you are, he’d recognise the mouth-watering aroma of your drooling cunt anywhere, slick gathering in the crotch of your barely there panties. 

there’s a depraved, royal treasure hidden between the string of fabric that runs between your juicy pussy lips — swollen and waiting to be devoured by your enemy. not that you’d ever admit that to him. “i think you should be referring to me as your queen.” you manage between ragged breaths, satoru eyeing the way your chest heaves from beneath the bust of your dress. 

instead of responding, his head unceremoniously dips beneath your skirts and he drags a thigh over the width of his broad shoulders. “watch your mouth,” the lord purrs salaciously as he licks up your inner thigh, the vibrations shooting straight to your swollen clit. “let’s remind you of who’s really in charge.” the both of you feel it, the aching throb of your pussy against gojo’s lips as he wedges his face right between your thighs. you can’t help but grind against him in wanton, desperate to be filled up with fingers, tongue whatever your sworn enemy has to offer up to the crown. 

but your warmth and wetness does nothing to coax satoru into tongue fucking his way past your clenching, creaming entrance. rather, he draws his head back just a touch and rubs at your cunt like he loves you, dips his fingers just into your quivering hole and then — smack !

juices run down satoru’s arms as if he’s taken a bite into the fruit that tempted eve while he laughs in awe of just how fucking sloppy you are between your thighs. the spank to your puffy folds makes you jolt in surprise, causing you to scratch your back against the jagged tree bark. 

“gojo!” you squeak in warning as your thighs close around his veiny hand. 

he sticks his tongue into his cheek, smirking in amusement before prying your shaky legs apart. “that’s not quite right, try again for me, princess...” gojo repeats the process, running between your slick folds and spanking you against them when you fail to respond. “you know my name, baby. c’mon it’s easy, i’ll even say it with you. d…d…” 

you refuse to stoop so low, to let demeaning words escape from underneath your tongue but not having satoru’s mouth on you is like torture — just his breath against your cunt is akin to dangling a carrot in front of a starving horse. you know what that pleasure is like, you crave it and you’re not above begging no matter how royal you may be. 

“f-fuck, daddy!” you whinge defiantly, screwing your eyes shut and letting your head fall back against the tree. satoru wastes no more time then, slotting his hot mouth against the entire length of your silken slit. the first thing he does is moan, the vibrations shooting twinges of ecstasy from your clit through the rest of your body and even reaching your head — making the world around you spin. 

the tip of his tongue teases its way past your entrance, squirming around to brush up against pleasure spots your little fingers can’t even reach. “that’s right princess, knew you could do it. you’re not just some stuck up little girl.” the white haired lord praises, drawing back from your quivering hole — connected to you by a string of your glistening slick. 

“shut up, just… put your mouth to good use.” you grunt, your hips canterint down onto gojo’s face to keep him quiet. your fingers take root in his silvery moon locks, dragging the man and his pink tongue onto your sex once more. gojo takes the hint, making your cute little clit his next victim as he rolls it between perfect rows of pearly whites and sends your eyes into the dark depths of your skull. 

the sinful and salacious sensation provides a welcomed distraction from your responsibilities as the crown princess. if your grandmother could see you now, you know that all she’d feel is disappointment— especially if she knew her granddaughter was fucking the biggest threat to the crown. and suguru, your poor fiancé — he was probably stuck mingling with guests he didn’t even know, looking for your eyes in the crowd like he always did. 

shame should be burning through your veins, not the white hot trickle of desire that you’re filled with as satoru slurps your juices from between your fat pussy lips. the needy groans he lets out against you inch down your spine, drown you in stormy waves of lust and you find yourself addicted to the bob of gojo’s head from underneath your tule skirts. you’re just so wet, pouring the royal family’s riches, liquid gold straight into the man’s greedy mouth as he drinks you in.

your nectar glazes his cheeks and chin in a devilish shine, brighter than the crown set to sit atop your head — his mouth barely parts from your ravaged and swollen romping as if he’s married to eating you out, tongue licking you up and down before your juices even have a chance to drip to the ground. you can only imagine what would happen if the press found out, your life would be over and so would satoru’s. but you don’t care, because every second that gojo spends between your thighs dragging you to orgasm is worth it. every single time. 

he grips at your ass, pulling you back onto his tongue as it flickers in and out of you. the whole ordeal is disgusting and delightful and you never want it to end. pleasure mounts high within you, evident in the shakiness of your gripes and grouses, lust laden in its tune. 

“s-satoru…satoru. i’m gonna… g’na fuckin’ cum!” a high pitch squeal tears in your throat like music to gojo’s ears — now working relentlessly to get you off just like you need. he doesn’t care if he’s suffocating, at least he’ll die a happy man between the thighs of a princess. 

he chuckles against your sex. “such a dirty mouth for such a proper lady.” the lord says as if he’s a scolding you.

but you can barely hear him, for static rings in your ears as your body loses the war to your orgasm. your release bubbles up on his tongue like the fresh pop of champagne, while your brain fizzles and clears itself of all logical thought. guilt is replaced by bouts of lust, making you realise that this cycle of avoiding and fucking gojo will never end. you’re too addicted to him and he’s too obsessed with you, as long as things remain that way — sex with him will always be on the agenda. 

you can’t promise yourself, your grandmother or suguru that this will be the last time. 

dopamine dances across gojo’s brain as he drinks in the tangy-honey flavour of your release, letting it splatter against his puffy lips as they encircle your clit to prolong your orgasm. you gush as if you’re a rushing erotic river, spilling into satoru’s earnest mouth while he licks you clean with wanton.

“look at that… oh look at you. cumming for me already.” 

“f-fuck you.”

“fuck me?” he smirks, making your gut lurch with wanton. “fuck you. i’m the one that’s working on it, princess.” satoru slowly rises to his feet, licking a nasty spit-slicked trail from your hole to the cleavage peeking out from underneath your dress. he doesn’t even stand to his full height, his large frame towering over you as he yanks down the front of your dress to lick and suck and play with your breasts until you can’t tell what’s up or down anymore.

his perfect teeth graze a pert nipple which makes you gasp and cry, loosely looping your arms around satoru’s neck while his ravaging mouth works your sensitive breasts, even going as far to swipe his tongue over the spot where each one meets your ribcage. he doesn’t leave any marks, you’re not his to keep. large and rough hands replace the warmth of his mouth on you to toy with your mounds of flesh — pinching and pulling as satoru kisses you senseless. you groan at the taste of your slick on his tongue and salt of your skin as well, tugging him closer so that there’s no space between your heated bodies. 

“don’t cry,” satoru comments softly against your swollen, cherry-bitten lips — cupping your face between his fingers. blinking slowly, you allow your frenzied brain the chance to catch up to reality  and you don’t realise the tears that wet your cheeks until he points them out. why are you even crying? “you’re too pretty for that.” his compliments do nothing to clear the lustful, confused fog settling over your mind like a dark cloud so you follow your body’s instincts and reach for the metal clasp on his belt. 

nimble fingers make their way down the front of gojo’s dress pants and he hisses at the quick pumps of his perfectly hard cock before you’re dragging up your skirts and guiding him towards your entrance. “baby, wait—“

you push his pants down enough to let his erection spring free, pulsing with need and standing at full mast against the cotton blouse covering his tummy. “i need you.” you sniff, dropping your panties to your ankles. “please.” 

the thing about sex with satoru is that it never feels like just sex. he tenderly hikes the meat of your thigh over his slender hips, lets his dribbly, sticky cockhead twitch forward and ease past the salaciously slick barriers of your empty hole, and presses your bodies so close together that you think you might forget how to breathe. satoru makes love to you each and every time — and it’s terrible. 

like eating too much sugar or indulging in a bad smoking habit. you’re not supposed to be in love with him and the way he fucks up into you, chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis even with all of the fabric in the way. “don’t cry for him, f-fuck,” the both of you look down, your pupils dilating at the sight of your pussy swallowing his lengthy shaft whole — catching on the ridges of each blue vein spiralling around him. “cry for me, princess. i’m the one that’s ruining you.” 

with his forehead pressed to yours, silver hair matted down by the line of perspiration against it — satoru braces a hand against the tree above your head and sets stream to his passionate thrusts, fluid like water under a bridge. it’s not fair, how wrong this is and how good it feels to have gojo lick over the parts of you he would bite down on if you were his. your pulse point, your neck, the spot just under your ear that’s way too sensitive for your own good. it should be suguru fucking you like this, your fiancé. 

yet, there’s no room for self-loathing and despair between the rough tree and satoru gojo above you. nothing aside for the thick curtain of lust that protects you from prying eyes in the rose garden, floral scents twisting with the raw, aphrodisiac-like smell of sex and sweat while he pounds away at your swollen pussy, grinding his cock wetly against the sweet spots dotted along your ribbed walls. 

“i should put a baby in you,” he says suddenly, just barely audible over the wet pap, pap, pap of your sexes working together. embarrassment burns bright under the surface of your cheeks because you’re that wet and it’s that loud, the remainders of your previous orgasm making it easier for satoru’s cock to glide in and out of you. “leave you with a little gift. a present — reminder of our time together, yeah?” he knows that he’s not making any sense, leaving his confession behind sex and sultry words. he would never admit to how much he loves you, he’s already ruined you enough. he’s already taken more than enough from you too. “i’ll get to the crown either fuckin’ way.” 

satoru talks with his dick and you fucking like it, squeezing the damn daylights out of him. he can barely pull back with you locked down on like that, his seedy tip snug between your ruined folds — clinging into him by viscous ropes of your last orgasm and freshly formed globs of his white hot precum. “you like that, don’t you princess?” he coos down to you condescendingly, picking up the pace of his hips as he rams into you mercilessly. the tree shakes from the force, sprinkling pretty and innocent petals over you both. “you wanna make me a daddy? my queen? give me a little prince or princess.”

“fuck yes, satoru!” nodding your head with wanton, you press yourself into his neck and squeeze him close by the ass cheeks so the only place your lover can go is deeper. you want to be able to feel him in your guts, hot in your womb like an iron rod — anything to forget the trickle of betrayal filling you up like a glass of wine. “i want it, i want it…i want—“

you cut yourself of with an abrasive sob, as you moan your agreements. i want you. you feel the words on the tip of your tongue, drowned out by the slippery sounds of sex and creaking tree trunk. you’ve never wanted anyone as much as you’ve wanted satoru gojo.

but he’s the wrong person, in the wrong place, at the wrong time. 

“i know you do, i know,” you can feel gojo move to slobber over your chest, pacifying his whistle tone whimpers with your nipples bouncing in his mouth. he looks up at you with vacant cerulean eyes that shimmer like the skies above, the crude mix of your arousals slinging at the point at which your bodies join. “tell me how much you love daddy’s cock, princess.” 

he goads because he craves your attention. satoru can feel you slipping from between his fingers, the guilt that rolls off of you in waves as he languidly rams into your cunt. he’s asking a lot of someone who’s too stimulated, too fucked out to speak — your tongue barely staying in your mouth. 

“sato—!”

“c’mon… answer me, fuck, there we go.”

that’s when he hikes you up in his arms, lifting you a little to feverishly thrust up into you — dragging you closer to another high. your nails dig deep into his taut ass, nudging his dick against your g-spot. suguru would never be this rough with you, would never want to fuck you so good that the pleasure hurts.

shaking your head, your eyes glisten but the denial doesn’t stop small streams of arousal from squirting out and webbing against gojo’s soft pubes. “i-i can’t! i don’t—“ satoru bites down on your nipple, hard, cutting through your train of blurry thought. “i love…h-him!” 

you love your fiancé, but you both know that’s a lie.

“yeah, sure you do. that’s why your pussy’s huggin’ my cock so tight. you don’t wanna let me go, baby.” even while he’s a mess for you, your rival still finds it in him to be such an egotistical prick. you can’t even tell him that he’s wrong, because you never ever want to be without satoru, without this immensely overwhelming feeling of ecstasy fluttering through your entire body. it’s all too much, he’s too much, stretching you wide and filling you with the love (and cum) you should be getting from suguru. 

thunder cracks above your head, lightning flashes through the trees as if the higher power up above is bearing witness — growing distraught at your sins. it’s not long before the heavens open up on you both and your sweaty, sex slicked bodies are doused in rain. but it doesn’t stop you, doesn’t stop satoru from dragging down your bottom lip to lovingly spit into your mouth. 

he kisses you as if it’s not enough, rocking his hips into you so he can bully your insides and mark them with his pre. “bet he’s lookin’ for you right now, hm? his precious wife to be…drenched in my cum ‘n drenched in the rain.” satoru heaves, letting the patter of the rain drown out the sound of his tightening balls slapping against your ass. “bet he wishes he could fuck you like i do.” 

you can’t tell if it’s the tears of guilt and longing or the rain that blurs your vision. “h-he doesn’t get to!” you cry like a dirty porn-star, hardly becoming of a soon to be queen. “o-only you!” 

“only me, hm? i’m flattered.” he seems elated, hiding his flushed face and happy smile in the junction between your neck and shoulder. his wet hair tickles your skin. “too bad he doesn’t know his princess comes used and abused between her pretty legs, huh?”

the rain is cold against your skin, seeping through your clothes, ruining your makeup — but the way satoru licks up your hot streaky tears and the droplets of water against your skin as if to sooth you… the way he does it fills you with warmth. 

your limbs become heavy from your water-logged clothes and exhaustion, your whole body slumped against satoru’s strength but you still manage to rake your nails down his back as if you can’t be any closer. gojo doesn’t let your hips run from his either.  his mind races, stuck on the idea of asking you to run away with him because he can’t just let you go back to geto. not again. 

he can’t let you marry someone you’re not in love with. 

it would be selfish of him to ask you to stay, even when you wrap your legs around him and have him plug up your tiny little hole with sticky white. he sees it in your eyes how much you care for him, even through the rain. he’s ruining you, from the inside out, knocking the crown from your head and he hates it.

“daddy loves this pussy,” he wishes for the moment to last forever, but you’re already so close — crying from every hole, suffocating his throbbing cock. neither of you can hold back. “he loves you. i love you.”

the confession nearly tears your world in two — but it’s all you need to hear before everything comes crashing down on you. “i-i love you!” you tell him, wailing the words loud and proud as you release on him for a second time, gushing obscene amounts against gojo’s tummy smooshed up on your clit. “sato—! satoru! cum with me, cum inside me!” scratching down his back and screwing your eyes shut, you tilt your head up to capture his lips in a passionate kiss. 

the taste of salt on your cupid’s bow throws gojo over the edge too — his cockhead pours viscous white directly into your womb. “fuuuck, you’re so good princess…” and even though you know you should tell him to pull out, you don’t want him too. you want his baby, want his cum, want him always. even if that’s greedy of you.“fuckin’ take it…take all of me. all of that cum’s for you.” he slurs, beyond brainless.

lewd clapping noises echo between your bodies like the thunder up above as satoru fucks you through the rest of your highs, nose nudging your cheeks tenderly to soothe your tears. moaning, and crying against one another’s swollen lip. when his slow grinds come to a stop and your breathing recovers, the white haired lord gently sets you back in the ground — tenderly helping you to fix your drenched clothes back into place. 

your thighs are completely bruised and his back is completely torn up. the last marks you’ll ever leave with each other.

“so about—“

“we… we can’t do this anymore, satoru.” you say almost immediately, shaky as if you’re in the verge of panic. 

for the first time since you started doing this, sneaking off with one another, gojo notices the glint  on your ring finger. and you feel the very same weight of that ring. 

he shrugs you off, pulling up his pants and smirking. “that’s what you said last time—

“no satoru, i mean it now. we can’t.” it’s like you’ve come to your senses, realised the gravity of it all and what’s at stake. thirty days to get married, thirty days to become queen. “i’m going to become queen, your queen, in a matter of weeks and to do that i need to be married to him. i can’t mess this up. we have to stop.”

“but you don’t even want him,” he growls like a petulant child, roaring above the rain that cascades down on you both. “you want me. i want you. who gives a fuck about anything else?”

“duty gives a fuck! i have to marry him!”

throwing his hands up in defeat, satoru steps towards you, loud and intimidating, and you step back towards the tree. “you can’t even say his fucking name.” 

“his name is suguru geto and i will marry him because you forced me to.” you spit, going toe to toe with him — chest heaving but tight from your heart break. “if you and your stupid higher ups had just stayed out my way. maybe there could have been a chance for us. but they didn’t and here we are and duty freaking calls, gojo.” 

you storm off shortly after, be before he can see you cry again (for real this time). from his place hidden in the royal gardens, gojo watches sullenly as you approach your grandmother and fiancé — the elder queen disappointed in your current state and suguru clearly worried that the rain might make you catch a cold. 

the perfect alibi to cover up the fact that you’d just fucked satoru gojo. 

but the entire time, you never look back. 

you don’t even look at gojo — and  that’s how he knows you meant it. you always look back, always look for him in the crowd. 

the knowledge hits him like a strike of lightning. he’s royally fucked up — you’re marrying for the crown, all because of him. and there’s no room for loving when you’ve got the weight of the nation on your shoulders.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[kurooandkenmasslut]

jjk dilfs x pregnant!reader

(reader is far into the pregnancy, much to jjk mens excitement yet worry.)

no minors! (I didn't feel like aging up yuuji and megumi and so on..) && no sukunaaa sorryyy

tojis is super short, I apologise!! if this gets enough attention I might make it longer but i wanted this out asap lmfao

⭒​SATORU GOJO↫​

when dream becomes reality

“But!-”

“no buts, sweets. just rest your cute lil buttocks on the couch.” gojo fought back. everytime you'd protest to do something, he'd always be there to retort. Especially since your due date was nearing.

you bit your lip, staring up at him. You felt kind of bad. He does everything for you, cleaning, shopping for you everyday, even learning a new skill which was cooking, just for you.

lying on his chest as you both watch your favourite tv show, his large hand caressing your belly bump.

“what do you think the baby'll be?” you ask, staring up at his face. Gojo stared at your face for a moment, not thinking, just admiring his wife.

“a boy.” he says, no hesitation.

“ehhh? why do you think that? I think it's a girl.”

“my dreams, sweets.” he smiles and you chuckle. At the near the start of your relationship, satoru had a dream of where you are now. Him being the strongest sorcerer, you his wife, with a baby boy. He had his absolutely gorgeous eyes and long lashes and most of his features, the cute baby taking your haircolor and your pretty smile. Oh if only younger gojo saw him now, he would of cried in happiness.

with a flushed face, he admitted it, completely out of his mind. drunk gojo smirked as he told described how beautiful it was, not knowing how embarrassed he was, but he didn't mind the part where his dream came true.

as embarrassing as it is for gojo to recall the memory, he still laughs with you, because if you find it funny, then he's content. maybe revealing another embarrassing secret, just to make you laugh, isn't that bad.

⭒​CHOSO KAMO↫​

First time daddy!

as soon as choso found out you were pregnant, he typed up on google what pregnant means, he was happy for the most part but.. worry and nervousment still lingered. He was actually surprised he could reproduce since he was a half curse. Negative thoughts was set on his mind. He felt as if his child would be scared of him. And if they were, which in his mind, they were likely to, he would curl up and bawl on the floor.

You gave told choso over and over again everyday, saying there's nothing to be worried about and that he'll be an amazing father, but he still felt like it, no matter the words you repeated. Not to mention, the people outside your relationship gossiped, especially about choso. On how he is a 'monster', a curse, not fit to parent with a human, that you deserve better. He would hear them on the streets, anywhere and everywhere. He did try not letting them get to him, but hearing it constantly everytime he went in public was very exhausting.

any time you tripped, or just an honest accident, choso felt like he was responsible for not taking care of you properly. Even though, it wasn't his fault.

So when that baby pushed through, God, he wanted to cry. Although the nurses rushed to clean him, he clenched your sweaty palm. Wiping away the stray hairs that stuck onto your sweaty forehead. You panted, leaning into his touch.

the nurses carried your baby gently and carefully, placing him into your arms. The nurses cooed before leaving you with choso.

Choso wasn't an emotional person, but big fat tears swam down his pale face, his hands covering his face. You lightly chuckled.

“do you want to hold him?” funny how that small, little sentence almost made him faint.

“b-but.. what if I drop him?” choso muttered, a bead of sweat forming on his forehead. Nervous was an understatement. “nonsense! we practiced for this, remember? Here, my arms are tired, cho.” you say, yawning. Gently pushing the newborn into his hands, choso cradled his head in his hand, while his arm held his body.

You didn't get time to oogle, as your bufy shut down like a light.

The baby opened his eyes, big doe circles looking back at him. They both held eye contact before the baby started laughing, having his small little hand on chosos pale face. Choso was shocked to say the least. He didn't think his baby would giggle when he saw him, but he certainly isn't mad.

Waking up a while later, you rubbed your eyes with a yawn. That was a good sleep. Turning your head over to see where choso went, you stared at the cute sight.

Choso, in the seat next to your bed, was sitting there, sleeping. The baby was cradled in his arms with a strong grip, but not a uncomfortable grip. They both snored away, making you giggle a bit, reaching out to hold chosos hand and whispering,

“I love you two boys.”

⭒​SHIU KONG↫​

personal taxi..

Staring at the cars passing out the window, looking bored. You then started having a competition between two raindrops on the window.

Seeing that the specific raindrop that you were rooting for to win had lost, already soured your mood.

“im hungry, shiu. Can we go to the bakery? Pretty pleasee? I really, really want to get that new donut flavor they released!” you begged. Shiu, your very lovely husband who may or may not drive to the shop, sighed.

“babe, you just ate. We literally had a mcdonalds 10 minutes ago.”

“okay, but im carrying your baby. You do realise that there's another mouth to feed, and that im going to tear my body trying to give birth to your baby right?” you whined, batting your pretty lashes at him. No matter what, he always gives in. I mean, who could argue with that? That's the truth.

Smiling cheekily at him, you began to slightly kick your feet, excited he's complying. Works everytime.

looking at all the buildings that passes the vehicle, you can tell your almost near your destination.

feeling the baby kick, you accidentally let out a grunt. “that damn baby..” you mutter through furrowed brows. Shiu laughs, “no way you're already cursing out our baby.. not even out yet, doll. Im sure theyre just excited as you are going to this damn bakery.” you roll your eyes, not wanting to retort back to his remark. I mean, you don't blame your baby for being excited, because you love it too. as soon as they were born, you can bet that your taking them here every time possible.

seeing the building you were dying to see, a smile formed on your face. Hunger took over your body, jumping out of the car as soon as shiu parked and turned it off.

“aye, woman! Would you wait on me, jeez.. impatient women these days..” shiu called out, muttering the last part so you wouldn't hear. He knows he would get a red ear if you did. hurrying out as he also knows that you would huff if he dared to take 5 seconds longer and would've went without him. Not only that, but he didn't want you to trip over anything to hurt yourself.

shiu put his hands around your waist as you two walked. A cute little detail you adored.

The bell rang when you opened the door, the waitress greeting you when she walked passed. The aroma was hints of warm coffee and cinnamon. It felt really comforting, whixh is why your a usual customer.

Thankfully, there wasn't much of a line, but long enough for time to think about your order.

You were up next, so you two ordered.

Getting seated down the back right next to the window. You finished your pastry in about a minute while shiu was mid way into a bite, staring at you like you were crazy.

Both of you held eye contact before breaking it with a fit of laughs. You and Shiu couldn't wait for a third person giggling aswell, possibly a specific baby..

⭒​SUGURU GETO↫​

suguru's house rules

as soon as suguru found out that you, his wife, his one and only, got knocked up by him, he immediately made everything in the house baby proof. Even at the start at the pregnancy.

Raising two girls by himself wasn't easy, but now that he's experienced parenting, he knows all the tips and tricks.

“you will not be lifting a finger, unless you need to go to the restroom or something.. anyway, next if you need anything while I'm away, the girls will always be by your side if you need anything. If you need me at any time, I'm keeping my phone on me all day, just incase.” suguru says, with his cute little smile. You blink at him blankly, as if he doesn't tell you this everyday.

“sugu, you do realise I can do stuff by myself, right?” you say, tilting your head. You have this conversation everyday, yet you don't know why you bother because he never budges. You didn't want to treat your two angels, mimiko and nanako, like your servants while you sat there like royal.

“nonsense! I don't want my princess in there and my angel here moving around alot, don't want you to fall or anything, you know?” he mumbles. You glare up at him as he smiled sweetly at you. As if he didn't make a cheeky reference to the one to many times of when you got up when the two girls weren't looking, your poor knees gave out. And when suguru got that certain phone call, he seriously almost passed out in worry. After all of that, he still is wary of leaving the house most days, afraid something might happen again and he isn't there.

suguru sits back in satisfaction after just smothering you with kisses, something he usually does before he leaves for his cult. He hates dealing with them damn monkeys, but one of his many goals is to get as many curses as possible, so he'll take what he can get.

standing up, he calls put to the girls, who were currently making you lunch.

“mimi, nana! I'm leaving now, you coming to say bye?!” he yelled not to loud, not wanting to damage your hearing because of him. The two girls pounce on him, his arms full of his two angels.

“come home safe!” “hurry up coming home, there's a new cafe that opened and I wanna try it!” they squealed, suguru only chuckling in response, patting their head with his usual smile.

“take care of mommy over there, mkay?” suguru slightly bent down to their level, his voice low. They nodded enthusiastically, giving him one final hug before he went.

suguru closed the door, summoning his rainbow dragon. If he could marry you over and over, he would.

⭒​NANAMI KENTO↫​

worry 'bout yourself, baby!

wiping the slight dampness off your forehead, you finally made it to your destination. the nursery room. Putting your hands on your hip, you stared at the random peices of the unbuilt crib on the floor.

Peaking our the door and looking at your husbands closed office door, hearing him on the phone to his coworker. Perfect timing.

Recently, nanami has been working at home to watch over you a bit more, even though he has papers half the height of you to fill out. You didn't wanna bother him from his work again today, and plus, you wanted to be independent and brag about how you built this crib by yourself to your baby later. But, you knew nanami would get kind of mad that you lifted a finger, you didn't care.

If you sat down on the floor to even sort it out, you wouldnt get back up again and would need kentos help. And so, bending down to pick up the peices, you started to feel dizzy after a bit of back and forth of putting the pieces on the table.

'only a few peices left.' the thought trailed through your mind after each peice. Although, your baby thought otherwise, giving a nice brutal kick on the walls of your belly. A sudden yelp came, followed by a quick slap to the mouth as you have now blown your cover. Thr house was silent. Not hearing the mumble of kentos voice, now hearing the footsteps coming to the nursery. Mentally cursing our baby out, the door opened.

“honey? whats wrong? why are you- don't tell me you're trying to build the crib again?” kento said, scratching his blonde undercut. Smiling sheepishly with a slight nod.

“dear, I told you I would build it as soon as I get through the paperwork, didn't I?” kento says, shaking his head.

“but! you were in your office, already filled to the brim with workload and that damn paperwork. I didn't want to make it your new problem, you know? You're always taking care of me. And who told you that even a quarter of that shit was alright? I can have a word with them if you want.”

“my love, you will never be a problem to me, ever. What kind of husband would I be if I thought that? You're crazy.” Kento says, a small smile forming on his lips at thought of you worrying about him and his wellbeing. A rare sight indeed.

“and instead of worrying about me, worry about yourself, yeah? I'm sure your back is broke, my love. Please rest yourself, it's not good for the baby if you don't get rest, i told you this. Lets get you to the living room, yeah?” kento says into your neck, not giving you a choice.

Kento put his hands on your lower back, slowly massaging the spot you usually get sore. guiding you down the living room humming your favourite tune. almost in time for your reality show to be on, your luck.

Wasn't long until your eyes was stuck on the tv, drama brewing on the first few seconds.

Kento stands there, content. Not because of the tv show, no, its you. He wouldn't know where he would he standing, whether it would be on earth or the skies, without you.

⭒​TOJI FUSHIGURO↫​

short tempered woman and tired husband.

“woman, I am not going to feed you toothpaste.”

“well, why the hell not?!” you responded, rasing a brow. Toji grumbled, absolutely set on not giving you toothpaste for food.

“would you just sleep? I'm not giving you toothpaste to eat. Why the hell are you so weird?!”

“hhaaah?! What did you just say?!”

nights went on like that. Different item, same outcome. Toji with a red ear and your back to him. Toji doesn't know if your stable or not as you requested for a bowl of dirt to eat a few nights ago. He only knew about women's weird food craving a while ago when he saw you eating a chocolate bar with ketchup as a dip.

(toji finds it kinda hot when you get angry... kinky)

Toji put his head in his hands, covering his eyes. He let out a sigh before questioning you.

“are you eating toast and ice cream again?”

“yeah, so what? Any odds to you, old man..”

“oh, your so gonna regret that. We've been here before, and your belly bump is the result.” toji smirks, chuckling at your flushed face. And yet, his outcome is the same.

[crushpunky]

drew and actress!reader test how well they know each other

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

this is based off the gq couples interviews. this one was a bit more difficult to write since there wasn't anything to go off of, but hopefully y'all enjoy it :)

Y/n sat in her chair, adjusting her hair to fall smoothly around her face with a calming, deep breath. Drew took his seat opposite her, smiling widely as a production assistant handed each of them a stack of cards. He wore an oversized knitted cardigan over a crisp white t-shirt paired with a pair of distressed jeans, his sharp features and messily styled hair tying the look together in a way that made y/n swoon.

“You ready?” Drew asked, raising his eyebrows slightly. With both of them preparing for the release of the newest season of Outer Banks as well as their respective upcoming projects, their agents suggested they do an interview together. Overjoyed at the offer, the two of them emphatically agreed to sit down with GQ for their Couples Quiz. It wasn’t the first time they had done interviews together, usually joined by the rest of the OBX cast, but this was the first time it had only been the two of them explicitly opening up and talking about their relationship.

“Of course,” Y/n returned his grin, crossing her legs as she glanced over towards the cameras. Since they went public with their relationship, they had never been especially secretive about it, talking about each other easily in passing as their partner or significant other. However, it was a bit nerve racking to be so open and talk so openly about the intricacies of their relationship.

“Alright, y/n you are clear to begin with the introduction…” one of the camera operators focused the lens on y/n, “now.”

“Hello, I am y/n y/ln and this is…” y/n gestured over to Drew, whose gaze still remained on her before he tore his eyes away and looked into the camera lens. 

“Drew Starkey.” Drew said quickly, causing y/n to laugh and a smirk to creep upon Drew’s lips.

“And today we will be taking GQ’s Couples Quiz.” Y/n finished before turning to Drew once more. With a dramatic flare, Drew shuffled his cards and cleared his throat.

“First up, how many siblings do I have?” Drew said with a quirk of his brow.

“Oh that one’s easy,” y/n said, wiping a faux bead of sweat off her forehead, “you are the oldest of four. You have two sisters and a brother.”

“That is true, that is true.” Drew grinned before tossing the card behind his chair.

“Alright, my turn,” y/n straightened in her chair, “what was my first job?”

“Why a barista of course,” Drew said, “and an excellent one at that. This girl makes a fucking killer iced latte—”

“Joseph!” Y/n reddened at his swearing, Drew immediately clamping a hand over his mouth as the two of them laughed.

“Sorry GQ,” Drew chuckled, “but it’s true. She makes a very good iced latte.”

“But yes, you are correct. My first job was in a coffee shop.” Y/n said, resting the cards back in her lap.

“Next,” Drew began, “what was our first date? Ooh that’s kind of a hard one.”

Y/n nodded to herself, thinking back towards the beginning of their relationship. It was by no means a traditional beginning, the two of them already living with each other between seasons of OBX when COVID hit. It had been only a few months into quarantine when they could no longer deny the feelings they had for each other, eventually leading them to finally start dating after what felt like lifetimes of pining over each other.

“Yeah, it is,” y/n chewed on her bottom lip in thought, “I mean we were already living with each other when we started dating, so I think we might’ve skipped that step.”

Drew chuckled, “yeah I think you’re right. But I think we’ve made up for our lost dates, you think?”

“Oh yeah, five years of living with this one I think we’ve made up for it.” Y/n smiled, thinking back to all the nights they’d spent together, whether sitting on the couch watching a movie, out at a fancy restaurant, or tangled in the sheets in their shared home. Continuing on, y/n looked at the next card.

“Drew if you don’t get this one we might have a problem,” y/n said, to which Drew’s eyes widened as he leaned in intently.

“What is my favorite Taylor Swift song?” Y/n peered over the card, a wide grin creeping on her cheeks as she watched Drew let out an exhale of relief.

“I definitely know this one: Getaway Car,” Drew said with a shrug. Y/n turned to the camera, flashing a smile and tossing the note card back. Drew did a fist pump before relaxing back into his seat.

“He knows me so well,” Y/n said. “What’s your favorite Taylor song, Drewseph?”

“Ooh, that’s a good question…” Drew rubbed his fingers along his jaw in contemplation. “I think I’m going to say Daylight because that was what we played at our wedding.”

Y/n rolled her eyes in faux annoyance at Drew’s overly sentimental but oh-so-very-Drew answer before letting out a giggle. Drew playfully rolled his eyes in return, a wide smile still plastered across his face.

“Alright, alright, who is my favorite character in Outer Banks?” Drew asked, tapping the queue cards against his chin as he waited for y/n to respond.

“I know they probably wanted this to be some cute answer and say me, but it’s really not.” Y/n said, causing the crew behind the cameras to giggle.

“Yeaaahhh it’s not.” Drew shook his head with a laugh only causing the crew’s giggles to intensify.

“It’s Barry, Nick Cirillo. The true love of his life.” Y/n said, using her finger to mime a tear falling down her cheek with an exaggerated frown.

“No, don’t say that.” Drew tossed the card at her with a shake of his head. “Yes, Barry is my favorite character, but the love of my life is most definitely sitting right here in front of you folks.”

“Aww, Starkey you sap.” Y/n said, blowing Drew a quick kiss before grabbing another question card.

“Alright, back to the questions,” y/n began. “When did we first meet?”

Drew’s face immediately lit up at the memory, “oh I remember it very clearly.”

“Do you now?” Y/n chuckled, cocking her head as she listened to Drew’s words.

“Yes, it was right after I had gotten a call back for Outer Banks,” Drew said. “They invited me in for a chemistry read and I just remember coming in and seeing this… just, absolutely beautiful girl sitting with the directors and my stomach dropped. Then she came over to me and introduced herself and I thought I was going to pass out. I was so nervous, but I tried my best to play it cool and… yeah. Here we are.”

“There is no way that is true!” Y/n teased, laughing at Drew’s exaggerated gestures as he told his story. She certainly remembered the day fondly, but she didn’t detect any of Drew’s nervousness… Maybe because she herself was so overcome with nerves the second she saw him walk through the door it didn’t even occur to her that someone who looked like that could possibly feel the same way about her.

“It is!” Drew said, raising his hands in surrender. “I thought I was totally going to bomb the audition but once the camera started rolling everything just clicked… and I’ve been totally obsessed ever since.”

Y/n felt her cheeks warm up, moving to cover her face with one of the question cards.

“Ok, here is the final question, baby,” Drew continued, a mischievous grin on his lips as he watched y/n’s flustered expression.

“Oh no!” Y/n said, smoothing her hair down and taking a deep breath to calm the flutters in her stomach. Despite being together for nearly five years, and even getting married, Drew still managed to always make her weak in the knees and remind her just why she loved him so much.

“Where is my favorite place on Earth?” Drew asked.

“Oh, I think I know this one,” y/n said with a smile. “Charleston, South Carolina.”

“Yep. Best place, best people… it’s truly our home.” Drew grinned, putting the card down and resting his chin in his hand as he stared at y/n lovingly. Catching his gaze, y/n stood up before walking over to him, the two of them embracing each other as the cameras continued to roll. Once they pulled apart, Drew rose to his feet, the two of them turning towards the camera.

“Thank you, GQ!” Y/n waved, Drew placing a kiss to the top of her head before waving along, the two of them smiling ear to ear and practically radiating with a love that continued to grow stronger every day.