#that ought to keep you away
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Lord give me energy today eueueue
#dora daily#sm things piling up but my brain says NO#I canât even do basic things đ#itâs genuinely so hard to talk to others#aaaaaaah#the reason is bc Iâve forced myself into contentment with the prospect of being alone cause thereâs just so much I can do that would bring#me joy in solitude but#thatâs what Iâve always been doing part of the reason I talk a lot is bc thatâs how I am in my head#like things firing at 100miles per second bc thatâs how I used to keep myself entertained when I was younger#when everyone would have buddies and I wouldnât#and it works now bc everyone takes ten business days to reply that itâs completely made me genuinely grossed out of social interaction#but I canât live in La La land forever#pls if only kaveh existed I wouldnât need another means of socialisation eueeuue#everyone is so impossible to understand; coming from a girl who has always been called utterly INSANE for how hard she hyper focuses on#small cues and signals and detecting discomfort and whatnot. I turn my brain off for one second and yet again the same shit happens itâs so#unfair that everyone can be relaxed and I ought to be on high alert 24/7#I also find it hilarious and pathetic when people pretend to be people smart but theyâre really not ⌠itâs genuinely embarrassing#like bitch when you get to my level then we will talk istg âŚ#Istg if this is the autism thing everyoneâs been telling me im screwed cause#I donât want yet another issue#but itâd make sense like how people seem to draw away despite there being nothing wrong with me#how people tend to agree with everything someone else says but the moment I do it itâs heinous#how I have physically had to learn social cues and trial and error#with the errors altering my brain chemistry#that unwavering sense of justice that makes me so very uncomfortable if not fulfilled that I shut up about so I can actually hold down#friends. God knows how every interaction I have with a person is so orchestrated so almost artificial and âyes-manâ core that I donât even#believe said person likes ME bc idek who I am and bc if I donât agree w#everything no matter how many times someone says I wonât get mad âŚ. trust me they do theyâre all liars and manipulators even if they donât#intend to#the scary fascinations Iâve had when younger
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I can't stop thinking about Ghost being a better boyfriend than your ex, even without establishing that title....
This is a continuation of part one.
warning: mention domestic abuse
đ
Simon was there every night you worked. You never gave him your schedule, but he'd show up and settle onto one of the stools like clockwork. Soap often joined him, and while they carried on like always, you knew Simon's gaze lingered on your body. You could practically feel the weight as you took drink orders and pulled pints. It wasn't unwelcome. In fact, it made everything easier knowing you weren't alone if your ex dared show his face.
When your shifts ended, Simon would walk you back to your new place. The one time you insisted he didn't need to do that, he grunted and said, "What if I want to?"
You didn't mention it again. Instead you got into a routine of giving him a fifteen minute warning when your shift was going to end, and you'd head out into the cold night with him at your side. He was mostly quiet while you chatted about whatever was on your mind. When you'd ask him about himself, he'd reroute the conversation back to you. Then he would wait while you unlocked your door and stepped inside.
You always had the urge to invite him in, but you were taking up so much of his time already. And what would you do with him anyway? This hulking military man with kind eyes?Â
You thanked him and gave him a little wave before ducking inside, and you knew he always waited until he heard the sound of your door locking before he left.Â
"Y' alright, love?" he asked one night when you were starting to feel particularly good about yourself again. Your split lip had healed which required less makeup. You felt stronger for having left your ex in the dust. You were wearing a new top that made you feel sexy.
"Yeah. I'm alright, Simon. I feel really good, actually."
You served him a drink and refused to let him pay. You really ought to make him stop tipping you at this rate. He was doing so much for you and getting nothing in return. He was doing all of the boyfriend duties just as he had promised, but he never so much as touched you other than the occasional hand hold.
What if you wanted more?
He broke into your thoughts as he said, "I can tell. Ya' been smiling more. Almost ready to go?"
Tonight you felt like you were floating along the dirty sidewalk with your hand tucked in Simon's massive paw. He was keeping you warm without doing anything, and he listened to your nervous rambling as you tried your best to work up your courage. But the two of you reached your front door all too quickly.
"Get inside," he said, voice deep and tender in spite of the command. "An' lock up."
When he started to pull his hand away, you didn't let him. And you didn't budge when one of his eyebrows inched higher. "Not quite yet," you whispered, toe tapping the cement step you were standing on which put you slightly closer to him in height. "I have to tell you something."
Simon's lips pressed together in a tight line, and his chin dipped in a slight nod. "I need to tell ya' something, too. Just don't want to."
"What?" you asked immediately, the lightness you'd been feeling instantly replaced with a lead brick inside you.
"I'm leaving. Late tomorrow night. Not until after I make sure ya' get home from the pub."
"Leaving?" you whispered, heart pounding faster. He was in the military. Some sort of special mission involvement. You knew that much. And you could read between the lines to know that someone who looked and behaved like he did was probably about to risk his life, not for the first time. "Simon, where are you going?" you asked with tears in your eyes even though you figured he wouldn't be able to tell you.
Simon shook his head, his lips curling into a soft smile. It was a rare sight, and it made you dizzy. "Pretty little thing like you shouldn't be worried 'bout me." You wanted to tell him you would be. You'd worry nonstop until you saw him again. You'd come to rely on him, but mostly you liked how you felt when he was around. "There'll be someone to walk ya' home from work every night. I can promise that."
You wanted to lean in and kiss him, but instead you threw your arms around his neck. He was so solid and warm, and the scrape of his facial hair on your cheek was somehow comforting. "But I'll see you tomorrow, right?" you asked, voice breaking on a sob.
"I'll see ya' tomorrow, love."
He didn't move an inch as you extracted yourself, and the sound of his receding footsteps could only be heard once you'd locked yourself inside.
đ
Part three
#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon riley cod#simon ghost riley#ghost simon riley#simon riley#simon ghost x reader#simon riley imagine#simon ghost x you#ghost call of duty#ghost cod#ghost imagine#ghost riley#call of duty x reader#cod x reader#ghost x reader#ghost x you#call of duty fanfic#simon riley fanfic#ghostsprincess
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Seen the request, so I shall deliver. Could you pls write a drabble or hcs of a yandere sunday with an isekaied reader?
Good timing because I'm actually planning a non yan isekai fic for him, I wonder if you saw that post. Here it is in case you haven't.
Sincerest apologies if this isn't the best, this fic is 100% emotionally charged by my obsession with him and frankly with a little bit of a high for passing a tricky exam. This is a treat for myself.
EDIT: Please check out this wonderful comic that @danijaci made me based off this fic!! đđŤś
Picking up the cup from the fine oak table, you gazed towards the eerie galaxy before you, hundreds upon thousands of stars giving you a constant reminder of just how far from home you truly were. Taking a sip from the little porcelain cup you could not help but to hum in delight, the soft notes of the tea soothing your nerves ever so lightly as you pretended to ignore the heavy gaze which lingered at the back of your head.
Even from this distance, it was easy to tell that Sunday was eager to approach you. Still, he kept his distance and made a silent offering in the form of the very tea you drank at the moment.
Anything is better than Himeko's coffee but you were never going privy her to that.
In a not so distant past, all of this was nothing but fiction. The Express, the story, the characters - it was all nothing more but fiction, something to pass the time as your days went on and on, the same monotony repeating each and every day.
It was hard to not think about your friends and family, what sane person would not? Lord knows how they must be feeling right now, worried sick out of their minds with indescribable sorrow. In their eyes you had merely vanished, not a single trace to be found. For all they knew you could have been left for dead in a ditch somewhere, beaten, bloodied and broken, never to see the light again or if they were even more inclined to be morbid, you had succumbed to a fate worse than death. Death at the very least grants you finality, that all is over regardless of what happened moments prior.
But that was simply not the case for you.
Here you were, lounging about in a comfortable chair as you pondered on your old life while enjoying tiny little luxuries, far away where none of your loved ones could reach you. However, life was funny sometimes because it had some fun games in store.
Sunday was very kind upon arrival. He made sure to always be there for you, always checking up on you, always there to keep you company. You were already smitten with him but now to actually witness him in the flesh was just... Indescribable. You got along like a house on fire, so much so that the crew liked to tease that you ought to just get a room. Sunday, ever the gentleman, would just brush their words aside and assure you to not take their playful little jabs to heart.
You wouldn't say anything, resorting to merely giving him a smile but not because of what he said but rather of what he did not - never once did he actually shut down those perverse accusations. Never, not even once did he deny them.
He became an emotional crutch, someone to whom you would come running to when things got tough and he would always welcome you with open arms. Sunday would hold you tenderly, his serene voice dripping with honey along with a tender drop of ecstasy, for his excitement with holding you would just show itself sometimes. His grip would be too tight at certain moments, never quite ready to let you leave. His hugs were warm and comforting, he always smelled so good too. He smelled like kindness and sweet wildflowers, always lulling you back to him no matter the time. In dark corners and perhaps even under the watchful eyes of the crew, Sunday would wrap his scarf around your head, securing the soft fabric in order to provide you with a sense of comfort.
It was humiliating just how much you would try to inhale his scent as much as possible. You wanted it etched deep inside your memory, you wished for it to linger on your very soul and for it to follow you everywhere you went, sticking to your being like tar. The fabric of the scarf would muffle your ears a little but someone was always chatting in the background. Be it March bickering with Dan Heng, Mr Yang scolding someone for doing something they were not supposed to, or just Conductor Pom Pom trying to give a speech, all of it was irrelevant.
You were ready to kill whoever would try to pry you away from sweet Sunday. That thought came often which had left you worried - just what kind of person had you become? Regardless, you kept your mouth shut and had no plans of sharing such violent sentiments with anyone, particularly not to the one you held so dear.
When it was time to part for the evening you would bid the crew farewell and wished them a good night. You always made sure to take a few extra seconds with Sunday, just to ease your aching soul. He would tell you to sleep well and would see you in the morning, ready to take on any endeavor that crossed your paths.
As everyone parted ways, Sunday would wander off somewhere dark and distant, somewhere no one could see nor hear him. He would fall to his knees and clutch his chest in agony, fat tears streaming down his face as he did everything he possibly could to steady his raging heart. In a rush he would reach for the scarf which clung around his neck, his grip tighter than iron as he would bring it close to his nose. Taking a large, deep breath, Sunday was greeted by your familiar scent which would promptly calm his poor heart.
He sometimes wondered if his heart would start bleeding from the pain due to the sheer intensity of his emotions.
This was wrong, everything about this was not right and it hurt. Sunday was obviously ill but he had no clue on how to fight this... This emotion, this white hot feeling of need whenever you stood by his side. He started to choke on the air around him and fell into an abrupt coughing fit but even then, he could bring himself to remove the scarf from the lower part of his face.
Sunday wept and sobbed, filthy snot coming out from his nose but he could not handle that now. He needed you, Oh Heavenly Aeons, how he needed you. However was he going to tell you how he felt? How, oh how was he going to express the sheer magnitude of his true thoughts? He would scare you off, he was sure of it.
Even with this pain, even with these clipped wings and bleeding heart, Sunday had never felt so alive, so harrowingly present in the moment whenever he was with you.
Perhaps, he was doing himself a kindness by just letting you be. Drink your tea, be at peace.
He can always just make you another cup if you so desired.
Without knowing, you both haunted each other in the most agonizing way known to mankind and neither was strong enough to face the reality of the situation.
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere imagines#yandere x you#yancore#yanderecore#yandere aesthetic#yandere male#yandere sunday x reader#sunday x reader#yandere sunday#sunday#sunday x you#yan hsr#yandere hsr#hsr x reader#sunday hsr#yandere honkai star rail#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail
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⥠TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, yandere, omegaverse, forced bonding, subjugation, some type of discrimination, elements of androgyny
⥠fem reader
Thinking about the big and burly behemoth Omega finally finding himself the cutest little Alpha to breed withâŚ
He could never bring himself to breed with Alphas. Growing up, he developed a great disdain for themâall high and mighty rabid animals prone to violence, more often than not completely dimwitted to top it off, as if their massive ego had usurped the place of basic brain operation.
He couldnât hate them more, yet he doesnât correct anyone when they mistake him for one, either. In many ways, he wished he was born one instead of an Omega. It would make it easier to fulfill his desires that way. A dominant Omega isnât all that normal, after allâand submissive Alphas are an even rarer breed to come by.
He hadn't found one yet. And other Omegas donât really do it for him. They approach him, thinking heâs an Alpha, then feel disappointed when figuring out heâs notâwhich is fine, as he isnât particularly interested in their scent either. Betas make for an okay compromiseâthey donât care if heâs an Omega, it makes no difference to themâyet he could never really shake the feeling that something was missing when lying with them.
At the office, the scent of Alphas plagues him all dayâhow they strut around, stinking up the place with no concern for anyone else. This is a workplace, for fuckâs sakeâcanât they have a little dignity and not treat it like a mating ground? He really hates them. All bigheaded assholesâ
âOwââ thereâs bark and a hard thunk of something hitting the floor.
Someone just bumped into himâsomeone so small he hadnât even seen them over the top of his clipboard. Looking down, he sees a fellow Omegaâa pretty one. You must be as disoriented by the scent around you as he isâprobably why you walked right into himâpoor thing. He ought to help you up.
You hold your head in your hand, wincing at the sting of your rearâyouâd fallen right on your tailbone. Looking up, you give the fellow Alpha whoâd knocked you down a mean glare, âWhat the hell, asshole!â
His outstretched hand stiffens midway. Thatâs not a very Omega-like thing to sayâespecially not by one so small as you. No, wait⌠whatâs that scent?
You ignore his hand and get up on your own, dusting down your pin-stripes with angry brushesâface pursed, almost pouty, but not quite, too stink-eyed as you lean in and jab a finger into his chest to punctuate your words, âWatch where youâre going next time, youâŚâ
You soften up halfway through the sentence. It must have dawned on you as well. His scent. Not like other Alphas, but something else entirelyâsomething that suddenly makes you blush all over, wide-eyed.
You donât say another word, only giving a weak huff before turning tail and stomping away.
Thereâs something very cute about itâheâs left thinking while watching you, utterly stunned and still, replaying the events that just occurred over and over in his headâwondering how heâd never seen you before. You must work on a different floor.
Luckily, heâd made sure to read your name tagâpinned all properly on your chest like a badge of honor, neatly like the rest of you. Well put together from the top of your salon-styled hair down to the tips of your pointy black stilettos. Even with their added height, you must have been two heads shorter than himâno taller than any regular Omega.
It's no wonder he mistook you for one. You were as cute as one, tooâlike a doll he could put behind glass, up on a mantle, and keep forever. But oh my⌠that mouth on you and that awful snarl. Just like any other imposing Alpha, he supposed. Bratty and arrogant, quick to jump the gun and pick a fight instead of taking it for the simple accident it was.
He goes back and sets himself down by his deskâbut heâs way too distracted to work now, too busy with the thought of you. That flushed face you showed him before teetering off was something he wouldnât mind seeing againâalso that cute scowl under certain circumstances and what type of expression youâd give him if he wiped it off.
He's lucky an office party came along so quickly. He wouldnât usually go, but now he had a reason. He bet youâd be thereâthe way you were dressed when youâd bumped into him tells him youâre one to respect the memoâhead to toe in such a neat suit, trying to come off as androgynous as if in desperation needing everyone to know you were an Alpha. It must be hard for youâlooking like that but wanting to look⌠well, suppose more like him.
He's glad he never felt that wayâwishing to be smaller and cuter like other Omegas. Sure, heâs been envious of them at times, but more so of their easy pickings and not their appearance. Heâs happy being bigger and strongerâit keeps unwanted attention at bay. You probably struggle to do the same. He bets you get a lot of the wrong eyes following you. Yeah⌠you must attract the bad sort all the timeâalphas swarming you only to catch your scent and lose interest. Or maybe not⌠Alphas are sick, after all. Come to think of it, most of them would probably get off on dominating another Alpha. In that regard, it must have been worse for you than for him. Luckily, both of your issues are now solved.
He wondered what youâd wear tonight. Youâd look much better in something feminine and not that suit youâd been wearing. He hopes, but no, youâre wearing much the same thingâanother tailored two-piece that all but drowns you.
He understands what youâre going for. You have to dress like that, or else what Omega would ever want you looking the way you do? Aside from him, of course.
No matter. When you move in with him, heâll dress you in all the pretty things he knows you want to wear. After all, pretty colors, ruffles, and lace will suit you so much better.
âHello again.â He approaches you by the hors dâoeuvres even after youâd visibly and explicitly chosen to ignore him.
You groan under your breath, responding without even bothering to look at him, âDo I know you?â
Your tough act is cute. He has to withhold a chuckle before answering, âDonât remember? You called me an asshole a week ago.â
âYou walked right into me, so itâs not like it wasnât deserved.â
You have to love that arroganceâthat air of unfounded superiority. He wonders, where do you keep it all? âWell, how could I not? Youâre so small I didnât even see you.â
Youâre quick to bare your teethâobviously, he hit a nerveâshowing him that same snarl youâd done back then. Cute little caninesâhe bet they wonât even hurt going into his neck once you mark him.
âWatch your mouth, Omega.â
Still, with a small smile, he feigns surprise. âWowâare you an Alpha? Funny, I didnât know they came in such tiny packages.â
It flusters you, no doubtâyour brows lowered into a full glower now. âAnd I didnât know Omegas could be so rude.â
You turn to stomp again, as youâd done beforeâthough this time, he grabs your arm before youâre gone.
You whip around with another bark, âHands offâ"
âIâm sorry,â he apologizes unexpectedly, giving you puppy-dog eyes you hadnât thought him capable of. âI should have been more mindful of my steps. It was entirely my fault.â
You go still at the sudden show of humility and respect. Finding yourself softening by the tilt of his head, bowing at you in acknowledgment of your higher standing. Not that many bother doing that to youâbetween mistaking you for an Omega or otherwise neglecting your standing as an Alpha, both due to your physique. Seeing it up close and so abruptly flusters you.
âLet me get you a drink to make up for it?â he offers politely, almost in plead.
Struck with feelings of somewhat regret for your own uncouth attitude, you nearly accept on a whim. âThatâs kindâŚâ But then think it over. You donât really want to lead him on, either. You nearly stutter, yet steal yourself. After all⌠âBut youâre not really my type.â
He hangs his head with a dejected sigh, âThatâs harsh.â But heâd already figured as much and didnât really care. Giving you his most sorry grin, he insists, âHumor me anyway? Just one drink so I donât feel like an asshole for the rest of my life.â
Itâs clear you want to refuseâstill, as suspected, your heart just canât handle seeing a desperate Omega in need. Bless your dim Alpha instincts.
âOkay, fine. One drink, thatâs all,â you end up agreeing. One drink canât hurt, right?
You feel like a good Samaritan once the big hunk of an Omega runs off to fetch you a glass. Pitying him or even sympathizing, maybeâit canât be easy for an Omega in the mating scene to look like that. No Alpha around would want an Omega bigger than themâitâs utterly emasculating, not to mention unnatural.
Of course, youâre aware youâre in much the same shoes as himâyouâre not delusional. Only, itâs easy being an independent Alphaâyou donât mind being a lone wolf in the worldâbut Omegas were built to be domestic. So yeah, you pity himâthe poor guy, heâll probably never find a proper mate.
But you canât let your pity grant him too many favorsâyou have no intention of taking on any charity case tonight, especially not a pity fuck. Youâll have one drink with him as a mutual apology. Thatâs all.
Luckily⌠one drink is all he needs. Add a little sprinkle of this and that in your glass, and youâre already in the palm of his hand.
He has to carry you bridal style before heâs even managed to lead you to the elevatorâitâs empty all the way down to the garage. He puts you in his car, locks your seatbelt in place, then drives off. Itâs honestly quite astounding how easy it had been. Heâd thought trapping an Alpha would be a much more remarkable feat, an impossible one for an Omegaâbut this was no different from eating an unguarded piece of cake.
Youâre drowsy as he carries you into his apartment. And thatâs when the other drug kicks in. The overwhelming scent of being inside his nest sets off your rut like a matchstick being ripped along the red.
Your claws come out, puncturing his sheets as he lays you down on his bed.
Youâre too delirious to do much but writheâmaking it easy for him to unbutton your dress shirt, followed by your slacks. He has to scoff at your plain black boxers and binder bra. You poor thing, always trying to run with the big dogs when youâre no bigger than a bite-sized puppy. From now on, youâll only wear lacey things he brings home for you. You wonât have to puff your chestâyou can be as sweet and pretty as your delicate physique constitutesâhis cutest, littlest, most perfect mate.
You gain newfound strength once heâs peeled your underwear down, baring your needy heat to his touch. Instantly, your arms spring into action, flinging themselves around him, pouncing like a predator at its prey with your fangs bared.
He stops you easilyâplacing his wrist between your teeth, using it as a muzzle. He chuckles, looking at you gnaw on it like a bone.
âI think the world has it all wrong,â he starts, though heâs not sure youâre even capable of understanding speech in your state. âOmegas are the ones better suited as leaders of society, not Alphas.â
As he talks, he continues with his ministrations, stroking your needy slit with a mean finger, swiping it cruelly before splitting between the folds.
âI mean, look at youâmindless in a rut, willing to pounce on anything that movesâlike a wild animal.â Once he sticks his finger inside you, your teeth do his wrist the same justiceâdrawing blood, making him hiss through his smile, âI ought to keep you in a cage.â And yet he doesnât pull either hand away. âIt would suit you wellâon your knees with a pretty leash and collar upon your throat.â
Youâre wet in his handâsoaked and so warm he loses track of his own finger as if melting within you. His cock strains against his boxer, wanting to feel it for himself. But youâre still way too tight for that.
He feeds you another digit, and you moanâsuckling on his wrist now more than biting, though still with your canines out and seeking.
âLook at these wittle teeth, tchââ he grins upon closer inspection, looking between them and your eyesâpupil-fat orbs, far gone in your instincts. âI bet theyâre just itching for my neck instead, huh?â
The provocation seems to make you more desperate. Pumping you slowly, more so to stretch you out than stimulate, he can feel your breaths turn thicker with need, how you press your tongue against his wrist, wet and lousy, wanting for more.
âWell, go on then, Alpha...â He chuckles again, removing his arm from barring your mouth before wrapping your throat with the same hand, holding it like a collar, keeping you under control.
And then he bares his neck for you.
âI give my consent.â
⥠part two
⥠BNHA â Deku, Kirishima, Hawks, Amajiki ⥠JJK â Gojo, Geto ⥠HQ â Kuro, Oikawa, Miya twins, Tendou ⥠BLLK â Reo, Nagi, Bachira, Isagi ⥠DS â Doma ⥠WB â Suo, Togame
âĄÂ FEM x M INSERT masterlist âĄÂ GN x M INSERT masterlist
#yandere x reader#yandere#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere smut#yancore#smut#yandere my hero academia#yandere boku no hero academia#boku no hero academia smut#mha smut#yandere mha#yandere bnha#my hero smut#my hero academia smut#bnha smut#yandere jujutsu kaisen#yandere jjk#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk smut#yandere boyfriend#boyfriend#boyfriend scenarios#omegaverse#alpha beta omega
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WORLD CLASS SINNER â
JUJUTSU KAISEN
âšâË. featuring gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, fushiguro toji, & kamo choso fucking you nasty.
warnings. 18+ content â mdni, fem! reader, car sex, creampies, overstimulation, crying, spanking, slight public sex, mirror sex, spit, hair pulling, freaky shit, motorcycle sex, riding (multiple things), filming, squirting, cunnilingus. | 4.7K words
xoxo, juno. happy belated birthday to satoru <3
GOJO SATORU.
âfor the record, i love you,â satoru pecks a kiss to your cheek and his lips smack, âit is december 7th and âm getting my gift early.â
âit is not early!â you protest, snatching the phone from him and wiggling over to the side so you can mount it on the tall dresser. the camera app is open, overlooking the bed and ready to record satoruâs birthday celebration this year. bits of dry frosting color the corners of his lips, serving as the evidence of the cake you made him yourself.
âuh, no need to move so much,â satoru exhales coolly, hands finding purchase on your hips, âyou said weâd take it slow, didnât ya?â
âthat was then,â you purr, voice low and sultry, âand this is now. unless . . you actually want me to?â
he shakes his head immediately, cheeks flushing a rosy pink while he pouts his lips. satoru sneaks a glance downwards, diamond eyes feeling a little wet at the sight â youâre sitting on his cock, with your cunt squeezing just above the creamy ring at his base.
âi thought so, âtoru,â you giggle, blowing a kiss in the direction of the camera. itâll surely add to the excitement when heâs watching this by himself some time along â after all, nothing else can get him off. your hands splay out on his chest, nails grazing his skin lightly.
âanyway, iâve just been thinking . . and youâve been such a good boy this year. i ought to spoil you for your birthday, hm?â
âwhat did you just call me?â satoru sputters, biting back a laugh although his voice trembles. âdid you just sayââ
the words die on his tongue immediately. your expression twists into one of pure bliss as you start to rock your hips into him, setting up a decent pace that has you crying out in delight. of course, he has no choice but to join you, his head tipping back while his eyes trace your features. god, you feel good â so tight, so hot, and oh so perfect. but sex feels even better because heâs pleasing you; seeing you falling apart on his cock all because of him will always get him going.
âshit, baby,â satoru gasps, groaning loudly when your fingers tangle in his snowy hair, âfaster, please.â
you nod frantically, lifting yourself up and slamming back down on his cock so hard itâs like youâre being split open in the best way possible. out of habit, your fingers wander to your clit, and he pushes them away the moment he sees.
âno, donât,â he replaces your fingers with his own and lets his free hand settle at the small of your back for support, âlet me do it, babe.â
âtoru,â you whimper as he flicks the sensitive bud around, ây-you always make me feel so good.â
ââcourse i do, sweetheart,â he grunts, starting to jerk his hips upward. each deep thrust pushes his cock into places only he can touch, and your mouth falls open, face crumbling. âhere, jusâ arch your back a littleâyeah, you got it.â
satoruâs voice wavers as he tells you what to do, setting up a new position and angle for him to fuck into you at. beads of sweat roll down his temples while his chest heaves in exertion, the best kind â heâs never truly gotten tired when heâs fucking you. not only does he have the stamina of a wild stallion, but really, how could he get tired when youâre looking like an angel above him, crying out his name in a voice thatâs a harmony if heâs ever heard one.
âso fuckinâ beautiful,â satoru grits out, eyes regretfully squeezing shut for a moment, âgod, youâre gonna make me cum if you keep squeezinâ like that.â
curses and sobs of euphoria fall from your lips. as the seconds pass, youâre only getting more intoxicated by the heat between you. misty tears make your eyes shine, and arousal pools deep in your stomach, growing more pronounced with each shove of his cock into your sweet spot. your legs are trembling on either side of him, and your tummyâs slightly more rounded than usualâsatoruâs cock is in your guts.
he feels you start to tense up, notices a few stray tears falling down your cheeks. this is it. âl-look at me, baby,â satoru pleads, as if heâll die without it, âlook at me when you cum.â
itâs perfect â you look directly into his eyes, and the camera captures your orgasm perfectly. your cunt flutters and spasms around his cock, and youâre shaking so hard you fall on top of him, flinching away from his insistent fingers. it takes everything he has to hold the urge to cum back, but he manages to pull it off, not even spilling a drop.
âtoru,â you mumble into his chest, shivering as he strokes away the sweat on your back, âwhy didnt youâ?â
âsavinâ it,â he breathes, teeth sinking into his lower lip in an attempt to try and ignore the way your walls are flexing around him. âhmph. as the birthday boy, i expect you to blow another candle for me.â
your head lifts immediately and you shoot him a glare, eyes narrowed in faux annoyance. âyou did not just say that.â
âcareful, careful,â he hisses, hands flying to your hips, âdonât wanna accidentally cum right now.â
âright, but youâll never push me off,â you challenge him, playfully wiggling against his pelvis.
âthat is not fair!â satoru whines, looking ridiculous with the dried blue frosting at the corners of his lips. âdonât torture me, pleaseee.â
GETO SUGURU.
âkeep your eyes open, sweetheart.â
ââm sorry, sugu, i justââ
his hand comes down hard against your ass, and the crack of the slap reverberates through the room. you shudder, blearily opening your eyes and looking into the mirror.
behind you, suguruâs flipping a bit of his dark hair over his shoulder and out of the way while holding onto your waist to keep you steady. you can see how pathetic you look in your reflection â drool freely slips from your mouth and you look completely dazed, all sweaty and tired while hearts spin in your eyes.
âhm, thatâs more like it. want you to watch yourself, honey.â
you nod, eyes tracing the edges of your thighs and ridges of his abs in the reflection. suguruâs got you on your hands and knees, making you look fucked out and fucked up.
âs-sugu, i wanna touch my clitâitâs not enough.â
he raises a dark brow, eyes narrowing as you slip a hand between your thighs and find your clit with your fingers. now, he settles his hands at your hips, lifting you up slightly to pound into you at a new angle.
âalright. only if you donât fall over, sweetheart.â
what a bastard. of course he has to set you up with an impossible condition like that â the new placement of his hands is the first sign of your literal downfall. suguru closely observes your reflection in the mirror before his own: youâre covered in bite marks and hickeys, with a sheen of sweat all over your body, which makes your skin look sticky. your tits swing, building momentum each time he slams into you.
beneath the sound of ass clapping, suguru can hear your pathetic, fucked out criesâthis is the result of too many orgasms and being an annoying brat to him all day. his blood boils with both frustration and arousal when he recalls a particular memory, so he reaches forward, gathering your hair into one hand before pulling you backwards. messing around with your hair is something that holds a special place in his heart; he loves it whenever you touch his hair in any way, and the same goes for yours.
âtakinâ it like such a slut,â suguru croons, his dark tresses falling into his face, âbut i really canât hear you that well. thought i made myself clear when i said i want the whole apartment building to hear how well i fuck you.â
ây-yeah, you did,â you gasp, back arching beautifully, âsugu, need you to touch my clit.â
he smiles wickedly. instead of allowing yourself to fall forward, youâve decided to give up and steady yourself at the expense of rubbing your clit. suguru almost wants to give you a reward for that.
ânot right now, honey,â he revels in the frustrated sob you let out, watching in the mirror as your face crumbles in some kind of distress. so dramatic, he thinks after mentally laughing. as if heâd leave you unsatisfied â how many times have you cum so far? âsomeoneâs fucking greedy, hm? tell you what, sweetheart. cum without your clit ân iâll eat your pussy up right after.â
itâs a good enough deal, and it only seems more enticing when he sticks his tongue out in the mirror, showing off the silver ball in the middle of it. his tongue piercing, and your favorite part of him eating you out.
âo-okay,â you agree tearfully, and he tugs you back by the hair so youâre facing him.
âtell me, tell the neighbors, whoâs fucking you this good? answer me, honey.â
âyou, suguru!â you moan loudly, feeling a surprising pressure building in your lower stomach, âi-itâs you, âs always you!â
suguru nods, letting go of your hair and slipping his hand beneath your chin rather gently. then he lifts your head and tips it back. âopen that pretty mouth for me.â
you oblige immediately, going so far as to stick your tongue out for him. he spits right onto your tongue, and it tastes a little minty because of his chapstick and tea when you swallow. the gesture is an erotic expression of dominance and possession, and itâs one that has your cunt quivering around his cock. he lets you go, making eye contact with you through the mirror.
âoh, i feel you squeezing me,â he grunts, smacking your ass and groaning when your cunt automatically bears down harder. âlooks like iâll be devouring that sweet pussy of yours, honey.â
âhah, i need it,â mascara tracks darken your cheeks as fresh tears roll down, ât-think âm gonna cum, jusâ like you asked.â
âsuch a good girl for me,â he praises, egging you on by pressing his palm into your lower stomach, âmy girl listens so well, doesnât she? cum for me.â
the creaking of the bed grows louder as he pounds his cock into you harder, forcing a mixture of slick and cum to pour out from your used hole in glossy strings that stick to your thighs. heâs breathing heavily behind you, pressing into your tummy just right, and oh.
oh, youâre about to make a fucking mess.
a pitched sob tears from your throat when you cum on his cock, pussy gushing all over him and onto the bedsheets. sparkling droplets of cum race down your thighs and your entire body shakes on his cock, gripping him so tightly that neither of you can move.
âs-sugu, âm tired,â you gasp, stars flashing across your vision. âfeeling kinda . . lightheaded.â
âyouâve gotta rest, sweetheart,â suguru laughs, and it rumbles out from the depths of his chest. he leans so far backwards his back cracks, and then he hands you an open bottle of water.
âwhatâwhatâs the record now?â
âten in an hour,â he strokes your back with loving fingers, curling up beside you even though youâre upside down on the bed together. âletâs try to break it again in a couple hours.â
âhow about tomorrow?â you suggest with a yawn.
âokay, okay. tomorrow night, my balls are shriveling up right now.â
âew, sugu.â your nose crinkles and you scoot an inch away, too exhausted to move further.
âoh, stop it. itâs your fault anyways.â
NANAMI KENTO.
âkentoâkennn,â you whine breathlessly, glossy lips parting to release a useless warning. ây-youâre gonna make me cum again, shit!â
âlet me feel it, sweetheart,â kento croons, pressing his thumb particularly hard into your clit. the additional pressure has your head spinning too fast for you to even come up with a coherent thought as you orgasm with a drawn out whine on his cock for the nth time tonight. âthatâthatâs my good girl.â
beneath your bodies, the polished oak desk creaks dangerously, sounding far too tired for something thatâs worth thousands. but kento doesnât give one damn â heâd been stuck working overtime because of his shitty boss, whoâd left him cooped up in his office, expecting his orders to be followed. the ultimatum was simple: do a ton of work or get fired.
kento had been so caught up he didnât get the chance to call you, and the stress heâd been feeling began to ebb away once you stepped through his door with a bag of food from his favorite restaurant. one thing led to another, and soon enough the food had been abandoned somewhere and you ended up on the desk.
papers lazily drift off the deskâs surface while others are inevitably dampened by a mixture of wetness and spit, which leaks from your puffy cunt in thick trails down your skin. again and again, kentoâs cock pushes even deeper, the blunt tip of it kissing your cervix rather roughly. meanwhile, his fingers toy with your swollen clit, drawing unrestrained cries from your lips while tears prick at the corners of your eyes.
âken, âs too much, i donât think i canââ
âof course you can take more, angel,â kento huffs, firmly planting his hand beside your head for extra stability. the platinum of his watch glints in the light and his heavy breaths grow more ragged by the second, his chest heaving. sweaty strands of blond hair escape the gelâs hold, sticking to his slick forehead and making him look all the more ethereal above you. âi-iâm nowhere near finished with you.â
âoh god,â you whimper in realization, feeling that hot wave cresting in your tummy; itâs amplified by the rough rhythm of his cock and the attention heâs so generously lavishing your clit with. âg-god, âs coming . . ken, i think iâm gonnaââ
a deep groan rushes out from him, all the way from the pits of his chest. hazel eyes squint as he watches your pussy push his cock out; it quivers momentarily before spraying cum all over his pelvis, and the sparkling droplets drip through his pubes, toward the shaft of his cock.
âdid you just squirt, sweetheart?â kento asks curiously, heat rising to his cheeks and elsewhere.
âi think so,â you swallow nervously, too weak to sit up and look at the mess youâve made all over him. âken, i want you to cum inside me. stop holding it back.â
to be fair, this is probably the last time heâll get the pleasure of fucking you on such an expensive desk. this despicable office heâs spent countless hours in is finally growing on him now that heâs got you in here like this â stripped naked and begging for his cum while making a mess of the shit all over his desk. and oh, he wishes he could see his bossâ face when he comes in demanding all of the finished work, only to be met with a sticky desk. the vision ignites an inferno in him and he guides his cock inside you, biting down on his lower lip when your greedy cunt swallows him.
âbeg a little more for it, angel,â he chokes out, spreading your legs impossibly wider while drawing his hips back, leaving only the tip of his cock inside you. âneed to know just how you want it.â
you gasp sharply, back arching off the desk and causing your tits to press into his clothed, sweaty chest. âi want you to fuck me like you mean it. t-then, fill me up. please.â
you canât even say another word before kentoâs holding your hips down and plowing into you with a sudden ferocity. if heâs lucky, he can get you to squirt again and maybe this time he can get a tasteâyes, this is the thought he wants to cum to.
he shudders, âi love itâugh, fuckâwhen you tell me what you want, sweetheart.â
âgive it to me,â you cry out, eyes fluttering shut while your legs wrap tightly around his waist, drawing him closer. âh-havenât i earned it, ken?â
kento comes undone at your words, teeth clenching with a loud grunt as he finally spills inside you. your squeezing walls milk him for everything he has, absorbing each throb of his cock into their sticky softness. his mouth hangs open breathlessly, and he weakly pushes his hips forward before carefully landing on top of you.
wood splinters and snaps beneath you, and you both tumble to the floor atop a heap of the deskâs remains. âkento, what just happenedââ
âitâs fine, honey. letâs rest for a moment before we leave.â
âyou arenât gonna clean it up? what about when you have to come in tomorrow?â
kento nuzzles his nose into your cheek with a blissful sigh. âthank you for making my last day at this job special. iâll be quitting and moving to the other firm closer to the house.â
FUSHIGURO TOJI.
âthis is what ya wanted?â with a coy chuckle, toji flattens his tongue against your slit and licks a long, languid stripe upwards. he easily finds your clit, and swirls the sensitive bud around with the tip of his tongue.
âyeah, but not the teasingââ a breathy gasp pushes past your lips when he pushes two slick fingers inside you.
âheh heh. youâll survive a little teasinâ, dollface.â
heâs so flippant with his words, so nonchalant. but his fingers are anything but lazy or uncaring as he bullies them deeper into your cunt, curling them right against that sweet spongy spot inside you. with one leg over his shoulder and the other hanging off the edge of the backseat, youâre fully spread and at his mercy.
âcome onnn, toji,â he rolls his eyes when he hears you whine, tonguing at the glossy slick that covers his fingers and the skin around your hole.
âyou come on, princess. just wait a second, âkay?â
âbut iâve been waiting,â you huff, lower lip trembling in frustration as your fingers push through the dark tufts of his hair. you canât help but breathe a little heavier, the building anticipation becoming suffocating in the small space of the car. âall night. since we left to go hang out with shiu.â
âdonât tell me thatâs why youâve been so handsy, doll. hmph, i had to pull over so ya wouldnât make me crash the car.â
âi wasnât even doingââ
âthat much?â toji finishes your sentence for you, the corners of his lips quirking upwards when you look at him desperately. âwerenât ya trying to get in my pants while i was going sixty?â
before you can respond, toji interrupts your train of thought by spitting right onto your clit. the glossy glob trails down his fingers and becomes extra lube for him â he wraps his lips around your clit and starts to sporadically curl his fingers. heat sears its way across your face and your back arches off the backseat, eyes briefly scanning around to make sure the roadâs still empty.
itâs dark out and difficult to tell, but what does it matter? thereâs no need to focus on spotting other cars, you reason.
âah, fuck!â the expletive leaves your lips in the form of a startled mewl, a delicious reaction to toji lightly nibbling at your clit with his teeth. the gesture is playful but it drives you wild and makes your head spin, thoughts turning into mush. âtoji, thatâthat feels really good . . â
impatient as ever, you push his head down, forcing his face into your pussy in a greedy attempt to get more.
âah ah,â he snaps upwards, pulling free from your grip and moving on top of you easily. youâre nose to nose and heâs speaking directly over your lips, sharing your breath. âi get to eat this pussy my way. sheâs all mine, donât forget that.â
âf-fine,â you cede with a pout, which he kisses away, feeling proud of himself.
âbe a good girl ân maybe you can ride my face. howâs that sound, doll?â
âit sounds good,â you squeeze your eyes shut when he finally returns to his old position between your thighs, two fingers stuffing your cunt while his tongue laps at your clit as though itâs the best ice cream ever. the temperature in the car seems to spike; your bodyâs growing hotter and hotter with each lick or curl of his fingers.
âgreedy pussy wants some more, hm?â
âh-huh?â you ask dumbly, a little zoned out.
but toji doesnât repeat himself. instead he shows you what he said by pushing a third finger into your already crowded hole, smirking in satisfaction when you suck him in despite your verbal protests of it being âtoo muchâ. tojiâs big, every part of him, and you always take him even though you complain â what can he say?
âa-ah, so fuckinâ full,â you slur your words, rocking your hips into his fingers to make the stretch burn a little less. âtojiii, go slow.â
âagain, girl,â he huffs, rolling his eyes dramatically, âdonât tell me what to do. ân youâll be just fine, this pussy was made for me.â
thereâs no point in arguing, so you just let your head lazily lean back against the door. you were supposed to look around for cars, especially police cars, and youâve given up entirely, deciding to blame your inability to search on the foggy windows.
toji scissors his fingers in and out of you mercilessly, sucking your clit roughly and groaning to express his enjoyment. the wet squelches of your cunt make your cheeks burn hot; itâs just so filthy that you donât even know how to react. on either side of his head, your thighs tremble, squeezing around him every now and then.
âmmm, youâre so fuckinâ sweet,â he smacks his lips loudly and devours your pussy in between each word, âshouldnât have made you wait so goddamn long, dollface.â
âi told you,â is all you can utter, hips twisting wildly into his face, âjusâ like that, keep sucking my clitâfuck, yes. âm so close, gonna make me cum.â
âaw, iâm gonna make you cum?â he teases you, mocking your tone in a way that has shockwaves of excitement and anger shooting straight through your body. you canât even find it in yourself to answer, and a sudden flash of red and blue has your eyes squeezing tightly shut.
ââm cumming, âm c-cumming, toji!â
instead of using his tongue on your clit, toji decides to sit back and watch your cunt spasm. to prolong your orgasm and overstimulate you, he slaps your clit a few times, chuckling each time you jerk or nearly scream happily.
âhmph, ya ougtta taste yourself,â toji pulls his fingers out of you and shoves them into your mouth, feeling his cock swell in his pants as your tongue cleans his skin. itâs even better when you moan as you do so, thoroughly enjoying the taste of your cum. âhowâs that, baby? if ya can sit up without any help, iâll let you ride my face.â
a sharp knock on the window startles you, and the bright light of an officerâs flashlight shines in through the foggy glass. without wiping his face, toji reaches into the front seat and turns on the car, then rolls down the window. the light illuminates the glossy cum all over the lower half of his face, and yet he smiles widely.
âgood eveninâ, officer. what can i do for ya?â
KAMO CHOSO.
âkeep it s-steady, baby,â despite his words, chosoâs voice shakes, slightly muffled by his helmet. âgentle on the throttleânghhh, fuck.â
one of his gloved hands is firmly holding onto your hip, gripping hard each time your cunt squeezes around his cock. the sky is now a dark curtain of nighttime, darkness speckled with stars above. in front of you, car lights flash occasionally out on the road. street signs are caught in the bright columns of the motorcycleâs headlights, greens and yellows glinting in the white glow.
you bounce your ass back on chosoâs lap, nibbling at your lower lip and allowing a whimper to slip past your teeth. his cock is buried inside you, nestled deep in your hot, sticky walls and extremely sensitive. he lightly strokes his free fingers against your clit, but not too often that itâll be a distractionâafter all, youâre driving a motorcycle.
âthereâs a light up ahead,â choso points out, heatwaves crashing over him despite the cool breeze.
âi see it, cho.â
the motorcycle slows as you apply the brake, and you smoothly stop at the light. instead of remaining bent forward, you sit back onto his lap, taking in the last few inches of his cock. choso startles beneath you with a gasping moan and rolls your clit between his fingers.
âcho,â you whimper breathlessly, leaning your head into his shoulder, âgimme a kiss.â
âokay,â he whispers, leaning in slowly. the helmets clash together, but he manages to peck his lips to yours in a chaste kiss. you whine when the light turns green, sitting forward to take off again. this time, your face burns as you steady your feet, and the position allows you to bounce back on his cock with newer efficiency.
âshit,â choso gasps, bucking his hips upwards to match your rhythm, âiâhah, youâre gonna make me cum, baby.â
itâs dangerous in so many ways, but you look over your shoulder at him and he sees the heat in your eyes. itâs almost like youâre daring him to bust a nut inside you while you drive his motorcycleâgod, thatâs exactly what youâre doing. normally, choso doesnât enjoy playing truth or dare, but heâll make an exception for his girl.
with one hand on your hip, he tugs you down onto his cock and jerks himself upwards to make it a little easier for you. tears prick at the corners of your eyes like they always do whenever you take his cock â heâs stretching you out and filling you up so perfectly that itâs impossible not to become overwhelmed.
âfaster, babyât-thereâs nobody on the road, you can put sâmore gas into it.â
so you do, watching the needle in the speedometer increase as the motorcycle gains speed. choso moans loudly, his face flushing dark red beneath his helmet while his eyes flutter shut for a moment. âg-gonna cum, baby, tell me i can, tell me i canââ
each word grows more urgent, and his voice begins to splinter and break as he begs you for permission. his fingers carelessly toy with your clit, thumb rubbing quick circles around the bud and enticing you to cum with him. you feel dizzy, seeing stars flash across your vision each time you bounce down on his cock, not to mention the additional stimulation on your clit. something hot burns in your stomach and seems to rush throughout every limb in a way that has your body and mind going numb momentarily.
âcum in me, choso,â you sob desperately, gripping the handlebars frantically, âcum with me, cum withâoh, fuck.â
your mouth falls open in shock as you have the most explosive orgasm youâve ever had with him; your cunt flutters around his cock, drawing him deeper as if itâs the last time youâll be together.
choso starts to babble thoughtlessly, praises and gasps falling from his lips like the words of a prayer. âyeah, âm cummingângh, i l-love you, god youâre jusâ so perfect.â
he finally spills inside you, spraying white hot cum so deep itâll take hours to drip out. the motorcycle wavers, lurching forward toward the next set of lights. beneath the helmets, youâre both panting, coming down from your highs and trying to focus even though youâre feeling a euphoric numbness spread through your body. when his thumb nudges your clit, you jerk as though youâve been electrocuted, whining from the sensitivity.
âare you okay?â he asks lowly, voice ragged while his hand massages at your side.
ây-yeah, iâm okay. i justâi need to do that again.â
choso laughs, causing you to do so as well. âmaybe in a few more minutes. how âbout we change up the position so youâre on your back? if we do, iâll be able to see that pretty face.â
#kurooh#gojo smut#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#jjk smut#jjk x reader#jjk headcanons#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#nanami smut#nanami x reader#nanami x you#toji smut#toji x reader#choso smut#choso x reader#geto smut#geto x reader#smut#jjk#jjk imagines#jjk fanfic#fanfic
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Just saw a post that was basically "Hey off of the internet people usually aren't so crazy antisemitic and most of my day to day interactions as a visible Jew are normal, everything is gonna be ok" and I'm making a new post to not derail, but...
I'm super glad, obviously, that this is the case for many of you. But I do think we should be ringing the alarm bells. Because while you enjoy your grocery trips and post office in relative peace (as you ought to), here is a VERY incomplete list of things I have dealt with in the last 11 months.
-assaulted on my way to class, followed, spit on repeatedly (magen David necklace)
-professor took me outside of class and told me I needed to denounce my Judaism (I mentioned in passing my dad's family in an anthropology class)
-same professor refused to accept my final paper for reasons that did not match up with paper, email full of dogwhistles
-same professor told everyone to attend the protests and "teach those zionists to know their place" she is a Black Latina young professor. Yep.
-another professor straight up refused to accept any assignments that mentioned Jewishness (they were assignments about our families). Gave a student who submitted nothing except a picture of a Palestinian flag full marks. Failed me. I am an all As student, btw. Forced to drop.
-the chair of the anthropology department threw my complaints wabout said professors away without due process. His social media is full of blood libel.
-had to miss my finals as I could not physically get to them due to the protests
-followed and harassed in stores
-synagogue was vandalized multiple times
-called a kike while things were thrown at me
-protestors stood outside of my apartment patio with final solution signs
-new apartment, away from campus: friends of roommates harassed me constantly, to the point I could not use common spaces. Roommates told me that's his right because it's his "political view." He didn't even live there.
-new roommate moved in, less than 48 hours before she attempts to stab me, after learning I eat kosher style. "...kosher? kosher?! FUCK YOU" stab stab, etc. Bitch that was my good knife.
-the other roommates tell me to gtfo of the home I'm renting, keeping my rent ("you people can afford to lose money") and destroy a good portion of my belongings while cursing to me random nonsense about Israel. The police took 25 minutes to get there. We live in the middle of the city.
-fun fact: I had never mentioned my political stance to these people and it's not on my face-out social media (very bare bones profiles)
-been disbelieved by everyone I told this to including the police, my school, the leasing company, and my now ex best friend of 7 years
-cursed at in a store when I asked if there was a kosher section
-told nobody likes Jews because we bring down the vibe and have a victim complex. My knuckles are healing just fine after that, btw, thank you for asking! She is not.
I don't know how to request the 7th off from my school without basically incriminating myself with a threat of violence. There is no world where I just sit there when a classmate says "happy October 7th."
Hope this helps.
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58 / 2.2k / shapeshifter familiars 141 tormenting witch reader for Halloween c:
...
You hum a song to yourself as you pull herbs from your garden and pile them into the crook of your arm. The sun sets rosy this evening; the sky is clear and the moon will be new.
You turn to go in, brushing off your black skirts with your free hand. But a familiar face darken your doorway. Nobody was there a moment ago. Your serene face falls into a sour frown.
"Soap."
Soap gives you a cocky grin. He hasn't lost that insufferable arrogance. "Evenin', witch."
You approach him with your herbs in tow. "What sad state of affairs brings you to my doorstep?"
"Aw, no warm welcome for your favorite scoundrel?"
"I favor you more as a crow."
"Handsome in all my forms, then."
You stop in front of him. It's clear you're going to have to wait for him to move or else squeeze past him. You plant your feet and wait, squaring your sight with his. "Where are the other two?"
Soap plucks one of the flowering herbs with his fingers to inspect it, then twirls it between his fingers. "About somewhere, likely causing the usual mayhem. They'll be right on my heels."
Your frown deepens. This is the fourth impossible quest you've sent them on. And they keep coming back. "Did you fetch what I asked?"
Soap raises an eyebrow as he moves closer to you, his eyes fixed on yours. He raises the plucked flower to his lips. There's an edge of challenge in his voice as he answers. "We did indeed." He gently sets the flower back on top of the pile. The he pulls out a small vial and dangles it in front of you. "And a little extra somethin' for you."
You reach for the vial only for him to pull it back.
Soap's smirk widens. "Pay up first."
Cold irritation spikes through you. You know just how he'd prefer to be paid. You shoulder past him and into your cottage with a scowl.
Soap, of course, follows you in, saunters through your front door, and kicks it shut behind him. He's not the least bit deterred by your annoyance. In fact, he quite likes it. He runs his fingers along the various bottles and implements on the shelves with idle interest. "Oh, come now. You ought to be glad we're back."
You cast your herbs into a basket near the sink. Then you stand at your scrying table, flensing knife in hand, and carve a niche into your palm. The pain is nothing. Not even when you squeeze your hand into a fist to force more blood out. It drips into the wooden bowl underneath.
Payment is payment.
Soap's breath hitches. He's watching you with keen interest. He likes watching you work, your precise, calculated movements and your confident touch with the knife.
The sight of your fresh blood only makes his smirk wider. He takes a step closer behind you to get a better view. "There are easier ways to pay your dues," he says. His hands come around to rest on the countertop on either side of you. "More pleasurable ways. Other, ah, fluids with which to slake thirst."
"Keep your distance, shapeshifter," you tell him. "Or you get nothing."
Soap rests his chin on your shoulder. The touch is far too familiar. His fingers twitch with anticipation, as if the blood on your hand tempts him forward. He's always been a touch perverse, anyway, about you wounding yourself to feed him. This is all your fault isn't it? Sending them quest after impossible quest. They only demand payment because you insist upon such extremes, naively thinking it will kill them.
"You think you have enough blood for all of us? There's an easier way. Just think," Soap murmurs in your ear. "My lips on your neck. My fingers inside you."
His words sends heat unbidden into your core. Unnaturally so. Immediately, your eyes flash, and an unseen force pushes him away from you.
Soap stumbles backwards from you, his body slamming into the nearby shelf. His shoulders heave, and he breathes heavier. Still smirking, but also looking a little more interested.
You see it in his eyes, what he doesn't say or acknowledge: he likes when you push back. He craves it. He likes to see you assert yourself.
"No need to be so inhospitable." That insufferable grin, cocky and smug again. "Just thought you might want to save your bleeding for more important things."
You ignore this. He takes a seat in your chair, and you resume your work. Another cut. Something brushes at your ankles--something purring and black.
"Gaz."
He purrs, deceptively soft and sweet as he twines around your feet. More blood from your palm hits the bowl. Gaz's nose twitches. He turns his intense cat-gaze upward to watch you from the ground. You ignore it.
Gaz is a more patient man than Soap. He knows exactly what effect Soap's words had on you. He can smell your response on the air, and it entices him. But he knows not to press.
Still, after a stretch of silence watching your blood pool, Gaz grates out a low meow as a bid for your attention. Then he jumps up onto the counter and pushes his kitty face into the blood bowl.
Soap clicks his tongue. "Jealous."
You push Gaz away just as his whiskers start to tremble. "Stop that."
Gaz gives a dissatisfied meow. He sits back on his haunches. With a glare, he licks one of his paws in distaste for your scolding.
You deposit him on the floor. Then you get back to work. Quickly, as you hear the distant call of a screech owl. Gaz saunters away with a languid stretch of his back legs.
The owl's cry echoes again. Louder now. And in reply, a dog outside your window howls.
Your heart thumps. Faster, you bid yourself. You dig your fingertips into the gash in your palm just to draw out thicker clots. Faster. No, there's no time. Casting the flensing knife aside with a clatter, you take the bowl in your uninjured hand and turn, hurrying to stand in the doorway. Two of them inside is enough. You don't want any more in your home. No more. It's all you can do to protect your home from what you brought upon yourself.
The dog howls again. Right outside. Then there's the sound of animal shifting to man, and an enormous shadow darkens your doorway before you can reach it. Ghost. He fills the door frame, towering over you and blocking your path. He's so tall and broad that, deliberate or not, every move feels like a challenge to your authority over him. He's on your side, you remind yourself. His size makes him a formidable ally. And a devastating foe, when he wants to be. He's looking at you like he's contemplating being just that.
He doesn't need to announce why he's here, and he doesn't need to say anything else. He's come for payment just as Soap and Gaz have. He'll take it from you one way or another.
Ghost's expression remains inscrutable. But he burns with an emotion you sense and he carefully hides.
"What's the hurry?" The words are low and gravelly.
You stare up at him as you force your nerves to steady. "Must you transgress into my home?"
Ghost's broad shoulders bunch beneath his tattered cloak. His dark eyes take in the scene before him, the way Gaz and Soap make themselves too comfortable in your home. Then they flicker down to the blood. He doesn't have much patience for these games of push and pull. "You expect us to drink from a bowl? Like swine at a trough?"
You cock your head. "Shall I fetch you all soup spoons?"
Ghost's scowl deepens. "Smartass witch. Be grateful we've been lenient with you."
"Have you?"
It's either amusement or contempt that flashes across Ghost's face. You're not sure which. "Do you need me to demonstrate what it means to not be lenient?" He shifts his weight, his shadow stretching and darkening the room around him. "With your insults and feeble scraps?"
"Payment is payment. Whether or not the blood comes in a bowl shouldn't matter. The source is the same."
He doesn't appreciate mind games. And he definitely doesn't appreciate when you, his witch, are the one playing them. You shouldn't play with him when he's already on edge. "Spoken like a woman who's never known how to starve." He strides closer. The sound of the floor shifts under his weight. He only stops when he's close enough to make you feel like the walls are closing in on you. He reaches forward, and with his forefinger, wipes one of the droplets from the rim of the bowl. He brings it to his lips and licks it off his finger. "The blood doesn't matter."
"The blood doesn't matter?" you echo, doubtful. "That doesnât seem to be the case."
Ghost's eyes flicker with something. Hunger. "No," he murmurs. "You could fill the bowl with anyone's blood. It's you that makes the difference. You spill it. You offer it. That vulnerability is⌠personal. Better than blood. Fresh. Warm. A piece of you."
He runs his finger along the edge of the bowl and leaves a wet streak along the rim. He's watching you watch him. "You and your foolish demands. Your workarounds. Blood in a bowl isn't real vulnerability."
He takes a step closer and towers over you. "You think we don't notice how you go out of your way to make it as impersonal as possible? You're meant to give us something we want for our services. You'd be better off bleeding someone else dry and offering that up." He leans in closer and runs his gaze over you with a subtle tilt of his head. "But you would never try that, would you?"
"I told you I won't hurt other people for you. The contract is with me and me only."
Foolish promises. "That doesn't mean you get to cheat us."
You offer the bowl with more force. "Drink."
His annoyance flares. Your stubbornness, your arrogance--qualities that both make you a desirable object of focus and chip away at the shapeshifters' patience.
But theyâll be able to teach you a lesson for it sooner or later.
Ghost reaches forward, grabs your wrist, and raises the bowl to his lips. He looks you dead in the eye as he drinks.
Soap is at his side instantly. His pale eyes fix on the bowl.
You hear Gaz shift from feline to human behind you. He draws up until you feel his body heat.
"Now isn't that much nicer?" Gaz says, his voice just as cocky and insufferable as ever. "Nothing wrong with making it personal once in a while. No need to be so stingy."
You watch Ghost, eyes still locked on you, as he swipes his sleeve across his mouth and hands Soap the bowl without looking.
Soap gulps down two mouthfuls with an orgasmic growl.
Gaz chuckles as he brings it to his lips, drinking until it's empty. Then he lets the wooden bowl clatter to the floor. His mouth twitches up into a lazy smirk.
You pull your wrist free from Ghostâs grasp. "You got what you needed. Give me what you brought me and get out."
"Oh, don't be like that," Soap purrs as he prowls towards you. "You enjoy our company."
"Such poor manners," Gaz says mildly. "Seems we've still got to teach you what your responsibilities are. Price won't like hearing that."
You slow, lowering the bloodied bowl into your washbasin. "Price won't come. It's not time yet."
Ghost scoffs. "Price will do whatever he damn well pleases." He prowls closer as well, the predatory sound in his voice more obvious now, like a beast preparing to sink his teeth in. "And he won't like hearing how his second-favorite witch is a lousy hostess."
"He's not coming," you snap. A tinge of fear crawls up your spine.
"Price comes when he wants," Ghost snarls. "You should remember that before you act so foolish."
You hear the screech owl again. Closer this time. The bowl clangs against the bottom of the basin and dread churns deep in your gut.
"Do you hear that?" Gaz asks softly.
"You drank all the blood," you mutter. "You didn't leave any for him. This is your fault."
Soap smiles, but heâs not meeting your eyes. "We left him plenty."
You're helpless to do anything but watch as the sound of beating wings turns to boots falling on the undergrowth outside your open door.
He stands tall, his form blocking the moonlight and shadowing the already dim room. His dark eyes land on you, and he takes in your blood-stained hand and bloodied bowl with a hard frown. What a mess you've made.
"Witch."
He crosses the room to you and takes your jaw in his rough hand. His gaze drives ice into the blood still roaring hot through your veins.
"We're going to have a chat."
...
more Soap / more Gaz / more Ghost / more Price / masterlist
#mine#story#cod x reader#call of duty x reader#tf 141 x reader#simon ghost riley#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#fem reader#x reader#simon riley#kinktober#johnny soap mactavish#john soap mactavish#monster lover#monster fucker#soap x reader#john price#captain john price#price x reader#halloween#reader insert#monsterfucker#kyle gaz garrick#poly!141#poly 141#gaz#gaz x reader#terato#teratophillia
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His Mother's Sister
pairing | aemond x aunt!reader word count | 4.7k words summary | aemond becomes instantly captivated by his alluring and enigmatic aunt upon her arrival in Kingâs Landing, his fascination growing into a consuming obsession. one night, he sneaks into her chambers intending to claim her, only to find himself ensnared and wholly claimed by her instead. tags | 18+ MDNI, smut, unprotected sex, obsession, incest, oral (f), aemond being a simp, aemond being obsessed, older woman/younger man, reader is in her early 30s a/n | haven't written smut in a while, so here's my smut piece before I continue with my normal angst and fluff
likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated â¨
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âI have summoned your sister to Kingâs Landing.â
Aemondâs attention sharpened, his gaze lingering on his motherâs face as Otto spoke. He watched as the blood seemed to drain from her cheeks, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the edge of the table.
âFor what purpose?â Alicentâs voice held a strained note, attempting to maintain a composure that clearly wavered.
Aegon, lounging at the head of the table, raised his head, intrigued. A faint smirk tugged at his lips, eyes flicking between his mother and grandsire.
âMarq Ambrose commands one of the most powerful armies in the Reach,â Otto stated with an offhand shrug, his eyes giving nothing away.
âAnd he would serve us best by keeping that power in the Reach, where it may be summoned at need,â Alicent interjected, her tone unyielding, her eyes locked on Ottoâs. There was no mistaking the tension in her voice, a chill that crept through the words.
Aemondâs brow furrowed slightly as he observed his mother. His aunt had always been something of a mysteryâwhispered about in brief conversations that faded when he entered the room. A few years after his birth, she had been wedded to Lord Ambrose of the Reach, her presence a vague shadow on his life, a name he had heard only in passing. And now, with her impending arrival, he sensed a thread of something forbiddenâa story that remained carefully locked away, just out of reach.
Aegon chuckled, breaking the taut silence. âLet Lord Ambrose come, then, if he so wishes to make merry in our halls. He is but my uncle by marriage; surely, we ought to welcome such kin to the capital.â His gaze gleamed as he spoke, and his smile widened. âAnd I would be most pleased to meet my aunt, at last.â
But Aemondâs mind lingered elsewhere. His motherâs discomfort stirred his curiosity, yesâbut something deeper, a whisper of anticipation he could scarcely name, took root.
A week had passed since that conversation, and now the family gathered in the throne room, awaiting Lord Ambroseâs arrival. Aegon sat with careless authority upon the Iron Throne, his gaze sharp with the amusement of expectation, while the rest of them stood beneath the shadow of the dais.
The heavy oak doors creaked open, and a knightâs voice rang out through the hall. âMay I present Lord Marq Ambrose and his Lady Wife.â
A stocky figure stepped forward, his hair streaked with white and black, his girth almost comical in its fullness. Aemond cast but a cursory glance at the man, unimpressed by this swollen lord from the Reach, before his gaze shifted past him.
And then, Aemond stilled. His eye widened, his brows lifting as he fought to contain his reaction. His heart gave an unbidden jolt, nearly betraying him. If he had chanced a glance at Aegon, he would have seen his brotherâs mouth agape, struck silent.
Beside Lord Ambrose stood his ladyâa woman of such beauty that she seemed almost ethereal in her presence, like some creature of starlight veiled in fine silks. You could have been Lord Ambroseâs granddaughter, and yet here you were, his lawful wife. Aemondâs mind spun.
From what he understood, this aunt of his was five summers younger than his mother, yet you bore not a trace of age. Your beauty held a captivating allure, tempered with a regal composure that only added to your mystique. You appeared no older than five-and-twenty, though your presence held the calm authority of a queen.
"Lord and Lady Ambrose," Aegon declared with a broad grin as he rose from the Iron Throne and descended the dais, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Welcome."
Lord Ambrose, with a thick and lumbering step, inclined his head and spoke in a voice as stout as his frame. âWe thank you for your welcome, Your Grace, and pledge our loyalty to the one true king.â
Aegon waved a dismissive hand, barely seeming to heed the manâs words. âYes, yes, the crown is grateful for your loyalty and your⌠soldiers,â he said, his tone absent, as though the promise of men-at-arms meant little to him in the face of his aunt.
Then Aegon turned his attention to you, his expression shifting to one of eager charm. He stepped closer and took your hand, lifting it to his lips. "My aunt," he said, his voice thick with pleasure, âit is an honor to finally make your acquaintance.â He kissed your hand, his gaze lingering on you as he released it.
Your lips curled into a slight, knowing smile, your sharp eyes gleaming with a trace of amusement as though you found the entire display mildly amusing. âThe honor is mine, my king,â you replied, your voice soft but rich, laced with an elegance and confidence that defied your role as the wife of a lesser lord.
Aemond, standing nearby, felt his pulse quicken at the sound of your voice. It was smooth, sultry, and held an unspoken promise, a warmth that washed over him and stirred something deep within. His gaze lingered on her, captivated, as if drawn to some unnameable force.
Otto cleared his throat, a subtle warning in his gaze as he stepped forward, sensing the direction of Aegonâs attentions. He inclined his head politely. âLord Ambrose,â he greeted, then turned to the lady beside him, his tone softening. âDaughter.â
Aemond watched with surprise as she stepped away from Lord Ambrose without hesitation, her face alight with joy. âFather!â she exclaimed, her voice warm and bright. She crossed the floor with graceful steps, her skirts sweeping behind her as she embraced her father.
Ottoâs usually stoic expression softened, his arms enveloping her with an affection rare to see from the Hand of the King. âHow Iâve missed you,â he murmured.
Aemond, along with Aegon and Helaena, exchanged startled glances, astonished by the depth of feeling Otto revealed.
She broke away, casting a radiant smile at Otto before her gaze shifted, and she found Alicent. Aemond watched as his motherâs expression flickered, caught between awkwardness and reluctance, her shoulders tense. But his aunt moved toward her with the same confident warmth. âSister,â she greeted, wrapping her arms around Alicent in a sincere embrace.
Alicent seemed to steel herself, managing a strained smile as she endured the hug. When they pulled apart, her expression remained stiff as she forced a cordial tone. âSister,â she said carefully, âyou look⌠as though no time has passed at all.â
The amusement in your eyes deepened, a subtle spark of mischief that curled your lips into a nearly smug smile. âAnd yet,â you replied, voice gentle but pointed, âit seems that time has left its mark on you."
The words were soft, yet they carried an edge that struck the air between them. Alicentâs face faltered, her polite mask slipping for an instant. Aemond watched the exchange, captivated by the intricate web of tensions and histories unfolding before him. He had thought his mother impervious, yet here she was, visibly discomforted under the gaze of her younger sister.
âWell,â Aegonâs voice broke in, strangely lively, âthis calls for a celebration.â He clapped his hands, grinning widely. âA family supper, to welcome Lord⌠and Lady Ambrose to Kingâs Landing.â He glanced between his aunt and mother with a glint in his eye, as if relishing the simmering tension.
Aemond glanced toward his aunt, your eyes alight with a confidence that drew him in, entangled with memories he could only guess at. You seemed utterly unperturbed by the uneasy reception, holding yourself with an assurance that only deepened the fascination you stirred within him.
The supper was, in truth, a strained affair. Lord Ambrose quickly drank himself into a state of merriment, his voice growing louder with each goblet of wine he downed. He boasted endlessly of Ambrosia, their ancestral castle in the Reach, extolling the grandeur of its halls, the strength of its walls, and the might of his armies.
It was painfully clear that neither Aegon nor Otto paid him much heed; Aegonâs eyes glazed over with feigned interest, while Otto offered only the occasional nod, his mind elsewhere.
Aegon, however, deftly steered the conversation back to you at every opportunity. âBut tell us, Aunt,â he said with a sly smile, âwhat tales do you bring from the Reach? Surely there are more interesting things than castle stones and soldiers.â
Across the table, Aemond found his brotherâs persistent attempts at flirtation grating, yet he could not fault Aegon for giving you the attention. Your voice, like a song in his ear, drew him in each time you spoke, its smooth cadence addictive.
You spoke easily, your words painting scenes of courtly life in the Reach, of feasts and tournaments, your radiant smile outshining your husbandâs drunken ramblings. Every eye at the table seemed drawn to you, but none with the quiet intensity of Aemondâs single, focused gaze.
He was captivated by the way you commanded the room, with a poise that cast Lord Ambroseâs bluster into the shadows. And when you looked his way, even for a fleeting moment, he felt as though the world quieted around him.
âAnd what of you and my mother in your younger days?â Aegon asked, a mischievous, drunken grin on his lips, his words slurring slightly as he leaned forward in his chair.
Alicent shot him a pointed look, her expression tightening as she cleared her throat. âAegon,â she murmured, her voice gently chastising, âperhaps my sister would appreciate a moment to enjoy her meal.â
But you merely laughed, dismissing her concern with a wave of your hand. âOh, itâs quite all right, Alicent,â you said warmly. Turning to Aegon, your eyes sparkled with a hint of nostalgia. âYou see, in our younger years, your mother could barely stand to be near me.â
Alicentâs discomfort grew visible as she shifted in her seat, her voice soft but strained. âThat is not true, sister.â
âOh, but it is,â you replied with a soft, almost wistful laugh. âNot that I hold it against you, Alicent. I was terribly fond of her then; I looked up to her as one might look to a mother. But every time I tried to spend time with her, she would run off with Princess Rhaenyra, laughing at my expense.â
âThose were mere childish games,â Alicent interjected, her voice taut as she worked to maintain her composure.
âIndeed, they were,â you agreed with an unbothered smile. âChildren can be so prone to envy and jealousy. You see,â your tone lightened, yet held a playful undertone as your eyes drifted back to Aegon, âI was often called the âDiamond of Oldtown,â and perhaps such adoration left its mark on dear Alicent.â
The words were spoken with an air of casual jest, yet there was no mistaking the edge beneath them. Aemond watched as Alicentâs mask slipped, her cheeks flushing as she struggled to keep her voice steady. It was clear you were savoring Alicentâs discomfort, a faint glimmer of amusement lighting your eyes as they traveled slowly down the length of the table.
And then, your gaze found him.
âAnd what of you, dear nephew?â you inquired, your voice as smooth as wine poured in darkened halls. âIâve heard many tales of you in the Reach.â
Aemond felt his heart thud within his chest, a warmth rising unbidden to his face as he fought to maintain his poise. âTales of what, Aunt?â he asked, his voice low, striving for calm.
A smile curved upon your lips, one that was as inviting as it was knowing. âA great warrior, fierce and unmatched across the Seven Kingdoms. The rider of Vhagar, queen of all dragons,â you murmured, your words laced with a hint of admiration.
âThatâs all, my lady,â Aemond replied softly, his gaze never wavering from yours.
And in return, you tilted your head ever so slightly, an amused glint in your eyes as though you were looking beyond the surface, into the very marrow of him. It was a gaze both alluring and unsettling, one that sent a shiver down his spine.
Before you could speak again, however, your husbandâs voice cut through the charged silence. His tone was slurred and irritated, clearly displeased by the lack of attention on him as he clumsily launched into yet another tale of his supposed valor. Aemond noted how you sighed softly, a look of resignation crossing your features as you turned your gaze away from him.
But then, as though unable to resist, your eyes drifted back to Aemond. You held his gaze for a heartbeat longer than propriety allowed and, with a barely concealed smirk, you winked.
Aemondâs heart skipped a beat, his lone eye widening ever so slightly as he blinked, wondering if he had imagined it. He looked back, only to find you now watching your husband with a look of faint distaste, a grimace twisting your otherwise perfect features. It was a small, subtle gesture, but one that spoke volumes, and Aemond felt a surge of something dark and possessive stirring within him.
In that moment, he realized that this supper was not simply an introduction; it was an invitation, a challenge, and a temptation all at once.
These thoughts lingered long after, spiraling in his mind with an intensity he couldnât quiet. Later, as he passed through the halls, he overheard a quiet murmur from a maid: Lord and Lady Ambrose had chosen to sleep in separate chambers. Aemondâs pulse quickened.
The knowledge seemed a silent invitation, a doorway left just ajar. He recalled the way you had spoken to him, your voice holding layers meant only for him. The look in your eyesâhungry, as though you sought to devour his very soulâleft him craving to be consumed by that gaze again. No, this was not his imagination. He was certain of it.
And it was this certainty that drove him through the darkened halls of the Red Keep, slipping past drowsy guards, cloaked in shadow, his steps muffled by the silence of the sleeping castle.
When he reached your door, he eased it open, careful to make no sound, and stepped inside with the stealth of a shadow. Yet he halted at once, caught off guard by the sight that greeted him.
There you sat, reclining on a velvet chaise, a goblet of deep red wine in hand, eyes cast down at a leather-bound book resting in your lap. The faint candlelight painted your skin in warm gold, and your attireâa red nightgown, translucent and clinging to every curveâleft little hidden, casting a spell of allure around you.
Aemondâs throat tightened as he took in the sight, the image searing itself into his mind. But the quiet gulp betrayed him, and your gaze lifted, pinning him where he stood.
âYour Highness,â you murmured, your voice laced with a seductive warmth. âWhat a surprise.â The knowing smile on your lips told him this was no surprise at all.
Feeling the weight of your gaze, he steeled himself, adopting the guise of confidence. âI could not find sleep, my lady,â he replied, his voice steady. âAnd it would appear you are in the same predicament.â
You set down your goblet and closed the book in your lap, your every movement deliberate. Rising from your seat, you let the robe slide from your shoulders, the fabric pooling at your feet. âYou know,â you murmured, teasingly, âit is most improper for a man to visit a married woman at such an hour.â
Aemond took a step closer, his gaze never leaving you. âBut you are my auntâmy family.â
A small, knowing laugh escaped your lips as you slipped past him, your arm brushing his, a soft touch that sent a jolt through him. He closed his eye briefly, savoring the warmth, and when he opened it again, you had moved toward the bed, your smile one of invitation.
âThe Targaryens are known for their peculiar customs when it comes to family.â You glanced back at him with an amused, daring gleam in your eye. âTell me, what is it that you desire?â
He took another step forward, drawn like a moth to flame. âI think you know what I desire.â
âAnd if I were to say yes,â you purred, sitting upon the edge of the bed, âwhat would you do?â
He moved closer, his voice low with reverence. âI would do whatever you asked of me.â
Your lips curled, eyes glinting with a barely concealed command. âThen kneel for me,â you whispered.
For a brief moment, his brow furrowed, but any hesitation vanished. He lowered himself to his knees before you, his head tilted upward, gaze reverent. âAs you wish, my lady.â
You studied him, a look of satisfaction crossing your face as you gathered your skirts, parting your legs with a languid grace. Tilting your chin, you gave a single, soft nod. âThen go on, my sweet prince,â you murmured, your voice a quiet command, heavy with promise.
He hesitated for a moment, then slowly leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss to your inner thigh. His hands came to rest on your hips as he began to place soft kisses along your skin, working his way higher.
When he finally reached the apex of your thighs, he paused, looking up at you, his eye hooded.
"Are you certain about this, Aunt?" Despite his words, his body language betrayed his eagerness - his breathing quickened and his fingers tightened their grip on your hips ever so slightly.
You let out a soft moan as he kissed your thighs, your fingers tangled in his hair, urging him on, "Yes I am certain, now continue before I change my mind."
With a low growl, he surged forward, burying his face between your thighs. He wasted no time in finding your sensitive bud with his tongue, flicking and circling it expertly.
One hand slid up to cup your breast through your thin nightgown, kneading the soft flesh as he continued his ministrations below. He alternated between long, slow licks and quick flicks of his tongue, gauging your reactions to find what felt best.
The other hand gripped your hip more firmly, holding you in place as he devoured you like a starving man at a feast. Wet sounds filled the room as he worked tirelessly to bring you pleasure, lost in the taste and scent of your arousal. Your back arched as he licked your cunt, a loud moan escaped your lips, "Oh gods, yes."
Your fingers tightened in his hair, as you bucked your hips against his face, seeking more of his skilled touch, "Yes, feast on me."
Spurred on by your moans and the encouragement in your voice, Aemond redoubled his efforts. He sealed his lips around your bud and sucked hard, his tongue lashing over the sensitive nub in rapid circles.
Two fingers slid deep inside your slick heat, curling to stroke along your inner walls as they thrusted in and out. The obscene wet sounds of his fingers pumping into your dripping core mingled with your increasingly desperate cries of pleasure.
Aemond could feel you tensing and shuddering beneath his touch, teetering on the brink of release. He doubled down, sucking harder and fucking you faster with his fingers, determined to push you over the edge into blissful oblivion.
Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, screaming out in ecstasy as your body shook violently, juices gushing out and soaking his face, "Oh fuck! Aemond!"
You clutched at his head, grinding your cunt against his mouth as you rode out the waves of pleasure, your skin glistening with sweat, "Don't you dare stop until I tell you to!"
Feeling your body quake and spasm around his invading fingers, Aemond drank in every drop of your sweet release, lapping at your pulsing sex greedily. He prolonged your climax with relentless strokes of his tongue, coaxing out every last tremor of pleasure.
Only when your spasms subsided does he finally pull back, his chin dripping with your essence. He gazed up at you with a triumphant, almost feral glint in his eye, his own arousal straining against the confines of his breeches, "Have I pleased you, Aunt?"
"Yes, yes you have," you said breathlessly.
Without a word, he rose to his feet and began to strip off his clothes, revealing a lean, muscular physique honed by years of training. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed with blood, the tip already glistening with pre-cum.
"You have such a pretty cock, nephew," you said, taking in the sight of him, as your hand reached out for his cock.
Aemond's breath hitched as your hand wrapped around his throbbing length, his hips instinctively bucking into the touch. He watched, transfixed, as your fingers traced the ridged veins and delicate skin, marveling at how small yet firm your hand looked compared to his engorged member.
"It's yours," he rasped, his voice strained with need. "Do whatever you want with it."
He stepped closer, pressing the heavy weight of his erection against your palm, the heat of his skin seeping into your touch. Leaning down, he captured your lips in a hungry kiss, his tongue delving deep to tangle with yours as he grinded against you.
You broke the kiss, panting heavily, as you pulled him onto the bed. Then you straddled him, rubbing your dripping cunt along his cock, coating it with your juices, "I've never ridden a dragon before. Tell me, do you want me to claim you?"
Aemond's single eye blazed with lust and something deeper, darker, as he gazed up at you poised above him. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, the muscles flexing beneath his pale skin.
"Yes, Aunt," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "Claim me. Make me yours."
His hands came up to grasp your hips, guiding you to position yourself over his straining cock. His head nudged at your entrance, smearing your slickness across it.
"Do it," he urged, his gaze intense and unblinking. "Take me deep."
So slowly you sank down onto his cock, letting out a loud moan as you stretched around his girth. You took him inch by delicious inch until you were fully seated on him, "Fuck, your cock was made for my cunt."
Aemond threw his head back with a guttural groan as you sheathed him completely, your tight heat enveloping his throbbing length. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, nipping and sucking at the tender skin as he reveled in the feeling of being utterly filled in you.
"So tight," he panted against your throat.
His hands squeezed your hips, holding you steady as he began to thrust up into you, meeting each downward plunge of your own hips. The bed creaked beneath you, the sound mingling with your mingled moans of pleasure. And feeling a tinge of frustration, his hands met the top of your nightgown as he pulled hard, ripping it in half completely, making you gasp.
You rode him hard and fast, your breasts bouncing with each powerful thrust. the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, mixed with your high pitched moans, "Yes, yes, fuck me harder Aemond!"
Aemond leaned forward, sucking on your breast as if he was a babe desperately seeking milk. He suckled greedily at your breast, his tongue swirling around the hardened peak as he drew the sensitive flesh into his mouth. His hands roamed your curves possessively, one sliding down to grip your ass while the other tweaked and tugged at your neglected nipple.
He met your wild riding with equal fervor, pistoning his hips up to meet your downward thrusts. The force of his movements drove you upward, impaling you again and again on his thick cock. Your cries of ecstasy spurred him on, his own groans of pleasure growing louder and more desperate.
Suddenly, he flipped you over onto your back, looming over you with a predatory gleam in his eye. He pinned your wrists above your head, holding you captive as he pounded into you with renewed vigor, the new angle allowing him to penetrate even deeper.
You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, locking him in place as you grinded your hips upwards to match his frenzied pace. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you clung to him, urging him on, "Fuck! Right there!"
Aemond let go of your wrists, leaning down to capture your lips in a bruising kiss as he continued to ravage your cunt. He swallowed all your screams and moans, relishing in the taste and feel of you.
"Cum in me aemond! Fill me with your seed!" You screamed into his mouth as another orgasm ripped through you.
The sensation of your inner walls clenching and rippling around him sent Aemond careening over the edge. With a hoarse shout, he buried himself to the hilt and erupted, his hot seed flooding your womb in powerful jets.
"Ahh, gods," he gasped, his body shuddering with the intensity of his climax. He continued to pulse and twitch within you, ensuring every drop is deposited deep inside your welcoming heat.
As the aftershocks subsided, Aemond collapsed onto you, his weight a comforting press against your satiated form. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his breath coming in ragged pants as he struggled to regain his composure.
"That was...incredible," he murmured, his voice low and husky with satisfaction. âYou are truly remarkable.â
You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, reveling in the warmth of his body against yours as you both sought to catch your breath. A delicate shiver coursed through you, remnants of your shared ecstasy still fluttering within.
âThere, there,â you purred softly, running your fingers through his silken hair, enjoying the feel of his softness against your skin. Aemond lay on your chest, his face buried in the crook of your neck, the intoxicating scent of you mingling with the fading heat of your shared intimacy.
Once Aemond had calmed his breathing, he lifted his head to meet your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue dancing with yours in a fervent exploration, igniting a spark that flickered between you. His hand traveled down your body, the warmth of his touch setting your skin alight.
When his hand paused on your stomach, he broke the kiss, a frown creasing his brow as curiosity flickered in his violet eye. It was well known that you had been wed to Lord Ambrose for fifteen years without bearing a child. Whispers of your barrenness had circulated through the halls of the Red Keep, and Aemond could not suppress the question that hung in the air between you.
"Is it true you are barren?" he asked, his tone laced with concern.
You regarded him with a playful smirk, the corners of your lips lifting. âNo,â you murmured softly, your fingers gently caressing his long silver hair.
There was amusement in your voice, and as you laughed lightly, the sound was like music in the dimly lit chamber. âDo you truly think I had ever wished to be filled with a child by that fat cunt?â
Aemondâs single violet eye widened in surprise at your boldness. You continued, your tone shifting to one of quiet confidence. âEach time Iâve lain with him, Iâve taken moon tea the morning after.â
You leaned closer, your hand reaching out to caress his cheek with a gentle, deliberate stroke. Your fingers traced the sharp line of his jaw, igniting a spark that sent a wave of absolute pleasure down Aemond's spine. âYet I donât think Iâd mind bearing your child.â
The very thought of your bearing his child sent shivers of exhilaration coursing through him. The idea that at this very moment, his seed might have taken root within you filled him with a sense of possessiveness that was both intoxicating and primal. In that instant, it became clear: you were his, and he was yours, bound together by an unspoken promise.
Aemondâs mind raced with possibilities. He would need to find a way to rid you of Lord Ambrose, but that task seemed deceptively simple in the face of what awaited him. Once the obstacle was removed, he would claim you as his wife, securing a future that felt destined.
You were made for him, and in his heart, he knew you had been waiting all this timeâpatiently, silentlyâfor him to come to you.
HOPE YOU ENJOYED!
#aemond targaryen x reader#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen#aemond x reader#hotd fanfic#hotd aemond#aemond one eye#hotd#aemond x you#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen imagine
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Wild Rooster Chase | Rooster x Reader
Summary: Bradley thinks about you more than he should, and his feelings for you run deeper than they ought to. You've never given him an indication that you want to take the teasing touches and playful flirtation to the next level, so he never pressed his luck. When you surprise him by sending a text message that could change everything, he's ready to chase you all over San Diego for some answers.
Warnings: adult language, fluff, angst, drinking
Length: 5700 words
Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader
Check out my masterlist for more! Banner by @thedroneranger
"What are you ladies doing here?" Bradley asked as you walked in with Halo and Phoenix on either side of you. "Thought tonight was the bachelorette party?"
"The Hard Deck is our first stop of the evening," you informed him as you planted your palm on his chest with a smirk, and he let you push him away from the bar. "We couldn't miss out on letting you guys see how nicely we clean up."
"Oh yeah?" he asked, as if he wasn't actively ogling you in your mini dress and high heels. He'd never been one to hide it, and he'd never been one to check out the other two, either. But that didn't mean he was going to act on it, because he was absolutely convinced this was just a game for you. One that he loved participating in. One that he knew was never going to go anywhere real.
"Yeah," you verified with a laugh. "We look hot."
"An indisputable fact," he whispered as he pretended like you were actually pushing him further out of your way. He'd move wherever you wanted him to, as long as you just kept touching him.
"Shoo," you scolded, looking up at him as your knee bumped his leg. "I need to buy some drinks, and you're in my way."
He covered your hand with his big one and immediately stopped moving. "Nice try, Blaze," he said with a grin as you attempted and failed to get him to budge more. "But I'm definitely buying you all a round for Callie's big night." He tossed his credit card onto the bar and draped one arm around Halo and the other around you before leaning in close to you and whispering, "And you always look nice. Even in your flight suits."
"What can I get for you ladies? And Rooster?" Penny asked, cutting him off just as he had you rolling your eyes. "Wait... he's not going out for Halo's bachelorette night, is he?"
"Absolutely not," you told her, tilting your head to look up at him with a devilish grin that made him a little nervous. His arm was still heavy across your shoulders as you said, "He's just here to buy us three Johnnie Walkers. Blue Label. Neat."Â
"What?" His voice was strangled, and his eyes were wide. "That's over a hundred bucks!"
"But it's what we want. Isn't it, ladies?" you asked Halo and Phoenix as you tried not to laugh.
"It is," Halo confirmed. "And I'm the one getting married next weekend."Â
When Bradley moaned and nodded at Penny, you gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, Rooster. You're the sweetest."
"You mean I'm a sucker," he said, finally releasing both of you. "So where are you headed after this?"
Halo accepted her expensive Scotch as she said, "Cowboy Star for a steak dinner."
Bradley snorted. "Don't forget to take Jake with you," he said, nodding to where the other guys were hanging out near the dart board.Â
"No boys allowed," you reminded him. "Especially not since we're taking Halo to Cheetahs after dinner."
"Strippers?" he asked as you picked up your Johnnie Walker. "Looking at hot, naked chicks? Sounds fun. What else?"
"Dancing at Pleasure Town!" Phoenix said, taking the last Scotch and holding it up. You and Halo both tapped your glasses to hers.
"Thanks, Rooster!" you said before taking a sip. He just shook his head as you pressed your lips to the glass, but a few seconds later, he ran his index finger along your arm and leaned a little closer again.
"Hey, you call or text me if you need anything, okay? I'll keep my phone on all night for you girls."
A chill seemed to run through your body, and just the mere thought of you calling him in the middle of the night left his mouth dry with need.
You chewed on your lip and looked up at him. "I'll let you know if I need you."
-----------------------
I'll let you know if I need you.
Bradley couldn't stop thinking about that sentence. If you ever told him you needed or even wanted him for anything, he'd be there instantly. He wasn't afraid to admit to himself that he'd had a crush on you from the first day you arrived at Top Gun. He was sure you knew it, too. But there were some things he just didn't want to mess with. Your call sign was Blaze for a reason, after all. Too fucking hot to handle. Too damn enticing to be interested in him.
So he did what he always did on Saturday nights. Found the second cutest girl at the bar and tried his luck.Â
It was two hours later and three drinks in with the redhead, and he knew he could probably get as lucky as he wanted to. Her hand was on his thigh, inching closer to the hem of his tropical print shirt, and she was all smiles.
"Let's play something on the jukebox," she told him, and he agreed as he followed after her. To his dismay, she picked your favorite song, and now he was having a bit of a hard time staying focused on the task at hand as she tucked herself against the wall and pulled him closer by his shirt.
"You like this song?" he asked, glancing at the jukebox like he expected you to be standing there.Â
She shrugged and said, "Not really. I just pushed some random buttons," with a little giggle. "Now, come here."
Alright, so her lips were soft, and her tongue tasted like bourbon. She placed his hands on her hips, and he gave a little test squeeze which resulted in her tongue in his mouth. But the song was pulling up some other memories of you and him dancing together on New Year's Eve. When he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, it was almost a relief to pull away.
"Hey," she complained, reaching for him as he unlocked his phone. "I'm over here, Rooster."
"Sorry," he muttered, looking at her briefly, but he really wasn't. The text he got was from you. He held up one finger and took a step back as he opened it up.Â
Blaze: Full disclosure, I'm drunk. And I'll probably regret this in the morning, but... I think about kissing you all the time.
"What the fuck?" Bradley said out loud as his eyes scanned the message again. It was a joke. It had to be. Or else he was reading it wrong? "Holy shit."
When he finally looked up, the redhead was pouting with her arms crossed. He needed another opinion, and he'd already lost interest in her anyway. He held up his phone and asked, "What does this mean?"
He watched her eyes as she read it, and a little crease appeared on her forehead. "It says get a life, jerk." She went walking off toward her friends as Bradley looked around for someone else to help him out. The guys were all playing pool and darts, but he didn't trust them as far as he could throw them anyway.
"Hey, Penny," he called out, cutting off several people who were trying to order drinks. He leaned all the way across the bar top to where she was pouring a martini. "Tell me I'm not losing my mind."
When he held up his phone, she squinted at the screen, and then her eyes went wide as she smiled at him. "I think someone overdid it and finally stated the obvious."
He was sweating now, afraid he was going to get this all wrong. "Like you think this is actually how she feels?"
She laughed and handed off the martini before pouring some wine. "Well, I don't want to speculate on someone else's behalf..."
"Bartenders are supposed to speculate," he told her, ready to climb over the bar and chase her down as she turned away from him to serve the wine. "It's your god given obligation."
She glanced at him over her shoulder. "Well, then, merely speculating, I would say that the way the two of you cozy up with each other seems a little more than platonic."
He shook his head. "No, that's probably just me you're reading in the scenario." But she was shaking her head back and forth as well. "It's her, too?" Now she was nodding as she reached for a pint glass. "Like she might actually want to make something happen here?"
"Speculation," Penny told him. "But I think you should find out for sure."
He could call you. He pushed himself away from the bar, found a nice, quieter corner, and he tapped your number in his phone.
'Hi, it's me. I can't answer my phone, probably because I'm flying a seventy million dollar aircraft at the moment. Leave a message.'
"Damn it," he groaned, already thinking about how nice it would be to sling his arm around your shoulders and lean all the way in next time. Let his lips meet yours instead of hitting the brakes like he'd trained himself to do. "Wait!" he said to nobody in particular now that he'd walked away from Penny. "Cowboy Star!"
Bradley had the fortitude to keep his phone out and use the rideshare app he had downloaded. He was definitely not sober enough to do this in the Bronco, and he couldn't stop fantasizing about your song playing on the jukebox while he had your body pressed up against the wall. He needed to get to you and get some questions answered.Â
He chose the closest driver in the app, and while he was waiting for Julian in his white Toyota Camry to arrive, he read your text again.
Blaze: Full disclosure, I'm drunk. And I'll probably regret this in the morning, but... I think about kissing you all the time.
"Is she so serious right now?" he asked the night air as he waited in the parking lot. "Is she so fucking serious about this? I think about it, too! A lot!" he practically shouted as he responded to your text.
Blaze, call me back. Are you talking about a kiss on the cheek? Or something more? We need to discuss ASAP.
"Hey, are you Bradley?"
He looked up to see the white Toyota was just sitting there. You had his head so messed up at the moment, he hadn't even noticed it.
"Julian?"
"Yeah, man," the driver replied, and Bradley quickly climbed in the backseat. "You're heading to Cowboy Star?"
"Yeah," he grunted as he buckled his seatbelt.
"I love it there," he said as he pulled out onto the road that ran parallel to the beach. "My wife got me the porterhouse for my birthday."
Bradley stared at his phone screen, hoping you'd write back or call him. "I'm not actually going for dinner. I'm trying to find a girl."
Julian whistled and shook his head. "Man, you should have just stayed at that bar."
He tipped his head back and groaned. "It's a very specific girl. And she's out with some friends for a bachelorette party."
"You know dudes aren't really supposed to go to those things, right?"
Bradley rubbed his free hand across his face and said, "I know, but she sent me this text that is very thought provoking."Â
"What's it say?"
He kind of felt like an idiot telling his story to his Uber driver, but he still wasn't sure he was understanding your words correctly. It just didn't make sense.Â
"Julian, I am very firmly in the friend zone with this hot girl from work, and tonight she sent me this message: Full disclosure, I'm drunk. And I'll probably regret this in the morning, but... I think about kissing you all the time."
"Bro," Julian said as he hit the accelerator a little harder. "You're so in, man."
"Am I?" Bradley asked, squeezing his phone and wondering why you weren't calling him back. "Like, this girl is smoking hot. She's cool as hell, too. And we flirt a bit, but it never goes anywhere. And now she's not answering me."
"Just hang on." Julian went a little faster still. "I'll get you there so you can sweep her off her feet."
Bradley hung onto the door handle, not even sure he knew how to sweep you off your feet. What kinds of guys did you usually go for? He'd be lying if he said he never noticed that your last boyfriend kind of looked like him. And in general, you seemed to have a thing for guys with brown hair who were pretty tall.Â
"Shit," he grunted, just torturing himself by imagining he could be the one holding your hand and making you laugh. "Are we almost there?"
"Hell yeah, dude. Next block up."
When Julian stopped at to the curb, Bradley lunged out onto the sidewalk as he shouted, "Thank you!"
"Good luck!"
The restaurant was absolutely packed, and even the line to talk to the host was long. After a few seconds, he simply walked to the front and cut everyone else off.
"Hey!" complained the woman who was now behind him as he cleared his throat and addressed the host.Â
"Excuse me, but do you know if there are still three hot women here eating dinner together?" he asked the host who gave him a bland look. "They were all in tight little dresses. One was red, one was blue, and one was like a gold color. And one of them was wearing a bachelorette sash!"
"Oh," he replied with a little smirk. "Those three." Bradley didn't appreciate the way his little grin grew as he said, "Hot is certainly the right word to describe them."
"Are they still here?" he asked impatiently, trying to look past him into the dining room now.
"No. They left about an hour ago."
"Fuck," he groaned, pushing away from the podium and storming back outside into the night. He found a spot on the busy sidewalk where he could stand, and he tried to call you again.Â
'Hi, it's me. I can't answer my phone, because I'm probably flying a seventy million dollar aircraft at the moment. Leave a message.'
He wanted to scream, but he calmly said, "Blaze, it's Rooster. Call me back." When he hung up, he opened the rideshare app again, and he luckily saw Julian on the map immediately and tapped on his little icon. "Come on, Julian," he muttered, already looking down the street for the trusty Toyota to make its return. "Yes!"
Bradley threw himself into the backseat once again as the driver asked, "That was quick, bro. What happened?"
"They already left for the strip club," he groaned.
"Cheetahs?" Julian asked, tapping at his own phone before he started driving again. "Not gonna pretend I've never been there before."
Bradley tried to call you again, and once again he got to hear your voice tell him you weren't available. "I just don't understand why she's telling me this now, you know? I've known her for almost two years."
"Two years in the friend zone? Bro, do you have no game?"
"Julian, do not test me right now," Bradley said with a laugh. He held up his thumb and index finger and added, "I was this close to sealing the deal with another girl at the Hard Deck when I got the text from her."
"Ohhhh. So you're in love with her. Understood, my man."
Bradley sat back against the seat and stared out the window as the city lights streaked past. In love. Was he? You always seemed too perfect to get involved with. But love? Is that why he never pushed for more?Â
"Damn," he muttered. "Maybe." Was the fear of crashing and burning what was ultimately holding him back?Â
That was when Julian pulled a slick u-turn and coasted into the parking lot of Cheetahs which was advertising fully nude girls. He should have been concerned that suddenly the only girl he wanted to see that way was you. "Thanks, Julian," he said as he hopped out and slammed the door closed.
"You got this!"
Well at least Julian thought he could pull off something impossible tonight.
"Whoa, I'm going to need to see some ID."Â
Bradley realized that his path was suddenly blocked by an absolutely massive bouncer with a bushy beard.Â
"Come on," he complained, digging his wallet out of his back pocket. "I'm thirty-five."
"No ID, no entrance."
"Yeah, yeah. Understood," he said trying to get his driver's license free as one of the strippers walked outside for a break. He craned his neck to see through the open door as the loud music filtered out before the door closed.
"Hey, Cherry," the bouncer grunted, and Bradley looked down at the stripper who was leaning against the wall wearing a pink wig, the tiniest g-string and some pasties.Â
She was looking at Bradley a little skeptically as she replied, "Hey, Murph." She kicked a rock out into the parking lot as she told Bradley, "You're getting here awfully late. All of the private rooms have been reserved for the rest of the night."
"I'm not here for that. I'm just looking for some girls," he replied, waiting patiently while Murph inspected his ID.
"Yeah," she said with a laugh. "We've got plenty of those. The hottest ones in San Diego, if you believe the neon sign above your head."
"No," he told her, really not in the mood to recount his story again. "I'm looking for some women I work with."
Now Cherry looked downright unconvinced as she asked, "Are you a stripper?"
Bradley accepted his driver's license back and gave Cherry a hesitant look. "Well, no, I'm not."
"Didn't think so," she muttered, and Bradley stopped in his tracks before he even reached for the door handle.
"Excuse me?" he asked, giving her a much more scathing look. "What's that supposed to mean? I'd be a fantastic stripper."
She shook her head and adjusted her tiny underwear. "You don't have the right build for it."
Bradley burst out into sardonic laughter. "Cherry, you must be joking," he said as he tucked his wallet away and flexed his biceps. "I could totally be a stripper."
"What song would you dance to?" she asked in an accusatory tone.Â
"Sweet Emotion," he told her immediately. Yeah, he'd thought about it before, and yeah, he knew he'd absolutely kill it up on stage. But she just made a face in response. "What's wrong with my song?"
"Nothing, I guess, but there's no way you'd be raking in the tip money."
Bradley pointed across the parking lot to Hard D Boys, the male club that was associated with Cheetahs, and said, "Just for that, I'm coming back for their open auditions night, because you have no idea what you're talking about." She shrugged, and he shook his head. "I don't have time for this. Have you seen three hot women? A red dress, a blue dress and a gold dress? Like short dresses?" he asked, tapping his thigh with his hand to indicate that your dress left little to his imagination. "They are like around this tall?" he added, sticking his hand in the air around your height.
"Sorry, Mr. Sweet Emotion, but I only take note of the biggest tippers."
Bradley groaned and pushed the door open, and the music was so loud, it wasn't even worth trying to ask the bartenders if they'd seen you. As soon as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he walked around the cavernous club, trying to locate you three, but it was mostly men. And then he had the disturbing thought that maybe some guys tried to pick you up.
"Why are you doing this to me, Blaze?" he whispered to himself as he walked back through every corner he could find. He even asked a woman to check if you were in the ladies' restroom. He came up empty handed again.Â
"God damn it," he said once he was back outside with Murph.
"To be fair," Murph said as he lit up a cigarette, "I think you'd make an okay stripper."
"Thank you for that," Bradley told him sincerely as he tapped his rideshare app again, but then he heard a horn honking and looked up. It was Julian, hanging out his car window. He'd waited for him.Â
"She's not here?"
"No, Julian. She's not here!" he said as he rushed toward the Toyota and climbed in.
"Well, where are we going next?"
Bradley closed his eyes and thought about what Phoenix had said earlier at the Hard Deck. "Pleasure Town. They were going dancing at Pleasure Town."
"On it," Julian told him and shifted into drive.
It was after midnight now. Pleasure Town wasn't too far away, but he'd be lucky to even find you in there on the weekend. But if he did, you'd be dancing like crazy with the biggest smile on your face, pretending you liked the music they were playing while you thought about your own playlists instead. You'd be drinking some neon colored cocktail and trying to talk the girls into leaving to get cookies from that place that was open all night. You'd maybe even be checking your phone and finally, finally texting him back.
"Yeah, you're right, Julian."
"About what, my man?"
Bradley rubbed his hands over his face. "I'm in love with her."
Julian reached his arm back at a red light, and Bradley fist bumped him. "Yeah, that's what I'm talking about! I could tell right away. Don't worry. We'll find her."
But it got harder to be hopeful the longer he was in the dance club. There was barely any room to walk around, and there were dozens of women in little dresses that looked like the one you were wearing, but none of them had your face or your smile. You weren't here.Â
He stood on the dance floor and read your text one more time.
Full disclosure, I'm drunk. And I'll probably regret this in the morning, but... I think about kissing you all the time.
He wanted to know what kissing you would feel like. Now that you opened his mind to something more, he'd never be able to stop thinking about it. But this time, he let himself finally focus on the word regret in your message.You'd regret what you said in the morning. He knew you; he knew you would never go for the idea sober. But he texted you one more time anyway.
Blaze, please call me when you get this. It doesn't matter what time it is. Just call.
When he walked back out into the cool, night air, Julian was right there at the curb waiting with a hopeful look on his face. "Bro, is she here?" When Bradley didn't respond, his face melted into sadness. "Or did she say the 'just friends' shit?"
"She's not here," he replied, once again climbing in the back of the now familiar car.
"We going somewhere else now? The pursuit continues?"
Bradley grimaced and said, "I think I should just throw in the towel and regroup. Can you take me back to the Hard Deck? I'm definitely sober enough to drive home now."
But even Julian sounded disappointed now. "Of course, dude. Anything you want."
"Thanks," Bradley grunted, watching as the city lights faded a bit as they got closer to the beach. When Julian parked near the Bronco, he said, "I appreciate all your help tonight."
He gave Bradley another fist bump. "You gotta start fresh tomorrow, man. And you can't leave me hanging, okay? I need a wedding invitation."
Bradley chuckled as he climbed out for the last time. "I'm about to leave you the biggest tip."
He tapped two hundred bucks into the app as Julian drove off shouting, "Good luck!"
With nothing else he could do right now, he climbed in the Bronco, cranked the engine and started to drive himself home for the night. He was tempted to swing by your place or at least try to call you one more time, but he decided to let you get some sleep before you started to regret your message. That way he'd have a little more time with this hopeful feeling in his chest.
----------------------------
There was pounding. There was so much pounding. Maybe someone turned the music up even louder at Cheetahs? Or were you at Pleasure Town now? "Make them turn it down," you moaned, trying to cover your ears. That's when you realized you were in your bed. At home. Someone was knocking on your front door.
"Wait," you croaked as loudly as you could, your ears still buzzing from the loud music all night long. The bachelorette evening had been highly successful. Halo had a great time. But now you were hungover and not in the mood to deal with anyone.Â
As you climbed out of bed, you grabbed your phone from the nightstand to check the time. The battery was almost dead, and you had a bunch of missed texts and calls, but you couldn't even focus on that until the pounding ceased.
"Please stop," you whined, flinging your door open before you even checked to see who it was. When you saw him it felt like someone poured warm caramel sauce on your heart or shoved you hard into a wall made out of soft foam: he always made you feel good and gooey and squishy in the most heart pounding, confusing way. "Rooster."
When he moved slightly, he stopped blocking the sunlight behind him and you squinted your eyes and groaned as you took a step back. "Blaze," he said in that raspy as sin voice as he blessedly closed your front door behind him. "You have a hangover."
You nodded, but even that was too much. "What gave it away?" you asked him softly, still holding your phone.
He snorted. "Well, for starters, you're still wearing your dress from last night."
"Oh." You hadn't realized that as you looked down at yourself for confirmation. "We went pretty hard. I can't even remember much after you bought us the Johnnie Walker at the Hard Deck."
He remained quiet until you looked back up at his face. "You... remember texting me?" His tone was one you'd never heard before, and it took you a few seconds to realize he was nervous. On edge. Hesitant. He was never any of those things with you, and you didn't like this at all.
"I texted you?" When you lifted your phone higher, you started to wonder why he hadn't hugged you when you opened the door. He usually always did. He swallowed hard, and you watched the scars along his neck as his Adam's apple bobbed.
"You really don't remember?"
Now he just sounded really fucking sad, and for some reason your brain was screaming at you that there was something you were definitely supposed to recall from last night. Something about Bradley. You left him at the Hard Deck after he paid for the Scotch, and then you went to dinner and drank more while you thought about him the whole time. But there was definitely something else.
"No. I really don't remember," you whispered, annoyed with yourself. You felt like it was somehow your fault that his lips were pressed in a tight line and his brow was creased.
"It's not important," he replied, all businesslike now. "Can I see your phone for a minute?"
"Yeah," you told him, handing it over and watching while he punched in your passcode. "What did you end up doing all night?"
He sighed and looked at you. "I ended up following you around to no avail."
"Why?" you asked, still clearly missing a piece of this whole puzzle as he started tapping your phone screen with his thumb.Â
"That's not important either," he whispered, and you decided you didn't like any of this.Â
You snatched your phone out of his hand and wrapped your arms around his neck. Almost reluctantly, he hugged you back before reaching his hand up to where you were holding your phone, trying to get it again. "What do you want my phone for so badly?"
He was acting strange, and when he said nothing in response, you lunged out of his grasp and tapped on your text thread with him.Â
"Blaze," he barked out, but it was too late. You read what you'd sent him last night.
Full disclosure, I'm drunk. And I'll probably regret this in the morning, but... I think about kissing you all the time.
"Oh my god!" you screeched. "I didn't delete that?! I hit send!" You couldn't even meet his eyes now as you tried to figure out how to get him to leave so you could cry in peace.
"Blaze, it's okay," he promised, but you knew it wasn't.
"You were going to delete that message. And the ones you sent to me after it," you accused. "Weren't you?" When he just stared at you silently, you realized he was trying to save you from being embarrassed, but it was way too late for that. He didn't want you. He was never going to want you.
"No hard feelings," he said softly. "Go ahead and delete it yourself. We can pretend this never happened."
"No hard feelings?" you practically wailed, afraid you were going to cry in front of him. "I just ruined everything. You were never supposed to know how I feel about you, Bradley."
As soon as you ducked your head away from him, his fingers were under your chin tipping your face up so you were looking him in his impossibly endearing brown eyes. "I need you to explain this to me. Okay?" He took your phone gently from your hand and held it up with the message displayed. "Please, Blaze. Did you mean it? Is that how you think about me?" When you nodded slightly, he readjusted his hand on your face so he was cupping your cheek instead. "Baby, I followed you everywhere last night. I called you and texted you and rode around in a white Toyota with Julian for hours on end."
"Who's Julian?" you ask softly as Bradley slid your phone into his jeans pocket.
"He's my new friend," he replied, which cleared up exactly nothing for you. "I went on this insane chase from Cowboy Star to Cheetahs to Pleasure Town just to try find out if there was even the slightest chance that you really meant what you said."
He closed the distance between your bodies as he stroked his thumb along your cheek. "It was supposed to be my little secret," you whispered. "I just typed it out to see how it would look. I read it in my head and imagined how you might take it. It was supposed to get deleted. You were never supposed to know."
"Is it really so bad that I do?"
His question hung in the air between you, and once again you nodded. "Yes, Bradley. Yes, because it's going to complicate everything now. Work, and our friends, and hanging out at the bar. It's all ruined. Because you'll never look at me the same way you used to."
"Blaze," he rasped. "Baby, I don't want to look at you the same way I used to. Like I was never going to measure up. Like I could never be what you wanted."
You gasped as your eyes went wide. "What are you saying?"
He groaned and pressed his lips to your forehead, and you melted against him. "I'm saying that I chased you all over the city last night hoping like hell that you meant what you said. And that you didn't regret it."
Your head was spinning, but not from the hangover as you thought about how it could feel to be with this man. "You want this?" you asked in awe as your hands eased up along his chest to slip around his neck again.
"Desperately. And if you think you want to see where it goes, we can take it slow, you know?" he asked, his brown eyes hopeful once again. "We don't have to rush into anything crazy."
But you knew you were already kind of crazy about him. You had been for a long time. So you whispered, "I think I could fall in love with you," and his lips came crashing to yours. You moaned into his mouth. His lips and his mustache were even better than all those times you'd imagined kissing him. His huge hands were bunching up the fabric of your dress at your hips. You wanted every part of your body to be touching him from now until forever.
This was how good it felt when you and he stopped pulling your punches. When you both stopped pumping the brakes. You raked your hands through his wavy hair, gasping for breath as you asked, "Did you really try to find me last night?"
"Of course," he promised as you kissed along his mustache and across his cheek. "It was enlightening. I learned a lot about myself. Hey, do you think I'd be a good stripper?"
"God, Rooster," you groaned just thinking about it. "You'd be an excellent stripper."
"I fucking knew it," he grunted, half guiding you and half carrying you to your bedroom. "Listen, we should cuddle right now, but I'm going to need you to come to Hard D Boys with me one night. I'm pretty sure it's just to prove a point, but you never know."
You really weren't positive what he was talking about now, but it didn't matter. His lips were on your neck, and his weight was pressing you down onto your bed, and he was saying the most wonderful thing.
"I know for sure I could fall in love with you."
-----------------------------
He's such a simp, he would chase you anywhere. Imagine taking your brand new boyfriend to his stripper audition just because he has to prove a point. I mean, I wouldn't complain lol. Thanks for reading! And thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @thedroneranger
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#bradley bradshaw x reader#rooster x you#rooster x reader#rooster fanfiction#bradley bradshaw#bradley rooster bradshaw imagine#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader#bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley bradshaw x you#bradley bradshaw imagine#bradley bradshaw fanfiction#rooster imagine#bradley bradshaw fic#top gun imagine#top gun maverick imagine#top gun fanfiction#top gun maverick fanfiction#roosterforme#wild rooster chase
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Title: Illuminated.
Pairing: Yandere!Apollo x Reader (Greek Mythology).
Word Count: 1.0k.
TW: Stalking, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, No Specified Gender For The Reader But They Are A Hunter Of Artemis, and Implied Kidnapping.
[Commissioned Piece. Donate To Palestinians In Gaza Here.]
âYou, my love, are the poetâs demise.â
You stiffened at the sound of his melodic voice, shrinking into yourself before thinking better of taking on such a mouse-like posture and straightening. Still, you failed to stop yourself from crossing your arms over your chest, pulling your knees up and hoping beyond hope that the silvery water would be enough to hide your form from his unfaltering stare. You thought itâd be safer to bathe at night, apart from your sisters, when the softened moonlight protected you from his burning gaze, but youâd been naĂŻve to think that any hour could be late enough to spare you haven. During the day, you lived under the burning gaze of his blazing chariot, busied yourself with shooting down hawks and ravens carrying gifts in their beaks, and at night, he had no burdens to keep him from closing the distance between you using less... ancillary methods.
âIâm afraid you must be mistaken, my lord.â You forced yourself to laugh, glancing over your shoulder. Sure enough, Apollo stood on the riverâs opposing bank, his tanned skin nearly radiant in the darkness. If the sight of him hadnât brought you such dread, you mightâve thought him beautiful. âAs of late, my aimâs been so poor that I can hardly call myself a stagâs demise, let alone a manâs.â
You were quick to look away from him, but you could still hear his gentle hum, picture the way his lips would lilt upward as he shook his head. âIâm afraid itâs deathly true,â he went on, taking a step forward. The water rushed to part as he stepped where it had once been, and in turn, you scrambled for the robes youâd left on the shore, barely managing to pull the ashen cloth around yourself before Apollo came to stand in front of you, his light quickly doing away with what little protection the shadows offered. It was only after you were haphazardly dressed that you considered it might be considered an affront to hide any part of yourself from divinity, but the worry was quickly forgotten. It was only natural to want to create yet another barrier between you and him. Even insects knew to run from their betters. âFor even the most talented bard would struggle beyond words to describe your beauty. They could be chained to their desk for an eternity, study under the Musesâ own tutelage, and still be unable to write a single line.â
He held out a hand to you, but you pretended not to realize he meant for you to take it. âYouâre far too kind. If you have a message for Lady Artemis, thereâs no need to bribe me with suchââ
âMy love,â he cut in, his smile unwavering. âIf I had any desire to speak to my sister, your help would not be necessary.â
âA prophecy concerning our next hunt, then? If thereâs something we mustnât do, I ought to get the Huntmaster, sheâllââ
âMy love.â You felt your throat tighten, your mouth go dry. âAlthough your voice is sweeter than honey and lovelier than birdsong, Iâll admit â I do find myself rather irritated when itâs used to employ such thinly veiled excuses. Any more, and I might think it better to encase your tongue in gold. At least, then, I might have something charming to admire while you lie to me.â His fingers grazed over your jaw as he moved to cup your cheek. It was not a gesture you had the luxury of ignoring. âYou know why I have come here.â
Oh, how you wished youâd gone with your sisters.
âI⌠I canât, my lord.â Unlike his, your voice was perfectly capable of trembling, of shaking, of plummeting into the sort of jarring, unsteady downward inflections that wouldâve been the death of any proper storyteller. âMy vows are to Lady Artemis, andââ It was your turn to smile, now, to lilt your head to the side apologetically. ââsheâd never forgive me if I broke them. Especially with you.â
For the first time, his good humor seemed to ebb, giving way to not anger, but a melancholy sort of disappointment. âI suppose youâre right,â he relented, his golden glow dimming ever so slightly. Suddenly, it did not hurt quite so unbearably to look at him. âItâs a terrible thing. Me and my sister never did learn to share.â
Relief nearly managed to overshadow your revulsion. âI really am sorry. My desire is not to insult you, butââ
This time, when he interrupted you, it was not with a teasing remark, a nectar-dipped pet name, the vague implication of an affection he expected you to return. Rather, there was a sudden brightness in his golden eyes, a sharpened point to his smile, and then, his lips were pressed into yours. The kiss was shallow, but lingering, and when you tried to draw back, the hand on your cheek kept you firmly in place â his hold not crushing, but steadfast, resolute. His unoccupied arm wrapped around your waist, his hand finding its place at the small of your back as he sapped the last of the breath from your lungs. It was only when your palms pressed into his chest, your blunt nails burrowing into his bare skin in a silent plea for air, that he pulled back. Panting and flushed, you made a desperate effort to pull away, to escape back to your encampment, back to your sisters, back to your goddess, but he only cooed, his bowstring calloused fingertips fanning over your cheek.
âSuch a terrible thing,â he muttered, and you considered, briefly, that you mightâve been the first mortal to realize just how wretched his voice truly was.
âHow fortunate it is, then, that youâve caught the attention of such a selfish admirer.â
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere greek gods#yandere greek mythology#yandere apollo#apollo x reader#yanderecore#yancore
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Sukuna x Reader where you have gained weight and Kuna cheers you up (in his own way)
Warnings: Just a bit suggestive at the end
You were standing in front of the mirror, eyes glued to your reflection. Your boyfriend, Sukuna, was staying over for the night and you were about to surprise him with his favorite red, lacy lingerie set.
But something was wrong.
You stared at the fat sticking out from your stomach, your thighs and your arms. Especially your stomach, that was rounder and jutting out. You raised one of your arms and noticed they were flabby.
The lingerie set that made you feel so sexy and was always your number one weapon to seduce your grumpy boyfriend, for the first time, was tight and you couldn't help but think it looked so unappealing on you.
Your mind was racing. You can't leave the room and surprise him like this. Maybe you could wear something else. Maybe surprise him in one of his shirts that were too big for you since he was a very very large man. But would you really be able to deal with him seeing your body when he takes it off--
"The hell are you doing, woman?"
You jumped and turned to see Sukuna leaning against the door frame. A scowl etched on his face. His arm crossed against his broad chest as he raked his deep red eyes across your body.
You couldn't help but cover yourself with your arms. "The hell are you doing, Kuna? I was supposed to surprise you!"
"Surprise me? You were gone long enough for me to think you were fucking dead or something."
You huffed and your eyes gleamed with stubbornness. "So I was taking my sweet time. Big deal." You hugged yourself tighter. "And besides... This is too tight on me. I'm gonna wear something else. I.. might have to put this set away for a while." You said, trying to keep it cool and pretend like you weren't so upset and feeling self conscious under your boyfriend's gaze.
But Sukuna stayed quiet. His narrowed eyes boring into you. He was a very perceptive man and he knows when you're upset even when you try to hide it.
With his hands shoved in his pocket, he walked closer to you until he was a few inches away. The way his tall, muscular and oh so sexy body towered over you. The way he looked down at you with a stern gaze made you shiver.
"Hand." He ordered.
You blinked in confusion at his request. He simply clicked his tongue in irritation.
The next thing you knew, his large hand shot out to grab your wrist. He pulled you closer.
And placed your hand straight to his crotch where his dick was hard and pulsing.
Your eyes widened and your face turned a scarlet hue. You quickly averted your gaze from him but his other hand shot out to roughly grab your chin and turn your face back to him.
"Look at me." He growled, his eyes reflecting a mixture of irritation, anger and lust. "If you think something as insignificant as the fat on your body is going to make me not want to fuck you, you are completely mistaken. And you want to wear something else? Like hell you're going to do that. You will keep wearing this until I get bore of it." His voice was low and threatening.
"K-Kuna..." You whispered, eyes glistening with tears and your heart warm.
"Don't you dare fucking cry, brat. Get on the bed already. I ought to punish you for even thinking these stupid thoughts."
You didn't even get to say anything as he picked you up and threw you on your bed. Needlessly to say, you couldn't walk at all the next day.
#sukuna x reader#sukuna x y/n#sukuna x you#jjk sukuna#sukuna#ryomen sukuna#mine#this is very personal cuz I was feeling upset about my weight haha#I hope it cheers someone else up to
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when your need grows teeth | John Price x f!Reader
John's the type of man to lock his jaws around what's his, preferring instead to ruin things, puncture it full of holes, and litter it with scars, rather than let it go. It starts when you ask him to pick up your birth controlâlike dangling a piece of bloody meat in front of a starving dog. Of course he's going to take a bite. He thinks you ought to have known this by now.Â
SMUT 18+ | gratuitous smut; HEAVY breeding kink, breeding; Dom!John Price; p-in-v sex, unsafe sex; rough sex; mentions of spanking; mutual manipulation; this is roughly 10k of John Plotting and fucking you; John is: unhinged, obsessive, possessive, and Scheming. mentions of birth control tampering but nothing is followed through. No. Heâs going to knock you up the old-fashioned wayâby making you beg for it.
AO3 MIRROR
John has always had this desireâthis awful, instinctual drive in the back of his head to knock someone up. Get them fat, swollen with his child. His.Â
And maybe that's the crux of it. Possession. To have something of the most rooted kind. To irrevocably change someoneâtheir anatomy, their body, the chemistry in their brain, their status in life from them (single no dependents) to mother (mother of his child), their very atomsâand create life from the combined parts.Â
It's this almost fantastical beast, this unreachable dream for him.Â
It's his Shangri-la. His castle in Spain.Â
He's not under any disillusionment that this idea of fatherhood, of parenthood, is slightly skewed. That most men who want children don't feel this overwhelmingly greedy desire to fundamentally alter someone in such an irreversible way. It's not quite ownership, but it's the same ilk. A bastardised, unwanted child of it.Â
And it's not just this idea of claimationâto forever be the father of their child, even if neither of them stays together; a piece of him will always be there, parasitic, no matter whatâbut something deeper. Something a bit lessâegregious.Â
This is, and always has been, about yearning.Â
John's the type of man to lock his jaws around what's his, preferring instead to ruin things, puncture it full of holes, and litter it with scars, rather than to let it go.Â
Marriage, he finds, is breakable. Divorce, separation. He's always on his worst behaviour in the initial stages of dating, so it's never something he has to entertain since no one ever sticks around long enough for it to be on the table, much less the menu, but the idea of itâof signing papers, of hashing out the split, of being known as ex-husbandâleaves a bitter tang between his teeth. It won't do. He needs permanence. Perpetuity.Â
Nothing says forever quite like a child, does it?Â
And sureâheâs aware that countermeasures exist: custody orders, sole custody, shared; allotted visitations; divisional lines in this new age that keep the parents from ever interactingâbut while you can get divorced, you can't unmake a child, can you?
The child would never write him out, either.Â
Where deadbeats exist, it's important to note that their counterparts do, too. The ones like him who will gouge their eyes out of their skulls before they ever let what happened to them growing up trickle down and impact their child, polluting the pool.Â
Simply put: John Price knows he'd be the best dad there is because he's stubborn that way.Â
It helps, he supposes, that he really only has so much love to give out to the world, and greedily, he stashed the entirety of it away in a box to give to his would-be wife and their child. An overwhelming deluge that promises happiness should it ever be unlocked. Pandora's box, perhapsâdown to the very essence because if John Price were to ever love someone, then it's probably in their best interest to run from it, this gaping, needy chasm.Â
Not that it would ever be a possibility, of courseâheâs much too good at compartmentalisation, in taking out his anger, his viciousness, on the ugly world he drenches himself in, the one his hands have a tangible cause and effect principle in place that will forever feed that starving beast inside of him.
Ergoâheâs a staunch supporter of the theory: happy wife, happy life. Though where those men think in a box stuffed full of emotional intimacy, flowers, chocolate, maintaining love, all-consuming and enduring, he takes it to extremes that would have them cowering a little bit. Maybe a lot. Â
But that's fine. He only has to make sure his family is happy. No one else matters, save a select few who have a seat at his table during Sunday dinners.Â
The rest, though? Spare parts.Â
(The ice-cold resolve in those two words is apodictic, brass bound, and he's sure if his higher-ups knew about it, wellâ
His chest candy would be a hole in the ground. Put the rabid dog down before it has a chance to bite.)
But that all-consuming, devouring, obsessive love he has to give, that begs to be let free, is the reason why it's so tightly leashed. Locked up in a box. Untouchable. Inaccessible.Â
It's why he isn't married.Â
Ghost once asked him why the women he dated were older. Much older. Menopausal (always). And he'd said something to the effect of it being his type. Older women who wouldn't cower away from the acrid burn of him, who wouldn't hurt their delicate little hands on his gritty surface.Â
But the real reason is because he knows better.Â
He's a starving dog, and it's just bad form to dangle a piece of meat in front of it. Especially when the hand holding it is his own.Â
Don't bite the hand that feeds you, and all.Â
(The keen look in Ghost's eyes told him that, perhaps, the man already knew the reason when he asked, and was just satiating himself with kinshipâthe dark, awful look on Simon's ugly mug after the dredging the underbelly of Priceâs rotten, mouldering mudfloor of things unsaid spoke volumes.Â
They'd both nodded. Content, then. And promptly ordered a shot of whisky to drown the salivation, the hunger, from clogging their throats. Killing the urge to bite.
A pair of packless, stray dogs.)
But then he found you, and all his careful planning, all his distance, blew up in his face.Â
It's always been on his mind since then. Lingering in his peripheryâthis fevered, tantalising vision of you, round and swollen with his child.Â
It's unattainable, of course. A fantasy.Â
Though, thisâyou throwing up in the washroom of his penthouse, undoubtedly knocked up by his machinationsâis probably because he kept that desire too close to where he hides his questionable mortality, the one that allows him to throw innocent people to their deaths, and send mothers and fathers to an early grave just so he can rip his fists apart on their bastard offspring in his own brand of catharsis that always bites back when they grow up, hankering for revenge.Â
He's always been good at snatching dreams out of the air, clenching them tight in his fists. Taming chimerical wants, whims, until they were docile, domesticated. Making realities out of fiction.Â
And reallyâheâs just not a good man.
He thought you'd have known this by now.
He remembers the first time he growled the words into your ear as he came, your cunt clenching around him like a vice. Desperate for it, he teased after, fingers fucking into your sloppy, leaking hole. Pushing his spend back into you. Half-drunk on the taste of you still clinging to his beard, but mostly just mesmerised by the sight of youâpretty pussy all ruined, swollen from the vicious, hateful pounding he gave it, and dipping with his cum like a faucet.Â
(It pissed him offâstill does, reallyâwhen you waste it like this.)
Gonna fill you up, he snarled, low and wrecked. Gonna make it takeâ
It was a fantasy. Still is. But the way it took root in the garden of your bedroom, like it belongedânative flora, he thinks, a touch mad with itâhad something ugly, oil slick, rearing up from that untouchable place in his head.Â
He could really blame you for itâand does. The way your ankles locked tight around his thighs, hands reaching, grabbing at his waist, clawing at his asscheeks to press him in deeper, deeper still, as he came inside of you, cock lodged right against your plug, had that untameable beast cocking its head in consideration after you danced too close to it, waking it from his long, restful slumber.Â
You wanted it. Ached for it. He could feel it in the way your walls tightened around him, practically starving for it. Your pretty, glossy eyes rolling back into your head. Drool running down your chin. A litany of pleas spilled from your kiss-bruised lips, begging him for it. Please, John. Please. Pleaseâ
Who was he to deny you?Â
Even if you made a big, flustered show of waving it offânot something I've ever imagined for myself, you know? andâand your lifestyle, what you doâis something like that even possible for us?âhe saw how it curled around your shoulders, dipping its silver tongue into your ear. Germinating.Â
He let it. Encouraged it.Â
âSomething to talk about later,â he indulged, reaching over for a cigar just to smother the urge to breed you stupid. To tie you to his bedposts and keep you full until your belly was swelling with more than just the absurd volume of his seed he pumped inside of you.Â
And, ohâ
The uneasy smile on your face reeked of disappointment.Â
Fuck. Fuckâ
John went to the washroom after that, heart pounding out of his chest, and jabbed the lit end of his cigar into his thigh to kill the fever in his veins. To rewrite the desperate, ugly howling in his head with pain instead.Â
It worked. Worksâ
Until you came to him, all watery-eyed and worried, and told him to please, please stop falling asleep with a lit cigar because you think you might just go mad if you lost him to a cigarette fire. And doesn't he see how silly it is, these burns look so bad, John, and I worryâ
His teeth ached. He smiled, but it felt like a grimace. A dog holding back the instinct to bare its teeth.Â
âSure, love,â he'd said, and started taking out his anger on your cunt instead, fucking you deep, and stupid. Getting you all cockdrunk, and hungry for the dream that spoiled so badly in the back of his head, he's sure a proper man would call it a nightmare. âAnything you want.â
(Brassbound. Apodictic. You know that, he knows you know that, so imagine his surprise when you come to him, all soft and tender, and ask him to pick up your birth control as if he hadn't spent the better part of two years grumbling every fucking time you took it and wasn't on the verge of tossing the damn bottle out the window, and fucking you until it tookâ
Butâyou do know that, don't you?Â
Well, then. Whatever his lady wants, right? Right.)
âCan you stop by the pharmacy on your way home tonight?â
He hums, fiddling with the belt of his slacks in front of the mirror. âSure, love. You feelinâ sick?âÂ
âNo,â you murmur, sliding behind him on your way to the washroom, wearing nothing but a towel tucked under your arms. âI need my refill. For birth control.âÂ
His hands still. A gnarled, rotted tendril curls over the edge of the cesspool, murky, ink black water splashing all over the place. âOh, yeah? Still taking that, hm?â
You fluster. Hands waving, chock full of nervous, emotive energy you can't seem to shake off. âWellâyes. I mean, obviously.â
And he'd leave it there, let the spillage dry on the hot pavement, if you hadn't glanced back at him, all damp keenness, slightly skittish, and asked, feather-soft and utterly fragile, âright?âÂ
Right? A question, he notes. Not a statement.Â
He licks his teeth. Tastes something rancid in the gaps.Â
âMm. I suppose so.â He leaves it vague, but drenches it in the heavy weight of his disappointment. Anchors dragging it down. You flit around the space like a house-locked bird, slamming into the walls and ceiling as you tryâblind and panickedâto find an escape. Any escape.Â
He finds the whole thing utterly charming. Especially when you realise he pitched himself in front of the only exit, thick, heavy hands curled around his belt, cock outlined against his slacks, already thickened, drooling in his pants.Â
There's gaspâwet, and sharpâas you take him in. The liquid of his eyes as his want bleeds out of his skull. The flush on his cheeks, the twitch of his cock at the mere mention of you not taking your silly little pills.Â
John lets it sit for a moment, taking in greedy lungfuls of your unease as you glance everywhere but at him, as if looking in his direction, breathing in this toxic miasma will give you a contact high. Infectious. Gnarled.Â
The little seed that started germinating blooms.Â
He fights back the urge to grin, all teeth. Madness staining them black.Â
âIt'sâitâs onââ and fuck, he's never seen you so unsure before, this nervous. You handle him like a wrangler, wrassling his brutish dominance until it's putty in your hands, splitting his head into pieces and galvanising the madness inside until it's scripture for you to peek at whenever you need guidance, insight into him, his essence, his being.Â
Your dyadic has always been built on permeance.Â
John doesn't think there's a single person alive who understands him as much as you do. The only person who seems content to gorge yourself on his rotted marrow like it was a delicacy.Â
Seeing you like this rents his resolve in two.Â
âIt's the pharmacy near the, uh, the school. The kindergarten.âÂ
He chokes on a groan, and thinks he tears something in his throat with the strain of keeping it down. There's blood, ash, in the back of his throat.
âAlright, love. I'll pick it up.âÂ
You smell it, and shiver.Â
It's giving meat to a starving dog, and saying, dog, don't take a bite.Â
And so, of course he does.Â
John picks up your prescription, tossing it in the passenger seat like it personally offended him. And it has. Does. It's what's standing in the way between what he wants, what he craves, and there's a distinct thrum of irritation welling inside of him. One that started when he had to bark out your name at the counter earlier, and the pharmacist looked at him, and calmly, kindly, explained what it was he was picking up.Â
Make sure she takes them once a day. Preferably at the same time. This brand of oral contraceptive can be taken with or without foodâ
Fuck off, he thoughtâthinks, even now, glowering into the tinted window of the pharmacy.Â
He grips the steering wheel tight until his scarred knuckles bleach white under the strain, and sits in the parking lot, staring, unseeingly, at the shops. Pensive. Thoughtful. It gnarls over his expression until he's the picture of that grizzly-like intensity you often accuse him of. All furrowed brows and a pinched, angry twist to his lips.Â
There's a series of complex equations running laps in his head. He's no stranger to this process, needing to make life or death decisions in less time it takes someone to snap their fingers, or tentatively stammer out his title.Â
This one is more linear than the rest. One plus one, so to speak. But the weight of it is profound. Heavier, even, than deciding between the success of his mission and the life of an innocent bystander.Â
(But he thinks he's just selfish like that.)
In his head, he debates the ethics of replacing all of these silly little tablets that stand in his way with sugar pills.Â
It would be the quickest path to the end, but the risk-reward ratio ebbs and flows the more he considers things without the miasmic influence of that abomination throwing itself at the walls of its enclosure, howling in an endless cacophony of do it, do itdoitâ
A better man wouldn't even have such a temptation. He supposes that's what you deserve, but he already had this particular crisis a few months after he met you, and realised that the things he wanted to do to you would undoubtedly put him on a list. Slapped so hard with a restraining order, his ears would still be buzzing.Â
That something about you made his jowls twinge, and his teeth ache, and no amount of stay away from her, Price; she deserves better than you was going to keep his dirty hands from curling around your throat, leaving soot-stains on your skin in the shape of his fingerprints. Brandishing ownership in burst blood vessels; a pretty collar for you to wear because as much as you like to pretend otherwiseâ
You're a dog just like him.Â
In any case, he's the best choice for you. The only one who'd burn the world just to keep you warm, and that's what you really need. Protection.Â
And fuckâyou toy with that particular urge that has always been etched in fine lines within the walls of bones; dipping your fingers into it, and spreading it over the apples of your cheek. Everything about you prickles along his hindbrain. Renders him from a modern man with modern ideals to an animal who can only speak in growls, snarls; pure primalism, all instinct.Â
You're made for each other down to the bone. He's sure he could split your head apart and find that your cranial sutures are perfectly mirrored. Made in the same image: you were grown from his missing rib, and he always meant to be cradled in the brackets of your thighs.Â
So, crisis of worthiness asideâbecause there are none, not anymoreâhe plots. Plans. Schemes. But his machinations keep catching on the soft fibrils of your wants.Â
John doesn't know what he'd do if you changed your mind.Â
(Or, rather, he does but that's another madness to unravel with his personal therapist.)
It's with thisâthe slight brandishing of his uncertainty in your certaintyâthat he gives up the idea, pocketing it for a later date, and drives home, back to you.Â
He doesn't toss the bag on the counter, but sets it up perfectly, placing it as close to the edge where the bin sits under it. All it would take is a breath of wind for it to fall into the trash.Â
That doesn't happen, though. You stare at the white, crinkled package for a moment as he sips on his tea, quietly contemplative. With your expression hidden from him, he has no idea what might be going through that pretty head of yours. Disappointment, he can only hope. And then you're reaching for it, fingers gripping the bag tightly in your fist. He hears the paper crumble. It sparks something inside his chest. A bloom of hope that you might just throw it out. Toss it in the binâ
You turn to him instead, knuckles white.Â
âThanks,â you say, and the matter is dropped.Â
He goes to tuck that want back where it escaped, leaving slick trails of putrefying rot behind, butâ
John peeks in the vanity later that evening, but where he expects to see the little rectangular package sitting in its usual spot between his aftershave and the mouthwash, he finds nothing. Just an empty spot on the ledge, spotlit by the lack of dust. A clean square of white paint, undisturbed.Â
His jaw twinges. He wonders if you're hiding it from him, keeping it safe from his machinations, but then he finds it shoved in the drawer with his shaving kit, and the box of condoms he bought when you'd first started dating (for show, naturallyâJohn had no intentions of using them and learned persuasion was your Achilles heel; that and you tended to get a little glossy-eyed whenever he growled filth in your ear, the smell of your cunt heavy on his breath).Â
The package is crinkled like you squeezed it tight in your little fist before you tossed it in.Â
You're always meticulous in the way you put things in their places. Even the junk drawer is organised, all neat.Â
This speaks volumes, but he's not quite sure what it says. They are still here, though. Accessible. One is missing from the pack. It dampens his mood.Â
He picks up his toothbrush, and runs through those calculations again to see how he can convince you to skip the one you're meant to take tomorrow. And the next day, and the next, and the nextâ
He stays awake as you sleep beside him, looking into how many days you can miss before your brand of birth control stops being effective.Â
Seven pills in a row.Â
He files it away, lost in thought.Â
The next morning, he leaves his phone open on the bedside table with the article pulled up. He kisses you awake before he leaves to shower, humming something soft under his breath.Â
When he returns, he finds you sitting up in bed with your knees drawn to your chest. There's something pensive about the look on your face. Paper soft, as though it would all blow away at a mere whisper.Â
You regard him almost cooly but something raw, fractured splits over the ravine. A waterfall of midnight black sludge rains down.Â
(He wonders if it tastes of the same rot, the same madness, as the basin of the untouched recesses of his headâ)
âI'm working late tonight,â you murmur after a measured beat, and he can't place your tone. âMaybe we can watch a movie when I get home.âÂ
John nods, and your eyes drop, scaling down his bare, broad chest as he breathes in the flint staining the air. Your gaze is white-hot when it bludgeons into him, feverish.Â
It doesn't take much beckoning at all to have him crawling toward you, towel ripped from his hips and thrown somewhere in the aether.Â
As he steals the madness from your tongue, his eyes flicker to the phone still sitting on the table. It looks perfectly untouched. The screen is off.Â
That, too, he files away.Â
John comes to the succinct conclusion that the only means he has in his arsenal to get what he wantsâlegally, and somewhat morally, anywayâis persuasion.Â
There's no recourse if he can water that burgeoning plant inside of you, make it seem like this is something you want, too. A family. With him.Â
(Only him.)
He knows that you see things quite similarly to him. Wherein love is desire. Desire is hunger. And there's nothing more profound to you than to eat the person you love alive. Consumption of every partâthe good, the beautiful, the bad, the ugly, and the rotted: skin, fat, muscles, blood, and bones. All of it.Â
So, even if somewhere down the road you think you hate him for this, it'll be fine. He'll just consume that, too.Â
John Price is a tenacious man. Stubborn.Â
(Bullish, he hears around the barracks. Fuckinâ stubborn prick, too.)
It helps that this line of work is perfectly suited for such a peremptory drive to the finish line, no matter the cost. Utilitarian to a fault, despite his rather recalcitrant disposition. It's how he gets his way more often than not. Brutish dominance. Loutish suppression.Â
But a near reckless, suicidal loyalty that attracts the sort of beasts this line of work needs.Â
But that's work, not this. Not trying to convince you, his sugar-sweet (and viciously diabolical) lover, to bear the burden of giving him a family because society says it's uncouth (and illegal, morally reprehensible, villainous) for him to chain you to his bed to keep the darker parts of himself that want to rip into anyone who had the pleasureâpleasure that no longer belongs to themâof looking at you.Â
That's all for him.Â
(Nasty old bastard.)Â
And, of course, because he's ready. Everything clicks. Locks into place. There's no one else out there for him.Â
Really, thoughâit's your fault for prodding that beast in the first place. For letting inside your house, your bed. For thinking it could be tamed. And so. You should accept responsibility for it.Â
(Nasty, nastyâ)
But just as much as you know him, he knows you. You'll give him a litany of reasons why this shouldn't happen, and none of them will be because this isn't what you want. It'll be filled with reasons why you think he doesn't.Â
And that simply won't do.Â
So, he plots. Plans.Â
The thing is. No one ever taught him how to hold things in his hands without crushing it.Â
He doesn't think he can be delicate. Gentle. There's no way to gently nudge you into this. No.Â
He'll convince you to yield the same way a tsunami convinces a house to move out of the way.Â
Buried to the hilt in your cunt, he growls gospels into your ear about this beautiful Shangri-la, this sprawling castle he has in Spain until you're clenching down around him tight, conditioning your body to come at the thought of swelling with his child. About letting his seed take root, letting him knock you up.Â
It's a crass image that he spits into your headâfuck you until it takes, love; breed this pretty cunt every day until you're fat and swollenâserves as the positive reinforcement to his classical conditioning. He'll turn you into one of Pavlov's mutts, salivating at the sound of him groaning into your ear as he fills your pussy up to the brim. He'll reshape you, change your wants until you only come around his cock when he's spitting his release against the plug of your womb.Â
And when you make to get up, letting all his spend slip from your sloppy cunt to take your pill, he pulls you closer under the guise of wanting to feel your body on his, murmuring diabolical compromises he has no intention of letting you see through.Â
âLater,â he rasps, pulling you closer. His mouth slots across your temple. âJust take it later, sweetheart. Later.â
âButââ
âItâll be fine.âÂ
And, as if you'd been waiting for that reassurance, you melt into his hands, wet putty.Â
(you take the bloody pill later, and he adds that to his mental calendar, adjusting the maths. He supposes heâll just have to try harder next time.)
John's desire for you is overwhelming, all-encompassing, and he schemes around his wandering hands, bullying into your messy cunt only moments before your alarm is meant to go off, reminding you to take your pill, reinforcing that irritating little wall that keeps his come from reaching your womb.Â
It goes off, but he hardly hears it over the roaring in his ears, the sweet, sweet litany of moans that slip out, staining the pillow with your pleasure. He just keeps fucking you through it, growling mindlessly into your ears about how badly he wants to come inside of you. His warnings, threats, about how close he is intertwining with your desperate begging for him to come, come inside me, John is the most beautiful harmonisation he'd ever heard, and it sews itself into his marrow, polluting the ugliness inside with a new, fresh hell for him to torture himself with. That delicious pleasure-pain that drives him madâ
He fills you up, palm pressed taut to your lower belly as he spits his virile release deep into your cunt. He can feel the heavy outline of his cock against your skin, stuffed full of him, and it's thisâthe way he moulds your body around him, cock visible through your fleshâthat makes his eyes roll back into his head. Makes the urge to fuck, to breed, to claim bludgeon into him, shattering reason, logic. He wants to change you, irrevocably. Forever. To mar you with his touch, his essence.Â
âMine,â he chokes out, ugly and raw. It's a mangled mess in his throat. A threat. âAll fucking mine, aren't you, love? All mineââ
His words seem to throw you into another climax, cunt clenching greedily down around him as he softens inside of you, plugging you up. You liked that, he notes, purs. The notion brands itself across his resolve, reshaping it into something that would make anyone else recoil in fear, disgust.Â
But you preen at this creature that bares its fangs at you, snaps wicked teeth against your jugular. Fingers threading through its hair, shushing it, soothing it, as you pull it back into your embrace, head tucked against your chest. You lull it into complacency with the heavy thud of your heart, your sweet, earthy scent.Â
What a pair, he thinks, and clamps his hands around your wrist when you murmur something about taking your pill now. Need to take it before it gets too late, Johnâ
He makes his move, distracts you with his mouth, his tongue.Â
âJust take it after,â he murmurs into your pussy, thighs bracketing around his head. His hands pull your waist down, pressing you harder against his mouth. âLater, love. It'll be fineââ
âBut, Johnââ
The protest dies, turns to ash, when he grunts, sealing his lips around your clit, bullying it with the rasping press of tongue until you're arching your back, riding his face. Thoughts of your silly pill are gone, swallowed by him as you gush, drenching his mouth in your slick.Â
And after, when you make to get up again, he pulls you close instead, voice curling around you like smoke when he tells you to take it after.Â
âNo, love. Stay in bed with me,â he peppers kisses to your cheek, your jaw, chin, sweetening his words, and folds you into the tight embrace of his arms. âTake it in the morning. It'll be fine to miss a day.â
You level him with something that shadows the ravines in your gaze with pure, unadulterated scepticism, but as he scouts the canyons, the valleys, the pretty craters that make up the composite of your eyes, he finds no discernible trace of wariness, uncertainty. The terse line in his shoulders ease.Â
But while fossicking around he unearths something else. Something a bit more enigmatic, calculative, than doubt. Equivocal, slippery, it runs from him when he tries to give chase, tucking itself back into the harsh tenebrous that shades the landscape.Â
He hums, wanting to ask, but you sigh in quasi-acquiescence, and burrow deeper into his embrace.Â
âFine,â you huff, but he tastes a purring sense of satisfaction in the air. âI'll take it tomorrow instead.âÂ
âGood girl.â The praise slips out, low and gritty, perfumed with his heavy greed.Â
You shiver against him. The hitch in your throat is quiet in the bedroom, but to him, it sounds like a gunshot.Â
John keeps meticulous track of the empty pill slots, and notes with a sticky, resinous sense of glee that the numbers are becoming muddled, skewed. Later becomes tomorrow, and your soft acquiesce has days skipped. Missed.Â
You can't double up, you huff to him, mournfully slinking into the bed. It's nearly one in the morning. Technically, a brand new day. I absolutely have to take it tomorrow, John. Make sure you remind meâ
There's something pointed in your tone. Something oil-slick. He nods, bites back a grin.Â
âSure,â he pulls you close, breathes in the sweet, loamy scent of youâsweat and sex and the lingering remnants of your perfume, your soapâand lets it stain his lungs. âI can do that.âÂ
You say nothing at all when he doesn't bring it up until well past midnight the next day, offering little more than an exasperated groan, and a huffy roll of your eyes, as if this was just a missed dinner with friends and not a life-changing misstep.Â
(The beast purrs. He places his hand over his chest, and feels the rumble under his skin.)
âNeed to be more responsible than this, John,â you say, squirming in his hold to try and rush to the washroom to take that pesky little pill.Â
âSorry, love,â he offers, and means none of it. Clings tighter to you. âGot a bit carried away today, is all.âÂ
âIt's not your faultââ something curls out from a dark crevasse when you look at him. âI've been soâoff lately, you know? Must be the new batch. Maybe I should call my doctor.âÂ
He stills. Body tensing, coiling. John tries to speak, but the words are ash on his tongue. He clears his throat.Â
âCould stop taking it.âÂ
It crackles in the air. Hangs heavy like a stormcloud.Â
You blink, stunned. But it's artificial, hollow. Pulled from a wicker basket where you keep all your different skins.Â
âYou meanâwhat? Stop it all togetherâ?â
You flit in the space once more, but it's less of an injured bird searching for an escape, he realises suddenly, and more ofâ
A boomslang.Â
One rearing up, searching for the perfect place to strike.Â
Wishful thinking, though, because you're flustered and skittish once more, a small prey animal he isn't sure what he wants to do the mostâsink his teeth into you, tear you into pieces, and devour you whole, or hide you away from the world.Â
âI can look for something else in the meantime,â you sound shy, hesitant, and it prickles across his skin. âBut we'd need to be careful, you know. Otherwise you might actually get me pregnant.â
He tries to swallow his groan. Chokes on it instead.Â
âSure, sureââ he hacks into his palm. âOf course, love. We'll be safe. I'll pull outââ
Naturally, he doesn't. Makes no effort to even try despite promising you he is.Â
âNot my fault your pussy won't let go of me, love,â he grumbles, hand cupping your weeping sex in his palm. The heat of you is searing. Blistering. He thinks he could happily melt inside of it for the rest of his life, and leans down to whisper his devotion into your come-slicked folds, the bitter tang of you, of him, admixing on his tongue. An elixir he could drown in.Â
You huff at him after, all glossy-eyed and sex-drunk, and tell him to please try harder, John, I'll have to get plan b tomorrowâ
You don't, but the threat of it, the possibility, lingers in the back of his mind, souring his thoughts.Â
Next time, and I'll have to, John, you say, featherlight, lips pressed against the head of his cock. A warning, a goddamn teaseâ
His voice is strained, pinched. âOf course, love,â and he guides your mouth back to his cock, letting the matter fall into pieces when you suck on the sensitive head, tongue licking, coy and kittenish, over his frenulum.Â
It's only later, when watches you swallow down his come, that the beast slinks out of the shadows, pocketing the fragments.Â
You're off birth controlâbarely any scheming words of whispered concern neededâbut the idea of you taking a little pill to wipe away his efforts has him pulling back. Recalibrating his plans.Â
He decides on a different route to the same end.Â
Damnation at your own hand.Â
John, for his credit, does begin to pull out after thatâalbeit, with a great deal of agonised reluctanceâand instead comes all over your pretty face.Â
With thick ropes of his pearlescent spend dripping down the apples of your heated cheeks, he doesn't think he's ever seen a sight more beautiful than this.Â
And one with more opportunity.
Slowly, he swipes at it with his thumb and then promptly brings it down, hard, on your clit. You flinch, mewling at the overstimulation, and the threat he brings so close to your raw, unprotected sex. It's dangerous. This thin line he dances along could snap at any moment. Could rain hellfire and fury over his broad shoulders, unmake all the progress he'd steadily built up.Â
He walks the precipice, anyway. He pulls his hand away, and brings two fingers up to curve over your cheeks. His thumb, stained with your slick and his come, slides across your bottom lip.Â
The pout you give himâall wet-eyed lachrymoseâhas his spent cock twitching against his sticky thigh. âFuck, love. Gonna send me to an early grave if you keep starinâ at me like that.âÂ
âYou're cracked,â you slur around his thumb. In retaliation, he digs it into your tongue, and preensâfull of nasty, gnarled satisfactionâwhen your eyes flutter, rolling into the back of your head at the taste.Â
With this brief distraction, he drops his come-stained fingers to your mound, and rubs along the swollen rim of your hole. Just touching, pressing. A tease, a whisper.Â
You tense. âJohnââ it's muffled around his thumb, and he isn't sure if it's a warning or a plea.Â
He pushes the tips in, barely to the first knuckle, and just pets around your rim.Â
It's a battle of wills, now. âNo more than this,â he promises, and the undercurrent of his threat rents the air. Makes you bristle.Â
You always loved a challengeâespecially coming from him.Â
âJust the tip?â You tease, spittle running down your chin. Your eyes are darkâmidnight skies, ink blackâand he's struck by the afterimage of himself in those pools. Made in the same image.Â
He grunts, slides into the first knuckle, and scissors them apart.Â
âJohnââ it's breathless. Your teeth spear his thumb, tight around his bone. He wants nothing more than to have you bite down hard, scar his bones with the gnawed meteors of your desire. Your desperation. âFuckâpleaseââ
You give in so prettily, and he barely has a moment to think about how quick it's been when you angle your hips, hand falling to grip his wrist tight as you slide down his fingers, all the way to the last knuckle.Â
You clench around him like a vice. A pretty bow. He fucks you with his fingers, meeting your shallow thrusts with ones of his own, slamming viciously into your pussy as he coos adorations into your ear.Â
With his other hand, he reaches down and fists himself over your bare mound, pressing the tip against your clit where it weeps prespend over your flesh. His thumb sweeps across what spills out, dragging it back down to your sopping hole, pushing it inside.Â
It's probably not enough to reach your womb, to get you pregnant, but he clings to that tantalising fantasy as he drills his fingers into you until you come, breathlessly begging him to fuck you harder, to fill you upâ
He isn't even fucking you with his cock, and you still beg him for it.Â
John pushes the tip into your slit, fingers still buried deep inside of your throbbing pussy, and groans with the force of his release. It makes him dizzy, almost nauseous with it, filling his head with nothing but the sweet, wounded sound of your moans filling the room, and the wet squelch of his fingers pulling out of you.Â
When he catches the threads of cognisance in his fingers once more, he leans back on his haunches, chest heaving, and brands the messy sight of your pussy fluttering, clenching around nothing, as his spend drips down your slit, over your hole, and pools in the sheets below.Â
He's not sure if heaven exists, but he knows the sight of you, breathless and whimpering on his bed, is the closest a man like him will ever come to seeing it.Â
The push-pull of this little game stretches on.Â
Price likes to see just how far he toe the line before you're whimpering into the sheets, telling him don't, John, don't come inside me, I'm not anything, Johnâand he's ripping himself away from the tight clutch of your wet, hot cunt, and coming all over you.
The illicit tease of barely pulling out in time, and then scooping up the mess he makes on your face, your breasts, your belly, your ass, lower back, thighs, and spooning it into your pussy until it's a fixture in your bedroom ritual.Â
And maybe it's the threat of it all, of playing such a dangerous game, seems to cudgel under his skin the most, ripping apart the thin veneer of that man he once pretended to beârighteous and goodâshedding it off with each hiccupped gasp you make when he presses his come-slicked fingers inside of you, murmuring guttural words of affection in the shape of impish mockery (want it bad, don't you, sweet thing; so fuckinâ greedy for it, loveâ).Â
He likes it the most when he can fuck you stupid on his fingers. Cockdrunk, and come-starved (because you are, of course; he hasn't come inside of your cunt in weeks, and doesn't miss the mournfully pitiful whines you give when he pulls out, depriving you of the pleasure of feeling him come inside you), you're too blissed out, swimming in pleasure, to think about what he's doing.Â
In fact, he doesn't really give you much of a chance to think at all.Â
The next few weeks are filled with him fucking you each night brutally, viciously, snarling low in your ear about how bad he wants to come in you, stuff you full, and then keep you plugged up all night with his cock that it takes, and then pulling out right before, committing the sight of your betrayed expression to memory where it'll sit like a trophy when you finally break.Â
You make an appointment with your gynaecologist, and circle the date on his calendar.Â
John notes it down. Tucks it away.Â
And then he amps up the pressure.
John's fingers root behind your knees, pushing your thighs apart as he settles between them. His gaze drills into your bare cunt, slick and wet, and so ready for him. Eager for it.Â
He'd counted the days, and knows that if there's ever the absolute worst time to have unprotected sex, to come inside of you, is now.Â
Which, of course, means he has to. The clause in that is ironclad. Apodictic.Â
âBit dangerous,â he rasps, and lifts your leg up, resting your ankle on his shoulder. You fluster beneath him, panting and pretty, and fuckâheâs not pulling out of your pussy tonight at all. âShould I pull out?âÂ
It's a tease. A test.Â
He reaches down as he says the words, gripping his cock and bringing it down against your wet heat. The bare, blunt head of his cocks slaps against your clit, and you arch, keening. Nails bite into the thick muscles of his biceps, and he leans into the sharp sting. Letting it ground him. Centre him.Â
This will be your cacoĂŤthes.Â
He's been depriving you for weeks, and John knows that you're wanting for it. Desperate. The little twitches your hips give, as if begging him to fill you up, are proof enough of how much you want this.Â
This. The dream he dripped into your ears, hot oil congealing over your frontal lobe; infectious and thick. You can try to chisel it off, but the pollution is already damning. Ruining.Â
You want this. He wears the axiom like armour.Â
And you beg for itâeyes shaded in gut wrenchingly beautiful lachrymoseâand John snuffles closer, inching the weeping head of his cock into your tight, warm heat.Â
The sight of splitting you open is something he never grows tired of. Something that, without fail, makes his balls ache. His chest thrum. Blood turns to ichor. To wine. He's drunk on the contrast made between youâa garish chiaroscuro of your pretty pussy, soft and sickly sweetâalmost nauseatingly soâswallowing down the fat, girthy length of his cock. The thick streams of veins running along the flushed, heavy shaft against your puffy, soft folds is almost hideous. Sinful. He can't equate it to anything else except corruption. The horrific beast sullying the princess.Â
And fuckâ
The thought alone makes him throb.Â
He's sullied you plenty, he reckons, and yet you always look so sweet. Especially now, when your rim is stretched taut around the thick of him, pussy squeezing, clenching around him in a vice, as if you weren't sure to push him out or pull him deeper.Â
John decides for you. Opting instead to push your knees down to your chest, nearly brushing your ears, and follows with the bulk of his body until he feels your breath rush out of your lungs. You struggle for a moment, gasping wetly into his ear as his weightâevery bearish pound of itârests on you in the perfect mating press. Your bite into his biceps, keening prettily into his ear as he bullies the full length of his cock into you. Spears you open. Splits you apart.Â
He can feel you gush around him, drenching his groin and thighs with your slick.Â
Like thisâchest to chest, forced to breathe in the same air, the same madnessâhe likes to just stare at you, taking in the heat simmering under your skin, the sweat beading along your temple, the pinch in your brow as you struggle to adjust to the sheer width of him cudgelling you open. A battering ram you're forced to make room for.Â
He takes it all in, each flicker of emotion, each heaving gasp. Burns it into his memory. Lets it soften the iron around his heart. Keeps it there, nestled in the cradle of his limited love, held aloft by indelicate, bearish hands. This sweet thing.Â
He can't wait to ruin it.Â
If these weeks leading up to this were lovemaking, fucking, then this, this, is mating. Animalistic. Primal. He pushes in as deep as he can, until the tip kisses the ripened seal of your womb, and grinds his hips cruelly into the cradle of your thighs.Â
Your nails leave bloodied indents in his flesh. A scar he'll proudly bear the mark of. A tattoo of the time when he turned you into something new.Â
His balls are soaked. The sheets, too. He mocks you for it, a rasping growl lodged deep in his throat, taunting you about how fucking wet you are for him. How badly you need it.Â
âGotta plug you up, hm?â He grunts, and sets a pace that serves only to accentuate the sloppy, messy squelch of your cunt.Â
His cock pistoning into you, alternating between deep, full thrusts that knock the air from your lungs, and heavy, slow plunges meant to badger the blunt head of his cock against your walls.Â
You seem to like it best when he shifts his weight between each thigh, content to just grind into you. Make you feel every inch of him. You cling to him, yowling in his ear about how good it feels, how much you love this, love his cockâ
The thick bed of wry, umber curls on his chest, stomach, and groin grow slick with sweat from the intensity of it all, from the shared heat. Pressed tight against you, he feels every quiver. Every flinch. Each moan is made known in a slight reverberation across his skin before he hears it.Â
Drenched in sweat, glued to you as he fucks you into the mattress, John feels very much like the beast making a house out of a twisted whim in his head. Feverish, sick, he drives into you with the single minded goal of filling that home up with three. Then four. Fiveâ
As many as you'll let him.
And he almost loses himself to that thought alone. Dancing sugar plums that make his balls tighten. He stems the flood by pulling out of you, letting his heavy cock slap against your sticky, soaked cunt as he heaves into your hairline, sucking in the heady loam, the humus, of your scent.Â
The whimper you make when he pulls out of you sounds like a wounded animal, and the noise tickles across his hindbrain. His jaw aches. He bites down on a snarl as you thrash against him, mindless with the need to have him inside of you. It brings a nasty, vicious curl to the ends of his mouth, and he doesn't even bother trying to tamper it down. John lifts his head and lets you see his foaming muzzle, drooling with thick globes of saliva.Â
âStay still,â he growls, low and dangerous. It's as much of a warning as it is a command, and the way you react, tensing, coiling tightâthe flash of unease. Shock. And then the need. Achy, heavy. He feels it against his jugular when you shiver, moaning his name into the space between you where it reeks of desperation.Â
To soften the submissive tremble in your jawâand maybe to temper down the challenging talons sharpening in your gazeâhe nuzzles his cheek against yours, peppers wet kisses to your skin. He licks across your jaw, bites down on your flesh.Â
He tastes salt and sin on your skin.Â
(His eyes roll so far back into his skull he thinks he might get lost.)
âGonna cum on your pretty cunt if you don't stop squirming, love.âÂ
And John loves you most for your waspish intelligenceâthe ire smouldering in your throat. The way you bite back just as hard, never afraid to bear teeth when he snarls. He doesn't think he could ever love someone too softânot without tearing them to pieces. To shreds.Â
But you wear plush, tender conchoidal skin over jagged, rough obsidian. He'll ruin himself if he ever tries to rip you apart.Â
Like this, thoughâyou melt.Â
All that keen, vicious intelligence snuffed out. His scheming Cleopatra tamed on his cock.Â
Your heels dig into the back of his thighs, urging him closer to your sex. âCome on, John, just fuck me, fuck me alreadyââ
(Tamed, though, perhaps being a misnomer.)
He huffs into your neck. âImpatient little quean.â
It gets him a sharp bite to the tip of his ear, and the floor roars so loudly in his veins, he gets dizzy from it.Â
âFuckââ
He's pressing back into you again, into your warm, tight heat, and it's nirvana kissing his nerves. Liquifying his spine. He rolls into you with a weighted groan, buried to the hilt once more.Â
But even with the respite, he knows he won't last.Â
John needs you fucked stupid, docile and soft just for him, and sets out to do just that. Pounding into you with a spiteful twist of his hips that he knows will leave you a little sore, and tender tomorrow. But the idea of spreading your puffy, achy folds apart and soothing the slight hurt with his tongue for hours until you're sobbing into the cushions quells any hesitation that rears, begging him to slow down.Â
Go easy on your pretty cunt.
(As if.)
John batters into you until your eyes glaze over, and your chin, cheeks, smear with drool. Until the challenge in midnight black melts into submission. Docile, and malleable. Perfect for him to mould. Shape.Â
Reshape.
He glues to you, touch starved and tactile, and basks in the liquid heat that blooms from deep within you.Â
âGonna cum soon,â he snarls, broken by the heave in his chest as he fucks into you, starved. âGotta pull out, loveââ
You're gripping him tighter, anchoring him to your body. You haven't come yet. Something he dangles in front of you like a threat.Â
He watches the slow crawl of realisation crest over your messy face, and thinks he falls just a little bit more in love with you at the sight of your little pout.Â
Loves, even more, the way it breaks apart when he pounds into you harder, viciously, watching drool dribble off your chin, and reason leak from your earsâ
âPlease, Johnââ the sound of your whimpering has him grunting, head dizzy with the saccharine sweet taste of it on his tongue. âPlease, pleaseâcome inside me. IâI want you toâto fill me upââ
âYeah?â He taunts, mean and breathless. âWant me to come inside your sloppy cunt? Dangerous, ain't it? Jusâ might take, sweet thing. Is that what you want?â
You're howling a litany of sin into his ear, desperation drenches each clamour of his name, each orison uttered, begging him to come, to fill you up, and thenâ
âFuckâI want it so badââ his head is filled with static. Whitenoise. âWant it to take, Johnââ
He comes inside of you, cock pulsing so hard it feels like a sob. Filling you up. Wishing on all the stars that it takesâ
As a reward for your good behaviour, he spreads you out over the sheets, and growls his approval into your sopping pussy, drenching himself with the taste, the smell, of you, promising to wear it like a perfume so everyone knows how good you are for him. Him, alone.Â
(His, his, hisâ)
When you come, you nearly smother him, and he thinks he sees a glimpse of nirvana in baby soft yellow before he's pulled back by your shaking hands brushing the hair off his sweat-slicked forehead.Â
âAre you okay, Johnââ
He rolls you under him, fucking into your drenched pussy like a man starved. That tantalising vision glues itself to his hindbrain, so close he can scent the fresh dew of fresh milk, and warm bread in his nose. Feel the bump of your stomach.Â
He's almost angry about it, about being ripped away from that dream, and takes his aggression out on your sloppy, leaking cunt. The way his come trickles out, staining the mattress below and the back of your thighs has him growling darkly into your nape.Â
âKeep it in,â he snarls, words sharpened on the whetstone of his need. âKeep it all inside, love.âÂ
âAh, John, Johnââ something falls from your split-slicked lips, and his fingers bite into your hips. Punishment for the slurred backtalk.Â
âI'll spank your ass if any of it leaks outââ
It does. Of course it does.Â
He bends you over his knee, and slaps his broad, rough palm over each cheek ten times before deliriously shoving two thick fingers into your sloppy cunt, stuffing his come back inside your tender, swollen hole, rough and mean, as you howl, squirming in his lap about how you promise you'll be good next time, John, pleaseâI'll keep it all in, I swear, Iâ
âYou fuckinâ better, love.â He groans, and thinks about cumming on your messy face, all slick with sweat, and drool, but decides against it. A waste, he thinks, and leans over you to shove the thick, twisting length of his angry cock inside you to the hilt just spit his release against your seal once more.Â
âThat wasâŚâ You're still panting against his chest, eyes dazed, and body laxed. Melted wax over his chest. âIntense,â you settle on after a beat.Â
There's a hiccup in your breath when he hums, chest rumbling with the sound.Â
âMm, but you liked it, didn't you?â
Of course you did. Of course. The evidence of it is drying, tacky and slick, on his groin, his thighs.Â
You burrow into his side, peeking at him from over the thick bed of wry curls that clot over his chest. âYou're fucking me like you haven't in years, John. Makes me wonder if you have an agenda.â
He considers your words. The weight of them. Wonders just how much you've clued into, but huffs when he catches the same look in your eyes as the one reflected in his own.
Cheeky littleâ
âCan't I just want to fuck you? Not everything has to be about schemes, love.âÂ
The oil of his lies, the sticky resin of his evasion makes you huff into his skin.
In all his meticulous planning, he'd picked up several books on this particular topic, and scoured every available, reputable, site he could find. John knows what to look out for by now, and keeps a keen eye on youâone that very quickly dips into obsessiveness, but you're kind enough to call it overbearing.Â
Jesus Christ, John, why are you asking me how many times I pissed today?Â
He just needs to wait things out.Â
But rather irritatingly, he's called away overseas for the next week.Â
Ah, well. He'll have to try harder next time.Â
He arrives in Heathrow mid-morning, and follows Laswell into the office. There's a mountain of reports to fill outâthings that, rather irritatingly, require his signatureâand resolves to spend the rest of the day hunched over at his desk, even though there's an itch in the back of his skull demanding he go home.Â
It is always like this, thoughâboth the post-mission ritual of banal paperwork that seems almost comical considering what he'd just done, and the undeniable urge to flee back into the sanctuary of your shared home.Â
His bones ache for it.Â
Laswell huffs when he lingers by the exit, and he swallows a groan.Â
While he was away, you'd been silent. Moreso than usual.Â
Where he'd have expected an update on what was going onâthe mundanity of your life that he clings to when the beast in his head whets its talons a little too sharp, digs into a little too deepâyouâve gone silent. Not radio. Not completely. But the information you give is sparse. Cagey.
You don't tell him about the visit to the gynaecologist, offering nothing but a quiet hum into the receiver, all blase and nonchalant, and a simple, equivocal: âgood.âÂ
He tucks it away, lets the matter drop.Â
If he timed things correctlyâbarring your impish prevarication asideâthen something will begin to show soon. You would have mentioned something. Some nominal change to your physical well-being, but when pried, pressed, you huff.Â
âI'm good, John. When are you coming home, anyway?â
He raps his knuckles on his desk, still smarting from the punches he'd thrown recklessly this past week, too keyed up to let his anger simmer instead of boil, and thinks. About you. About this.Â
A week isn't a lot of timeâheâs been called away for months in the pastâbut this feels like it's lingering. Time stretched and distorted. Elongated. And a part of him feels chipped, fractured after touchdown.Â
It wasn't as if this particular assignment was any more, or less, dangerous than the ones he went on before. If anything, it was comparatively mild. Muted. He honed into his training, and did his goddamn job. And yetâ
Yet.Â
You lived in the spaces he occupied. The air he breathed. The water he drank.Â
He brought you with him, something he's never, ever, done before. Perched pretty on his shoulder, he heard your voice in his head with every step he took, every radio call.Â
But it was hallucinatory. Chimerical. You weren't there, you were here, but the problem lies in the lack of a divide that usually bifurcates the world into two fractions: his job and you.
It eats at him.Â
He brought you where he's never taken anyone before. Never let them in.Â
His thoughts were asunder. Pulled in all directions, but the centre was always you. His compass pointing north. He wants you. Needs you. His whole being has been recalibrated with the needle aimed toward you.Â
An alert on his phone shakes him from his reverie.Â
He reaches for it, slides his hand across the lockbar. The notification pops up. A message from his bank.Â
His cardâthe one he gave you, the one you've used all of once to buy a chocolate bar when he gruffly, surely, complained about you not spending his moneyâhas been used.Â
Curious now, he opens his app, eyes scanning the threadbare purchasesâall mostly interest fees and service charges, bar one. It was recently used at a drugstore for under twenty dollars.Â
He doesn't know what this means, what you're playing at. He makes to text you, but he gets an email next.Â
Thank you for your purchase; here is your e-receipt.Â
His heart does something strange in his chest. Turns in on itself. Goes all askew.Â
Not only are you using his card, you're using his account, too. He clicks it, eyes scanning through the purchases (only two), and blinks.Â
A card, andâ
His want takes the shape of a hand, presses against his jugular.Â
âa pregnancy test.Â
He knew when he started this game that this was, of course, the inevitable outcome, but having it here, right in front of himâin that sneaky, noncommittal way you always do things; behind his back, and in the dark, like you enjoy watching him try and sniff out the truthâhas his belly knotting up. Churning.Â
A pregnancy test.Â
Fuckâ
(and out of all the ways to tell him, you cheeky littleâ)
He's up out of his chair before he's even aware that he's standing.Â
âLaswell,â he gets out, and can't be sure how his voice is so measured when his head is being shredded into pieces. âI'm out for the rest of the day. This whole bloody week, tooââ
âSomething bad happen?âÂ
His hands shake when he pulls his jacket on, slips his car keys into his hands. âNo. Quite the opposite, actually. I'm going to be a father. A bloody dadââ
It's on that sentiment when his voice breaks. Shatters. He clears his throat, blinks furiously. Fuck. Fuck. It's happeningâ
Shangri-la sits in his fist, taking the shape of an e-mailed receipt.Â
In his periphery, he sees Simon's head come up. Watching him. Measured.Â
Laswell, too, eyes him with a degree of wariness. He supposes to them this means the end of everything.Â
She breathes in. âTuscany would be my choice.â
âOh?â He tears his eyes away from the screen, gracing her with a steady, unflinching look. âWas thinking something a bit more local. Liverpool.â
It gets a scoff, one full of disgust. âShe'll divorce you within the year.âÂ
âI'm having a baby, Laswell. Not getting married.â
âOh, no?â It's a challenge. âI seem to recall something about someone being a proper gentleman, or was that just the lie you told your unofficial missus?â
âWe'll get married. That's not up for debateââ an intern makes an alarmed face, like perhaps it ought to be. Had he not been holding nirvana in his hand, he might be a bit more cautious with his madness. Too bloody bad. âWherever she wantsâTuscany, Udaipur, fucking Siberia. I don't care. What Iâm a bit more concerned with is my expectant wife.âÂ
âSoon-to-be,â she volleys, just because she knows it's the sort of thing that will itch under his skin.Â
âAlready is, Laswell.â He gripes, flat. âOr damn near close to it.âÂ
âIf she knows what's good for her, she'll say no.â
âLucky me, then, that she doesn't.âÂ
Lucky him, indeed.Â
On his way out, Ghost utters a heated congratulations to him, and John can see his gaze is absent. Turned inward, mind whirring. Reeling. He can hear the gears grind from where he stands, and if the ink-black madness in his lieutenantâs drifting, pensive eyes means much of anything, then John sends a silent hail mary to whatever unlucky person was misfortune enough to unleash the muzzle on that particular dog.Â
Well. It's not really his problem. Until it is. Until it becomes one. But since it's not something that'll impact him in the next five minutes, he tucks it away. âThanks.âÂ
He doesn't linger. Doesn't, really, even remember the ride home, head buzzing with thoughts that keep twisting around themselves, driving him mental. Things like, is it real? what if you were joking. what you weren't?Â
Oh, fuckâ
You better not be.Â
But you wouldn't. You're conniving and wily, but you're not cruel.Â
This is happening, then.Â
You've been playing house with matches inside of a tinderbox. He shouldn't be surprised when it all goes up in flames, in smoke, but as he walks through the door, and glimpses the pregnancy test perched innocently on the counter beside a cardâcongrats, daddy (and the caricature of a man in a pinstripe suit nearly makes him gag)âhe feels all the maligned pieces inside of crack.Â
It shiftsâ
You walk out, hand cupped protectively over your lower belly. Eyes gleaming like a wild cat crouched low in the tussocks surrounding the savannah, watching him an eager sense of anticipation, excitement, and just the slightest edge of what he can only imagine the unfortunate mate of a black widow sees before it's consumed. Spare parts.Â
It thrums inside of him. Ignites this wicker basket he calls a heart until it's cinder. Ash. Soot. He breathes it in. Tastes you on his tongue.Â
John doesn't have the words. Can't think beyond the steady brag of his burning heart.Â
His. His.
âand then it all falls into place.Â
Yours.
He dotes on you with an almost unhinged devotion, murmuring stilted, gruff words of muted affection into the shallow bump on your belly. Ones that you, politely, pretend not to hear.Â
A new bedtime ritual, one he adheres to with an almost obsessive need.Â
Until it becomes too much.Â
âGo and get my prenatal vitamins from the washroom, please. I just need five minutes without you smothering me, you stupid bear of a man.â
âYou love it,â he grumbles, but acquiesces, giving your small, barely there bump a pat. âI'll be back soon.â
âOh, no⌠please take your time.âÂ
Despite the prickle in your tongue, your eyes are soft. Warm. Melting him just a little more.Â
John pulls away, and doesn't even pretend the reluctance to be apart is feigned.Â
âIt's in the drawer,â you call, voice stretched. Echoing. âNext to your shaving cream.âÂ
He pulls the drawer open, scanning the contents briefly, before finding the purple bottle in the back. Why you chose here of all places to put the bloody thingsâ
His knuckles knock against the old box of condoms, tipping it over. There's a strange rattle as it falls, and his brows furrow at the noise.Â
Curiously, he reaches for it. Shakes it as he picks it up. The same sounds spill out. He pops the flap of the box open, peering inside, andâ
A gruff chuckle crackles in his throat.Â
Inside the old box of condomsâthe ones he never bothered to throw out, or useâis an accumulation of all the pills you'd meant to take.Â
His jowls ache. He rubs at his jaw with his hand, and feels the skittish patter of his heart thudding out of his skin. Madness in his veins.Â
John closes the drawer with his knee, and then tosses the box of condoms in the bin, leaving it for you to find later when you're inevitably wracked by another wave of morning sickness. A little shred of vindication for this little game you made him play.Â
Though he supposes turn-about is fair play, and the number of pills in the box is less than the months he spent scheming for this vision of his. Â
In the back of his head, the beast purrs.
âDo we need to play these games again for the next one,â he rasps. âOr can I just fuck you until it takes.âÂ
You blink at him, wide and owlish. Full of faux innocence as you coax the beast out of hiding. âI don't know what you're talking about, John.âÂ
More games, then. He thinks he might crack open your ribcage and rest his weary head on the frantic beat of your heart.Â
âMm, don't know what I'd do without you,â he says, guns aching. He reaches for the pack of gum (no smoking around the baby or you'd toss him off the balcony), and pops a spearmint into his mouth. âMight live longer, I reckon, butââ
Your elbow digs into his side. âYou sure about that?â
He just kisses your crown in response, and places his heavy, scarred hand over the curve of your belly. The beast inside purrs, content for now. Satiated.Â
When he looks into your midnight eyes, he finds your own beast slumbering away.Â
A match made in a tinderbox, he guesses, and kisses you until you're dizzy. His very own Shangri-la sitting pretty inside his bed, nestled in the castle in Spain you helped him build.
Will help him fill.Â
#this was supposed to be posted earlier but i was too busy watching dead meat#captain john price x reader#john price x reader#price x reader#this was a) not thought out and b) def not edited#Unhinged John Price is my roman empire#call of duty fics#cod fics#captain john price smut
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⥠TW: omegeverse, bullying, near noncon, sexual assault, somewhat fluff
⥠FEM reader
Plenty of Alphas would think youâre a cute Omega, so heâs had to be careful with keeping you away from prying, preying, predatory eyes.Â
It's a hard feat, you know?!
Thankfully, after all his berating comments, youâve resorted to wearing bigger and baggier clothing, which in turn has resulted in you fading into the background despite being a rather desirable Omega for any Alpha whoâd bother to look. A good thing. Heâs the only one who should be allowed to see your body anyway. The bad thing, of course, is the backlashâwhere, because of his benevolent mockery, you donât want anything to do with him anymore.
But what can he expect when he bullies you?Â
He hadnât wanted to. Honestly, you pushed him to it when you started wearing all those short skirts and small tops where he could see your bra straps. Of course, he had to say something! For your protection! You canât go parading around like that! Everyone would think youâre up for grabs when you most certainly are not!Â
So yes, he had to tell you to cover upâthat you look like a common cheap whore when you dress up in so little, that you look desperate for it, that even a bitch in her heat would have more dignity, that you ought to mask your scent glands before someone takes the open invitation as is.
Was he a little harsh? Yes. Could he have said it differently? Yes. Does he know how? No!
And now you hate himâand want nothing to do with him. Skittering away any time you see him. Hiding yourself. A sad look on your pretty face as you hang your head and run away somewhere you can be alone.
He feels bad. But⌠at least youâre kept out of everyoneâs reach this wayâso he has the time to make you his before another Alpha catches sight of you and does better at courting you than him. Yes, this way, youâre hidden and safe and secretâkept as his buried treasure until he finds the courage to come find you again.
âOh, come on, I said I was sorryânow just take it off already,â some guy standing over you drawls with his canines on display.
Youâd sought out the empty classroom to be alone, but now you were drenched in milk and surrounded by a pack. It was still unsure whether the guy with the carton had done it on purpose or not. But the result was the sameâa soaked sweater and a pushy Alpha trying to lift it off as if in an act of assistance.
The mixed crowd of Alphas and Betas all stand watch, keeping you trapped in the classroom with them while you cower beneath the bigger hands pulling on your milk-soaked sweaterâeasily prying it off against your will and leaving you in the wee little crop top you had on underneath.
The guy whistles shortly, leering across your exposed figure with a sloppy grin. âSo this what youâve been hiding under all these lumpy clothes, huh?â
The crowd jeers behind him, egging him on with catcalls and hollers. Making him laugh as he towers over you, throwing your sweater to the floor with a splat before coming to grab your wrists, keeping you from covering up.
âWhoâdâve known, huh?â His grip is painful where you try and fight it, nearly enough to snap your joints, as he spins you against his chest and shows you off to the thrilled onlookersâpretty cleavage and all, and that unmarked neck that has them all drool. âSuch a pretty little Omega right beneath our noses all this time.â
âPleaseââ you whimper, shying away with your eyes closed shut and your lip tucked between your teeth.
âAw~" your manhandler croons, nuzzling his chin into the grove of your neck, then whispering hotly at you ear, âDonât worry, sugarâtheyâre just going to witness. Only I will be doing the honors.â
The tears spring loose as the panic grips your chest. âStopâstop itââÂ
Before you can think, youâre already lifting your heel and planting it down on his toesâhardâmaking him roar and loosen his grip for only a split-second opportunity to escape. And in the small moment, you break freeâattempting to run away, only for the crowd to catch you and throw you right backâall of them chuckling at your cute effort as if it were all some game to themâmaking you their unwilling toy.Â
âSome nerve on you, huh,â their leader mutters in a growl, angry now, gripping you even harsher before slamming you down over a desk, bent at the hips with your face against the wood. âTchâdenying an Alpha like thatâŚâ His hand finds your hair, tangling the tresses to get a meaner hold on your head, keeping you down as he slots his crotch right against your rearâvoice at your ear as he bends over you in a closing trap. âI oughta teach yah some manners.â
You sniffle, writhing and shaking with broken sobs now, hearing the belt being undone, âNo, pleaseâIâm sorry, Iââ
âHey, jackass.â A voice declares from the crowd. You canât see through the blur of your eyes, but youâre sure his silhouette hadnât been there before. âQuite sure she told you to fuck off.â
You donât know what happened nextâit all went by too quick for you to catchâbut one moment, youâre held firm against the desk, and in another, youâre behind someoneâthe newcomerâstanding between you and the others, his broad back turned to you and both his hands clenched up into fists by his side.Â
Closer now, you know who it is by his scent. And, although it shouldn'tâbecause he broke your heart with so many nasty wordsâit brings on a rush of relief so profound that, for a moment, you canât help but want to forgive him for it all.
You peek around his arm to see your manhandler on his ass on the floor, a bloody crooked nose with a warped look on his face, glaring up at your unlikely protector. âTchââ He gets upâflustered by the looks of itâcasting you a mean glare as he brushes himself off, spitting out a âNot worth itâ before whipping around and leavingâwith all his lackeys following in suit.
And then itâs silent. Beyond awkward as your bully-turned-saviour turns halfway around. Youâre still crying. And his fists wonât unwind. He knows he ought to ask you if youâre okay, but it seems like such a dumb question. And he already knows the answer.
He scoffsâthis is unbelievable. He thought making you hide yourself away would make you invisible, but you just canât help but attract attention, can you? The worst unwanted kind at that!
Shit. He sighs, then grips the edges of his sweater and pulls it off over his head. Balling it up, before reaching it out to you. Muttering under his breath, bowed head and all, âCover up already.â
Youâre unsure whether itâs a welcomed offer or not. You know it probably shouldnât, but somehow⌠it still feels comforting. And so, you accept it. Taking it in your hands, you pull it on and let it dwarf you like a big, cozy safety blanket.Â
âThanks,â you say, wrapping your arms around yourselfâhugging the fabric close and, with it, his scentâwhich, for some unknown and odd reason, somehow makes you feel all better.
âYâknowâŚâ he begins, looking at the floor. âStick to wearinâ my sweaters, and my scent will keep you safe.â
And there he goes, saying what he ought to have told you from the very start.
And though it doesnât make up for his actions, it does shine a light on them.
You suppose beggars canât be choosers, and this dumb Alpha is what youâve been stuck with. The part of your heart that broke back when heâd been so mean you thought youâd never be able to breathe again slowly pieces itself back togetherâleaving a fuzzy warmth inside that has you blush.
 âIs that soâŚâ
⥠BNHA â Bakugou, Dabi, Enji ⥠JJK â Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya, Megumi, Toji ⥠HQ â Tsukishima, Oikawa, Sakusa ⥠BLLK â Reo ⥠AOT â Eren ⥠DS â Sanemi ⥠WB â Sakura
⥠FEM x M INSERT masterlist ⥠GN x M INSERT masterlist
#yandere x reader#yandere#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere smut#yancore#smut#yandere my hero academia#yandere boku no hero academia#boku no hero academia smut#mha smut#yandere mha#yandere bnha#my hero smut#my hero academia smut#bnha smut#yandere jujutsu kaisen#yandere jjk#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk smut#omegaverse#alpha beta omega
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Hey elle!! ABSOLUTELY LOVED the grumpy x sunshine with Reggie
But what if McLaggen fucks up so bad that not only do people realise that our sunshine has a whole new side of her just to protect her bf
I mean, the happiest people ARE one of the most terrifying when angryđ¤ˇââď¸
Hope you have a great day/night!! Drink lots of water and stay healthy!!
there's nothing like the moment when the sunshine character snaps, you're so right. thanks for your request!
Regulus Black x Lupin!reader who defends his honour [1.2k words]
p1 // p2
CW: fighting/violence, reader breaks McLaggen's nose, Reg thinks it's kind of hot, Sirius is a proud brother(in-law) and Remus is an exhausted (and secretly proud) big brother
Regulus Black wore a tight fitted mask from the moment he woke up most mornings to the second he went to bed, and generally, that mask fell for no one.
There were some instances that the mask would slip for Sirius, and it fell far more frequently for you, but generally, the mask was air tight.
And to the untrained eye, most people werenât even aware that there was a mask being worn, but Sirius knew better - Sirius could see the signs.
Which is why when Regulusâ steps faltered ever so slightly as McLaggen leaned over to sneer something into his ear before his jaw clenched and he continued marching forward, Sirius was quick to blurt âwhat did he say?â once Regulus had made it to where he, Remus, and you were standing in the Central Hall.Â
You stopped in your excited ramblings to cut a look to Regulus immediately - expression falling in a way that would be comical if it didnât look so foreign on your face - asking âwhoâ before heâd even had a chance to answer his brother.
âNothing.â Regulus grumbled, standing tall and looking just past Siriusâ shoulder; though he couldnât help but notice Regulus positioning his body directly between Sirius and McLaggen, whilst keeping his arm protectively behind you.
âWhat did who say?â You asked again looking between the Black brothers when your own didnât seem to have the answer either.
âMcLaggen.â Sirius said, never looking away from his brother who refused to make eye contact with him as he gestured to the sod with his chin . âHe just said something to you as you were walking over here and now youâve got that look on your face.â
âThereâs no look on my face.â Regulus spat quickly. âThis is just my face.â
âDid he say something to upset you?â You asked softly, and Sirius watched as Regulusâ shoulders fell slightly and he seemed to look at you apologetically.
âNo, amour, itâs fine.â
âNo itâs not fine, heâs lying.â Sirius accused, causing Remus to groan as he pulled on Siriusâ shirt sleeve, translating roughly to âknock it offâ.Â
âWhat did he say about you?â You demanded then, and any signs of the bright, bubbly, effervescent girl youâd been mere moments ago as you excitedly explained the progress you and Pandora had made with the bowtruckles to your brother and his boyfriend were completely gone and overshadowed with worry.
Regulus seemed just as desperate to relieve you of that worry as Sirius was to never see it again.Â
âHe didnât say anything about me.â
âAbout me?â You asked quietly.
âNo, amour.â
âNo one could possibly find anything bad to say about you, bubs.â Remus complained with a fond eye roll.Â
âWhatâd he say about me, then?â Sirius questioned, causing three sets of eyes to point at Regulus in anticipation.
Regulus sighed and rolled his eyes - very un-Black and aristocratic of him, if you asked Sirius - and spared a look at McLaggen over his shoulder.
âDo you promise not to overreact if I tell you?â
âAbsolutely.â Sirius agreed readily - though he knew damn well that what constituted a reasonable reaction was very different to Regulus than it was to himself.Â
âHe said our parents ought to throw me out like trash as they had with you.â He muttered quietly, and Sirius saw red.
But unfortunately, both Remus and Regulus had been so (correctly) prepared to grab Sirius by the back of the shirt and the arm respectively that he had no chance at enacting his very reasonable reaction to that news.Â
Rather fortunately, however, is that both Remus and Regulus had been so prepared in stopping Sirius from storming over to McLaggen to correctly-react to that news, that neither of them even realised youâd gone storming over instead until your fist connected with McLaggenâs nose.Â
âWhat the fuck!?â McLaggen hissed as he cradled his nose protectively with one hand and grabbed you by the arm with the other, though all that managed to do was limit your assault on him to one hand rather than two.Â
âYouâre a pathetic pile of shite McLaggen!â You screeched as your brother hauled you off of McLaggen (though Sirius was happy to note you got a few more good swings at him before), neither Black brother having realised Remus had left their sides as they both stood there staring at the spectacle dumbly. âMummy and daddy told you it wasnât your fault that they split but it is because she should have fucking swallowed you when she had the chance!âÂ
âChrist, bubs, stop it.â Remus hissed as he wrestled you over to Sirius and Regulus; the latter seeming to be brought back to reality now that you were standing in front of him.
Though, standing was a generous term, seeing as you were still being held captive by your brother as you tried to find a way out of his hold.
âMerlinâs tits, Y/N.â Regulus breathed out in disbelief, and only then did you stop fighting Remus and turned to look at your boyfriend. âWhat did you do?â
You seemed startled for a moment; eyes darting frantically over Regulusâ face as if looking for any signs of anger or disapproval.Â
âYou hit him.â
Your face broke out into a beaming smile as your usual bubbling energy vibrated through you and you stood on your toes in front of him. âDid you see that, Reg?â You asked, almost like you couldnât believe it yourself. âI beat him up!â
A surprised laugh bubbled out of Regulus that surprised both Sirius and Remus just as much as your violent outburst had as he pulled you closer to him by your chin.Â
âDid you just defend my honour, amour?â
âIâd rather say she was defending my honour, Reg.â Sirius argued. âYouâve got a wicked right hook, Trouble! Who knew!?â
âI did!â Remus nearly shrilled then. âIâve been telling you all this; sheâs been practising on me for years!â
âItâs not practising on you when youâre the one who taught me, Rem.â You countered as sternly as you could muster, but Sirius could still see that dimple near the corner of your mouth giving away the fact that you were trying really hard not to smile.
And by the way Regulus drew a gentle finger along the side of your face, he knew Regulus could see it too.
âWhatâs the damage on your hands, hm?â Regulus asked then.
âWeâve got a stash of wraps in our dorm for Moons that you can use.â Sirius added, pausing when Remus made a tentative sound.
âPerhaps we should get out of here before McGonagall starts asking what happened to McLaggenâs face though, yeah?â He muttered as the deputy headmistress came sweeping into the central hall.Â
âTheyâll never believe it was Y/N.â Sirius scoffed, causing Remus and Regulus to shoot him unimpressed glares.
âExactly.â They said in unison before Regulus continued. âYouâll end up taking the blame for it.â
Sirius blanched at that.Â
âHey, didnât she say that youâd be scrubbing toilets with a toothbrush until youâre fifty if you got one more infraction?â
Your question was met with silence, though, as Sirius was nearly half way up to Gryffindor tower before you turned back to look at him.
âSeeing as Iâm the next most likely suspect, we should probably go too.â Remus announced, and the rest of you made like Sirius and quickly left the scene of the crime.
#marauders era#marauders au#marauders fanfiction#reader insert#self insert#regulus black#regulus black x reader#regulus black x you#sirius and regulus#Lupin!reader#regulus black blurb#regulus black drabble#regulus black imagine#regulus black fic#regulus black ficlet#regulus black x fem!reader#fem!reader#grumpy x sunshine#grumpy/sunshine#grumpy sunshine trope#ellecdc fics
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Takeout Box
** this came to me in a fever dream and now y'all have to read it too**
Jason wasnât entirely sure what to do. There was a large cardboard box on his doorstep, and not only was it faintly glowing green, it was also rattling and making muffled noises. He considered the possibility of Ivy, Harley, and Selina dropping off a box of feral cats, but surely they wouldnât target Jason âPetersâ, right?
With most strange doorstep boxes, he might have called for backup immediately. In fact, he ought to call for this box, especially with the sticky note on top. âCaution- May Biteâ
It couldnât be a bomb, what with the shaking and the noises.
Jasonâs ears caught the sounds of his next door neighbor moving around their apartment, and he made up his mind. He could call the other bats after the suspicious box was out of the open.
With great care, he slipped on his oven mitts (better safe than sorry) and gingerly began pulling the box inside. It was heavier than heâd been expecting, but not more than he could handle by himself, which he thanked some unseen deity for. The movement stilled to a whisper almost as soon as the first edge of the box cleared the doorway, and the noises also calmed down some.
Once heâd gotten the box far enough into the apartment to close the door, he began circling it, looking for more identifying markings. He found himself sorely disappointed- the only visible symbols belonged to the note.
Three distinct knocks sounded from the box, nearly scaring Jason out of his skin.
âHello?â
Three knocks again.
âIs someone- in there?â
Three knocks, more urgent this time.
Well. Fuck.
âOkay, okay, just, be still a moment?â
Carefully, one hand still protected by an oven mitt, Jason dug out a knife and slid it shallowly through the tape holding the box together. With the other hand he reached into his pocket for his phone to tap out an emergency code.
At least one bat would be coming through his window within fifteen minutes, and Jason could hold out until then if the person was hostile, but he wasnât leaving someone trapped in a box.
He pulled the flaps open to reveal not one, but two dark haired children bound and gagged, curled up around each other. The one on the left growled a little around the gag, only for the other one to bump purposefully into them in reproach.
âHoly shit.â
Crap. No. Cursing around kids was bad. Bad Jason.
In a stroke of stupidity, he reached down and undid the gag on the growly one first, only to find sharp teeth digging into his hand after he pulled the piece of cloth away.
âHey! No, stop that! Fuck, kid, Iâm trying to help!â
The other kid made a small noise, and Bitey let go. Jason grimaced, but moved so that he could undo the other gag.
Calm took several deep breaths once the gag was off, and Jason wondered how, exactly, the kids had been breathing up until he opened the box. Their noses hadnât been covered, but- Cardboard boxes were not conducive to breathing.
Instead of asking questions, Jason busied himself untying the kids, taking care not to let his hands go near Biteyâs mouth again. He figured he could ask questions while he found all the knots.
âSo- whatâs your story?â
Calm snickered.
âYouâre bad at this.â
With a shrug, Jason tugged another knot loose. He didnât want to use a knife this close to the kids. Kids were wiggly, right?
âWell, pardon me for not expecting a pair of kids at my front door.â
âIâm Danny and sheâs Ellie. We were told that weâd find family here.â
âWho told you that?â
Now that the two were free, they looked at each other. Bitey- no, Ellie, was the first to speak up.
âCW did. Just so you know, no returns or refunds, the receipt was lost the moment you brought us inside.â
Danny smacked Ellie on the side of the head.
âHe doesnât have to keep us, Ellie. We can find some empty house to live in or something if he doesnât want to. CW said we just had to live here for a few years, nothing about having a guardian.â
âDanny, weâre eight.â
Jason was about to ask who this âCWâ was, but Danny continued planning to live homeless in Gotham.
âWeâll just leave this haunt- you can feel it, he doesnât want us here. Surely the Lady will shelter us until CW comes to pick us up.â
Ellie reached up to scratch at the back of her neck, and Jason could see a rash blooming on her arm. When he looked over at Danny, who was still muttering about asking for sanctuary in Gotham, the boy also had a flush of red rash spreading across his face.
There must be an allergen in the box.
âLetâs- get out of the box. And get you two wiped down for irritants.â
Danny shrugged and scratched at his own skin.
âItâs your haunt- we canât be here if you donât want us here. Well, we can, but it hurts.â
âMy apartment hurts you?â
Ellie nodded, sitting on her hands to keep from scratching herself.
âIt stopped when you brought the box inside, but- well.â
The two helped each other stand and clamber out of the box. Once they were no longer touching the glowing cardboard, it disappeared, leaving behind the sticky note. Ellie scooped it up, showed it to Danny, who shrugged, and then stuffed it in her mouth.
Jason startled.
âHey! Thatâs evidence!â
âGoop now,â said Ellie, still chewing.
Danny took Ellieâs hand and started pulling her towards the door, and Jason could see even more of the bright red rash on the back of the boyâs legs.
âWeâll get out of your hair, Avenger. Sorry to drop in.â
âDanny!â
Ellie dug her heels in.
âItâs safer here! CW said it would be- even,â her voice dropped low, and her eyes darted around a little. âEven Dan said the Avenger would be safe. And if Dan said it-â
Jason decided to circle around and stop the kids before Danny pulled his sister out the door.
âWhy would it be safer here with me?â
âBecause youâre like us.â Danny and Ellie spoke at the same time.
To Jasonâs extreme relief, Nightwing slid in through the window in the apartment kitchen just in time to have heard the kids.
âHow is he like you?â Dick was smiling widely, but Jason could see the tension beneath the smile.
âHe died and came back different.â
Dickâs smile instantly dropped, and the room went silent. Jason stared at the kids, and the kids stared resolutely back. They hadnât turned to look at Dick at all, not even when he had spoken.
He could see the rashes start to recede, first from Ellie (sue him, he liked that she bit) and then Danny.
âIâm telling B.â
âDonât you dare, Dickhead. Iâll tell him heâs got grandkids myself.â
The kids looked at each other and then back up to Jason.
âYouâre keeping us?â Ellieâs voice was small, and her tone was different from anything Jason had heard from her so far.
With a firm nod, Jason patted their shoulders, turning them to face inside the apartment instead of the door.
âSure. Us undead have to stick together, you know?â
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knight in shining helmet | jason todd
Summary: You're a princess who's visiting Gotham City. You weren't loving it to begin withâthen you of course had to get kidnapped. Needless to say, your expectations of the night are in hell. You're hoping, at least, that you'll be rescued by the famous Batman. Instead, it's the infamous Red Hood that finds you.
Pairing: Jason Todd x princess!fem!readerÂ
Word count: 6.6k
Warnings/tags: kidnapping, rescue, reader and jason don't get along at first, violence, drugging, meet-ugly, 7-eleven food as a courting strategy, kissing, softie jason (he always makes an appearance somehow!), strangers to...not-so-strangers.
the divider
You suppose that, for a princess, you ought to have expected a kidnapping to pan out at least once in your life.Â
You just didn't think it would happen tonight. In Gotham City. A place you weren't loving to begin with.Â
âUnhand me!â you scream as soon as your taker's filthy, sweaty hand leaves your face. âYou'll be executed for this!â
You're not actually sure of Gotham's death penalty policy, but you feel like it's something you should throw in. In any case, the three men who've dragged you away, tied you up, and bruised you in the process, should be a little more afraid of getting caught.Â
âBatman will find you,â you add. âHe'll save me.â You've heard great tales of Gotham's hero. If anyone can help you, it's him.Â
That makes one of them pause. But the ringleader sneers at you. âIf he finds us. He's got a lot on his plate every night, ya Majesty.â
âI am a priority guest in this city, of course he wouldââ
âShut her up,â the leader snaps, and suddenly, you're being gagged. Disgusting. Completely unsanitary. You donât want to imagine if the gag has ever been washed.
You keep screaming and fighting through the gag until a needle pricks your neck. Your terror spikes as you realize there's suddenly an ultimatum to fear: what if Batman doesn't reach you in time?Â
That's your last thought as the drug renders you unconscious.Â
When you awaken, it's still nighttime. Nearly pitch black, except for a dim lightbulb in the center of the room. It looks like you're in some kind of warehouse. You can't see much of anything and it makes you claustrophobic. Your head aches and your vision is blurry, and your cheek is pressed against a grimy floor. You just want to go home.
You try to sit up first, but that nearly makes you throw up, and you do not want to throw up through this ratty gag. So you swallow the feeling and close your eyes, waiting until the nausea passes. You open your eyes and they begin to adjust to the darkness. Youâre alone, which confuses you.
Then you spot the explosives hooked up at the bottom of your dress.
The good news is that your kidnappers arenât here. The bad news is that the reason they arenât here is because they can remotely explode this place and you inside of it. If they donât get the ransom theyâre no doubt demanding, tonight will be your first and last night in Gotham.Â
Another thought chills you to your bone: what if the explosives are set to go off whether they get the ransom or not?
You squeeze your eyes shut as the tears come. Youâre going to die.
But wait. Maybe not. Surely, Batman is looking for you. And his young, brightly-colored companion. You never understood that color palette choice.
Theyâll save you. Your father has no doubt alerted authorities. Youâre the most important person in the city tonight! Of course people are looking for you.Â
Yes, youâll be saved, the criminals will be punished to the highest extent of the law, and youâll be escorted back to your hotel where you can take a long, luxurious bath. Thatâll be very nice.Â
Youâll also never visit Gotham again, that is for sure.Â
The door to the warehouse rolls open with a boom. You flinch and squint, trying to make out the figure. If itâs your kidnapper, you want to act like youâre still asleep. You think you saw that trick in a film at the cinema you snuck out to watch when you were young. You didnât catch the whole film, thoughâyou were found out by your guards before you could. Maybe you wouldnât be in this situation if youâd watched the whole film!
As the figure gets closer, you realize firstly that heâs a lot bigger than your kidnappers. You sigh in relief. Batman.
ââLo?â asks a gruff voice. âAnybody here?â
You shout through your gag. You canât make out a face, but itâs alright. Relief floods you. Youâre saved.
Your savior jogs to you. You tilt your head as you make out a⌠red helmet? With glowing eyes?
Wait a minute.
âHoly shit,â Not-Batman says. He pulls out your gag first. âYâokay?â
Realization strikes you; you recall a story one of the party guests shared earlier in the night about a crime lord and his terror on Gotham.
"You're that terrible gangster that left a duffle bag of heads!" you blurt.
"In the flesh," he says, tapping the barrel of his gun to his helmet in a salute. Red Hood. âYou donât look very happy to see me, all things considered.â
âI donât want your help!â you say, wriggling away from him. âIâm in an alliance with The Batman!â
He tilts his head. ââS that so? What alliance would that be? Beauty Pageant Runaways For Bats?â
âI am not a beauty pageant contestant,â you say hotly. âI am a princess, and I have a small militia looking for me.â
He kneels in front of you, holstering his gun. His one of many, many guns. Your skin itches with sweat and adrenaline as he approaches. Those glowing eyes in his helmet flip your stomach. This is all wrong. You're supposed to be saved by a hero, not an outlaw. A criminal.
âPrincess, huh?â Hood nods. âAh, yeah. I heard somethinâ about that. They took you from the Plaza. Just my luck that Iâd run into ya.â
âYou mean, you werenât actively looking for me?â you ask in a small voice.Â
âNope. Youâve got every vigilante and cop in the city looking for you, Your Highness. I came in here âcause I smelled motor oil.âÂ
Now that heâs found you, what does he plan to do?
âAre⌠are you going to release me?â you ask.
âDepends. Is this place rigged to blow?â
âMy dress,â you say, unsure whether you should let him know about the explosives. A man who leaves severed heads in a duffel bag doesnât seem wrapped up too tightly.Â
âHm?â Hood lifts your skirt slightly. He whistles. âDamn. This is some excellent work. Whoever did this is a pro demolitions expert.â
His praise doesnât comfort you, oddly enough.
âIs it live?â you ask.
âDoesnât look like it. And Iâve got a lot of experience with explosives. Just stay still for now.â
Hood squats and pulls out a knife. You shift. He's bigger than you even like this, crouched at your level. His shoulders nearly block your entire view.Â
âWho were they?â he asks.
âWho was who?â
âThe people that took you.â
âI don't know. They were wearing masks. Three men,â you say, frozen as he takes the knife to your feet.
âMm.â
Hood begins to cut the ropes around your ankles. You delicately point your feet, unsure if he'll slip and get you.Â
Your lip curls. "Where's Batman? Or that boy who works with him? Aren't they in charge of this city? I want to speak to one of them."
âI donât work for the Bats,â he says, an edge to his words.
âWell, I donât feel comfortable with you rescuing me,â you say. âYouâre a criminal.â
Hood stops cutting and looks at you. "Y'want Batman? Fine. I don't mind letting you wait around for the Bat.â
He pockets the knife and rises, walking out of the warehouse and disappearing. Just like that. Your heart jumps.
"Wait!" you shout, squirming in your binds. "Wait, come back!"
But it's silent. Panic digs its claws into your chest.
"Red Hood! Red Hood, come back! Please!"
You begin to cry out of desperation, tears dripping onto your already soiled dress. You try to pull your feet apart, but the rope isn't cut enough and all you do is worsen the burns around your ankles.
You bow your head and cry onto the floor. You just want to go home. You want your goose feather pillows and Egyptian cotton ten-thousand thread count sheets. More than that, you never want to return to this stupid city.
"Are you cryin'?"
Your head shoots up. Hood stands over you, arms folded.Â
"You-you came back," you say, voice wobbly.
He shrugs. "I had an inkling that you had a change of heart, princess.â
You look away. "You left me.â
"I did,â he says. âBut as much as you might deserve abandonment, I'm duty-bound to rescue everyone. No matter how obnoxious of a Batman fan they are."
"I'm not a fan. I just didn't want the morally corrupt, violent drug runner to save me."
He leans down and snaps away the ropes from your anklesâa feat of strength that doesn't go unnoticed. Then he saws the ones around your wrists. "Yeah, well, I don't do that anymore, and for such a pretty face, you suck at sweet talking."
He tosses the rope aside and pockets the knife. You rub your wrists and attempt to sit up. This time, you donât want to throw up. Success!Â
âAnything hurt?â he asks.Â
âMy legs,â you say miserably.Â
âOkay, let me rephrase: anything that'll make you bleed out in the next ten seconds?â
âUm⌠no.â
âFantastic. I can probably getcha back to your hotel in an hour.âÂ
You hold out your arms expectantly. He tuts.
âI donât give hugs until the third kidnapping. Fourth one is free.â
You huff. âYou expect me to walk like this? They took my shoes! Gotham is so uncouth.â
âAnd what am I sâposed to do about that?â Hood asks. âI look like a Payless to you?â
âI donât know what that is,â you say. âDonât you vigilantes have a protocol to follow? I cannot possibly walk through this filthy warehouse on my bare feet. Iâll catch a virus! Youâll have to carry me.â
Hood lets out a full-bellied laugh. Itâs somewhat eerie through his modulator. You lift your chin, maintaining your composure.Â
âOh my God! Highness, youâre a diamond-encrusted piece of work. I donât carry anybody unless theyâre unconscious and I like âem a lot. Itâs a short list.â
Your brows furrow. âIâm a guest in your city, and Iâve been kidnapped! The least you can doââ
âThe least I can do is leave you to rot here,â Hood says, tone cutting. âOr let your kidnappers come back and finish the job. You arenât in whatever palace they carted you out of; youâre in fuckinâ Gotham, and if yâwant my help, youâre gonna suck it up and walk.â
You look away, tears brimming once more. You sniffle.Â
âYou don't have to be so mean,â you say, voice watery. âIâve had a difficult night.âÂ
It's quiet for a few moments. You've never cried as much as you have tonight, especially not in front of a stranger. A dangerous stranger.Â
â...Look, I think I got some spare boots,â Hood finally says. âStay here.â
âWhere would I go?â you mumble. Whether he hears you or not, he doesnât reply, stalking out of the warehouse. He returns thirty seconds later with a pair of ugly, black, man boots.Â
âUsed?!â you ask, voice high.
âLightly, Your Majesty. Theyâre my spares. Here.â
Hood tosses the boots at you. You stare at them like heâs flung a pair of rats at you. He taps his wrist.
âTimeâs a-ticking, princess. Iâm on a schedule. I can always let you wait for Batman. Heâll find ya. Eventually.â
So you put on the boots.Â
You attempt to stand next, but the drugs and binds have made your limbs weak. You try and fail to get up twice before Hood hooks his arms under yours and hauls you up without a sweat. You squeal, fingers digging into his brown leather jacket.Â
He towers over you, doubly intimidating now that you're standing.Â
âGot it?â he asks, arms slipping away.Â
You definitely donât have it, and you wobble backward. Hood grabs you again, hand on your back.Â
âWhoa. Easy.â Hood cups your face, a little rough. You squirm, mind flooded with all the germs that are probably on his gloves. âLook a'me. Lookâstop fighting, Jesus Christ.â
âThis is no way to treat a princess!â
âYeah, I missed that day of training,â he says dryly. âStay still, I'm tryna see if your pupils are dilated.âÂ
âYour grip hurts!â
Hood loosens his grip and manages to keep you still long enough to examine your eyes. He hums and lets go.
âSeems like youâre still feeling the effects. Should wear off soon. NowâŚâ
Hood steps back, but not so far that you canât grab onto him should you fall again. He gives your dress a onceover.Â
âSo thatâs not gonna work.â He takes out his knife again. Your eyes widen.Â
âWhat on earth are you doing with that?â you ask, taking a small step backwards.
âCutting your dress,â he says, like itâs a perfectly normal thing to do.
You gasp, backing away. âNo you will not!â
âPrincessââ
âThis dress is one-of-a-kind, handmade for tonightâs gala. Youâre not going near it! It cost seventeen thousand euros!âÂ
âIs it worth more than your life?â Hood snaps. âI donât have any spare clothes and Iâm not dragging a ballgown with three pounds of C-4 attached to it around. You have to be able to move and you have to get on my bike. Now quit whining.â
You sulk as he cuts and tears the bottom layer of your gown. He isnât as savage about it as you expect: the cut is neat and could even be salvaged in the hands of a good seamstress. The night air makes your legs prickle with goosebumps. Then his words register.
âBike?â you ask as Hood sets your dress remains aside. Youâll grieve for your dress privately.
âMmhm.â
âI thought you had a Batmobile.â
âThatâs Batmanâs car. Hence the name. I have a bike âcause Iâm a morally corrupt, violent, drug runner.â
Your nose wrinkles. âCanât we take a taxi? Or call a car service?â
Hood snorts. âNo oneâs driving to this part of Gotham at this hour. Itâs my bike or nothing. Or, of course, you can wait for Batsy.â
He starts walking and you hurry to follow. Hoodâs strides are long and youâre unsteady in his too-big boots.
âCan you please slow down? These boots are enormous!â
He doesnât say anything, but he does slow down, waiting until you catch up before leading you to his bike. Itâs a nice motorcycle, you suppose, if you were into that thing. Youâve always thought motorcycles were a stupid risk to take. Being on the road is dangerous enoughâwhy remove the comfort and protection of a car?
Hoodâs bike is shiny and cherry red, just like his helmet. He produces a proper motorcycle helmet from nowhere and hands it to you.Â
âAre you sure this is safe?â you ask, inspecting the helmet. It looks fairly clean and unused.Â
âHasnât killed me yet, and Iâve been dead once.â
Is that his idea of a joke?
âYouâll be fine,â Hood says at your silence. âIâll go slow.â
âAlright,â you say, putting on the helmet. It smells oddly pleasant, like spicy cologne. âVery slow.â
âYeah, yeah, very slow. Câmon.â
Hood kicks a leg over the bike and straddles it, all muscle memory. His muscles flex as he bends his legs. He pats the space behind him.Â
Cautiously, you attempt to do the same, but you soon realize that doing that exact move in a dress is probably not the smartest. You hold onto the seat with both hands instead and clumsily try to fold a leg over. It doesnât work.
âYo, Bambi. This century would be good.â
âIâve never ridden on a motorcycle!â you say, glaring at the back of his helmet. âYou could help me.â
âFor fuck'sââÂ
Hood turns around, grabs the back of your calf, and pulls. Your legs part and you shriek, certain youâre about to flash him. He holds your waist as you flail so that you donât bang into him as you sit.Â
âWhat is wrong with you?â you hiss, smoothing down your dress.
âRe-lax, I didnât see anything.â
âThis is highly undignifiedââ
âYeah, we don't really do dignified in Gotham, princess. Comfy?â
âNo.â
âMm. Hold my waist.â
âI beg your pardon?â
âBeg all ya want.â Hood takes your arms and wraps them tightly around his waist. Heâs warm and, oddly enough, soft despite his bulk. âYouâre drugged and unsteady. If yâdonât hold on, youâre gonna fly off. Press up against me and hold tight.â
âGo slow,â you say again, obediently holding his waist.
âYeah, Iâll go slow,â he says.Â
âDo you promise?â
âPromise.â
Hood turns the ignition. The bike roars to life, louder than you expected. You suck in a breath as he revs the engine and starts off.
True to his word (and what a flimsy word it is), Hood goes slow. He takes gentle, easy turns and breaks at all the stop signs, even though this part of the city is essentially abandoned at this hour. Youâre able to study the streets, twinkling streetlights a little too bright to your recovering eyes. But you look anyway, shocked at the dilapidated buildings and uneven pavement. Youâre definitely not in the Gotham you were earlier tonight. It hardly looks like the same city.
You turn your attention to your savior. It feels like an odd word to use for the Red Hood, whom youâve heard enough about tonight. Your father had warned you excessively about what a dangerous area this was, and who exactly made it so dangerous.Â
But a savior is exactly what Hood has been to you. You decide that, despite his roughness, he still deserves a good reward. Perhaps a Hoodmobile. Or new boots.
Your rescue is going smoothly until you cross the bridge. Thatâs when another biker turns onto the road behind you.Â
âShit,â Hood says, and youâre startled that you can hear him so clearly despite the noise. Itâs like heâs in your head. âWeâre being tailed.â
Well, thatâs not good. You turn around briefly but you canât make out your follower; youâre too scared to move on the bike.
But then you hear the bike behind you speed up.Â
âMotherfucker,â Hood says, and speeds up. Your arms tighten into a death grip.Â
âHold on,â he says, like you'd do anything otherwise.Â
Hood speeds up and takes a sharp left turn. You tense and yelp, squeezing your eyes shut. He takes several winding turns and you keep your eyes shut through all of them. The nausea has returned and youâd prefer not to ruin the inside of his helmet with your stomach contents.
âWe lose him?â he asks when the road levels off and it doesnât feel so much like youâre on a rollercoaster.
âUmâŚâ you begin, and chance turning around.
Itâs clear for a few seconds untilâŚ
Well, to echo Hoodâs sentiment: motherfucker.
âHeâs there!â you yell, and Hood growls.
âThe helmets are micâd, you donât have to shout,â he says, leaning into a left turn.Â
âI see him!â you say, and grab one of Hoodâs holstered guns. He scrambles to grab it but misses, surprise slowing him down.
âWhat the fuck are you doinâ?!â
You ignore him and take off the safety. Moving your free arm up to Hoodâs neck, you fire. He curses up a storm, throwing in a few words youâve never even heard.Â
The shots go wide; one dents a parked car, and one hits a stop sign.Â
âYouâre fuckinâ nuts!â Hood yells and snatches the gun out of your hand.Â
But your tail falls back, evidently spooked enough by you and your poor aim. He turns on a side street and disappears.
âHeâs gone! Weâve lost him!â you say happily.Â
âAre you insane?âÂ
You wince at his volume. âThe helmets are micâd, you know.â
âYouâre soââ
Hood cuts himself off and pulls sharply onto the sidewalk. He dismounts and pushes the kickstand down hard. Then he turns to you, chest heaving.
âDonât ever fucking do that again. Are you crazy? You couldâve gotten us killed!â
âIt worked, didnât it?â you ask, putting out your arms. âWe lost him!â
âNo, we didnât. All we did was throw him off our trail a little. We gotta walk the rest of the way now because he probably fell back to get more guys to follow us. But thatâs not the point: what you did was insanely risky and stupid. You donât know how to use a gun and you couldâve hurt yourself.â
You stay silent, chewing on his words. Hood isnât wrong, heâs just⌠loud about it.
âDo you understand me?â he snaps.Â
You don't reply.Â
âI need a yes.â
â...I wanted to help.â
Hood sighs. âYeah, well⌠just donât. Iâm good at what I do and Iâll get you back in one piece. But you gotta trust me.â
âOkay,â you say quietly. You feel small, but you don't want to cry in front of him again and confirm that you really are just a spoiled, whiny princess. âI'm sorry, Red Hood.â
You sit down on the curb, feeling exhausted. Tonight is awful.Â
It's quiet for a long moment. Then Hood says, âDon't cry.â
Your jaw works as you swallow hard. âI'm not.â You turn your head so he won't see. Â
âChrist on toast,â he mumbles above you. âThis is exactly why I don't do rescue missionsââ
You sniffle. âI'm not crying.â
âââCause I'm the world's biggest asshole,â he finishes, voice miles softer.Â
Hood sinks onto the curb next to you. He scoots in just enough so that your shoulders brush against each other.Â
âLook, âm a jerk. The Bats are better at handling civilians and being nice. You got the potty mouth with a bad attitude.âÂ
You rub your eyes. âI don't like yelling.âÂ
âYeah,â Hood says quietly. âOkay. I'll try not to yell unless you're in immediate danger. But you canât pull stunts like that. Deal?â
You nod. âI won't fire any more of your guns.â
He snorts. âYeah, no kidding. Whereâd you learn how to shoot, anyway? I mean, yâdidnât do it well, but you did it. Not half-bad for your first time in Gotham.â
âMy father wanted me to learn gun sports,â you say. âI learned how to take the safety off and point and shoot, but I refused to do any more lessons after my instructor shot a duck for target practice. I think guns are uncivilized and destructive, and I donât condone killing animals for sport.â
âUncivilized unless you're getting tailed by kidnappers?â You think you detect a smile in his question.Â
âEverything has its exceptions,â you say primly.Â
âAin't that the truth. C'mon, we should get moving. We're, âscuse the saying, sitting ducks out here.â
Hood stands first and offers you a hand. You take it, letting him pull you up. He does that so easily. It makes your spine tingle.Â
âHow far are we from my hotel?â you ask.
ââBout two miles. If I had my gear I'd call for an assist,â he says apologetically. âWasnât planning to save lost princesses tonight.â
���I don't suppose there's any chance that you'll carry me, is there?â
âPretty and funny,â Hood says. âYou're the whole package, beauty queen.â
Your snarky reply is cut off by your stomach growling. Your eyes widen.Â
âPardon me,â you say, mortified.Â
âWhat, âcause you're hungry?â Hood asks. ââS a normal human condition.â
âYou don't know anything about royal manners,â you say, but you're relieved. Your father would give you a tight, deadly look if you were hungry in public.Â
âNo, I really don't. Born and bred Gotham, baby.âÂ
âShowing any signs of hunger or thirst around company is highly undignified,â you say.Â
âBeing a princess sounds exhausting.â
No arguments there.Â
Hood starts walking. You scramble to follow, and he seems to remember your shorter stride and slows down.Â
âThere's a pretty decent 7-Eleven nearby,â he says. âI'd take ya to my favorite diner, but we're on a tight schedule. Those guys wonât be far behind.â
âA seven and eleven? Oh, I've heard of those!â you say.Â
âIâm⌠glad you're so excited about convenience stores?â
âI saw it in a film once. My father didnât catch me watching this one. It looked so rugged, eating in a convenience store and fighting crime afterward. I've never been to one.â
âI know I shouldn't be surprised considering how much your dress cost but it does kinda blow my mind that you've never tasted anything but the finest cuisine,â Hood says. âWait, did you say your dad didnât catch you?â
You hum. âHe doesnât like me watching films that arenât pre-approved.â
âWow. Yâknow, I could pirate you some movies if yâwant. I know a great website for it.â
You laugh. âThatâs alright. I manage to sneak out to the cinema more than I used to, now that heâs older.â
âPretty sneaky, beauty queen.â He sounds impressed.Â
You shrug, trying to hide your pride. âIâve had a lot of practice.â
You turn on the corner and he leads you through a residential area. A few people outside of their apartments stare at you, but when they see Hood, they relax.Â
âRed!â a little boy shouts from a fire escape. He waves excitedly. Hood waves back.
âHope youâre listening to your ma,â Hood calls to him, mock-stern. To anyone elseâto youâit would be unnerving.Â
But the boy grins. âI am!â
âThen why aren't ya in bed, huh?âÂ
The boy shrugs. âNot tired. Who's the lady?â
âThe lady is a princess, so be nice,â Hood says.
âWhoa!â The boy gapes at you. You wave at him and he jumps up from the window.Â
âMom!â he yells. âRed Hood found a princess!â
You giggle as Hood leads you away.Â
He shakes his head. âKids.â He sounds terribly fond.Â
You stare at his back for a moment.Â
âThey like you,â you say. âYou keep them safe. But you're also a friend.â
âHelps to earn their trust,â he says gruffly.Â
You walk a little more in silence.Â
âI was wrong about you, Hood,â you say. He doesn't look at you.Â
âLotta people are. Nothinâ new.âÂ
No, it probably isn't.Â
ââKay, here we are. Câmon. We gotta be fast, alright?â
âAlright,â you say, following him into the 7-Eleven.Â
âHey, Benny,â Hood says to the tired cashier behind the counter.
Benny nods. âLong night?â
âYou got no idea.â He gestures to you. âSheâs a princess.â
âSweet,â Benny says. âWhatâs up?â
âHow do you do?â you say politely.Â
Hood leads you to the rolling hot dogs and other cylindrical foods under the heat lamps. You frown.
âI have had a hot dog before,â you say. âIâm not that sheltered.â
âYeah, but have ya had a buffalo ranch roller? My brother and I used to get these after patrol. That with a blue raspberry slushie? Heavenly after getting thrown into a dumpster.â
âWell, youâve gotten me this far, so I suppose Iâll trust you,â you say.
âIâm flattered. Benny, my usual.â
Benny gives a thumbs-up and puts the ârollerâ in a paper bag. Meanwhile, Hood takes you to the back where the slushie machine is. You watch as he fills a plastic cup with electric blue sludge. Your brows raise.
âWhy is it that color?â you ask.
âTasty chemicals,â Hood says cheerily. âIt wonât kill ya, I promise.â
âThat would be counterintuitive at this point,â you say.Â
âI appreciate your faith in me, princess.â
You return to Benny, who rings up the food. âFive twenty-seven.â
Hood looks at you expectantly. You look at him.
âWhat?â you ask.
âThis is the part where you pay,â he says.
âA princess never carries money on her person,â you say, like itâs the most ridiculous thing youâve ever heard.
âYouââ Hood looks at Benny and sighs. âWhy am I not surprised?â
He pays and you take your treats, trotting out the door.Â
âThank you, kind sir!â you say as Hood waves.Â
âSee ya, Ben.â
You hold out your slushie for Hood to take while you work on your fried goodie.
âIâm not a cupholder,â he says, but he takes the cup anyway.
âItâs warm!â you say, delighted. âLet me take a bite.â
Hood patiently waits as you bite and chew. You hum.
âGood?â he asks.
âI like it,â you say. âItâs unusual. Is this chicken?â
âSo they say,â Hood says. âTry the slushie.â
You take the cup and first take a small sip. Itâs cold and sweet and slightly sour and probably full of enough sugar to rot your teeth out of your head. You love it.
âThis is wonderful,â you say.Â
He laughs. âYup. Told ya, nothinâ like this combo. Itâs a classic. Câmon, letâs get moving.â
You walk and eat, and it definitely improves your night, having something in your belly.Â
âThis is just like Roman Holiday,â you say.
Hood snorts. âI donât think we watched the same movie.â
âIt has a likeness. Youâre Gregory Peck.â
âYeah, sure. If Gregory Peck was a street fighter, then yeah. Iâm Greg fuckinâ Peck.â
âNo, youâre right. Youâre much younger than he was in that movie. How old are you?â you ask.
âTwenty-four.â
âReally? Why are you doing this?â
âTook a career test.â
You bump his shoulder. âSeriously, Hood. Youâre young. Youâve so much potential. I can tell that youâre smart.â
âMaybe I like doing this,â he says.
You tut, shaking your head. âThatâs ridiculous. You could do more. Be more.â
âYouâre just fulla charm, arenât ya?â Hood says.Â
Your next step is hesitant. Hood keeps walking.Â
âIâm sorry, I didnât mean it that way,â you say. âI guess I assumedâŚâ
âYeah, I know. You assume a lot, princess. And youâre wrong.â
âYou made assumptions about me! You thought that I was stupid and naive and Iâm not.â
Hood stops, turns. âMaybe I like doing what I do, huh? Ever think of that? I meant it when I said Iâm not a criminal anymore. I help people.â
âI know that,â you say quietly. âI see how the citizens treat you. They like you. You care for them greatly. I just⌠I just meant that you could try new things too. If you wanted to.â
Heâs quiet for a bit. You keep walking.Â
âI didnât think you were stupid,â he eventually says.
You scoff. âYes, you did.â
âNo, I didnât. Yeah, I thought you were a little⌠sheltered. But youâre smart. Youâre certainly tougher than your dad gives you credit for.â
You roll your eyes. âHe still thinks Iâm six years old. It takes me getting kidnapped to see a city.â
âPretty shitty tour.â
You smile behind his back. âOh, I donât know. The tour guide is alright.â
Hood stops. When he doesnât speak, you approach.
âHood?â
He suddenly puts a hand over your mouth and drags you backwards into an alleyway. Your yelp is muffled. Hood puts a finger to where his mouth would be under his helmet.
Thatâs when you hear voices.
ââsingle fuckinâ clue. She could be in the fuckinâ Atlantic by now. Halfway to China!â
âChinaâs on the other side, dumbass.â
You look up at Hood, eyes wide.Â
Those are your kidnappers' voices.
He seems to understand and nods. He squeezes your arm and removes his hand from your mouth. He points to himself and points outside, then points to you and points down.Â
You assume that means stay put and donât try to shoot anyone with his gun. You can take a hint.
Hood slinks out of the alley. You peek your head out to look, curiosity overtaking fear. Besides, you trust Hood. You figure with a reputation like his, he can more than handle his own.Â
âNice night, ainât it?â he says.Â
The two men turn, looking close to pissing themselves. Good.
âHood, we werenât doing nothinâ!â one says.
âYeah, Ricky and I are clean!â
âOh, really? So you had nothing to do with the kidnapping of a certain visiting princess.â
âWe was nowhere near the Plaza!â Ricky cries.
The other elbows his friend. Before you can blink, Hood has them both down on the ground, pistols pointed at their necks.Â
âYou were gonna hurt her,â Hood says, and now thereâs no trace of humor in his voice. âThat poor, sweet princess. Strapping C-4 to her like a fuckinâ bank vault. Drugging her, tying her up. You fuckinâ animals.â
âIt wasnât our idea, it was Bobbyâs!â Ricky cries.Â
âShut up, Ricky!â
A shot rings out and you flinch. Ricky starts sobbing. Red seeps from his leg.
âThe only reason Iâm not killing you two right now is because I want a word with your boss. But make no mistake.â Hood leans in. âYouâll pay for hurting the princess. Iâll make sure of it.â
With two final hits, Hood knocks them out cold. The sudden silence is loud.Â
He looks at you then, those eerie eyes glowing. He beckons you out. You go.Â
You look down at the unconscious bodies. âYou donât have to kill them.â
âWhat?â
âI mean, Iâd rather you didnât. You shouldnât have that on your conscience.â
âThey kidnapped you. They wouldâve hurt you had their boss ordered it.â
You squeeze your eyes shut. âI donât want you to bear that burden, Hood.â
ââS not a burden,â he says, gently taking your wrist. Your eyes fly open. âIf itâll make you feel better, safer, anything. Itâs no burden.â
âOkay,â you say quietly, frightened at how pleased a part of you is at his words.
âIâll tie âem up and send for âem when we get back. One second.â
You watch as Hood drags their bodies into the alley like theyâre sacks of feathers. He handcuffs them to a drainpipe and ties their feet and gags them.Â
âSo they can see what it feels like,â Hood says, dusting his hands. You canât help your small smile.Â
âReady?â he asks.
You look up at the starless sky, suddenly exhausted. Your limbs feel like lead. âI guess so.â
Hood looks into the distance, then back at you. He sighs.
âClimb on my back.â
You blink. âPardon me?â
âYouâre pardoned.â Hood shrugs. âI can tell youâre tired. We donât have far to go.â
âWonât I be too heavy?â you ask. âAll that wayâŚâ
âPrincess, Iâm honestly offended. I once carried Batman and my brother to Bludhaven. Iâm more than capable.â
âBut what about your rule?â you ask. âAbout carrying people.â
âTurns out youâre not so bad,â he says. âGet on âfore I change my mind.â
So you climb onto Hoodâs back. He secures you easily, and you wrap your arms around his neck.
âDonât choke me out,â he says. âOtherwise weâre both goinâ down.â
You smile and relax on his back. âThank you.â
âMm.â
At first, it feels like an eternity, waiting for the familiar Plaza sign. You canât complain, though: Hood is warm and being carried by him is even better than riding on his bike.Â
You blink, startled at the thought. What are you even talking about? This is the Red Hood. You were terrified of him a few hours ago.Â
And yet, the rhythmic bumping and Hoodâs solid figure lulls you to sleep. You donât even realize until youâre being nudged and a voice pulls you back to consciousness.Â
âHey.â
Youâre gently jostled awake. You blink blearily, yawning into Hoodâs shoulder.
Oh. Right. Youâre on his back.
âHm?âÂ
âRide ends here,â he says. âWeâre at the Plaza.â
âOh.â Sleepily, you try to climb off. Hood sets you on your feet. Embarrassment fills you as you become more awake.
âIâm so sorry,â you say. âI didnât mean to fall asleep on you. You couldâve woken me! Iââ
Hood holds up a hand. âHey, chill out. âS fine. You had a long night, I get it.â
âRight. I, umâŚâ You look up at the hotel. The top floor windows disappear in the layer of fog thatâs settled over the city. You wonder what Hoodâs windows look like.Â
âIâm gonna track down your main kidnapper and make sure they donât hurt anyone else. Iâll kick his ass, at the very least.â
You look at Hood, blinking. âOh. Thatâs very nice of you, thank you.â
He shrugs. ââS my job.â
You nod clumsily. âRight, of course. I could give you something in return, though. Money or, um, firearms. A car, perhaps?â
He snorts. You smile shyly.Â
âCute,â he says, but heâs not being mean. âNo, thatâs okay. Iâm pretty set, actually. Doing what I do is surprisingly lucrative.â
âSurely thereâs somethingââ
âSeriously, princess, no charge.â
You bite your lip. Is this too bold? Yes, definitely.
âWhat about a kiss?â
At first, you think Hood hasnât heard you. Then he turns to face you in a way that tells you no, he definitely heard you.Â
âEx-cuse me?â
âUm.â You scratch your neck. âWell, princesses kiss their knights goodbye, donât they?â you ask, but itâs weak. Itâs stupid. Youâre so young.
You think heâs going to just walk away. That would be the kindest thing to do in response to your blunder.
âIâm sorry, forgive me. That was a terrible joke,â you blurt.
âNo, it wasnât.â
He steps forward, close enough to kiss you if he didnât have the helmet. You look up at him, heart pounding.
âWasnât terrible or wasnât a joke?â you ask, blood roaring in your ears.
Hoodâs quiet.Â
âHavenât done much kissing, to be honest with ya,â he finally says, not answering your question.Â
You shake your head. âNor I.â
âMm. And yâwanna kiss me? Donât offer âcause you think you owe me.â
âI want to kiss you, Hood.â
He tilts his head. âYâwouldnât be kissing a knight. More like kissing a toad.â
You frown. âI donât think so.â
âWell, Iâm no Greg Peck. And Iâm no hero either.â
âDo you give this speech to everyone who wants to kiss you?â
âYouâre the first one whoâs wanted to,â he says.
You inhale sharply. âOh.â
âUh-huh.â
You wait. He waits. You both wait for the other to back out. You donât. Neither does he.
âCanât believe a princess wants to kiss me,â he mumbles.
And then he covers your eyes with his hand.
You blink, lashes sweeping over his glove. You hear a click, then a hiss of air. His helmet hits the ground with a dull thud.Â
Hood gingerly holds your chin with his free hand. You keep your eyes closed even though heâs covering them, out of respect.
His mouth is warm and so, so gentle. You barely feel his lips at first, so you press a little harder. Hood doesnât know what to do with his mouth, resting it on yours, so you take the lead, following what youâve seen others do and what youâve watched on television.
You reach up and hold his face. He makes a soft noise in the back of his throat. You stroke his stubbled jaw, feel strong cheekbones and the ends of curls above his ears.Â
âYour Highness? Your Highness!â
The hand leaves your face so quickly, your eyes stay closed for a second longer, slow to react. Then you open your eyes and see the empty street.
Your lips tingle with heat. Itâs all noise around you, policemen and your guards flitting around you, asking questions, alarmed by your torn dress.Â
You exhale, disappointment overtaking you.
Your father is in front of you, taking your wrists. âCan you hear me? Doctor, I need aââ
âIâm fine,â you say, finally meeting his eyes. âIâm alright, Father.â
He exhales and pulls you into a hug. It startles you. He pulls away before you can hug him back.
âI am so glad youâre alright,â he says. âThe police say they saw a figure with you. Who was that? Was he your kidnapper?â
âNo, not at all,â you say, staring out into the street beyond. Your lips are buzzing. âHe was my hero.â
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