AAAAHHHHH This Is Fantastic Like It’s So Beautiful Chefs Kiss ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡\(^ヮ^)/\(^ヮ^)/\(^ヮ^)/

Need a man like this ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡(✿ ♥‿♥)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To my wife,

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

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

Simon

A poet, your beloved.

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps it’s both.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He grins wide, licking over his teeth.

“Can’t refuse an offer like tha’.”

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

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

To you.

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

Your lip wobbles a little, and you look away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mine. Mine. Mine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sniffle, a little dizzy, shaking your head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say it,” he snaps, and you hiccup.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckles, “I know. I know.”

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

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

“I want to go.“

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That is my duty.”

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

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

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

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

Would he?

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

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

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

Her. Her. Her.

He is bitter, yes, until he is not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Simon agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What you have become and what you no longer are.

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

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

“So you know.”

“Know what, Your Majesty?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now who’s being daft?”

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

“Why did he refuse?” You ask finally.

“What?”

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

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

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

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

“Was about you this time, Your Grace.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kings do not owe their subjects.”

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

“Everything you do is as my subject.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Simon answers your call. Always.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Manipulation.

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

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

He’s mine.

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

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

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

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

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

“But not for John.”

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

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

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

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

This time, at least. Just this time.

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

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

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

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

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

“Simon–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wot’s so funny?”

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

“I…”

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

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

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

“I would ‘ave seen it. I would know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He can definitely teach me a few things in person (≧◡≦) (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ(๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ

❥ SHOTA AIZAWA X FEM!READER

❥ WORD COUNT: 2.3k

❥ WARNINGS/TAGS: cam girl!reader, former student/teacher relationship (but you're still his ~favorite~), praise, mutual masturbation, sex toys, use of "good girl", lots of dirty talk, aizawa is a pervert and we all know it

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“Look how far you’ve come.” Shota loves how you still tremble at his praise, fingers faltering on the screen. “Remember when you used to be so shy? And now you’re just spreading your pussy open for me.” 

His gaze follows every movement, breath in his throat as you part your labia and slide your fingers down your folds.

He really thought it was just a rumor that the young generation of heroes had taken to social media to make money. Less villains meant less pay, sure, but he never thought he’d find you on one of his favorite sites, using the body he trained to stuff yourself with toys.

“You were always one of my favorites. Always such a good girl.” 

“I’m still a good girl, Sensei. Promise.”

You prove your point by smearing your fingers over your clit, moaning as your hips buck.

“Yeah? Then show me your face, sweetheart. Wanna fist my cock to every inch of you.”

It’s so wrong. He feels like a dirty old fuck in his bedroom, sweats shoved down to his knees and his laptop screen glowing in the dark on the bed next to him. His camera faces the muscles of his chest, angled just perfectly so you can see the dark trail of hair that leads down to his cock. The frame captures the pump of his bicep as he strokes his dick, yet he leaves it up to your imagination to piece together what’s happening off screen. 

“Then you have to show me your face too, okay?” 

There’s the nervousness he’s used to hearing crackle in your sweet voice. Always so studious, so sweet, the most pleasant of all the brats to deal with. You only ever wanted to please. 

He knew it was you by your bedspread in the thumbnail to your page. You still have the same pillows you used to have at U.A., all plush and girly with a memorable stuffie tucked off to the side.

“Maybe next time,” he offers, watching your tits heave and nipples tighten as you debate fulfilling his request. 

Your camera lens is focused from the bottom of your bed, allowing him the perfect view from your spread thighs to your delicate collarbone. You never show your face, not to anyone, not even in one-on-one chat rooms. He read your rules, but he’s special—he’s no scary stranger, just a perverted sicko who wants to watch his former student fuck herself for him.

He shouldn’t be doing this. But god he can’t help himself. He’s seen you flourish as a pro hero, tight suits and bright smiles to the public, and all he’s ever thought about is how fucking pretty you must look naked. 

“Then at least show me your cock, Sensei.”

You have got to stop calling him that. Yet his cock throbs and leaks at the honorific. 

“Fine.”

His simple answer is enough to convince you. You sit up on your knees on the bed and lean forward, making his mouth water as your breasts fill his screen. 

Shota strangles his cock in his fist as all of you comes into view. You raise the camera high enough to show your whole bed from an upward angle, letting him leer at you from head to toe. 

“Atta girl.” He groans as you lean back against your pillows with one hand anxiously running a finger over your lips. You stare right at him through his laptop screen and it makes his balls swell. “I’ve missed your pretty face.”

He watches how his words make you press your already sticky thighs together, like his voice shot straight down to your cunt.

“Oh yeah? Have you missed me, too? Do you think about your old Sensei?”

Moaning, you’re unashamed to slide your hand down your stomach, spreading your thighs so you can relieve the ache he’s building between your legs. 

“Mhmm, I do. Right now I’m thinking about what your cock looks like.” 

He’d almost forgotten his promise. Shota looks down at his length, sucking in a deep breath at the sight of himself swollen and drooling for you. He pumps himself a few times just to feel the pleasure, to gain the courage to drag the laptop with his free hand just enough to bring his dick into the picture.

A sharp little gasp from you echoes into his room and he’s suddenly far too self-satisfied. He admires how you writhe on your bed, pulling your knees up so he can once again see the full image of your wet pussy. 

“You’re so big,” you whisper like you mean it, like you’re wishing you had his cock in your hand instead of his. 

“You think I’d fit inside you, hm?” 

You’re like a curious cat eyeing him across the screen, lashes fluttering as you glance him over from base to tip. You must have a screen set up right next to your camera because your gaze is still meeting his as your head bobs up and down with the way he strokes his cock. 

“I dunno,” you moan as you spread your legs wider, two fingers dipping to prod at your hole, “you’re bigger than my toys.”

“And I bet that little cunt is so tight. Put your fingers in and show me.”

You still listen so obediently, just like when you were his student. 

He thumbs the head of his cock as he watches you sink two fingers into yourself, the microphone picking up the wet squish of your cunt. Your belly tightens with pleasure as you start to pump the digits into your pussy, slow at first and then picking up pace as your bliss builds. 

“Tell me what you would want me to do to you if I was there.”

There’s no filter for him now, not with your messy cunt filling his screen and your hand now plucking at your nipple. 

You take a moment to think, pretty head falling back to the pillows as you moan for him.

“Always wanted to kiss you, Sensei. Want to feel your hands all over me, ah,” you press the palm of your hand against your clit as you talk, making you nearly whine between breaths, “and I’d want your cock in my mouth.”

“You like sucking dick, sweetheart?” 

He starts matching the pace of his fist to your fingers, picturing his cock sliding between your plush, parted lips.

“I like having my face fucked,” you admit and it makes him groan. 

His noise spurs you on, makes you grab your tit and squeeze as your fingers move faster. 

“I’d love to slide my cock past your sweet lips and into your throat. Want you to gag on it, spit running down your face as I take what I want.” 

“Yes, want you to take what you want from me. Want you to use me, fill me up and fuck me with that fat cock, Sensei.” 

He nearly chokes at your words, blushing at how filthy your mouth is. He pumps himself faster, picturing having your soft body in his lap, your sloppy cunt sinking down onto him. 

“How do you want me to fuck you?” 

The moan that sounds from his laptop is so lovely, the slick sound of your fingers in your pussy making him shiver. 

“I can show you?” you ask more than state, pausing to look straight into the camera feed. “With a toy, I mean. Y-you can pick.” 

God, you’re such a delightful little minx. Shota squeezes the base of his cock as the mental image of you fucking yourself on a toy nearly topples him over the edge. He doesn’t know how he will handle actually viewing it. 

“Get your biggest dildo. Let’s see how it compares to me.” 

Any ounce of guilt he feels fades when you return to your bed with a purple, silicone cock, long and thick but not nearly as fat as the throbbing flesh he holds in his hand. 

“Guess you weren’t lying, were you, sweetheart? I’ll be the biggest thing that little pussy has ever taken.” 

Shota doesn’t care if he’s stepping beyond the realm of hypotheticals—he’ll get his hands on you, one way or another, all in due time. 

“Wanna see how I want you to fuck me?” you ask with the cutest smile, like you’re hiding such a naughty secret. 

“Show me. Fuck yourself for me, tell me every little thing I’m doing to you.”

He props an arm behind his head to get comfortable, the muscles of his abs and lats rippling in the dim light of the screen. He threads his fingers through his long hair and tugs the moment he sees you turn and get on your knees, bending until you’re in the most sinful doggy position he’s ever seen. 

“You start slow,” your voice drops to a sensual note, thick like honey, “cause you want me to feel every inch go inside me.”

The hand wrapped around his cock is moving before he can even think to stop, squeezing hard as he watches you reach around your body and start pushing the dildo between your pussy lips. 

Shota gets too close to the screen, strands of black hair grazing the edge of the camera, face still out of sight. His gaze scans from corner to corner, watching as if he intends to commit every single detail to memory. 

Your pussy sucks in the tip of the dildo, making you mewl, and slowly, torturously, you shove the length of it into your hole. 

“How do I feel?” 

“So good, want you to move, want you to fuck me hard.” 

You take the initiative to start bouncing the dildo in your pussy, sliding it in and out, building speed. The sound is licentious, wet, all mixed together with the short, airy moans you let out with every push into your body. Slick is starting to build on the silicone, creamy and thick. 

“Do you always get so wet or is it just for me?”

“All for you, Sensei. Cause you feel so good, you fuck me like I’ve always wanted.” 

Shota smears his thumb through the pre-cum freshly leaking from his cock, using it as lubricant as he starts a brutal pace on himself. He can hear the repetitive slap of his wrist hitting his thigh echo into the laptop microphone.

“That right? You’re a dirty girl for wanting to fuck her teacher.” 

“You’re so good to me, you rub my clit just how I like it.” 

He examines how one of your hands reaches under your body, two dainty fingers swirling around your clit before kneading it quickly, like you’re just so desperate to cum for him. 

The strokes he gives his cock are furious, other hand now coming down to cup his balls and roll them in his palm. His stomach flexes at the pleasure, picturing how that perfect cunt of yours would be squeezing him so tightly. 

“You wanna cum for me? Wanna cum all over your Sensei’s cock?”

“Please,” you groan into the sheets, hips now bucking with the pace of the dildo slamming into you, “will you let me cum? You said I’m such a good girl? Ah, ah, one of your favorites?” 

“Always my favorite, sweetheart. Show me how you cum, let me see you make a mess of yourself.”

Your knuckles are tight against the base of the dildo, using all your strength to fuck into yourself. You’re so close to the edge, panting, whining, hole stretched and practically weeping around the purple silicone. 

“You know I’ll fuck you faster, right? Harder. Just wait until I get my hands on you.”

Your tongue falls loose, “Want your hands on my hips, want you to spank me, oh god, pull my hair, kiss me and fuck me and tell me I’m all yours.” 

“You’re gonna cum for me, scream for me, all for me, got it?” 

He can see the way your head shakes on the bed, mascara dripping down the side of your face that he can see. Tears are in your lashes, your lip caught between your teeth, and even still you’re looking back for him, watching him tug and pull his cock with your name in his mouth. 

“God you’re so hot, your cock’s so big—”

A beautiful, strangled noise comes out of you as you finally come apart, your cunt clamping down around the dildo and your motions stilling. You scream into the mattress, all high-pitched and fucked out. Slick squelches from your stuffed hole, dripping down your thighs. 

With the scene before him, it only takes a few more pumps before he’s unloading, cum spurting out over his knuckles and up onto his stomach, rope after rope spilling out for you.

His room goes quiet, his pants and your whiny breaths the only sound he hears over the pounding of his heart. 

Finally, you shift on your bed, and he does his best not to look at the mess he’s made in his hand.

“Um,” you awkwardly clear your throat, looking away from him as you slide the dildo from your cunt. He can’t help but watch the way your pussy lips drag along the length. 

The post-nut clarity hits him like a steam roller. His clean hand grabs his laptop, ready to shut the screen and pretend none of this ever transpired except in the guilty pit of his daydreams—

“Shota,” you mumble, sitting on your knees and holding your body, “this was, uh, well really…hot. I…I wouldn’t mind doing it again.”

His ears perk, unsure if he’s ever heard you call him by his first name. 

Before he changes his mind, he drags the laptop on his bed until the camera catches his face. You blink so prettily at the sight of him, dropping one of your hands from your breast like you’re just so comfortable seeing him. 

“Next time will be in person.” 

You give him the most genuine little smile, “Promise?”

Wonderful ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

Ghost Head Cannons||: Dad Life - Newborn Edition

( No Gender specified for Kiddo or User )

Dad!Simon, who just can't stop staring at his little baby as he holds them in his arms, even when he passes them back to you, he can't stop staring at the little bundle, his head resting on your shoulder.

Dad!Simon, who did cry silently with joy when he was alone with them, processing the fact he's actually got a little family of his own, the possibility once seeming so far from him.

Dad!Simon, who's more than used to staying up long nights, happily taking up the nightshifts while you get proper rest, not letting you take more than needed.

Dad!Simon, who remembers how to change diapers after helping care for his late nephew, so there's no debate when the time comes to it and you're busy.

Dad!Simon, who talks to the kid like he would another grown person, like they'll understand or retain any of rants he shares "'M only sayin', Price keeps trustin' yer Uncle Johnny to handle the recruits, we're only gonna get a army of Johnny's and I can barely handle one as it is." *Baby makes a low noise or flails a tiny hand* "Y'know that's exactly what he did, toss a hand and gruff at me when I told 'im that, but 'M tellin' you, it's just gonna be a headache at the end of it."

Dad!Simon, who goes about the trouble of finding "excuses" to hang out with his own kid, always cooking or helping clean with them in his arms when he has the chance to, "Look at you, layin' about like yer gonna live rent free forever. Oh no, you and I are gonna do some work round the house together, start you early on how things are run here."

Dad!Simon, who, yes, does explain every recipe and chore to the baby. You're not quite sure if he's legitimate about it or it's for his own amusement, but he looks happy anyways.

Delicious \(^ヮ^)/\(^ヮ^)/\(^ヮ^)/

H A U N T E D ! ♱✮♱

in which your ex seems to be popping up in the most odd places. your dreams, the coffee shop you frequent in the mornings, your bedroom while you sleep.

summary! you broke up with simon due to his possessive and toxic nature. despite him not taking it well, a year later you believe you’re getting over it, beginning to move on to better things. that is, until, he seems to be popping up everywhere you go. he’s at your every turn, every corner, and you’re sure there’s little you can do to escape him while still having the willpower to deny the way your body calls out to him.

pairing! simon ‘ghost’ riley x chubby fem reader

warnings! 18+ smut, minors DNI. p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), creampie, degrading (use of slut, whore, and more), praise (use of angel, my love, baby), heavy dumbification, heavy stalking, toxic relationship, fingering, oral (f receiving), spanking, impact play, marking/hickey giving, absolutely filthy smut, squirting, humiliation, dubcon, heavy dacryphilia, slight bondage, heavy body worship, simon is actually unhealthily obsessed with you, no use of y/n, masturbation, mutual masturbation, manipulation, thigh riding, slight daddy kink, breeding

author’s note! sorry i haven’t posted in so long, i was scrapping for ideas and then i listened to haunted by beyoncé and came up with this. this fic is going to be my most unhinged and filthiest yet so i hope you guys enjoy!! <3 the end is kinda rushed because i want to get this out and give you guys an update but in time, i will edit it and make it better! it’s also not proofread :,)

word count! one day i’ll count, i promise :,)

you awake with a shudder, your body jolting up and immediately reacting to the same dream you’ve been having for the past year. goosebumps covered your body, but not because of the steady flow of cold air coming from your air conditioning, no.

you’d been having the same fucking sex dream of your ex since the day you left him.

you just couldn’t understand it. the dude was a prick, constantly groveling and pining for your attention, whether it be through trying to keep you away from your friends or starting arguments with you whenever you planned to go out just to keep you home. he would’ve done anything for you to be solely focused on him. he didn’t care if you were yelling at him, if you were screaming, if you occasionally slapped him whenever he got out of line, as long as you were talking to him, he was perfectly content, which was the problem. most couples saw arguments as things they didn’t want to have. they didn’t enjoy fighting, they didn’t enjoy the screaming, the crying, the yelling. but he reveled in it.

your every yell seemed to ignite a sick type of flame in him, the volume of your voice only growing louder when he’d smirk and poke and prod at you to coax a more unhinged and volatile reaction out of you. and god, you never missed the way his dick would create a tent in his pants when the frustration became too much and you began to cry. the way he bit his lip as you sobbed, the way he’d palm himself over his pants when he thought your vision was too blurred with tears to see him, how he’d say whatever mean shit was on his mind to keep you crying.

and yet, every night when you settled into bed (sometimes a bed that didn’t even belong to you), you’d have the same dream. it didn’t matter if you were alone, if you were asleep beside someone, if you’d fallen asleep at the library, your desk, or even your car, it was the same reoccurring dream.

when you first began having the dreams, you chalked it up to you just missing him. the breakup was still fresh and the sex was phenomenal, how could you not? you thought that as you moved on in your life and forgot about him, they’d just stop. but no. he plagued your mind like a goddamn disease. every time you shut your eyes, he was there, his face buried into your neck whispering nothing but dirty things into your ears as he drilled into your cunt, the sounds of skin slapping against skin and your whoreish moans echoing off every single wall of your once shared apartment.

you couldn’t forget about him even if you wanted to and it was beginning to drive you insane.

what left you on the brink between sanity and insanity, however, was when you saw him in public again for the first time. you were out getting your daily salted caramel latte, the way you had every morning for the past four years. it was early fall and you were six months post breakup, your body protected from the cool wind by a knitted white cardigan he’d bought you a few weeks before your inevitable end, and black leggings. as usual, you sat at a table, your eyes focused on your phone and occasionally flickering up when the bell at the door would chime. you smiled at the normal customers you’d grown to occasionally create small talk with but when your eyes raised and you saw him, your blood ran cold and you found yourself fumbling to the nearest bathroom to avoid him even catching a glimpse of you.

you thought it was a one off incident, brushing it off after a short-lived freak out and moving on with your life.

then you went to a club for your friend’s birthday. you were all clad in the skimpiest dresses you could find, intending to bring a guy back with you at the end of the night for drunk and meaningless sex. the purple lights of the club mixed with the one too many gin and tonic’s left your vision slightly blurry, but as you let some random man come up behind you and grab your hips, you allowed you head to fall over his shoulder and you went stiff when you noticed him sitting at the bar, beer in hand as he watched you intently. it wasn’t like he pulled his eyes away or left, no, he stared into your damn soul as this guy rutted into you from behind, making his intentions clear. what made it worse was that the fucker had the audacity to raise his hand and teasingly wave at you, mouthing the words “always told you that red was your color” after his eyes scanned your dress from head to toe.

but whatever. just another coincidence, right?

wrong!

the third time you noticed him, you were getting a little hot and heavy with some random date in an alley. his hands were grabbing at your hips, his mouth peppering hot open mouthed kisses to your neck as you moaned into the cool night air. it didn’t take long for him to slide his fingers up the slutty skirt you’d worn just for that reason and enter your cunt. sure, it was good, but there was something.. missing. sex had began feeling that way after your breakup. you could moan as loud as you wanted, you could squirm in someone else’s hold as much as you wanted, but something was always missing.

when you felt what you knew was going to be a short lived and unfulfilling climax coming on, you saw him. the brit had his hands in his pockets, leaning against the wall as he watched you with a smug smile. when your breath hitched, your date saw that as you enjoying yourself, so he continued, unaware of the man standing just a few feet away from the both of you. and it was wrong, it was so wrong, but what brought you closer to the edge was the way he watched your every movement. the way your every gasp seemed to make his smile grow caused an unexplainable pool of heat to grow in your lower stomach and you hated yourself for it.

“you close, love?” he mouthed, nodding his head to your date who was biting and sucking at your neck. when you nodded, he silently chuckled to himself, lowering his head for a moment before raising it, shrugging as he spoke. “go on then. cum for him, love.”

and you did, but not because of your date. because your ex was sat watching you cum for another man, his expression nothing short of snobby as your mouth went agape and you let out a squeal, unable to squeeze your eyes shut the way you normally did when you came because you wanted to see him, wanted to watch him as you came.

it was as if he’d ruined you for another man. he knew everything about you. you every nervous habit, your every like and dislike, how you liked to be touched. no other man knew how to touch you the way he did and it drove you insane.

you never saw him again, but he was always there. in your head, in your heart, and in your dreams.

oh, but if only you knew.

you were always just the silliest girl there was to him. to think that he’d just left you alone after he watched you cum on another man’s fingers, to think that he hadn’t been watching you long before the first time, to think he hadn’t continued watching you after the last time. you thought you’d finally gotten a grip, going out and living your life ever so fucking happily without him, and yet he still had all the control. you think he didn’t allow you to see him those three times? you think he would’ve have made himself known if he didn’t want to?

his poor sweet and naïve silly girl.

he was always there, you just couldn’t see him. he wouldn’t allow you to. not after the way you’d broken up with him when all he was trying to do was keep you to himself. was that so wrong? to not want to let something so perfect go into the big, bad world? the day you moved into your new apartment, he was sat in the lobby, newspaper just high enough to cover the lower half of his face as he watched you lug your suitcase inside. every time you walked to the nearest gas station at three a.m because you were hungry, he was sat in the shadows, his eyes following the sway of your hips and his feet following your every step. every time you went to get your morning coffee, he was sat in the furthest booth from your normal table, laptop open while his eyes watched the way you’d sometimes talk to different daily customers.

and oh, that flimsy little lock on your apartment door was too easy to get past. after you’d shut your curtains, signaling that you intended on going to sleep, he’d slip his way into your home, his footsteps light as he crept into your room, standing over you as you slept. if he got lucky, he sometimes managed to slip his hand into your panty drawer, cock in hand as he watched you sleep, sometimes in just one of his old shirts and a pair of shorts. he knew he was sick, knew that he shouldn’t be stalking you, but he couldn’t help it. you were just so pretty, so perfect, and so fucking stupid. if you weren’t going to properly protect yourself, he would just have to watch your every move and ensure that someone was still watching over you.

for the year you’ve been broken up, for 365 days, he has been with you at every point. even if you didn’t know it. he’d watched you slip one too many men in your sheets, watched you drunkenly turn the stuffed animal he’d gotten you around whenever you had company, watched you sink your fingers into your pussy whenever you needed release.

and he was just about ready to make himself known, but not yet. he wanted to watch you just a bit more, hence why he was currently sat in his car while you got into yours, eyes trained on the flimsy and thin tank top you were wearing that allowed the sun kiss your skin. it was late spring and he knew you weren’t one for modesty, hence why he’d driven closely behind you, sometimes taking a few turns to avoid detection before ending up a few cars behind yours.

while you sat in your car and grabbed the exact amount you’d need in cash, per usual, he stepped inside and perched himself in his usual spot, eyes trained on you and your tits as you smiled at the cashier and ordered your usual before sitting at your usual table. maybe if you weren’t such a sucker for routine, this wouldn’t be so easy for him.

when your friend, kelly, entered and sat across from you, he couldn’t help but roll his eyes. he didn’t like kelly. kelly talked too much, kelly was annoying, kelly always filled your pretty little head with such stupid ideas, like how he was toxic and how it was good that you left him. kelly encouraged you to go out, kelly thought it was good for you to wear such slutty and skimpy outfits out, kelly wasn’t protecting you.

“hey.” she smiled as you put your phone away and tucked it into your purse. “new club opened up a few blocks from here, wanna check it out with me?”

when you sigh, he’s hopeful that you’ve finally learned. that you’re days of being naïve and prey to the world were over.

“i’m not sure. i’ve been.. weird lately.” your voice is low, as if you’re trying to shrink away from whatever is on your mind. when kelly quirks an eyebrow, it implores you to continue speaking. “don’t say i’m crazy or anything, but i’ve been having these dreams—“

“so?” kelly snorts. “are they nightmares?”

kelly talks too much.

“no, kelly. they’re sex dreams about..” trailing off, you’ve definitely got his attention now. his eyes are trained on you as you sigh once more and lower your head, your expression one of what looks to be embarrassment. “about simon.”

aww. you’re thinkin’ ‘bout him.

how sweet.

he could feel himself smile as he watched you, the words music to his ears.

kelly groans. “not that guy. not again. do you not remember how terrible he treated you?”

kelly fills your pretty little head with stupid ideas.

“i know, i know, but still. i started having them after we broke up, but they just.. didn’t stop.” shrugging gently, you avoid eye contact with kelly, clearly not wanting to hear what she’s been saying for almost a year.

“you are too beautiful to be tied down to such an ugly person.”

he snickered to himself. ugly? sure, kelly. sure.

“you wanna forget about him? then come out with me! we’ll find you a sexy little dress, you can take someone home with you, and you’ll forget all about him!”

kelly encouraged you to go out, kelly thought it was good for you to wear such slutty and skimpy outfits out, kelly wasn’t protecting you.

“okay. i’m in.” smiling, you grab kelly’s hand as she squeals while he sighs. he’d truly thought that you’d learned. thought you’d realized something as beautiful and precious as you needed to be hidden away. thought you’d finally stopped needing him. but as usual, you proved him wrong. you still needed him. you always would, apparently.

𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊

“kelly?” you groan, arms wrapped around your body to protect your skin from the slightly cold air. You’d went out with the girl and everything was fine and all fun until she disappeared and didn’t come back, which you wouldn’t have cared about if she was your fucking ride. of course, you had a few to drink. not enough to completely render you incomprehensible and not in your own control, but enough that you wouldn’t dare to sit behind the wheel. and it didn’t help that she had your phone as well.

so now you’re left outside the club with no concept of time, no phone, no friend, and no ride.

fucking fantastic.

“god, why am i even friends with her?” you shake your head, unable to wrap your mind around the fact that she’d just leave you here.

“pretty sure I asked you that at least 56 times when we were dating.”

when you look up to see simon, your body goes rigid and your mind is racing. how did he know you were here? why was he here? why is being so causal as if you two hadn’t talked in over a year?

“aht. It was actually 653.” he hums with the cockiest, shit-eating grin. “654 if you count you just asking.”

“go away, simon.” is the only words you’ll let fall off of your tongue. of course, your mind is filled with the usual confusion at the feel of seeing him again, but what was currently on your mind were those stupid dreams and your last few encounters. You wanted to scream at him, to ask him what he’d done that would curse you to always remember him, to ask why even after being broken up, he was stuck in your mind, but that wouldn’t do anything besides cause an argument, and you knew exactly how that would go.

“been away for almost a year, my angel. haven’t you missed me?” he takes a step forward and tilts your chin up, the frown on his face is.. genuine. like he’s actually upset that you don’t want him around, but of course you wouldn’t! he was possessive, toxic, jealous, almost borderline narcissistic, hot, caring, annoying loving and—

“no. no i haven’t.” you push his hand away from you, crossing your arms as he shakes his head. “cut me some slack, yeah, baby? i miss you.”

“well i don’t fucking miss you! i don’t miss the way you’d argue with me to keep me in the house, i don’t miss the way you’d try to tell me what to wear! i don’t miss the way you’d get mad at me if any guy even looked at me! i don’t miss the way you’d get hard and touch your fucking dick when i cried because i was so, so done with you!” you tried your best, but you ended up yelling. his audacity made you throw your want to not argue out of the window. now it was all you wanted to do. you wanted to scream at him, to make him feel like nothing but shit for what he’d done to you.

“but you don’t miss the sex? the way id fuck you into nothing but oblivion? until you couldn’t remember your own name? you don’t miss the way i’d hold you after and tell you how beautiful you were? the kisses on your head as i cleaned you up? the way id carefully re-dress you?” he hums, attempting to remind you of the very little good he did.

“none of that was worth it. it wasn’t worth the bullshit i put up with.” you grumble back to him. instead of arguing further, you find your feet stomping away from him. you had no idea where you where going, but as long as it was away from him, you couldn’t have cared any less. your feet carried you through that same alley where your date and once fingered you, sending a shiver down your spine and making you pause to look behind you. when you see he’s not there, you settle on walking home, content with the fact that he didn’t know where your apartment was and couldn’t bother you there.

at least, that’s what you think.

𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊

“i believe we were having a conversation.”

you groan, rolling over in your bed and shoving your face deeper into your pillow, the silk duvet wrapped around you protecting your legs from the cold as you slept. you truly believed you were just having the same dream. “right there, si.” you mumbled, shifting in your sheets.

“right there, baby?” simon snickers, standing over you as you sleep peacefully. he’d overheard you saying that you’d been having dreams about him and so he put the rage he felt towards you for walking away from him aside. for the first time since he’d first found his way into your apartment, he reached his hand out and rests it on your thigh, grinning at the way you hum and relish in it. you may have hated him, but your body didn’t. “that feel good?”

the moment he puts his hand on you, you’re snapped awake. the dreams were vivid, but they’d never felt this real, hence why you shot up only to find an empty bedroom, causing you to groan and stand to your feet. “why are you fucking haunting me?” you whisper to what you think is the empty bedroom, standing in nothing but one of his old hoodies and a pair of panties, having been too tired after walking home to properly dress yourself for bed.

“because i fucking miss you.”

you’re nothing short of surprised when simon emerges from the shadows, hands shoved into his pockets and his expression nothing short of enraged.

“how’d you get—“

“shut up. i heard you talk long enough in front of that club.” he cuts you off as he strides over to you and clamps his hand over your mouth before pushing you onto your bed. “you think i like being all possessive and jealous? i wouldn’t have to be if you weren’t so fucking stupid. you’re so naive it’s a wonder how you’ve made it this far into adulthood. i took care of you, for fucks sake. made sure no one fucked with someone as pure and as innocent as you. every time i yelled at you, i was just trying to protect you. that so wrong?”

“simon-“

“i swear to god, ill gag you.” he snaps, reaching into your bedside table as he continues talking. you unsure why you’re even listening, why you’re not screaming at him to get out. “do you think it’s easy to watch you fuck other men?” he raises an eyebrow as he pulls a silk hair ribbon from your bedside table and grabs your wrists, one of his large hands managing to fit both of yours in his grip. “watch them kiss the pretty tummy i love so much? watch them miserably fail to eat the pussy i adore?” he ties your wrists together as he continues his angry rambles as he lays you down on your bed ever so gently, a contrast from his sharp and harsh words. “you’re stupid, angel. you’re the silliest girl i’ve ever met and you aren’t ready to be alone. been following you since the day you left and you still manage to make all the wrong decisions.”

“you.. you’ve been following me?” your voice is hushed, a simple and soft whisper. since the day you left, for over 365 days, he’d been following you. and for some reason, you’re not mad. you’re sat on your bed, wrists tied and simon still angrily rambling, and you aren’t mad. no.

you’re turned on.

the way he’s degrading you, his words humiliating and insulting, but you can’t deny the way it makes your cunt pulse and throb. you’re wet and you hate it. hate that your body still reacts to him like this, hate that your mind is still fixed on him, and you hate that you can’t hate him. your facade of hate and rage is crumbling quickly and you hate it. you’re unsure if it was his words from earlier, him reminding you that he wasn’t all bad that was making you rethink your decision, if it was the image of him following you around to protect you, but regardless of what it was, it was making your cunt warm and your eyes watery. your feelings were confusing and as much as you tried to act tough, you couldn’t. you crumbled completely, breaking out into soft sobs that finally made simon stop his rambling.

you felt so.. stupid. so, so stupid for ever leaving him. all he wanted to do was protect you and you failed to see it. your sobs grew louder as you succumbed to your own mind, allowing yourself to feel everything you tried to hide, including your attraction to simon who was looking at you sob, his fingers itching to touch his dick that was growing hard.

“you know i always loved it when you cried.” his voice has died down a whisper before he slaps you. “you’re an idiot. can’t believe you said all those things about me when all i wanted to do was keep you safe? how could you?” he mocks a pout, causing you to sob harder, your words incoherent as your wrists rub against the silk ribbon around them. “i’m sorry! ‘m so sorry.” you manage to choke out, which makes him click his tongue and shake his head.

“sorry’s not enough. been watching you whore around for a year. do you know how much of a dirty slut you’ve become? now i hafta ruin you all over again. make sure you remember it’s me and it’s always going to be me.” standing, he sheds his black sweatpants and sits right atop your thighs, palming himself over his boxers as he looks at you, his hand cupping your cheek and rubbing his thumb over your cheeks. “so pretty when you cry.” he hums before he slaps you, the impact causing you to sob harder and your cunt to ache for some kind of attention. “that’s my fucking girl.”

it doesn’t take long for simon to pull off his boxers, using your tears as a lubricant as he brings his hand up and down his cock while watching you closely, his smile nothing short of cocky as he slaps you once more, this time on your thigh. “you’re a fucking whore.” his voice is a whisper as he grins at you, his words so cruel and his tone so soft that all it does is make you sob harder. “had so many men in and out of this fucking apartment, so many inside of your cunt, i’m surprised it still works. you were such a good girl when i met you, but now you’re nothing but a slut.”

“no, ‘m not.. ‘m not a slut.” you hiccup. “i just..” you trail off, the words dying on your tongue and making simon mock a pout once more. “you just what? wanted to open your legs to any man who gave you attention? that’s practically the definition of a slut.” sighing, simon speeds up the movements of his hand, his soft whimpers and moans echoing in your ears as you writhe beneath him. it’s complete torture to have to sit there and watch him jerk off while you don’t get an ounce of pleasure.

“si, please.” you beg through broken sobs.

“i’m not touchin’ you, love. after all the men you’ve had, you don’t deserve me in you.” he shakes his head as you let out cry after cry, making him grow annoyed. he suddenly sits up before shoving his cock between your trembling lips. “tired of hearing you cry because of shit you’ve done. shut up and suck my dick.”

though it’s what got want, you settle for it, wrapping your lips around his length as you run the underside of your tongue up and down his shaft, your teary eyes looking up at him for his approval as he nods. “there you go. atta fuckin’ girl. just how you used to.”

it’s not long until he’s fucking your face, no care for how you’re doing as he pushes his cock in and out of your mouth, reveling in the way your spit pools down your chin and your tears slide down your cheeks. it’s all so erotic to him. after watching you for so long, dreaming about this very moment, he finally gets to live it, gets to feel your lips wrapped around him once more. “missed this pretty mouth.” he hums out before pulling away. “but i’m so disappointed in you.” he sighs, using your spit as lubricant to pump his cock. “such a stupid girl to think you could live without me.”

“simon, please.” you beg. you’re utterly humiliated and all you want is for him to bury his cock in you as you bury yours in his neck and try to forget what you’ve done. when he slaps your thigh, you jolt and let out another sob.

“whores don’t get my cock.” he growls. “but i’ll admit, i do like seeing you like this. all helpless and crying so fucking beautifully for me.” it’s odd how his demeanor changes so quickly as he moves away to press kisses to your tear-stained cheeks before moving down to your neck. “you’re wearin’ my hoodie.” simon’s voice goes soft as he pulls away, looking over the fabric he adored to see you in.

“yeah.” you sniffle.

“always looked so pretty in it.” he slightly smiles. it’s a genuine smile and simon hates that he can’t keep up his composure either. he wants to be mad at you, to call you every degrading name in the book while he forces you to sit there and watch him touch his cock, but he goes soft. he grabs your wrists, pressing his lips to yours for the first time since you’d broke up and it only further breaks through his rage and anger. he’s.. softer than you thought he would be, his lips moving in a gentle synchronization with yours as his hands slip under the hoodie, his touch sending goosebumps across the gentle skin he’s tracing soft circles on as he slips his tongue into your mouth, exploring the crevices he knows like the back of his hand before he breaks the kiss to look at you. “you’re gonna ride my thigh like the dirty fucking whore you are, yeah?” his hands moved to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip as you nod. “atta girl.”

he allows you straddle his thigh, his hands on your hips as you sniffle and rock your hips against his thigh, wanting to complain that he hadn’t taken off your panties, but you knew this softness wouldn’t last long, so you took what you could get, finding a steady rhythm as your still ribbon tied hands were sat higher on his thigh, trying to reach for his cock before he pushed them away, giving you a warning glance that made you pout as you continued to rock against him. your anger towards him melted completely as you looked over him. despite how much time had passed, he still looked at you with love and admiration. his eyes were stuck on yours and his hands were still on your hips, gently stroking your skin in a way that made your cunt flutter as you let out a shaky sigh and lowered your head. “si..” you hum out.

“what is it, baby? what do you need?” he lifts your head and strokes your cheek.

“gonna cum.” you breathe out, squeezing your eyes shut before he slaps your thigh and you re-open them.

“no, baby. need you to wait for me, can you do that?” he’s so gentle right now, which you know is about to fade because said gentleness is what makes you cum, your climax washing over you in waves. it’s so much more intense than the ones you’ve had without him and it sends you falling into his chest, your legs shaking around him and the damp spot in your panties growing as you let out a soft cry, your body shivering when you finally come down and catch sight of his expression.

“never fuckin’ listened, did you?” he sighs, placing you back on the bed and tearing the hoodie in to, causing you to yelp. “simon! i wanted that.”

“shut up, i’ll give you another one.” he hissed as he pulls your panties and bra off. you expect him to eat you, but you’re surprised when he just.. stares at you. his eyes roam over your entire body like you’re a piece of artwork that was meant to be worshipped.

which to him, you were.

he loved every inch of your body. the way your tummy sometimes protrude through your dresses or shirts, how your thighs would rub together when you’d walk and how they’d expand when you sat down, how plush and warm you were. you were a bigger girl, but you never let it bother you. you wore what you wanted and did what you wanted without letting your weight stop you, which is what drew simon to you in the first place.

he had been at a club and he noticed you arguing with a guy for whatever reason. when the taller male began sizing you up, simon jumped in to protect you, despite not knowing you. he watched the way you immediately clung to him, continuing to yell at the guy who didn’t want to even look simon in the eye before he’d just walked off, leaving you to thank him and ask him for a drink, which is how you both hit it off. you were so confident and so sweet, all you needed was just a bit of protection, and simon became that. you became his everything from that night on. you were all he thought of, all he dreamed of, all he saw when he shut his eyes. he wanted you and that was all he would ever want. he loved you, for fuck’s sake, hence why he was so hurt.

he adored you, every inch of you, and you’d just.. left him. he worshipped you, he kissed the ground you walked on, he was obsessed with you. he always would be.

“hate how fucking pretty you are.” he sighs, leaning in close to your neck and peppering kiss after kiss on your body as his hands explore every inch of as if trying to re-familiarize himself with the way you feel in his hands. “makes it impossible to be mad at you.” when he reaches your thighs, he spends a lot of time kissing your inner thighs and grinning at the way you whimper and try to carefully buck your hips up to help him reach the area where you need him most, but all he does is move further away.

“simon.” you try to say sternly but fail, your words coming out in a distasteful whine that makes him slap your inner thigh.

“shut up and wait.” he snarls, continuing to kiss at your thighs while his thumb runs over the area he’d just slapped in an attempt to soothe it. it feels like forever before he finally begins to hover over your cunt, smiling at the warmth before pulling away and grinning wickedly at you. “gotta tell me somethin’ first.”

you groan, but look back at him. “what?”

“gotta tell me you missed me.” he hums, hands squeezing and kneading at the skin of your thighs.

“i missed you.” you groan, clearly trying to get this over with but pout when he doesn’t budge, imploring you to talk more. “simon, ive been having dreams about you since we broke up. of course i miss you.”

“really? what kind of dreams?” he feigns innocence, pretending he hadn’t overheard you at the cafe.

“the last time we had sex. for some reason, every single night and every time i fall asleep, no matter where i am, im forced to relive the last time you were buried in my cunt.” you grumble, growing embarrassed by the admission. when simon stays quiet, you find your embarrassment growing, feeling even more stupid than you already had.

but the feeling fades when he shoves his face between your legs, his tongue lapping at you eagerly, as if he’s been starved of you for far too long.

it’s then that you finally find out what you’ve been missing.

and its simon.

he’s completely ruined you for any other man. no tongue feels as good between your legs as his, no fingers curl the same way his used to, no one’s cock feels as good as his because no one is him. simon is truly the only one who can fulfill you and the thought of that mixed with the feel of him between your legs infills you with shame. you’re so disappointed that you’ve let him back into your life, your home, your legs. and yet, you feel so stupid for having walked away from him in the first place. he protected you, kept you safe. and there was nothing wrong with that. you were crazy for thinking that there was an issue with that.

“god, missed the way you taste so much.” he growls out, continuing to lap at you as his hands grab your thighs, pulling you impossibly closer. “you were always so wet f’me. did you get this wet for them?”

“no—no. never.” you shake your head. “only—nghh—you.”

“just how i like it.” he hums, pulling his lips off of your clit with a pop! “just for me. only for me.”

sitting down, he grabs your wrists and pulls you over his lap. “think i owe you a punishment for running away in the first place, don’t i?”

the punishment in question is a spanking that leaves you wracked with sobs after, all while simon told you just how dumb you were and told you what a slut you were, the words now ingrained in your mind. you felt so disgusting. like you’d betrayed simon. you were nothing but a slut, a complete idiot for leaving him.

when he helped you up, all you could do was fall into his chest, letting out different choked apologies as your hands fought against the ribbon tied around your wrists. your body was wracked with sobs as he held you close, shushing you and rubbing your bare back.

“i’m sorry, im so sorry.” you whisper. “i’m an idiot, im an idiot.”

“it’s okay. we all make mistakes, angel.” he whispered. “i forgive you.”

“need you to fuck me. please. i—i don’t want anyone else. i want you.” you look up at him with teary eyes he can’t refuse, which is why he lays you on your back and positions himself between your legs before pushing in, cooing at the feeling of your cunt re-familiarizing itself with him.

it burns slightly, the once comfortable stretch slightly burning as you squeeze your eyes shut.

“hey, hey. eyes on me.” simon hums, grabbing your chin and smiling as you look up at him. “there we go. that’s my girl.”

it doesn’t take long until he’s pounding into you, his gentle touch a stark contrast from his rough thrusts. “tell me, love, did they feel the way i do?”

“no! no, never.” you cry out, a mess of broken moans and occasionally sobs as your cunt squeezed him. you’d would’ve forgot the way he felt inside of you if it weren’t for those dreams, but having the real thing is so, so much better. you’ve missed him. you were an idiot for leaving.

when simon noticed a tear slipping down your cheek, he smiles. “what? my baby realizing how stupid she is?”

you nod at his words. “ ‘m sorry for leaving.”

“it’s okay, silly girl. i forgive you. i’ll take care of you.” he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead as he continues to pound into you. he pushes his head into your neck, immediately biting and sucking at your skin the way he used to, marking every last inch of your neck before moving down to your chest. “missed your tits so much. so heavy, so fuckin’ pretty.” his lips wrap around your nipple for a few moment before he moves to the rest of your tits, sucking and nipping wherever he could. this was part of simon’s possessive nature, every time you had sex, he made sure to mark you, to make sure other’s know that you weren’t on the market.

“you wanna be my good girl again? wanna be my pretty baby?” simon implores, raising his head and watching as you pathetically nod. “god, i’ll do anything. please.” you moan out.

“cum f’me, love.” he grins, adjusting himself to hit the spot inside of you that would make you see starts, which is what made you crumble. your legs shook and your eyes shut as you let out a cry of his name. your cunt squeezed him, wrapping around him so tightly he couldn’t pull out even if he wanted to. he watched the way your body shook his hold, the way your legs jerked, the way your eyes rolled back. “there we go, baby. there we go.” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, slowing his thrusts to help you ride out your high before smiling. “on your knees, c’mon, baby.”

he helped you onto your hands and knees before pushing into you once more, now slapping your ass with every thrust. “my sweet and silly girl. ‘s all you needed. just a little punishment to remind you of what we had.”

“si.. ‘m close, ‘m so close.” you whine before shrieking as he slaps your ass. “you can wait. you just came. don’t be a greedy slut.”

you mutter out different apologies as simon continues. “you feel so good, so fucking wet f’me. love the way you grip me when i fuck you.”

“y-yeah?” you chuckle, entirely too fucked out to remember your embarrassment. instead, you revel in the humiliation, the shame. in a sick and twisted way, it reminds you to never leave simon again.

“mhm. so tight.” he hums, slapping your ass once again. “she missed me, didn’t she?” the she in question is your cunt that fluttered at his words.

“that answer your question?”

“sure fuckin’ did.”

his pace is brutal, hips ramming into yours as your moans echo off the wall. you make up your mind then and there. you want simon back. you need him back. it’s not that you just can’t give up the sex, you can’t give him up. he kept you safe, protected you, defended you. you needed him.

“simon, i—i need you.” you whimper out, causing him to chuckle. “i’m giving it to you, baby.”

“no, no. i need you.” you repeat, more firm in your words despite letting out a moan just a few seconds after. his pace falters, but he regains his composure, running his hand up your back. “my girl, my good girl. ‘m not goin’ anywhere. couldn’t ever leave you. not in a million years.”

“i’m so sorry, promise i won’t leave again.” your still tied hands grab at your pillow, squeezing it tightly and shoving your face into it to keep quiet, not wanting to disturb your neighbors.

“alright, baby. i trust you.” leaning down, he presses soft kisses onto your back while pushing in and out of you. “but you’re still a dirty slut, and dirty sluts don’t get to cum, do they?” his gentleness faded as he pulls your hair, forcing your head out of the pillow.

“no, daddy. no they don’t.” simon can practically hear your pout as slaps your ass. “need you do somethin’ f’me.” he lets go of your hair and grabs your phone. “call kelly.”

normally, you would’ve questioned him, told him there was no way you’d call your friend while having sex with him—the boyfriend she despised—but you didn’t care about what she would say or her opinion. you knew she’d have an entire monologue prepared, each word a lie about how terrible simon was, how toxic he was. you normally listened to those monologues and made sure you took the words to heart.

which is why kelly was surprised when she answered the phone and you told her exactly who you were fucking.

“why! why would you ever do that?! he’s—“

“kelly, shut up.” you groan. partly because simon just slapped your ass and partly because you’re annoyed with kelly. “he protects—*right there! right there!*—“ you’re cut off when simon finds that special spot, causing the words to die on your tongue as your mind goes blank. it’s as if you loose all ability to function, almost falling forward as whoreish moans and cries spill from your lips, your eyes rolling back and the slightest hint of drool trickling out of the corner of your mouth.

“she’s so pretty.” simon chuckles.

“get away from her! she was doing so good, so good without you!” kelly practically screams from the other end of the phone.

“she wants me here, kelly.” simon mocks, pushing your head into the mattress while his other hand pushes you up just a bit further, forcing his cock impossibly deeper. “tell her, baby.”

“want.. want. ‘im here.” you slur out, your eyes fluttering shut. “feels so, so fucking good.”

“don’t do this. you don’t need to do this.” kelly begs you. but her words fall on deaf ears.

“i love you, i love you.” the cock-drunken slur seems to ignite a fire inside of him that sends his hips drilling as far as he can, the head of his cock practically abusing your g-spot and sending a shriek up your throat and out from between your lips.

“god, i love you too. gonna breed this pretty pussy to keep you all to myself forever.” he growls out, smiling at the way you shriek at that and your cunt squeezed around him. “yeah? you like that idea? want me to give you a baby? watch you grow all round and take care of you when you’re pregnant?”

“don’t you fucking dare, simon.” kelly growls out. “i’m coming over.”

“no need.” simon shrugs. “she’ll be properly knocked up by then.” leaning down, simon presses a kiss to your scalp. “tell her how much you want this, how you want to be filled to the brim with my cum and round with my kid.”

“i wan’ it, i wan’ it.” you sound like an absolute whore, words barely coherent and tone full of excitement at the thought. “need it.”

“see? she wants it.” simon shrugs, grabbing your phone. “we’ll see you at the gender reveal, kelly. or not. i don’t quite like you.” he hangs up, throwing your phone back onto the bed just as your cunt begins to spasm around him.

“you gonna cum, love?” he chuckles as you nod. “good. cum with me, yeah?”

your climax washes over you the same time his does, your cunt gripping him for dear life as you cry out and grab your pillow the best you can with your hands still restricted. it’s exactly what you need and that’s made abundantly clear when you begin to coat simon, your bed, the back of your thighs, and most importantly his cock, in a clear/-ish liquid that washes away the milky white and foamy ring that formed around the base of his cock.

“gonna fill you, oh my god.” simon whimpers as his hands find your hips and grips them as he spills into your cunt, the feel of you squirting and squeezing him all too much. he gives you every last drop of him, not moving until he’s certain you’ve perfectly milked him before pulling out and replacing his cock with his index finger, fucking his cum back into you as you let out a lazy sigh.

“how you doin’ love?” he stands and enters your bathroom, grabbing a damp washcloth and carefully bringing it over your skin as he pecks your forehead. when you hum, he knows what you mean and nods. “i love you, silly girl. don’t ever leave me again.”

“i love you too.” your response is genuine as you tiredly smile at him.

sure, you’re still stuck on the fact that he’d managed to follow you around for a little over a year, but they don’t call him simon ‘ghost’ riley for no reason.

to the brim ... <3

dom!abby x fem!sub!reader

!! not my pic !!

warnings: fluff + smut [MDNI and MEN DNI.] modern!au / no apocalypse, established relationship, softdom!abby [?], i couldnt think of good gifts dont mind it, abby is a gamer confirmed bc i said so, breeding [duh], abby has a breeding strap, filthy talk omg :(( ah!! i think thats it

a/n: ever since i read @seattlesellie's ellie breeding fic... i've been a changed woman. so here's my take on abby! p.s.: no desc. of hair, skin color, size, etc. :) this is also kinda long but enjoy my loves!

you and abby had been together for around 3 long, happy years. the happiest years, you could say. it was weird; you never thought you'd end up like this. never.. imagined being happy with someone, especially someone as outgoing and brave as abby. you were complete opposites, you being more introverted and kept to yourself while abby was loud and proud. even the way she asked you out [buying you your favorite flowers, making you dinner, AND two cute little matching rings] was memorable and creative. you've always loved everything about her.

today, in present time, is your anniversary. every year, you attempt to top the last year. always remembering little details and bookmarking whatever she sent you just for this moment. abby's currently at her office job; "busiest day of the year, but i'll be back in time for dinner," she explained earlier that morning. "promise!" you take this as an opportunity to buy her gifts and plan out a romantic dinner for the night.

lately, she's been wanting these lego flower sets [specifically the orchid ones since they reminded her of you.. :,)], so you quickly bought one. that isn't enough, you think, so you also get custom lego keychains of both of you, making them both wear wedding dresses and smile as bright as the sun. while you're at it, you get her favorite cake, chocolate with strawberry sprinkles, and have "happy 3rd anniversary, my love" on the top. you smile as you reach your apartment, already visualizing her surprised face. i'll get her this year, you think as you step inside.

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱──────────

hours later, you hear a slight knock knock knock on the door. perfect timing, you think, quickly fixing your hair and looking over your outfit. you're wearing a black maxi dress, tight-fitting over your curves, but simple in style. it's kinda casual, but abby insisted on staying home. "it's for my surprise," she argued, a smirk forming on her face as she said it. she always had some quick trick up her sleeve, but you're even quicker.

well. most of the time.

you peek in the peephole, and there she is. she's wearing her glasses today [her bluelight ones you bought for her your last anniversary since she always complained about her headaches], dressed in all black and her hair flowing down her shoulders. her hands hold onto the handle of a medium sized, deep red giftbag. she probably feels your eyes on her, because flashes a pearly smile up to the small opening. no matter how much she smiles, you never get tired of it. you quickly unlock the door and open it widely.

her pale skin turns a slight dusty shade of pink as she looks you up in down, lovingly taking in your beauty. her mouth opens to say something, but all that comes out is a soft, "hi, baby," before she pulls you into a tight hug, exhaling as she wraps her toned arms around you. she feels like.. like something familiar, but nothing you've ever felt before. something comforting. like home.

she pulls back, placing her hands on either cheek. her eyes move back and forth from one eye to another, almost as if she's trying to read your mind, hear your thoughts. "missed you so much, bun." she leans in, giving you two small pecks on the lips before pulling you into one last hug.

"missed you more abs," you murmur, "more than you'd ever know."

she pulls back, smiling as you mirror her expression. after a couple of seconds, she finally looks around the apartment. "babe?" she questions, clearly in shock. there's big, red heart balloons and her favorite candles are lit all around. she's completely enveloped in the candlelit room, gasping when she looks down and sees rose petals scattered beautifully on the wooden floor. you see her eyes lock onto two red, nicely wrapped gifts on the coffee table. "oh. my god," she looks from the living room back to you, astonished. "no, you didn't."

"oh, yes i did," you giggle as you close and lock the front door. she walks carefully over the fresh rose petals into the living room. she sits on the couch, looking up at you with doe eyes. "babe, if this is what i think it is..." she pauses and exhales. all you can do is smile; your excitement cannot be contained. "open them up!" you cheer, sitting down in the armchair beside the sofa.

she picks up the smaller box, cautiously shaking it. she was always great at guessing your gifts. but this time, she furrows her brows in confusion. she shakes it once more, a little harder this time, deep thought written across her sharp face. the scrunch in her nose makes you laugh a bit. "is it.." she starts, but cuts herself off. "i don't know.. actually."

you shrug, "then open it, babe." she sighs before accepting defeat and opening the small package. as soon as she gets the paper off, she gasps and looks up at you. "oh my god!" she exclaims. "wait, are these-" she looks back at the package, back at you, and holds it up to your face. "oh my god! it's us!"

you smile and laugh while she gushes over the fact they look exactly like you two. "how did they get my hair perfect? and the little dresses! i mean, look at it, oh my god." she admires them silently for a few seconds before uttering, "this is gonna be us, bun. i promise."

the uncontrollable urge to smile takes over your face, making your cheeks hurt a bit. she's muttering a thousand "thank you"s before opening the next one; the one you're the most excited about. she's been talking about this since last year, but she never had the time to get it or start it, matter of fact.

she tears the paper once again, immediately stopping in her tracks. her eyes move up to you once again and her jaw goes slack. "oh my FUCKING god," she yells, ripping the rest of the paper off. it's almost like she's a child again; the way her face lights up makes your entire day worth while. she proceeds to nerd out over the set once again, "this is so... oh my goodness i can't even explain how excited i am. thank you so much babe... wow.. i got so lucky..."

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱──────────

you made her favorite dinner that night, having it freshly prepared for her and still warm on the stove. she just rambles about how she's the luckiest woman in the world to have a beautiful girlfriend and how much she loves you. she continues this throughout the entire meal, making sure she can treat you with the same treatment whenever she can; wiping your cheek when anything got on your face, getting you whatever you needed with no questions asked.. anything. basically, your everyday treatment with her.

after dinner, you both sit on the sofa, talking about your days. mid-conversation, abby randomly gasps.

"and then he was li- uhm... abby?"

"oh my god. i almost forgot!"

"what? what's the matter?"

"your gift!!"

she practically jumps out of her seat, striding over to the counter where she left the giftbag. "can't believe i forgot my gift for my special girl." she scoffs at herself and sits while handing you the bag. it's not heavy, but it's also not lightweight. you scan through your memories of things you've mentioned to her: cats, a wedding ring, books... but it didn't seem like any of that stuff was in here.

you give up, opening the top and looking inside. your jaw drops. you see a long, light pink box. there's fancy gold lettering across the front that you can't read. you take the box out, and unwrap the ribbon bow from around it. as you lift the top up, you see plush flowers and.. a small hello kitty stuffed animal in between the flowers. you squeal as you put the bag down and hug abby tightly, muttering thankyouthankyouthankyou!! all she does is smile and whisper "of course, princess." you think that's it before you realize there's a small pink card and a even smaller box inside the bag.

confused, you pick up the card and analyze the cover. it's a baby princess themed card; such an abby thing to do. you glance over at her to crack a smile, but you realize she has on that devilish smirk plastered across her face. uh oh, you think. "why're you smiling like that, babe?"

"like what?" her smirk grows wider.

that's even more 'abby' like than the card.

you roll your eyes jokingly before deciding to open the card up. inside, there's a paragraph written:

"dear y/n,

happy 3rd anniversary, my love! i'm so glad you're in my life, even after all this time. you'll always be special to me and i see that we will grow old together. i know you've been wanting that bouquet for a while, but i noticed you've been obsessed with something more.."

you glance up at abby once again. she's watching your reaction with that same smirk. what is she up to? you continue to read:

"i hope you noticed the cover of the card; of course, you're my princess, and you always will be. but i always see you looking at baby clothes when we're out, gushing over baby videos at home, etc etc. and even though we technically can't make one.. i can still give you the experience. ;) love your [nonofficial] wife, abby"

you feel your face heat up as you close the card. abby's large, warm hand suddenly starts stroking your leg through the dress, jolting you back to reality. she chuckles, whispering, "mm, you want that, right? you want me to knock you up?" she's getting closer, her hot breath hitting your neck, making you shudder. "want me to fill you to the brim, baby? hm?"

she's kissing your neck, small pecks turning into full-on hickeys. she loves the way you whimper and squirm, the way you turn your head to give her more access. "i'll take that as a yes," she breathes, a small laugh leaving her mouth. her hand travels from your leg, up to your neck and chin, making you turn and kiss her.

"so pretty like this," she coos in between kisses. she's lost in your big eyes, your noises; lost in you. she toys with the thin straps of your dress, subtly signaling to take it off. you, of course, rush to peel it off. after you do so, you're almost completely naked while she's completely clothed. the drastic difference makes you feel small under her predatory gaze. she taps her thigh twice and demands, "come here, princess."

you straddle her lap, your clothed cunt slightly gaining friction against her pants, making you whimper. "such pretty noises," she murmurs, mostly to herself. her hands rest nicely on your sides, right above your hips. "so, tell me," she starts. "how you wanna do this, mama?"

the new nickname makes you feel a slight heartbeat in between your legs. "oh, you liked that, huh?" she comments, smirking as she looks up at your pretty little face. "well, if you want me to take control, i'll do it. i'll do whatever you want, mama."

"use me," you blurt out, desperately needing her right at that moment. you move your hips back and forth, grinding against her crotch to relieve the ache in between your thighs. abby lets out a breathy laugh, "oh, you want it that bad? god, you're so cute."

before you can respond, she's wrapping her arm around your waist and standing up. you wrap your legs around her waist and your arms around her neck out of instinct. she's walking you to the bedroom, just like her little princess.

when she gets into the room, she lays you on your back, legs behind held back by her large hands pinning them under your armpits. your breath is shaky, heartbeat practically bulging out of your chest. she leaves a trail of sloppy, wet kisses from your neck alllll the way down to your bellybutton. "f-fuck, abby," you shudder, her face getting closer and closer to your heat. "what's wrong?" she asks, "what you need, baby?"

"need you inside," you beg, not caring how pathetic you sound now. "oh, i know, baby," she coos, "but i wanna make this special for you, okay? no rushing. just us."

you appreciate her genuine care with your intimate experiences with her, but at this point, the ache was growing more and more painful as time went on. you whine, moving one of the hands pinning your leg to your cunt. "please, abs. need it."

"fuck, babe," her voice is low and husky, almost a growl. "okay, okay, i got you, mkay? i'll treat you right, promise."

her pointer finger ghosts over your swollen clit, forcing a small moan out. small little circles stimulate your bud, drenching your already soaked panties. she groans, "always so wet f'me, my god." as if she can't take it anymore, she practically rips off the small cloth off your aching pussy. the cold air meeting the warmth of your core makes you gasp, squeezing your thighs together in response.

abby's warmth comes back and divorces your legs apart, pinning them back to where they were originally. "gonna take such good care of you, mama," she mutters, kissing your inner thighs. after what feels like an eternity of teasing, she finally lays small, short kitten licks on your cunt. the small feeling of her warm muscle against your clit relieves the burning ache in your core, but only for a second. she lays a flat tongue, collecting your slick as she moves up. your small "oh"s egg her on, fueling her ego as she spreads your lips apart and latches onto your bud. your moans grow louder and louder, legs slightly trembling from how good it felt. little did you know, she's getting off on your pretty little reactions; she's moaning against your bud, vibrations making your legs shake even more.

"ffffuck-," you cry out, gripping the sheets from pleasure. the vibrations send you over the edge, the familiar tingly feeling in your abdomen unraveling. "m'cumming- oh my god," you wail, attempting to close your legs to get away from abby's tongue. her hands grip your thighs, forcing them apart once again. she continues to suck on your clit, overstimulating you. "t-too much - fuck!"

your juices and her saliva mix, coating the bottom of her chin. she finally unlatches from your sensitive, swollen bud and wipes her chin. "sorry, bun," she says, heavily breathing, "you just taste so goddamn sweet, i had to!"

as abby starts to walk away [you assume it's to help you clean up so you guys can sleep], you slowly drift away into a deep sleep..

"nuh uh, 'm not done with you, mama."

your eyes force open, eyes immediately landing on abby's bare chest. she was almost never topless around you - except when you two showered together - but it wasn't a norm in the house. you unintentionally whisper, "you're so beautiful," causing a wide smile to go across abby's kind face. "thank you, baby," she replied, "c'mere." she patted the edge of the bed. her usual black strap was buckled on, intimidating you from the end of the bed.

you crawl to the edge, sitting on your feet when you reach abby. she giggles, "get on your back, babe. you know the drill." you follow her orders, slightly chuckling at your mistake. as she lines herself up with your slit, she caresses your face, just telling you how much she loves you; "love you so much, bun. i'm so lucky to have you, y'know that, right?" she peppers small pecks along your face in between, smiling at your perfect face.

"'m gonna go all in, okay? jus' let me know when i can move," she warns. you nod, slightly nervous. the strap seemed bigger than usual; a bit wider too. it made you think she'd rip you apart with this thing! but as she bottomed out, the sharp painful sensation was short lived and replaced with a more pleasant sensation, the feeling of being full. and not just full, but full of her.

you start to slightly grind on her cock, trying to get any pleasure. the desperate motion making abby smirk and slam into you again, this time earning a loud, pathetic yelp from you. she continues to slam into you, holding your hips for leverage. "yea, keep makin' those pretty sounds for me," she groans, almost in an animalistic way. all you can do is tell her how good you feel, hands gripping onto her toned biceps.

she brings a hand down, right over your abdomen, pressing slightly. "you feel me right there, yea?" there's a slight bulge where her strap is; the sight makes you drool slightly. you nod feverishly, focusing on her voice and her dick pounding into you. her hips snap back and forth, squishing sounds filling the dimly lit room.

she, on the other hand, is hyper-focused on watching the black silicone disappear inside your gushing cunt, a vague white ring forming around the base of her cock. the sight alone has her pussydrunk and practically forming a pool in between her thighs. "such a messy fucking cunt," she murmurs. "wish i could fucking - shit - fill that little pussy up."

your moans become louder, your grip tightening on the meat of her muscles. your head goes back, putting the hickeys she gave you on full display. "oh, you fucking like that, huh?" she places both hands on either side of your head, still fucking you at a relentless pace. every thrust she does, her tits bounce slightly in front of you. her hair frames her face perfectly, the sweat beads racing down her skin as she pounds into you.

"holy fuck," you whimper. her cock, buried deep inside your greedy little cunt, hits that spongy spot inside of you, making you go insane. she smirks, she knows what she's doing. "what? speak up, princess," she speaks, a mocking tone laced in her words.

"s-so good," a choked moan cuts you short.

"you like the way 'm fucking you? like the way that dick got you going crazy, huh?"

a string of yesyesyes's is all you can get out, too lost in your own pleasure.

"wan' me to fuck my baby into you?" she's out of breath, start to whimper, but she doesn't slow down or stop. she just keeps. on. pounding. she's chasing her orgasm, clit bumping against the base of the strap. you're just a wailing, helpless mess under her, begging for her to cum into you. "i need it, p-please, abs!"

she moans loudly as her thrusts get sloppier, slowing down slightly. you feel a thick liquid unleash into your hole, filling you up. the new feeling causing you to gasp, looking down at where you two met. abby fully pulls out after a few seconds, when a gush of white liquid slowly drips out of your stuffed cunt. she whispers, "fuck, that's a pretty sight to see." using one hand, she spreads you open, your fucked-out hole on display, just for her.

you're still trying to steady your breathing, getting more tired by the second. abby sits on the bed next to you, pulling you into her lap. she caresses your face once again, "did so good f'me, baby. happy anniversary." she kisses your forehead, cuddling you close to her body. before you fully fall asleep, she picks you up, bridal style.

"wh- what are you doing?" you question, half asleep.

"gotta clean you up, babe." she giggles at your sleepy voice.

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱──────────

after a long, warm bubble bath together and a small cleaning session, you and abby finally lay back on the couch to watch a movie and cuddle.

"y'know what, babe?" she asks, shoveling chocolate cake into her mouth.

"what?"

"i wish i could actually get you pregnant."

you slightly giggle at that, "me too."

"i also want to marry you. really badly." she's looking at your face now, reading into your soul.

"we should get married," you speak, thoughtfully. what's the point of her bringing this u-

she gets up unexpectedly, walking over to your giftbag. confused, you ask, "what's up?" she pulls out that small box you saw earlier. "oh, nothing.." she walks in front of you, then dips down onto one knee.

you gasp. is this really happening? right here right now?? someone pinch me.

"y/n, you've made me the happiest woman on earth for the past 3 years we've been together. not to mention the first 4 of us being friends. now, i'm not gonna give a long, sappy speech during this amazing moment," she slightly chuckles, "but i want to ask you.. will you be my wife?" she opens the box, a shiny ring glistening in the light.

you can't see it that well since tears well up in your eyes. you could've never asked for anyone better than abby. she's made you a better person overall. she's been there for you, even in your darkest times. you nod, wiping your tears.

she's slightly chuckling, which you don't realize until your eyes clear. it's.. a minecraft ring. specifically a minecraft rose on a thick band of gold. you laugh and let her slide it on your ring finger.

"i'm sorry," she's still giggling as she gets up from the floor, "i saw this while i was out and i was like 'this is perfect.'" you're also giggling, "it is perfect. thank you, baby."

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱──────────

a/n: abby's such a jokester! anyway hope u guys enjoyed this took forever!

taglist: @unicycl @xnoviee @aouiaa @akenosimp167 @njplatesruler [if you're striked out, i can't tag u!! :(]

John just had to get a taste of his dessert (≧◡≦) 

18+ minors do not interact!

so you know that stupid tradition of the groom sticking his head under the bride's dress at the reception to pull the garter off? yeah that but every single one of the 141 would kiss your pussy while doing it.

johnny's full on making out with it over your underwear, leaving it sticking to you from a mixture of his spit and your arousal.

simon's got it pulled to the side so he can plant one directly on it and you can hear the deep rumble in his chest when you gasp in surprise.

kyle would place a kiss right over where your clit is under your underwear before running his tongue up the length of it.

and john would stuff his fingers in you while he gives your clit a harsh suck before letting go with an audible pop, comes out from under there with the garter in his teeth and licking his fingers.

This right here ✨DELICIOUS✨ I need more

MESSAGE DELIVERED ☆ ! | 18+

H.SHINSO | K.DENKI | F! READER

WARNINGS☆ | f! reader, trans ftm kami, sadist! shinso, pet play, oral (f! and m! receiving) collaring, leashing, humiliation, taking photos during sex, names called: mutt, puppy, brat, dog | muzzle (hitoshi’s mask to be exact) used on reader, dog commands given, cum swapping, barking…?

word count : 2.7 k

leaving you with kaminari was like begging for trouble and the blonde was determined to break your good girl streak with shinso. nothing a few pictures wouldn’t help.

☆

your back arched off of the bed in another agonizing orgasm, vibrating through your body unmercifully as kaminari’s slender fingers pistoned in and out of your sopping cunt. his mouth was latched onto one of your breasts, tongue lavishing at the hardened nipple with a wanton hunger that never seemed satiated. with his body slotted between your legs, lewd songs of him suctioned to your chest, there was no hope in clamping your trembling legs closed, no clear out to avoid the onslaught of torture on your already pulsing pussy. how many times had you cum already, you weren’t sure, but the two curling fingers within you were creating a shameful squelching, your juices flooding between the crack of your ass and saturating the sheets below the two of you.

“kami, just- i just need a moment.” you gripe, slamming your palms down on his shoulders for some kind of reprieve, a request that went unminded.

it wasn’t until you laced your fingers through his honey gold locks, tearing his head away from your tit that he came up for air, sucking it into his lungs as if he had forgotten breathing was a necessity. your eyes fluttered, breath hitching at the sight of his debauched face slathered in his own drool, glimmering over his intricate lightning scars that seemed to appear and disappear in different places on his skin. besides his beauty, the pathetic whine that ripped from his throat was enough to make your stomach tighten in threat of another climax, your hole clenching around the man’s fingers. a sick grin split his face, all teeth and mischief, filthy in all aspects of the word.

“you like this, dont’cha cutie? the thought of getting caught?” he purred, sliding his fingers from you and licking them clean with a skilled tongue.

he was referring to shinso, who luckily, was still on his daytime patrol. he didn’t approve of his /pets/ playing without his knowledge, especially not anything that ended in cumming without permission. and again, how many times had you cum? enough to be guilty, and boy were you drowning in guilt. you didn’t do this, push his buttons. you liked being his good girl, his angel, the receiver of all his sweet words and soft touches. but you longed to get the treatment kaminari got most times, redirection, punishment. kami seemed to thrive off of it, search for it, poke every nerve until hitoshi bent him over any nearby surface to remind him of his place. his punishments could be downright cruel, sometimes to the point he asked you if you wanted to sit the scene out, because you weren’t like kami, not completely. the blonde liked pain, he liked to be slapped around from time to time. a lot of the time. but when you did sit those scenes out, you still got included in the sugary sweet aftercare.

the soft kisses, the gentle bathing, the cuddle pile snuggles that felt like home. you wanted to experience that intense headspace at least once, even more to feel the come down in shinso’s arms with that silky voice of his washing every worry away. your thoughts were interrupted by kaminari pulling his phone from one of the pockets of his shorts..

“what are you-“

“sending the big guy some pictures, i’m sure he’d wanna see how pretty you look right now.”

“kami, please!” you go to reach for the phone, frantic to snatch it out of his hands but he was too quick with moving away from you. “don’t show him!”

he giggled, holding it out of your reach, “don’t tell me you’re scared? it’s fun when he’s all riled up…you know he hasn’t had the best day today and god i love when he’s mad.”

the blonde had the nerve to wink at you, going to open the camera app to your dismay. a pout formed on your lips, knowing this was probably denki’s idea this whole entire time. the pretty boy sunk back down between your legs, re-spreading them, pressing kisses to your sweat-damp skin. your clit pulsed out of sensitivity, darting your gaze away from him when he went to close his hot mouth around the bud. your head tossed back, cursing at the feeling of his pillowy lips coating themselves in your wetness, tongue rolling out to slide between the puffy lips of your pussy, humming at the tang, nipping at the skin when he pulled back to smile.

“god- fuck- kami s’too much.”

he didn’t listen to your pleas, his own cunt hot and sticky between his legs as he started to devour you like a man starved. only when you were panting, squirming, begging him to ease up, did he take a few selfies from his spot between your legs. your thighs adorned his ears like muffs, your fingers were damn near ripping out his hair, and when you finally came another time you hadn’t even realized the bratty blonde had taken a pretty little clip of you coming undone. the writing was on the wall, you knew you were fucked when the sounds of the messages sending were ringing through the room. even worse, the thoughts of how the violet haired hero would respond made you ache.

yes, you were fucked.

☆

“havin’ fun over there goody two shoes?.” kami spared you a sideways glance as he was kicked back on the sofa, his ankles crossed over one another on top of the coffee table as he clicked through the different channels on the tv.

a deep exhale rushed from you through your nose, your eyes trained to the floor on the small space between your knees where you knelt directly in front of the front door. you were chewing the inside of your cheek, clenching your fists on top of your cramping thighs as you waited for him, hitoshi, to come home. the guilt had been eating at you since denki pressed send, fluttering your stomach with nerves. you couldn’t wrap your head around how he could be so calm when shinso hadn’t even responded, only read the messages. that was hours ago, and kaminari was completely unphased, which was hard to grasp when he was usually the one who got the brute end of their owner’s frustrations. despite this fact, he was all smiles, excited even, for their impending doom.

“don’t call me that, i just enjoy following his rules- unlike some people.” you muttered the second half under your breath but he heard you all the same, even smirked when you sent him a glare before facing the floor again.

“well you broke several rules, hun. one of them you broke over and over and ov-”

“kami, just fucking shut up.”

“all i’m saying is, the deed is already done, no use sitting there in one of those silly positions when he hasn’t even come home yet-”

the rest of the blonde’s sentence trailed at the sound of keys, then the unlocking of the front door. you swallowed, keeping your eyes low as the man of the hour entered the house, still in complete uniform. you could tell by the dirty boots he was wearing. even after being outside most of the day, the man brought in a waft of cologne with him, a scent that drooped your shoulders immediately with the sense of comfort it provided. you waited patiently for his usual acknowledgment, a pat on the head or the usual praise of how pretty you looked waiting for him. but that never came. he only crouched to rid his feet of his boots, walking around you as if you were an obstacle in the way. he hadn’t even looked at you. suddenly there was a sinking feeling in your gut.

“blondie, where do dogs belong?” shinso sighed, tugging his voice modifier from his face and setting it on the arm of the couch.

“not on the couch, sir.” denki bit back a grin, slipping to the floor with ease and pressing his face onto the man’s knee. you turned your head slightly to watch the scene, your bottom lip wobbling as shinso started to scratch the man’s scalp in greeting.

you wanted to protest that you hadn’t been on the couch, but decided not to. you just had to be patient, this was clearly a test, and you were pretty good at passing his tests.

“where’s your collar, kaminari?”

“i didn’t wear it today, sir.” the blonde said simply, setting his chin on the taller man’s knee, smiling up at him with the dopiest grin.

you rocked impatiently on your knees, wanting to mention how you had worn yours. it sat around your neck perfectly, tag with the initials ‘HS’ resting on your sternum. there was a loud whistle directed at you, one that made you snap your head up hopefully. your eyes landed on his face, his features unreadable and stern.

“right here, mutt.” he jabbed a finger downward, right in front of his other knee.

mutt? that wasn’t what he normally referred to you as, it was puppy or doll. you swallowed the lump in your throat, crawling towards him on your hands and knees, sitting where he requested. you went to put your face against his knee, like denki had done, craving any type of affection from him, but he immediately nudged you away.

“i need denki’s collar, and the two-sided leash. go on, fetch.” he waved you off, didn’t even look at you when he asked, he was too busy tugging off the other man’s shirt.

“but- sir-“ you started to say…well now you weren’t sure with the way his eyebrows started to raise.

“if i have to repeat myself, you’ll regret it.”

that was all it took for you to scramble to your feet, a pep in your step as you went to go find denki’s thin black collar. it took you longer than you would have liked to find the leash he asked for, but when you did you brought both items back to the man, reclaiming your spot. you expected praise, or at least a damn smile, but again…nothing. he was focused on tightening denki’s collar and then he clipped his leash to yours, connecting you to the blonde. that was the most attention you had received since he got home.

“there you go, such a pretty boy aren’t you. so perfect.” shinso pressed a kiss to denki’s lips, the blonde tilting his head in confusion but parting his lips for the tongue that was slipped into his mouth.

“sir…” you tried again, to gain his attention, “may i have a kiss too?”

he let out a deep, annoyed sigh, pulling away from kami to glare at you. it was so intense you wanted to back away.

“you sure are talkative today.”

“you usually give me a kiss when you get home, or a head pat or-“

“and you usually behave.”

you felt yourself deflate, your eyes darting to look at denki then back at shinso, before opening your mouth once more. you wanted to plead your case, point out that it wasn’t your idea. you shouldn't be punished alone, not when kaminari had broken way more rules than you. shinso only raised a hand, silencing you before you even could string your words together.

“no. enough.” shinso picked up his voice modifier, fastening it to your face.

this was new, it almost felt like he was muzzling you, it was humiliating.

“you will not speak until i tell you. got it.”

you nodded, reaching up to touch the mask, confused but enjoying how much it smelled like him.

“let’s see if you actually understand, hm.” he reached forward and fiddled with something on the side of the mask.

“speak, mutt.”

given the greenlight, you went to voice something, an apology maybe, but all that came out was a very distinct barking sound instead. it scared you so bad you jumped, looking up at shinso with wide eyes.

“that’s better, yeah? now you can hear how much of an annoying dog you are.” he leaned forward, slipping his finger into the loop on your collar, yanking you forward, “now sit here, and shut up.”

your eyes started to water, well up with hot tears as shinso once again, went to focus on kaminari. but the blonde was no longer smiling, guilt was showing on his face. he felt bad, for once, for trying to get you in trouble. even more so, denki wasn’t getting what he thought he would. he had expected a punishment, but all he was being given was praise and affection.

“hitoshi, it wasn’t her fault. i was trying to get her in trouble-“

“that’s okay, angel. we both know you are a dumb little puppy who can only think with his cunt. she knows what’s expected of her.”

☆

you watched intently as shinso threw his head back with a deep groan, pushing denki’s mouth further down on his cock. they had been going on like this for over an hour, hitoshi taking his time to thoroughly fuck the blonde’s mouth. every time he was pulled forward, you unfortunately had to go with him since you were chained to him. you wanted to taste too, at least lick at his heavy balls that were right in front of you. he spared you a glance, slowing down denki’s pace, drool dripping down his shaft.

“does the mutt want my cock in her mouth too? want me to fuck that little throat of yours?”

you nodded, trying to ignore the throbbing of your pussy.

“i can’t hear you.”

your hands balled into fists, pushing down the embarrassment to beg. but you couldn’t, the room just filled with those pathetic barking noises, whines too. shinso’s face went smug, the first time he seemed amused this whole time.

“louder. i know you can beg better than that.”

your ears burned as you continued to bark, tears staining your cheeks and wetting his mask.

“should have thought about that before you disobeyed me.” he went back to thrusting his hips, gagging denki with his size. he growled at the feeling, dragging himself back and forth over the man’s tongue.

“just like that blondie, gonna- christ- gonna cum in this pretty mouth of yours.”

and he did, held the blonde by his hair and shot his load onto his tongue. you watched in awe as his cock twitched and throbbed inside of kami’s mouth, making him whine at the taste. he slipped his dick free, tugging on the bright hair, “don’t swallow yet…be good and hold it okay?”

god, his voice was so gentle with him, how it usually is with you, and you hated the amount of jealousy that was coursing through you. shinso reached over to pull the mask from your face, thumbing your tears away. you melted into his touch, hiccuping and two seconds away from climbing into his lap.

“kam’ , share with her. i think she deserves a treat.”

you didn’t even have time to process what he said before kaminari was pulling you in for a deep kiss, swapping his spit and shinso’s warm cum with you. you moaned softly as he pulled you in, tongue exploring your mouth wildly, almost too much teeth, but that’s how it felt to make out with denki. he was always so worked up when it came to kissing. you swallowed your share of cum, breaking the kiss to catch your breath.

“th-thank you, thank you sir.” you looked over to shinso who started to unclip the two of you.

he helped you climb into his lap, letting you nuzzle into his arms. he pressed a kiss to your forehead, chuckling softly, something deep that rumbled straight through you.

“that was mean, huh? but you did so good for me, baby.”

you felt like you could cry again, but he tilted your head up to kiss your lips and you almost purred at this.

“took your punishment so well. the best girl a guy could ask for.” he dipped to your neck, nipping at the skin there, making you flinch in surprise, a shudder rippling your spine.

“please, ‘toshi.”

“don’t worry, i’m gonna take good care of that little pussy of yours.” he whispered this in your ear, his other hand patting the couch so denki could join in on the cuddles.

“i need to see you cry for a different reason now...”

fruit bats: @neon-gothicc @bakubunny @bookcluberror @kunigamisgirl @dizazter-dragoon @jazzafayesworld @cherriluvs35 @dreamcastgirl99 @pastelbakugou @ladybirdk @i-literally-cant-with-this @sluttyshigaraki @darkstarlight82

im not arguing with a man with big hands, whatever u say daddy

\(^ヮ^)/\(^ヮ^)/\(^ヮ^)/ So good!!!

𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔!

a dragon-king! bakugou who finally meets someone who can take him— and maybe this marriage isnt such a bad thing. p in v, virgin! katsuki, (he gets a little bit excited) established relationship, breeding kink/ pregnancy mention.

katsuki hated the fact he was the new heir to the throne, his father passing away and that was truly a part of his sanity. mitsuki was the one who pushed marriage, he had to have a wife and sooner or later, children.

‘in what fucking planet do we live in to where we have to get married, hag?’ he remembers being a teenager and asking that question over and over and over again. just to be hit with a ‘our numbers are depleting, katsuki. we have to do these things in order to survive.’

he still rolls his eyes to the thought, but not now— since his old hag of a fucking mother is actually serious. she actually seeded out women who always wanted to be a woman on the throne, a woman who has seen the dragon queens’ son and wanted to risk it all for him. he despises it, women who throw themselves to a man.

“which one do you like the most, son?” she asks, smile lines on her aged face pulled by her fanged smile. “and hurry, we dont have all day.”

“none of them.” he deadpanned.

“boy— pick one or ill have your head!”

“and everyone wonders how dad died—“ he says, before receiving a smack to the back of his blonde head. “ow!”

“pick one, now.” she repeats, fixing herself and smiling to the line of girls presented to them. “alot of them are just lively.”

he sighs, crimson eyes wandering and his eyes match onto you, seeming like you truthfully didnt want to be here. “you,” he barks, a finger pointed at you and he nods up. “do you not want to be here or something?”

“to be picked by a dragon king who doesnt have anything better to do? absolutely not.” you snort, his eyebrow twitching and mistuki chuckles.

“perfect! we’ll set both of you up on a evening together.” she announces, a good bit of the women groaning and both of you lock eyes. didnt she just hear you werent here on your own will? katsuki scoffs, storming off and a hand dragging down his face.

“please excuse him, he’s not used to these things and doesnt know his duty as the new king.” she phrases, hands on your shoulders and a beaming smile. “youre going to love my son, im sure of it.”

“uh.. okay.” you say, at a lost for words.

you would love her son, huh? yeah, guess you could say that. his temper tantrums died down over the months— yet, one thing was weirder than anything,

that hes never once initiated sex. was he nervous? no, he’s never nervous to sit you on his lap when barking orders to servants or to behead a woman for questioning your intelligence and beauty, so it couldnt be he was nervous.

“bakugou, i have a—“

“woman, ive told you to call me katsuki.” he interrupted, a hand on a hip of yours and a deep grumble in his chest. the tribal jewelry jingled against his skin, a huff from him.

“katsuki, i need to ask you something.” you correct yourself, not daring to look to him— and yet he was staring deep into you. “why dont you ever.. why dont you ever try and touch me?”

he pauses himself at the question, a tight squeeze and then he looks away. “because you ain’ ready yet.” he solemnly says, a hand patting your hip. “ill let you know when.”

“you say that every time, though.” you reply, trying to press the matter further. “whats the real reason?”

he pinches the bridge of his nose, defensively irritated. “because you arent ready, woman.” he growls, agitation reaching his veins. “im not going to sit here and repeat my damn self.”

you get off of his lap, hearing a ‘sit back down’ from his lips and storm off. you werent hurt from his words, but you were questioning them. what in gods hell did he mean ‘you werent ready?’ youre a full fledged adult, not some child who couldnt understand why she couldnt go near the ocean.

maybe a few hours later, your king stumbling in and you both lock eyes. he opens his lips, eyes burning into yours. “im not here to fight with ya,” he says, a hand reaching onto your thigh and he huffs. “i just dont think youre physically prepared, nor mentally.”

“you arent my keeper, katsuki,” you remind, looking over to him and folding your arms in a groan. it was too late for this, especially after doing daily tasks as his wife. “you dont make that decision for me.”

“technically, i do. i dont have to fuck a woman.” he reminds as well.

“and what, do you not want pups?” you ask, his eyes flickering to you and his bouncing knee stops. “or is it im just not doing something for you?”

“not once have i ever said i didnt want children with you, y/n.” he growled, his gripping on your thigh tight. “i just said that you weren’t ready for that kind of thing, what apart of that dont you understand?”

“and how do you know what i am and am not ready for? is it because you havent slept with anyone before?”

he looks at you, straight faced.. you feel a chill go through your body, and you feel as if you had entirely fucked up— forgotten that this was a dragon king that you were married to..

and that you were dealing with.

“the last woman i tried to marry with could barely take anything that i gave her, you want to be next?” he warns, a small ounce of venom tracing his lips and he raised an eyebrow. “watch how you address me.”

“you know damn well thats not what i meant—“

“so what did you mean?”

“i meant if this is your first marriage, your first woman you slept with, ever.” you admit, scrambling for words to better help your case.

“yes and no.” he replies, patting your thigh. “the many women i tried to mate with could barely handle the tip.”

“okay.. so she left you because youre big down there, boo hoo—“

“no, you’re not understanding what i’m saying.” he stops you, grabbing your hands. “im your first dragon man, so..”

“us dragon men, we are bigger than the average human being. thats why we are better suited for dragon women, because their bodies can handle it.” he explained, still staring into you. “you arent ready for that kind of thing yet—“

“yeah, if you dont even attempt with me.”

he runs his hand through his hair, a nervous scoff. “the last woman who said that, her cervix was bruised and she cant have pups now, do you want that for yourself or do you not care about us?”

“katsuki, you dont have to be scared to do this with me.” you say, not even taking into account that he was a competitor, saying such words strikes a chord within him. and his chest swells with pride, him crawling onto you.

“no one is scared, woman.”

dragon men were definitely alot bigger than the average human man, you could feel it against you through the clothes that he wore, and his hands being big enough to wrap around your entire thigh.

his lips leave your neck, a whine coming from your throat and a deep grumble comes from his. he ran hot, his palms heated and sweaty from the passion and him grinding himself into your stomach.

he was needy, he hadnt been this needy in years.

“katsuki..” you mumble, hands along his sides and he kisses your lips, shutting you up.

“you think yer’ ready, little one?” he asks, his eyes blown out and dilated. he had been waiting for this, you can tell. you nod, teeth pulling at the small of your lip corner and he nods with you. his pants fall… and he wasnt lying, being nine inches long and twenty two centimeters wide. you swallow thick, looking down to the second beast he was swinging around. “you like to listen now, dont you?”

you nod, spreading your legs and he licks his lips. you watch his crawl ontop of you, kissing your collarbone and pressing his tip against your folds.

“kat—“ you say, him grunting and looking to you. “dont be nervous, okay?”

he softens a little, immediately forgetting that and hardening again. “let me know when to stop, ‘kay?” he says, pressing his tip and pushing it in.

his eyes widen, hearing you groan from the sudden stretch and he feels heat swell in his stomach. he cant fucking believe it, watching his cock slip deeper into your walls and he starts to pant. his eyes turn to slits, his canines growing sharper and wider— he was losing himself, realizing he’d finally met a woman who can take more than just the tip of his dragon cock.

“katsukiiiii..” you whine, a hand on his pelvis and he growls. “see..? im okay.”

he licks his lips, saliva pooling at the corner and then dribbling down the side of his mouth. “no fuckin way..” he growls, gripping your hips and jerking his hips. “fucking half way.. half way.” he repeats to himself, bottoming out and he claws at the sheets.

the dragon king holds your hips, raising them a little and then pulling you up, slowly pulling you back down and letting you adjust to his size. “give it to me..” he growls out, it being a echo.

“give you what..?” you ask, chest heaving and nipple hardened.

“your grace, give me the go ahead to take you.” he repeats, seeing you nod and pressing your legs to his chest. he licks at your calves, seeing the fire inside of his eyes while his cock drives into your cervix. “fuck! take all of it— take it all!” he growls, folding you up and slamming his body weight against your thighs.

slapping of wet skin, slick and creamy folds echo throughout the dragon kings bedroom—the dragon king becoming animalistic and he grabs your breasts in each hand. “katsukikatsukikatsuki!” you chant his name, eyes rolling and you cant remember how many orgasms youve been through from the dragon king.

“fuck— fucking have them, have my fucking pups!” he rumbles, nails digging into you as crescent moons into your skin and he presses his forehead to yours. “carry my kids, fucking take them— getting fucked fat with my kids— fuckk!”

he groans, pulling you down onto his cock as he stills. his cock gets pushed out, the dragon kings’ semen being in so much amounts it forces it out. he pants, ragged breaths and he falls against you, his body returning to his original state and his eyes return normal.

“katsuki?”

“mm.” he grunts, looking up to you and his face gets covered by your plush breasts.

“i dont want to say i told you so…

but i told you so.”

“do you remember when you thought i would die from having sex with you?” you say, sitting in the bathtub and bubbles cover your wet skin. “you were so nervous.” you chuckled, putting your hands on your round belly.

“yeah.. was kind of a punk for that.” he chuckles, smile lines, but yet— frown lines pulled from his chuckle. “you look gorgeous, beautiful.” he praises, kissing your cheek and putting a hand on your belly. “water too hot?”

“im carrying dragons, katsuki.” you remind, raising your hand to his cheek and caressing it. you feel his smile, and his lips press to yours. “the midwife should be here, soon.”

she was already there, both of you being enamored with each other to miss the part that was most important.

“what do you mean she’s having triplets?!”

( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

What if dilf orc has a young child, the bearer of his child unfortunately passed away. Then he sees you. A plump soft human, a bit softer than the usual orc parent, but in his eyes your tenderness would be perfect for his youngling.

He begins to court you immediately. Always brushing past you to subtly scent you, bringing his sweet baby with him to try and sway your choices. Of course the little orc toddler immediately makes your heart melt, the way they waddle over to you curiously, the orc child despite being extremely young was already up to your waist.

If you give into his courting? Be prepared for princess treatment. Being carried everywhere by him as the new parent of his child. Of course you’d naturally gain a lot of muscle from being with him, due to an orcs typical rugged lifestyle and the fact that your new adopted orc toddler likes to be carried and coddled! How could you say no to such a chubby cute face? You’ll be carrying them a lot, and orc babies are HEAVY so yeah, prepare to get swoll.

But to compensate I can definitely see your orc dilf spouse making sure you get more than enough food, after all you’re burning way too many calories carrying his youngling around, and plus he needs to keep you squishy for optimal cuddles.

DILF orc always brings you home gifts from fights or battles, mainly skulls of his enemies (how charming 🥰) or maybe a whole deer, already cut up and prepared for you to cook, he’s very doting.