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eupheme · 29 days

Text

— on the fence [into the fire, part ii]

part i | masterlist

cooper howard / the ghoul x f!reader

rated e - 3.8k

tags: dubcon, power dynamics, vault dweller!reader, bounty hunting, pwp, restraints, sex for favors, oral (m), exhibitionism, spanking, biting, hair pulling, light choking, sub/dom elements, PiV, irradiated creampie

a/n: hi! I had a couple ideas I wanted to explore, which turned into a mini-series. I have them all mapped out & I hope to have them up for you soon! 💖

“Why don’t you show me again,” He husks, “What you’re so good at.”

Your breath catches - eyes flicking warily towards the door, but he’s quick to call you back.

“Hey, now. Eyes over here.” The Ghoul snaps, “You need to worry ‘bout me more than anyone out there.”

(Or - the Ghoul gets you out of your Vault Suit.)

You’re not sure you like the look of this town.

It sprawls wide and low across the desert, the inhabitants gathering in the shadows to escape glare of the sun. A low buzzing murmur that carries with you through the streets.

It feels suffocating, after the open miles before.

Following the dark figure of Ghoul, as you wind through the streets. Partly because you have to - that leash still pulled tight, wrapped around a fist.

Partly because you want to stick close, always.

“-don’t need you slowing me down.” The Ghoul gives the rope a yank, and you scowl, “You get hurt doing some stupid shit, and I’m leavin’ you behind.”

Your frown softens. His words still just as harsh, snarled out. But they’re a far cry from before.

Before, when you were certain he was going to hand you right back over to your Vault, in spite of how far you’ve come. Something significant passing in the journey through the desert, as he had taken what you wanted.

The taste of him has since faded, but he still lingers.

“Gotta earn your keep, too.” His head turns, eyeing you from beneath the brim of hat, “You good at anythin’?”

Unable to help it, you smirk - a brow raising. He scoffs in response, eyes narrowing.

“Anyone can be good at suckin’ cock, sweetheart.” He drawls, unimpressed, “’m not so bad at it, myself.”

Your lips part in surprise and he’s the one that grins, now.

The Ghoul picks up another bounty here. A shady, alley-way deal - keeping you close to his heels as he snatches the faded paper contact off a tattered board.

Running into another pair looking for jobs - a fresh scar splitting across the nose of a man who tries to start a conversation, before quickly retreating.

“Fuckin’ amateurs” muttered in reply to your heavy, silent judgement.

The client is tracked down for more information, after. Wasn’t hard to find the man with cage over the lower half of his face. Spikes that scream Raider with the way they jut through his clothes.

Fifty caps for the “goddamn no-good thief” that wiped out his stall in the night, taking every last bullet and can of cram. Last seen about two days ago, heading north.

Dead or alive, the client doesn’t care.

“Did you see ‘em?” The Ghoul frowns, “What they look like? Give me somethin’ to go off of.”

“Course I did,” The man huffs, “Looks just like me, don’t he? He’s my own damn brother.”

You can’t contain your own sideways look in disbelief, only to see The Ghoul returning it.

He bargains for a hundred, and gets it.

It’s hard not to wonder if he had taken your bounty this way. If your face had been scrawled across a piece of paper. Exchanged in a no-nonsense, disconnected way.

How much had your life been worth?

You never asked him. It’s something you’re not sure you even want to know.

The rest of the afternoon is spent stocking up. Caps exchanged for some more ammo. A couple bottles of watery chems, shoved deep in his bag to join the others.

A way the ease the cough that rattles him every few days. The smallest bottle kept out, wrenched open with a tight fist.

It snags at you - the way he swallows it like ambrosia the second he steps away. Gasping and groaning as if it’s air he needs to breathe.

“I’m good at medicine,” You tell his back - following again. Memories of the Vault pushing their way to the surface, “Could make that for you, if we find the stuff. Wouldn’t have to dilute it.” You almost run into him, with the way he’s gone still. The tilt of his head, a single sharp eye piercing through you under the brim of a hat.

Shifting over your shoulder. Narrowing.

His hand fists in the collar of your jumpsuit instead, hauling you down the nearest alley and into the shadows.

“Hey!” You protest, your back knocked against the wall. He cages you in, knuckles pressing into your jaw with his tight grip.

The vial is pinched between his fingers, dangled in front of your face.

“You can make this?” He confirms.

You’re able to confirm it now, never quite getting a good look before. RadAway. It would be simple, compared to some of the stuff you’d had to cook up.

“Get me to a lab, some supplies,” You nod, “And I will.”

“Huh.” He’s close - you can’t help squirming in his grip, as he considers you, “Ain’t that something.”

A second, before his grip eases - but he doesn’t let go. Your bound fists rest against his chest, but there’s no force behind them to drive him off.

“Could’ve just asked.” You huff, “You don’t have to man-handle me.”

He almost smiles - his voice coming low, with a tilt of his head.

“Don’t I?”

It flusters you, how his body presses against yours. Your heartbeat kicking up a notch, your chest brushing his with each short breath.

His thumb sweeps, ghosting against your skin. Those sunken eyes dropping to your collar, with a frown.

Another glance down the aisle, before they’re dragging over you - voice lowering.

“Need to get you out of this suit.”

His words make stiffen in his arms, a sharp inhale of anticipation.

“Not so smart, are you?” He husks, his gaze dragging from your parted lips, up to your eyes, “Runnin’ around like this. Downright advertising you’re a Vaultie, when someone’s lookin’ for you.”

He’s not wrong. He tracked you down easily enough. You nod is small, a pang of regret as his fingers drop - as he steps away.

“Come on, then. I know a place.”

The place is an old saloon, the windows blasted out over two centuries ago. The gutted insides filled out with a patched-up bar, the mended tables and scattered chairs filled with patrons. Rooms to rent lining the first - and second floor - if you were brave enough to risk the staircase.

A few stalls set up alongside a wall - a barber ran by a Mister Handy with a looping stutter, the second by another Ghoul. Her few racks are filled with a patchwork of fabric, all in stained and faded patterns.

He gestures, a tilt of his head at the racks, “Pick something out, quick like.”

You’d gape at him, if you weren’t afraid he’d change his mind. Serious about your suit - you’re quick to grab a shirt in your size with only two holes. A pair of trousers, a rip at the knee.

“This ain’t for you.” The Ghoul clarifies darkly in your ear, “This is a trigger-happy town. Don’t need to be wasting my bullets.”

You hum in agreement - undeterred by his tone. The package clutched to your chest as he hands over a couple caps. Stuck over a full two weeks now in the same suit - you’re itching for the soft cotton against the skin.

Turning to leave, but then you’re halting. A couple of the patrons look familiar, hovering just inside the door. Something about that scar-

You’re trying to recall, in the crowd of people you’ve seen today - when a hand clamps down on your shoulder. Wheeling you around as the Ghoul turns to the shop owner.

“You got a room she can borrow?” There’s a change in his tone, almost a sticky-sweet edge to his drawl.

It must work - you’re shown to what used to be an old parlor room. An array of broken chairs, a heavy wooden table. The wallpaper torn and faded, the shades of cream long stained a dull, dirty yellow.

He fills the doorway - an arm propped against the frame, and you hold your wrists out to him dutifully.

You’ve worked at the knots before, to no avail - only to scowl now, as he undoes them easily with one hand.

A moment of silence hanging then, as you give him a pointed look - rubbing at sore wrists.

“You gonna leave so I can change?” You ask, “I’ll just be a second.”

The Ghoul steps forward instead, pulling the door shut behind him. An audible click, as he thumbs at the lock.

“Oh, I don’t think so, darlin’.”

A heat flares to life in your cheeks, “You’re staying?”

“That’s right,” He sinks into an old loveseat, propped up on concrete blocks near the boarded-up window, “Can’t leave you alone in a place like this. Fuckin’ vultures would swoop right in.”

You hesitate, watching him warily as an arm slings across the back, legs stretched out against the floor. If you didn’t know better then you think it was something almost akin to concern in his tone.

Or then again - he might just want to keep your bounty to himself. You had hoped you were past that, but-

“What?” His tongue pokes at his cheek, tone taunting, “Gettin’ shy again?”

The clothes are dropped unceremoniously on the table, your Pip-Boy following. A glare, as you reach for the zipper of your Vault Suit, starting to yank it down.

“Hey, now.” His hand raises, “Slowly. Got it?”

There’s an immediate urge to resist, to test him - but then, you’re catching the look on his face.

It’s hungry, beneath the brim of his hat. You start to feel like you did in the desert, and then the alley - intrigue, and desire, and an ache from his words, all melding together.

So, you take it slow. The zipper slipping from your throat, to breasts, then belly. A roll of your shoulders as you slip your arms from the tight sleeves.

His eyes follow, lingering on each inch of bare skin that’s revealed.

“Turn around.” He growls when you reach your hips, and for him - you do.

Bending at the waist as you unlace your boots and step out of them. Back arched as you wiggle, pushing the suit down past your knees. Down soft legs that part, so you can step out of them.

A glance over your shoulder, then. His head tilts, eyes sweeping from your ankles to fix on the crux of your thighs. They press together on their own, a thrill at being on display for him.

He catches you looking, his hand lazy as it drops to his lap. A lift of his hips as he adjusts, palming himself. The other hand leaving the revolver shotgun that rests on the cushion next to him.

Crooking two fingers at you, silently beckoning you over.

You fit between thighs that inch wider. His hands curl on his lap, before he’s slowly peeling his gloves off. Warm, against your hips, biting into your skin.

“Don’t make ‘em like you above ground anymore,” He idly comments, a flatness to his tone that betrays nothing.

Soft and smooth skin. You wonder if he’s thinking about ruining it - sinking his teeth in and taking a bite. Leaving a mark that you’ll carry.

You think you’d let him.

His grip dents your skin, before his hands are dropping. A heated look thrown your way, as his face tips up to yours.

“Why don’t you show me again,” He husks, “What you’re so good at.”

Your breath catches - eyes flicking warily towards the door, but he’s quick to call you back.

“Hey, now. Eyes over here.” The Ghoul snaps, “You need to worry ‘bout me more than anyone out there.”

It sends a heat rushing through you, knowing that he’s right. You’re locked in a room with the most dangerous man in the city, and it does something to you.

A boldness, in the way you reach behind. His growled out “fuck” when you let bra loosens - joining the blue and yellow suit on the floor.

The wood is rough under your knees. Letting your hands wander, lifting his hips while your work open his belt. Drawing down the rusted zipper.

You grasp at his hips, tugging the faded fabric until he’s free. Fingers tracing over thighs, just as rough and reddened at the rest of him. It’s still not much, but it’s more of him than you’ve ever seen.

Bare beneath the stained pants, cock already thick and full where it curves against his hip. All from just watching you - perhaps a strange thing to be proud of, but fuck, you are.

Your hands curl around his knees, as your head dips. Taking more time than you did before. Lips pressing against the taut base, as a hand twists in your hair again.

“Come on and thank me, sweetheart.” He growls - urging you upward, “Gettin’ those clothes for you. Make it worth my while.”

It’s different this time. A familiarity in the way your tongue presses against the flushed head. The taste of the salt on your tongue, before your lips are part around him.

A soft groan, when he’s filling your mouth again. You’ve thought about it often since last time. Wondering when he would have you on your knees again. If he’d want more, the next.

Your heartbeat thuds between your thighs, with the shift of his hips into your mouth - chasing his pleasure.

An urge to make him feel good. Without thinking - your hand wraps around his shaft, as your head eases back.

“Easy, now.” He grits, though his eyes are fixed on how your fingers curl around him. How it pumps, squeezing him with spit-slick fingers.

Jerking him into a mouth that parts so prettily for him. Your other hand slipping against his thigh, with feather-light brushes. A short inhale before you take him deep again, your fist sliding down to the base.

The next time you pull him from mouth for a breath, drool stringing from his cock to your lips, he hears himself growling out, “Stop.”

You’re being too tender, and he finds that he can’t stand it. Should have kept you bound, like last time.

The Ghoul’s fingers bite into your chin, your mouth glossy from how you swallowed him down.

“I’m taking you this time. Know you’ve been just aching for it.” He husks, his thumb pressing against your lip. Watching your tongue peek out to taste it, “Go on. Get up, and get your ass over to that table.”

Your desire nearly eclipses everything else. Pushing on his thighs for support, crossing the three steps to the side of the table.

“No,” He follows - the gun clattering on the table top, brought over from the couch. His hands at your hips, guiding you until you’re facing the door, “Right here, sweetheart. I’ll be keepin’ watch.”

It has you remembering where you are - that you’re just supposed to be getting changed. Wondering if you should worry that you don’t care - the thought of piping up, having the risk of losing this chance and denying pleasure again has you quickly adapting.

A hand presses at the small of your back insistently, bending you over it. You can feel him against the curve of your ass, sticky against your skin.

“Cross your wrists,” His thighs shift against yours, as you fix your hands that has flattened against the tabletop.

Making it easy for him to grasp at them with one hand - stretching them further, pressing them against the wood as he kicks your thighs further apart.

Leaving you on tip-toe, arched against him.

“Look at you, listening.” He almost coos, with another lazy rock. His cock shifts, fitting between your thighs, nudging against you.

“I think-” You start, but it’s punctuated by a moan, “Think you just like tying girls up.”

“Now you’re gettin’ it,” He drawls, “Though I don’t discriminate. Theres just something ‘bout havin’ you like this-”

The Ghoul leans over you then, his grip tightening. Pinning you firmly between him and the table, unable to do more than squirm as his free hand slips between your thighs, cupping you.

It’s the first time he’s touched you like this, and your muscles string tight - trying not to buck into his palm. Against fingers that rub against your clit, pressing the sticky fabric to your skin.

“Fuck.” He rasps in your ear. Nails bite into your hips, as he tears the fabric down to your thighs.

Coming back to press against your bare cunt, fingers slipping against your folds. You’re unable to help the soft whimper as he parts you, two fingers teasing at your entrance.

“Please,” You whine, as he pets against you. Smearing your slick up to your clit again, his fingers parting just as he reaches it.

His cock presses against your leg, thick and stiff. A roll of his hips until it’s pressed snug against your cunt - jutting between your thighs just below his hand.

“Your pussy is downright leakin for me, sweetheart,” He growls, “You need it that bad?”

You whine, your head turning to look - watching how he arcs over you. That blown-wide look in his eyes again, as you nod.

There’s a split second as his hand leaves you, before it’s cracking down on the meat of your ass. You gasp in shock as you go still beneath him, the pain unexpected and swirling with your heady need.

“Say it out loud,” He barks out, “Tell me just how much.”

Your skin stings, his fingers twitch before he kneads roughly at the flesh - the burn of it akin to way you ache for him.

“I need it,” You keen, “Need your cock. Want you to fuck me-”

The words cut off - a rough hum of approval before he’s lining himself up, a hand curving to grip your hip. The other flexes around your wrist, before he’s driving himself deep with a single, powerful thrust.

Your cry is loud, this time. Low and rough, pushed from your lungs as your pussy makes room for him.

“Fucking christ, you’re tight,” He grunts, unable to help the shallow buck of his hips, “Better than my goddamn dreams.”

It makes you moan - the gritted-out admission not lost on you.

Even with how wet you are, you still feel like you’re stretched wide. An ache radiating through you, sparking to life as he inches out, only to plunge deep again. The table bites into your hips, back arching as he sets a rough rhythm.

The sharp twinge starting to fade, as you begin to accommodate him. Growing accustomed to the heavy weight of him inside you, the steady stroke against your walls that has you starting to clench down around him.

Your breathing grows shorter, faster. Face turning to bury in the curve of your shoulder, muffling the moans that are pushed from you - until his hand is leaving your hip, twisting in your hair with a sharp tug.

Forcing your head back, his grip anchoring you.

“Don’t think so, darlin’. Know you saw those eyes on you,” He’s lost the steady edge to his voice, words turning rough, “Go on, be loud.”

The Ghoul’s hips pound harder, the rough texture of his cock stroking deep. Each sending a current through you, leaving your fingers and toes flexing, aching for just a little bit more.

“Saw you come in with me. Show ‘em who you belong to.”

“Fuck!” You cry, wishing you had a name to scream. Unable to muffle your ragged breath, the moans he pulls from you.

It fills the room, melding with the slick punch of his cock into your wet and needy cunt. Better than before, because his hands are on you now - leaving your hair, blunt nails dragging down your back. Ghosting across your hip, where your skin presses into the wood.

“Touch me.” You beg, again, “Let me touch myself, I can’t-”

His hand withdraws, and you whine - backpedaling. Afraid that he’s going to pull from you, finish himself across your back or your ass for asking.

“Please. Fuck, please. Don’t, I’m so close-”

He groans at your plea through clenched teeth.

Releasing his grip on you, only for his hand to slide to the base of your throat. His other arm looping beneath you as he hauls you against him, flattening against your ribs.

Palming at a soft breast, as you’re pulled up and pressed flushed to his chest.

“Listen to you, miss manners,” He grins - teeth bared, “That’s more like it, honey.”

The bandolier cuts into your skin, the wood into your thighs. And change in the angle that has your cries growing louder as his cock pounds against a soft spot inside you. Warm breath ghosting against your neck, deep rumbling growls in your ear.

Everything fades, growing hazy. His fingers tighten, but not enough to fully choke the air from you. An implication - your own hands wrapping around his wrist to anchor yourself to him.

You can hear him inhale you, the scrape of teeth against your skin above the heavy press of his fingers. Salvation in the way the hand splayed beneath your chest drifts lower, his voice smooth in your ear.

“This is for listening,” He husks, “You understand?”

Relentless, when his fingers press against your clit. Slick and circling until you’re grinding into his touch, meeting the hard slap of his hips.

The gasping chant of “fuck, fuckfuckfuck, please-” turning into mindless whimpers, his rough rhythm growing sloppy.

“Goddamn, you feel good.” It’s a ragged sigh, “Feel your tight little cunt squeezing me. Gonna make a mess, sweetheart?”

It sounds muted, layering with a ringing white noise. Your nails bite into his wrists as the swiftly building tides breaks. Almost missing the sweet growl in your ear.

“Let them hear how a pretty thing like you sounds coming on a cock like mine.”

You do, with the next swirl of his rough fingers - the sound broken as he rips it from you.

Bearing down around the cock that fits so deeply into you, with each blissful pulse of your release. Forgetting about the rest - about the outside world - as your nerves alight with pleasure.

His hand drops from your throat to brace against the table. Bending you flat again as he feels you flutter and gush around his length, crushing you against the top as blunt teeth close against the pulse point of your throat, biting down.

The sounds of his own orgasm muffled - a ragged groan as his cock throbs, as he fucks himself deep into you. Tasting the salt of your skin as you yelp, clenching around him - milking him until your walls are coated with his spend.

He hadn’t meant to - but the urge to pull from you had wavered the moment he buried himself in your cunt. Abandoned completely, after feeling you come so sweetly around him. An instinct lingers even now - to enjoy the soft press of your body against his, your warmth.

You shiver as his lips brush your neck, the closest thing to an apology as you’ll get - before he’s pulling away from you, leaving you clenching and empty.

A ragged hand slips between your thighs as you prop yourself up on your elbows, catching your breath. Pleasure still radiating from your core as fingertips swipe through the come that is just starting to leak from you.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” He laughs - the sound ragged, with a flash of yellowed teeth.

“Guess this means you better start cookin’.”

The Vault Suit is left beneath the table, a crumpled up reminder that you’re happy to leave behind.

Your cheeks burn as you leave the saloon - the strangers from before cleared out. A definite wobble to your steps - something that The Ghoul certainly notices, the low tilt of his hat hiding the curling pull of his lips.

Outlining the path towards the next bounty as you find your way out, guessing where you might find a lab along the way.

And it’s only as the city starts to fade, that you realize -

He never bound your wrists again, after.

I have the brainrot for this man for sure! Thank you for stopping by & reading 💖 (and I have also been reading so much about the new chem the Ghoul takes! For plot & smut reasons - I am going with RadAway, haha)

#please mind the tags!#cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #fallout smut #fallout tv series #fallout #cooper howard

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rileyslibrary · 11 months

Note

hii, i love your page, it’s so cute!! i was just wondering, can we have a fic where ghost/the 141 forgets the readers birthday?

tysm,

~ 💖.

A/N: Apologies for the delay, anon! Also, I hope that didn't happen to you, but if it did, happy belated birthday. Here’s your gift, I hope you like it.

———————————————————————

Type, type, type.

That’s all you’ve been doing since this morning.

Replying to emails, developing the recruits’ training programme for the next week, preparing reports, and going back and forth on that group chat with the engineering team about that stubborn drone that refuses to take off but is mandatory for the next mission.

They wished you a happy birthday. Yes, it was through a faceless and impersonal message, but at least they did.

Unlike him.

He’s been sitting across from you all day, doing the same—typing, typing, typing.

Not at the pace you’ve been going, though. He’s much slower compared to you.

His fingers hesitate as they hover across the keyboard, lacking the speed and confidence he usually has in the field. The keyboard feels foreign in his hands—it’s not an MP5, you see.

His eyes, trained for action, struggle to adjust to the screen in front of him. He types, pauses, looks up at the screen, and then resumes typing. Yet his posture remains rigid like he’s ready for action at any given moment.

“Do you need help?” you ask, noticing his struggle to find the right shortcut for copying and pasting.

“I need a cigarette,” he replies, standing up from his chair. He opens the window, turns his back to you, and lifts his mask halfway.

He opens the packet and bites down on the cigarette filter to extract it from the package. Tilting his head to the side, he lights it up and takes a deep inhale.

There’s a knock on the door.

“Shit.” He swears and shouts at the door to “wait a fucking minute.”

He extinguishes the cigarette, pulls down his mask, and returns to his desk. You wait for him to sit down before inviting the person outside to come in.

Two recruits currently assigned to your team enter the room.

“Happy birthday!” says one, and the other repeats the wishes more timidly.

You give them a warm smile and thank them.

Their eyes, however, often drift from you to him. They look like they regretted coming into the office. Like they’d rather be anywhere else but here.

You empathise with them—you, too, were scared of him when you first came to the base.

You decide to relieve them of their discomfort.

“There are cupcakes in the kitchen,” you say, “please help yourselves.”

You can’t tell if they are too excited about the cupcakes or relieved that they now have a reason to escape the trap they’ve gotten themselves into. With a nod, they quickly exit the room and shut the door behind them.

You turn to the computer screen and continue typing.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You slightly turn your head towards him while keeping your eyes on the screen.

“Why didn’t I tell you what?”

“That the sky is blue,” he replies sarcastically. “That today’s your birthday, of course!”

“That’s not the kind of thing you go around telling people, Ghost,” you explain, “besides, you already knew.”

He stands up from his chair, and you turn to look at him.

“Why didn’t you remind me?”

“What should I say, Lt.?” You ask, “Hey, by the way, it’s my birthday today, in case you’ve forgotten?”

“Yes!” He insists, lifting his hands, “Yes, you should have told me that! Then you should have added a ‘you fucking idiot’ to complete the sentence.”

You look at him with furrowed eyebrows and a smirk.

He sighs and drops his hands to his sides.

“Come here,” he says, waving his hand for you to come closer.

You look at him, amused, and your smile widens. Yet you remain seated, and lean back to your chair.

“Come here!” He repeats and starts walking towards you.

You stand up, and he immediately wraps his arms around you, locking your arms to your sides. You hug his waist.

“Happy birthday,” he whispers and leans down, planting a kiss at the crown of your head.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” you reply, your words muffled against his chest.

“I’m such an idiot, aren’t I?” He murmurs, his lips lingering against your head, “I’m sorry.”

You chuckle and push yourself away to look at him.

“No, you’re not,” you reply, “these things happen.”

He releases you from the hug but keeps his hands on your shoulders.

“Thanks for the cupcakes, by the way.”

“You had one?”

“Two,” he says, letting you go and returning to his desk, “but I didn’t know who they were from.”

You sit back in your chair and continue to type, type, type.

But this time, there’s a smile on your face.

———————————————————————

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x gn!reader #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #simon riley #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #cod ghost #ghost cod mw2 #ghost cod #ghost cod mwii #ghost call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2

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hsgucci94 · 11 months

Text

Sexy mama

« Would love one where y/n gets annoyed because Harry won’t have sex because she’s pregnant »

A/N: feel free to send in writing ideas for little stories you wanna read on here 💖 x

masterlist

“Are you mad?” Harry rose both eyebrows, watching you move around the kitchen while he stood at the entrance, his shoulder against the doorframe. His eyes were scanning your every move, trying to learn and decode the situation he himself got trapped in a few minutes back. “Love…, c’mon,” he softly called, voice calm but beseeching. He took a step forward, his sock-covered feet now on the the cold tile of your kitchen space.

You didn’t turn to him or react to his words. You acted as if his presence couldn’t be felt, when in reality every part of your body heated right away whenever he was around. Didn’t matter if you were pissed at him and wanted to make him sleep on the couch that night; your body always ignited whenever he was in sight.

Specially these days, when your hormones were hectic…, over the roof. You just couldn’t manage them, and the only thing, the only person who could put them to rest refused to help.

Harry sighed, seeing as you weren’t addressing him at all. “Silence treatment? Is that what I get?”

He then felt brave enough to take another step in your direction, head tilting to the side to try see your countenance and read the emotions spread all over it. But nothing. You had that stoic face that blocked your thoughts and feeling from being perceived by anyone else. And he hated it. Hated not being able to decode you and find out what was going on inside your head.

The room went quiet again, the crunch of the knife as you chopped vegetables being the only sound. And it started to drive him crazy. Chop after chop after chop he became more anxious and worried.

As if there wasn’t any sign before, now it was even more clear you were annoyed by his previous actions.

He passed a hand through his curls, tugging slightly at them to relieve some tension. His eyes scanned you once again before breaking the space between your bodies and walking over to you. He stopped right in front of you, his hips resting against the countertop next to where you were dinner prepping, his arms loosely crossed over his chest.

“Y/N…”

“No,” you warned him before he could go on, eyes never leaving the food in front of you. “If you think I look fat and unattractive right now you can just say it, you know? No need to bullshit me like that.”

You spat the words like venom, like they had been resting in you tongue for sometime now before you had the courage to finally spill them out.

“Hey. Hold on,” Harry reacted, brows pinched together as the frown in his forehead grew stronger. “None of that, Y/N. What the fuck? How can you even suggest that?”

He ventured forward, forcing himself in your line of vision. “Look at me,” he asked, resting a hand over the one you were using to cut the food, wanting you to stop and focus solely on him, “Where’s all this coming from? You can’t just say it and keep on like nothing happened. Talk to me. What’s going on right now?”

Your lip trembled, and you blinked three times as soon as you felt water in your eyes. Your facade fell down completely. You no longer could keep your feelings hidden, in place.

You took a deep breath before looking up at him, his eyes worriedly scanning your features the moment you allowed him to.

“You think I don’t notice?,” you mumbled, “You think I don’t know I look nothing like I did seven months ago?”

His frown accentuated in more confusion.

“You’re pregnant, Y/N,” he stated matter of fact, bringing his hand to your cheek and caressing it, capturing with his thumb the tear that escaped from the corner of your eye. “You’re growing a human being inside you. That’s our baby right there, mama.”

His free hand went to rest on your belly, sweetly stroking it over his t-shirt. Your clothes didn’t fit anymore, so you borrowed his to walk around comfortably. And he didn’t mind. Didn’t mind back then when you wore them just because you wanted to feel him close, and didn’t mind now that it was the only thing that fitted the body of the woman he loved the most.

In fact, he’d never mind. There was nothing as sexy as seeing you in his clothes.

“I know,” you gulped, trying to swallow your need to cry, “But I don’t feel like myself at all. I can’t recognise my body anymore, and the hormones aren’t helping. One second I’m a crying mess and the next a horny teenager. And you don’t even wanna touch me, Harry.”

He felt his heart clenching at your raw confession; at your now no longer hidden insecurities you’d managed to keep to yourself for God knows how long.

“Is that what this is about?,” his voice low as he spoke every word carefully, “I made you feel like that? You think I’m not attracted to you anymore because you’re pregnant? Fuck, no, Y/N. Never.”

“Then?,” you whispered. If you spoke any louder you feared your voice would tremble and you’d break down in front of him. Not that he hadn’t seeing you like that before, but you felt overwhelmed enough and didn’t want to add more fuel to the already existing pile of bitter emotions burning inside you.

Your gaze fell down to the floor, but couldn’t even see it because of the size of your belly. It had gotten so big in the last few weeks you couldn’t put shoes on by yourself. God, you couldn’t even get up from the bed without a helping hand.

Harry cupped your face between his hands, thumbs purposely rubbing your cheeks in tender, sweet strokes. “Listen to me, mama. Pregnant or not, you’re sexy as fuck.” His eyes searched for yours, anxiously wanting for you to believe him. Pleading you to take his words and engrave them in your brain forever. “If I’ve been avoiding you in that sense is only because I don’t wanna hurt you. I’m scared I’m gonna make a wrong move and hurt any of you. I know you’ve been in a lot of physical pain lately and I don’t wanna cause you more, love. That’s all. It’s not that I don’t want to have sex with you, I swear. Pregnant or not you’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

His words flew out of his lips hurriedly, as if he was fighting against your mind to see what words you would hang onto first. What words you’d end up believing: your husband’s or those of your treacherous subconscious.

You bit hard the inside of your cheek as you looked up to the ceiling internally begging your tears to evaporate. They were already stinging your eyes, and soon enough ran down your cheeks without your permission, soaking your cheeks and Harry’s fingers.

“Ah, shit. The goddamn hormones,” you groaned in between quiet sobs.

Your husband let out a soft chuckle, his eyes glistening in adoration for you, “C’mere…”

He pulled you to him after drying your tears off with his fingertips, your body resting in between his parted legs while his hands entwined in your back to keep you glued to him. He rested his forehead against yours, and you closed your eyes allowing yourself to embrace the peace he always transmitted you.

“I love you,” Harry reminded you.

“I love you more.”

“Nuh.”

You giggled. “But it’s only fair. There are two hearts inside of me right now, both of them beating with love for you.”

The corners of his mouth widen to form the biggest smile, his dimples and bunny teeth showing, his eyes sparkling happily.

And then it clicked. You understood everything you both wanted and needed was right there.

masterlist

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #short story #harry styles imagines #harry styles prompts #harry styles stories #harrystyles #hsgucci94 #hsgucci94 stories #harry styles x reader #harry styles and reader #harry styles concept #harry styles angsty

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 month

Text

The Quiet Ones 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

Note: I slept for like ten hours and it was fucking wild.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You watch the long needle slide out from under your skin. You don’t feel it much. That man, Lloyd, loops the tube around the IV bag stand. You sit in the bed still, disoriented and dull. You can feel the tension buzzing off of him, as if he’s holding himself back. That scares you more than anything he’s done.

Before you can say or do anything, your stomach growls. The tumble is painful as your insides squeeze violently. He looks at you and takes your hand, tugging you towards the edge as he snickers.

“Hungry, jellybean?” He teases, “come on. I’ll make you a nice omelet.” He pulls until you shimmy across the bed. You turn your legs out and can’t help but use his strength to stand. He’s patient as he easily hauls you up. “You okay, babykins? I could carry you. Like before.”

“N-no,” you try to wiggle your hand free but his grip is unbreakable. He squeezes and you quit your resistance.

“You might be a bit groggy, that’s normal. The smoke, the meds--”

“Meds?”

“Well, I slipped a bit extra in the bag,” he shrugs as he glances over at the IV, “just so you could sleep.”

You look at him, your horror burning from your eyes. He grins proudly and swings your arm, turning to lead you to the door. You take short steps, muscles stiff and achy, shoulders wracked from sleeping on your back. You look down at yourself and shudder; at least you’re still wearing your own clothes.

“I’ve been doing cooking classes. I can do a florentine that will blow your tits off,” he boasts as he angles you through the door.

The hall is airy and echoey. The house must be huge. You get that sense easily. You don’t need to go around and count the rooms. He takes you down the long hallway and you stop at the top of a set of stairs. They bend in the middle but more corning, there’s a large space between each. They’re polished to a shine and look slippery as the morning reflects off of them.

“Just a step at a time,” he goads as you latch onto the railing.

You put a foot down and grip both him and the railing. Another tide of wooziness comes over you. It could be what he gave you or your days of restriction, but it’s too much. The world is too much.

“That’s it, baby,” he coos as you take a second step down.

This is strange. It reminds you of a movie you watched as a kid with a maze and twisting and turning walkways and a taunting villain. You’ve awoken in his trap and you see no escape in sight.

You slip on the third and let out a squeak as you feel yourself falling. He’s quick to catch you, scooping you up easily even in the narrow space. He lifts you and continues down swiftly, bringing you onto flat ground. You murmur and rub your head as you feel his heartbeat against your arm.

You feel a tickle in your hair and hear him take a deep breath. Is he smelling you? You repress a shiver at the thought as your eyes struggle to focus on the shapes all around you.

He carries you into another room, a kitchen, as spacious and sleek as any other part of the strange house. A white marble counter lines two walls and wraps around into full C, marking off the cooking space. On the other side, there’s glass table in an abstract, asymmetric shape with metal frame chairs around it. The whole place is out of one of those design magazines. All impractical at the expense of aesthetic.

He sits you in one of the chairs, it’s just a rigid as you expect. He stays bent, holding you by the shoulders until your hold yourself up. He drags his hands down your arms as he reluctantly pulls away. You flutter your lashes and rub your eye sockets, trying to block out your reality.

“My sleepy bean,” he beams and plants a kiss on the top of your head. “So how about it? Eggs florentine? Or are you in the mood for something a bit sweeter? I’ve perfected my crepes.”

You grumble and drop your hands slowly, crossing your arms as a chill rolls through you. You feel it pricking in your chest and across your skin. You’re not wearing a bra and your tee shirt is thin. You keep your arms locked.

You listen to him moving around. You don’t know what to do. You’re too weak to do anything. Even if you could get on the other side of the walls, you have no idea where you are. Where help could be.

You rock as your fear bubbles up. Why is he doing this? Why does he think you want him? Why you? Of all people. You mind your business, you keep your head down, eyes to yourself... you don’t deserve this.

You glance over at him as he starts to hum. Your lip quivers as you watch his shoulders blades stretch the fabric of his shirt. He’s a bit ridiculous in a full set of satin pajamas, the dark black speckled with a subtle grey leopard print. He’s too much.

You turn your head straight and let it hang. You resign yourself to helplessness. You have to be logical about this. You can’t spark his suspicion to soon. You have to wait for a window and then... figure that out, you guess. You don’t like uncertainty. You have a routine and you keep to it. That’s what keeps you safe. Or so you thought.

“...wise men say, only fools rush in...” he sings softly and you wince. The lyrics of the Elvis ballad make your skin crawl. He’s actually deranged. You don’t know him, you're strangers.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I know tree nuts are a no go,” he chimes as he whisks, turning to you with a broad smile.

You blink at him. How does he know that?

“Don’t think you’ll be needing any but I also got penicillin on the no go list and the latex thing... there’s alternatives,” he chuckles and you furrow your brow. “How’s that ticker doing? You been taking lots of iron?”

Your body hollows out. How much does he know about you? How? You can guess he’s snooped around your medical records. Obviously, he’s a man with criminalistic leanings. Is this even his house? Has he taken you to a fortress he commandeered by force? Is there some terrified family bound in the basement? Is there a basement?

He continues to futz around the kitchen as you curl your shoulders down and chew on your lips. Speaking of your heart, it’s beating again, racing, almost painfully. You’re a mouse trapped in the corner by the feline with his bristly whiskers.

Your eyes wander over to the large windows and you stare out at the curated landscape. The property is beautiful and lush. You imagine a whole team maintains the perfectly trimmed hedges and colourful blooms. The stone mosaic pathway and the leafy archway over a bench. It’s like a dream, more so, a twisted nightmare painted in hues of fantasy.

A plate clinks down before you and a sweet aroma brings you back inside. You face forward as Lloyd steps back on his heel, watching you with anticipation. You look at him then the plate. He pulls out a chair and plops himself down, planting his elbow as he cups his chin and watches.

“Let me know what you think,” he insists.

You take a breath and unlock your arms. Slowly, you drag them apart and take the thick butter knife and long fork. The cutlery feels too big for your small hands. You lean forward as the drizzle of dark syrup across the rolled crepe lures you in. Your stomach roars noisily and he giggles.

“Aw, you must be starving,” he muses, “please eat, baby, I don’t want you to ever go hungry again.”

You exhale through a ripple of disgust. You cut into the thin crepe and into the filling. Slice off the end of the roll and scoop it up with the filling. You carefully open your mouth around the fork and take a bite. Your eyes flit up to meet Lloyd’s as his gaze sticks on you. There are flames in his blue irises.

You pull your mouth off the fork in embarrassment as he hums. He’s a weird, weird man. All of this is weird. Surreal.

You look down at the butter knife and contemplate the gold cutlery. It’s heavy, it would hurt if you used the handle to give him a conk, but the blade is too dull to do much. It can slice through a crepe but wouldn’t do much on meat and bone. You don’t think you could do it, either. The thought of hurting others is just unnatural.

“Is it good? Tried my own combination,” he explains happily, “dark chocolate syrup, not too much sugar, some softened cream cheese in the middle with black cherry jam.”

You swallow and look around for something to wipe your lips. Short of a napkin, you lick your lip and clamp them together. He shifts in his chair, an act that makes you feel uncomfortable.

“Good,” you croak.

“Oh, wait,” he stands suddenly, “your coffee. Oopsie.”

He struts away and your stomach mulches the single bite greedily. As much as you want to be stubborn, you’re so hungry. And it’s delicious. It’s better than your usual flavourless fare. You could gobble it all down in a second but you won’t. You carefully cut out another bite as he returns with a tall mug.

He puts the cup down by your plate. You gulp down a forkful and set down the cutlery. You consider the mug before you take it, the white porcelain marked with the golden outline of a rose above the letter ‘Mrs.’. He has another in his hands, black but with a bowtie above ‘Mr.’. What the hell?

“Colombian dark roast. A little less caffeine so your heart won’t mind so much,” he says.

You nod and take the cup. The thought of coffee is enough to override your agitation. You take a sip and hold back a sigh. It’s good. You hate all of this but it’s all so good. You put the cup back and return your attention to the crepes. You pause and glance up at him. He doesn’t have a plate, just his cup.

“Oh, jellybean, you’re so sweet,” he smirks, “I gotta keep my protein up. I’ll have some eggs and a shake soon. Right now, you just worry about you.”

You dip your chin down and focus on eating. Small bites. You don’t want to seem too greedy. You don’t want him to see how much you need this. Does he know everything? Of course, he was watching but did he know the days you spent feeling as if your stomach was eating itself?

He pushes his hair back, trying to tidy the long strands as he watches you, “we’ll get washed up after breakfast. Then you can get settled in and relax. I’ll take care of everything else, alright? You just need to get all dolled up when the time comes,” he explains as he drags his fingertip around the tabletop, “not that you need to do very much.”

You just chew. What can you say or do? This man is straight up crazy. Not only are you his prisoner, he’s been stalking you. It doesn’t matter when it started, look where it’s ended. No, this can’t be the end.

“What’s...” you speak before you can think. You shake your head and smother your question with another bite.

“What? Go on, sugar lips, ask me anything? You wanna know my favourite colour? My favourite song?” His cheeks tint pink as he plays with a button on his pajamas.

You clear your throat and put down the fork and knife, “what’s going on... later?”

He tilts his head curiously.

“The... dress and... doll up?” You repeat his words flatly.

“That’s a surprise,” he trills as if it should be obvious. “Don’t wanna spoil it, do we?”

“I guess,” you sit back and fold your hands in your lap.

“You don’t gotta think about anything, sweet cheeks. You leave the thinking to me. I’m gonna take care of you,” he avows as his hand stretches across the front of his satin shirt. “You just gotta be you.”

You feel his gaze bearing down on you. You peek up to find his eyes slipping down and you feel them centre on your tee shirt, your nipples poking against the cotton. You hunch your shoulders and cross your arms again.

“How’s the coffee, jelly bean? You like it?” He tears his attention from your chest.

“Good, thank you,” you murmur.

“Ugh, I love hearing your voice,” he puts his coffee down and reaches between his legs. You blanch as he drags his chair closer as he lifts himself. He puts his hand on your knee, stroking with his thumb, “will you call me ‘honey’?”

You stare at him. Your cheek draw tight and your lips flatten. You want to shake off his touch and scream but that foggy glaze in his eyes deters you. This man is wild.

“Okay, er,” you gulp tightly and cough, “honey.”

He hums into a sigh and his hand slips higher on your leg before trail back down, “oh,” he shakes his shoulders, “that tingles. Do it again.”

You fight not to let your true emotion blaze through. You hug yourself tighter and bite down before you can muster the word, “honey.”

“Oh, baby, that’s nice,” he winks and sits back, eyes grazing up and down your body, “you cold? You’re all twisted up like a pretzel.”

You nod. It's an excuse you’ll gladly take.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner, jellybean?” He stands suddenly and you notice the way he tugs on the waistband of his pants. You turn your head, blurring your vision so everything around you is vague.

He rushes off and you wait. You don’t know what else to do. You’re still too weak to make a move. Whatever he gave you is potent. Or maybe, you’re just too scared to do more than shrink and surrender.

He returns with a fluffy purple robe in his hands. He comes around the back of your chair and you lean forward to let him drape it around you. He curls his hands over your shoulders and bends over you. He presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“You need more coffee, baby cakes?” He asks as he kneads your shoulders.

“Still working on it,” you pull away from him and grab the cup, “thank you...” you let the words dangle in the silence, tension piquing, “honey.”

He sighs and draws away with a tickle up your neck, “mmm, isn’t this wonderful?”

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #the gray man #the quiet ones #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series

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just-a-creep-babe · 2 months

Text

A Demon’s Ache — Part 20

Eyeless Jack x Reader

A Demon's Ache Masterlist

Commissioned by @cookiereblogss — thank you so so much for your whole support throughout this entire series! It genuinely wouldn’t be here without you, and I appreciate it so much 💓💗💖

Requests are closed but commissions are open!

Masterlist: x

Pain

Before he can even begin to understand where he is, all he can register is pain

His body’s numb with it

A groan escapes him

Blood pounds in his eardrums

It feels like his head’s being split open from the inside—he can’t remember the last time he had such a bad migraine

He reaches up to press his hands to his head, as if doing so could alleviate his headache, and the movement is accompanied by the sound of metal clanging against metal

He pauses, his body stiffening as he realizes there's a weight around his wrists

He’s chained down to something

With a disgruntled sound, he forces his attention to his surroundings

The first thing he notices is that he’s in some sort of basement, with dark wood-paneled walls and bare stone floors

He’s not wearing his mask, his face uncomfortably exposed for anyone to see, but that’s the least of his problems right now

He's kneeling, chained to the wall, he realizes, in front of both you and The Operator

Worry laces your features

The scent of your stress and fear permeates the otherwise stale, dead air

Panic infiltrates Jack's system as things start to click into place

What happened?

He tries to think back to the last thing he remembers; something about running through the forest, something about wanting to kill

But the more he tries to remember, the louder that dull pounding in his head grows, and he realizes he just can't concentrate properly

Not right now, anyway, not like this

He tries to shake the discomfort off, and then, feeling awkward just kneeling there in front of the both of you, he stands

Or, at least, he tries to stand, but his legs are shaky and unstable, like he recently over-exerted himself, and his muscles are too stiff to function properly, so he gives up, and simply stays on the dirty floor

“Jack…” you say his name, then hesitate, like you’re scared or uncertain about something

It breaks his heart

He wants to reach out and comfort you

Before anything else—before even figuring out what happened and why he’s here—he just wants to make sure you’re ok

Jack Nyras

He flinches at the sound of his name, his real, full name, echoed in his mind by The Operator's rumbling hiss

He can't remember the last time he heard that name—it feels like lifetimes ago

He'd almost forgotten it entirely, and, in all honesty, he would've preferred to keep it that way

You have violated the laws of the Safe House

Static fills his mind, growing in intensity with every word

What is your defense?

Defense?

He can hardly remember what happened, and now he's supposed to defend himself?

He tries to concentrate again, tries to think through the noise crowding his head

He remembers making it to a cabin—the proxies' cabin?

He remembers wood splintering and glass shattering, and then there was something about a fight, something about squeezing someone's neck between his hands, feeling pleasure as their life slowly drained away

He shivers, repressing the memory

What is your defense?

The question is repeated, louder this time, noticeably less forgiving and more commanding

"I-I don't know," Jack admits out loud, "I don't have one"

You are aware of the consequences of violating the laws of the Safe House

Even though it isn't a question, it's phrased as though The Operator expects an answer

And so, with a nod, Jack complies

"I am"

The faceless monster tilts its head to the side, the motion, of which, might’ve been unnerving if Jack hadn’t grown so used to it

Do you accept the consequences?

The hybrid furrows his brows

The biggest rule of the mansion was to never intentionally harm another resident

The punishments ranged in severity depending on circumstance, but Jack definitely had the intention to kill—and to kill one of Slender’s beloved proxies, nonetheless

Having him ask if he accepted the consequences could only mean one thing; he was about to face expulsion

How could he just accept that?

He looks up at you, at your fear, at your nervousness and confusion and uncertainty

What about her? Why did you drag her down to see this?

He doesn't say it out loud, but he directs his question to the eldritch being

Her presence is for her own benefit, seeing as her fate is tied to yours

It takes him a moment to register the low timber pervading his mind

And, at first, he almost thinks he didn't understand correctly

"What do you mean?"

He asks the question slowly, carefully, keeping his voice low as if to contain the mix of emotions threatening to surface

He doesn't look away from you as he asks, either—he can't

He wants to see your reaction, wants to know what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling

Part of him is also curious to see if you understand what they're talking about, based solely on his side of the conversation

Or maybe you’re having your own internal discussion with The Operator at the same time

But then he notices the obvious confusion and burning curiosity stirring alongside your fear, and he realizes you really don’t know

She has become inherently tied to you; she will share your decided fate, it repeats

"What? Why? That doesn't make any sense," he jerks in his chains; a futile attempt to free himself

She didn't do anything wrong

He adds in that last part in his head because he doesn’t want you to know what they're talking about

Part of him still insists on sheltering you from as much of this mess as possible

It is simply how things must come to pass

The Operator expresses it with such an air of indifference that it makes Jack's blood boil

"I refuse," Jack hisses

After everything he's done, everything he did to you—he can't be the reason you're expelled

He's caused enough disorder in your life as is

You have no choice, The Operator answers simply

"Give me the choice," Jack insists, a snarl accidentally rippling out of him as his anger bubbles out

And it isn't like him at all to succumb to his anger so easily; he usually prides himself on his ability to remain calm and collected, even in tense situations

But it’s like this whole thing is just grating on his nerves at this point

And it’s even worse since you’re involved in this, too

And that's when it suddenly clicks that this must be one of the many effects of the mark

You have no choice, The Operator repeats, and as the voice fills his head, so does an overwhelming wave of static

Jack chokes back another snarl

His muscles tense, and he grits his teeth, trying to bear the pain threatening to split his head open again

"S-stop—don't hurt him!"

Hearing you cry out for him, he looks up, right as another surge of agony knocks the breath out of him

It's dizzying

The pain pushes and presses up against his skull, like his head's suddenly way, way too crowded and it's on the verge of bursting

Once it's filled his mind, left with no other space to invade, it travels down his nervous system like a flash of electricity, burning every single nerve ending along the way

It's excruciating

The intensity drowns out everything in his surroundings

Somewhere at the back of his mind, he hears you crying out again, but he can't make out the words over the shrill ringing in his ears

He sees you trying to reach for him, sees The Operator's tendrils appear out of nowhere to wrap around you, to hold you back from helping him

Jack hisses out through gritted teeth

His chest heaves with labored breaths as he’s violated from the inside-out

Something cold licks up his thoughts, and then all at once, his memories are forced to surface

Every interaction, every intimate moment shared between the two of you is brought up and laid bare for The Operator to pick through

The steamy exchanges, the longing, the private glances, the first kiss—all of the back and forth, the tangle of emotions and miscommunications that'd been treasured in his memories is yanked from the privacy he'd previously taken for granted

No, no, no—stop—stop doing this—make it stop

Even through the burning pain, the words repeat themselves over and over in his head—as if merely thinking it could stop him

He'd rather be tortured than forced to expose everything like this

It’s beyond violating—he’s tarnishing the intimacy of the memories by being so rough and cruel with them

He doesn’t know how long it lasts—it feels like a short, endless eternity

And then, before he knows it, it’s all over

The agony subsides like it was never there to begin with, and he's left dizzy and nauseous, and torn between wanting to cry and wanting to kill the damn bastard with his bare hands

When he looks up at you, an apology hangs at the tip of his tongue, but he doesn't have time to express it as he notices the fear in your eyes, now more intense than ever, as The Operator's tentacles twist and writhe around your form

One quick snap would be all it takes to kill you

He lurches forward, about to plead, about to say anything to save you, when you open your mouth and speak

"I- I don't know," you say, and he realizes The Operator's in your mind now, having a conversation about God-knows-what

He wants to interrupt, wants to beg him not to hurt you, but at the same time, he's scared doing just that will jeopardize your safety

You chew at your lip, looking at Jack with uncertainty clear on your features

"It's-it's complicated—please, just, don't—"

You cut yourself off with a wince, and when you squirm in Slender’s hold, the tendrils tighten even further around you like he's planning on suffocating you

Jack holds his breath

He doesn't know whether or not he should say something

He's never felt so helpless

You wince again, squeezing your eyes shut

"Yes," you answer, and Jack's just about dying to know the context of the exchange

The following seconds trickling are unbearably slow and agonizing

Your eyes keep darting back and forth uncertainly, looking at him, looking at Slender, then back to him with your brows furrowed in contemplation

Just free her, he pleads internally, just let her go and I won't cause any more trouble

But almost immediately as he thinks it, your breath catches in your throat with a gasp

“N-no—don’t,” he tries to beg, knowing what’s coming, but as soon as he opens his mouth, you scream

Pain contorts your features, your body going rigid before you twist and jerk to try to free yourself

God, he can’t stand it

He can’t stand the sound of your pain, the sight of your visceral gut-wrenching agony

"Stop, stop! Make it stop—I'll do anything!"

Pleas falling on deaf ears, he snarls, jerking forward only to have the chains snap him back into place

Your screaming overrides his humanity—whatever was left of his rational mind evaporates and leaves behind his baser instincts

It turns him into a monster

He doesn’t hear himself snarling and growling over your pained cries

He doesn’t hear the chains groaning in protest, doesn’t register the feeling of them bending with strain as he pulls against them with all of his force

He just needs to make it stop

The metal creaks unpleasantly as he gains an inch, and then another one after that

The fixture restraining him to the wall goes taut, and then, all at once, it finally snaps off

The tentacles disappear as he rushes toward you

He wraps his arms around you, pressing you close to his chest, as if the less distance there is between the both of you, the better he can protect you

The last thing he thinks is that he'd die for you, and then everything goes dark

He wakes up sore and disoriented, which seems to be a recurring theme as of late

Except, this time, instead of being in some shady basement, he's... outside, in the forest

Sun peaks through the canopy of the trees, dappling the grass in bright patches of warmth

With a groan, Jack sits upright

His mask is staring up at him from a bed of wildflowers

He picks it up, fixes it over his face, and looks around

He doesn't immediately recognize this part of the forest, which would worry him—if a more intense kind of panic didn't immediately seize his chest at the realization that you're not anywhere around

He wastes no time standing up, ignoring the protest of his aching muscles, and moving in the direction of the sun

But he only makes it maybe 20 minutes or so when he feels a presence behind him

He tenses, knowing it could only be one person

And, surely enough, when he turns around, he finds Slender facing him expectantly

"Where is she?"

He wastes no time asking the question

Fuck everything else, he just needs to know you're ok

(Y/n) has made a bargain, it informs, and it sets Jack on edge even more so than he already was

She has 24 hours to decide, among other things, whether or not she is willing to become your mate

Jack's throat tightens

Failure to accept, or failure to decide, will result in both of you being expelled from the Safe House

He’s condemned you, Jack thinks, much to his horror; because of this mess he’s created, he’s inadvertently forcing you to either live a life you don’t want, or lose the one you currently cherish so deeply

It's all his fault

Nausea like bile rises in his throat

“Is there… is there any other way around this?” he insists, “Can't you just expel me, and leave her out of this? She didn’t do anything to deserve punishment—she didn't break any rules”

The Operator tilts his head to the side

The mere notion that a compromise is being permitted is an exception not permitted to most. There is no other way

“What about—“ he tries again, balling his fists at his side as he refuses to accept things, “what about if—if things don't pan out," he takes a deep breath, knowing it's a plausible reality, "and we're both kicked out—if we sort things outside of the mansion, and come to some kind of peaceful agreement or understanding together—could she still be allowed in?”

A tense second passes as The Operator considers his question

If, it clarifies, you and (y/n) come to an agreement that guarantees you will not be jeopardizing the sanctuary of the Safe House, I may consider her re-admittance based on a very strictly defined set of terms

The burden on his shoulders lightens somewhat

It isn’t much, but it’s something—something he can cling to if nothing else works

Some kind of hope

You are to remain here until the decision is taken, or the time otherwise reaches its end

And, just like that, he vanishes

For the rest of the morning—or, at least, what he assumes to be morning, based on the position of the sun—Jack wanders aimlessly through the forest

He thinks about the past few hours, how quickly everything spiraled, how it's all his fault

He doesn't know how you could ever manage to forgive him—much less accept being his mate

He runs through hundreds of scenarios in his head, trying to figure out the best course of action that would guarantee you keep your spot at the mansion

Jack's not an idiot; he's always known Slender's had an eye on him, so to speak

Maybe he could strike up his own bargain; becoming a proxy in exchange for your guaranteed residence at the mansion

He'll sell his soul to the devil for you, if he has to

Time trickles by slowly, painfully so

He doesn't know what to do with himself, so he just overthinks, and overthinks, and overthinks some more after that

The sun crests over the midway point in the sky, dips down a few inches, and still, no word from Slender

He sits, leaning his back against a tree, and tries to relax, tries to fall asleep or something to pass the time—but it, of course, is impossible to do so

He digs his fingers into the soft dirt

He feels the earth give way beneath his nails, and it reminds him of the feeling of tearing organs from a body

He pulls out a patch of grass, sprinkles it around him, repeats the motion

He’s ripped out maybe half a dozen handfuls when he feels that presence in front of him again

He looks up, and sees The Operator looking down at him

You are free to return to the mansion

It’s all he says before disappearing

The demon’s heart leaps up his throat

He stands, and starts making his way toward what he can only guess to be the mansion’s general direction

He doesn’t know why the damn bastard couldn’t have just teleported him there, or why he was forced to wait in this forest, but none of that matters right now

All that matters is he has the chance to see you again, to make sure you’re ok

It takes him longer than he would’ve liked to make it, but a few hours into his trek, he spots that familiar shape of the large building just up ahead

He picks up the pace, nearly jogging the rest of the way

He doesn’t wait a moment longer to make it to your room

As soon as he reaches it and makes it to your room, he notices that your door’s wide open, but you’re not inside

He takes in a slow, steadying breath

His room

He should check his own room; maybe you figured it’d be better to meet him there

After everything that’s been said and done, even despite Slender’s verdict, he doesn’t want to get his hopes crushed

Which is why he keeps his expectations exceptionally low as he beelines it to his room

And after everything that’s happened up until this point, it almost doesn’t even feel real when he sees you there; curled up in his bed, your eyes closed and your breathing slow and steady with his pillow hugged to your chest

He walks up to the bed, careful to not wake you

But either you weren’t sleeping, or you weren’t in a very deep sleep, because you immediately open your eyes when he gets to the edge of the bed

“…Hey,” you say, softly, your voice gentle, with a faint smile on your lips

“Hey,” he answers

You move over a few inches to make space for him, then pat the empty space next to you

He’s, admittedly, somewhat hesitant, somewhat nervous to accept the offer

But when he does, and when you cuddle up next to him, and he can hold you in his arms again so that nothing could hurt you, he finally relaxes around you

It wasn’t a secret that the hybrid had a thing for you

But now you knew; knew how badly he wanted you, knew the lengths he’d go to please you, to make you his

Maybe he’s not so hopeless after all, he thinks

Maybe, just maybe, things are going to be ok

#creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #a demon’s ache #eyeless jack #eyeless Jack x reader #crp #Crp ej

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betterfettered · 10 months

Text

This is the part where everyone is nice to me because I haven't written anything like this before T T

Your yandere is your boyfriend's brother, and you feel alone when he creeps you out.

(Gn!reader x AMAB!yandere; I use "tit/ty" for the gn reader; please tell me if there’s anything else non-gn about the reader)(stalking)(noncon)(plus size reader 💖🫡)(18+ readers only please, mdni)[This is fetish content; rape and stalking are disgusting and inexcusable in real life.][edited dialogue to be gn!]

It wasn’t that you hated Beelzebub.

In fact, you thought that he was really nice. Perhaps that was the problem, though: he was very, very nice. Nice to the point that you often looked over your shoulder expecting him to be behind you, nice to the point that you felt anxious talking to other men because he may show up at any moment to abruptly end the interaction. It made sense for him to be so protective over you – he was your boyfriend’s twin brother, so naturally he felt close to you and wanted to see you happy. That was normal, you told yourself.

So why the sense of dread whenever he was around?

It was not possible to escape him, and you didn’t want to cause discord by outright rejecting his helpfulness, but it always left you feeling deeply unsettled. Just like when you’d taken a trip to the human world with the twins. On the train, you and Belphegor had squabbled for a bit about who would take the one open seat, but you pointed out that he would end up falling asleep and hurting himself if he stayed standing, so eventually he acquiesced and sat down.

You stood in front of him and watched as he fell asleep in less than a minute, his head lolling forward uselessly, and just as you were thinking that his gentle snores were cute, you felt yourself being pulled back so forcefully that you stumbled a little as Beelzebub’s barreled chest pressed into your back and his chin settled on top of your head. The arm that had pulled you back stayed wrapped around your thick middle, his fingers pressing into your soft tummy hard enough that you winced a little, while his other hand held onto the overhead strap. You grabbed his forearm to pry it off, but he did not budge in the slightest.

“Hey, what are you doing?” you asked. “Let go.”

He shook his head, his chin brushing back and forth on your head, before he tilted his head so he could see more of your face.

“No." You could feel his warm breath on your cheeks, his piercing eyes boring into you.

“Um,” you started, trying uselessly to pry his arm off again.

“I’m keeping you safe,” he murmured at your temple. “So you don’t fall over and perverts can’t grope you.”

You didn’t want to struggle and make a scene or hurt his feelings or be rude, so you just allowed him to hold onto you and keep you pressed tight to him until your stop was coming up and you had an excuse to grab Belphie and shake him awake.

There was also the way Beelzebub would not let anyone else sit next to you in class besides Belphie. You’d made friends with a very sweet underclassman during one seductive speechcraft class, and the two of you had cast childish spells on each other; you convinced him that he would love to clean your locker, he convinced you that you would love to write a newspaper entry for him. You’d been giggling with him and thought nothing when you happened to see Beelzebub who was watching you across the room.

The next time you saw the underclassman, he didn’t give you even a second to talk to him before he scurried away, and that familiar sense of dread settled over you when you saw the awkward way the boy moved, like each step pained him.

Beelzebub appeared by your side soon after, putting his arm around your shoulder and his large hand over your cheek, pulling you closer to him.

“We should clean your locker today,” he said.

Normally you would have joked about how he probably just wanted to plunder your things for snacks, but you felt weak imagining the small freshman boy being hurt for no reason. You felt weak realizing that Beelzebub had memorized his face, hunted him down, and threatened him over nothing. You’d just been talking to him about schoolwork. Was that worth him being hurt? Was that worth the suffocating sense of isolation you suddenly felt?

Your knees buckled, and Beelzebub’s arms wrapped around you immediately, his arm cinching into the cushion of your tummy and his other hand coming to cup the side of your face and hold your head upright enough.

“Are you feeling sick? What’s wrong?”

You couldn’t think of what to say or how to answer. You just wished Belphegor was here to send Beelzebub away. You shut your eyes as tight as they would go and wished over and over for Belphie to appear, even as Beelzebub promised to take you home and take care of you, even as he collected you in his arms, even as he kissed you on your forehead and promised that you were safe with him, that you didn’t need to worry anymore.

You kept your eyes shut as he carried you out of the school,

And through the winter air outside,

And up the stairs of the House of Lamentation,

And into his room, where he dropped you onto Belphegor’s bed.

For a second, he let you go, and your eyes shot open to look for an escape. You tried to sit up and he pulled you closer to him by your ankle, splitting your legs so he could stand between them.

“Beel, stop,” you said, and immediately regretted it, because he shoved his fingers into your open mouth, pressing a medicine pill onto your tongue. You didn’t even have time to properly struggle before he grabbed your shoulder with his other hand and leaned onto it with all of his weight.

You tried to tell him to stop again, but only managed to drool on your lips and his fingers while making incoherent gargles from the back of your throat. The noises coming out of you sounded like some kind of terrified animal, which was really embarrassing, you shrunk back into the bed and clamped your teeth down on his fingers and gripped at his face with your nails, but he seemed completely unfazed.

“You need water to swallow it, so I’ll give it to you,” he said.

You tried to sit up to drink, but his other fingers closed around your jaw, and his hand pressed you down into the bed. This time, watching him suck water out of the bottle he always carried around, you really started to panic. Your hands calmed, and you rubbed them over his shoulders and up his neck and onto his face to earn good will.

You tried to say “Listen to me, please. I'll be good. Stop stop stop please listen don’t do this to me stop” but nothing could come out with the way his fingers had pinned your tongue, and as soon as he withdrew them he smashed his lips into yours pressing his fingers hard into your cheeks until you opened your mouth and he could push the water into it. The hand still wet with your spit grabbed your nose until you ran out of breath and sucked the water from his mouth just to try and get a chance to breathe.

He pulled away and licked up the entire side of your face, making you squeal. For a moment, your nails dug in, and then you tried to rub his face again gently.

“This isn’t right,” you chided. “I want you to stop. If you stop right now, we can both walk away and –”

You inhaled sharply, feeling his hands slip under your shirt. Panic overcame you again, and you punched him and kneed him and screamed and cried but that dazed look had come over his face, the same as when he could smell an entire hog in the oven and was thinking about eating it and only eating it.

Again, you grabbed his wrists to try and get his hands off of you, but this time you screamed for Belphegor, all the more frantically when you felt his hips push into yours. As though you were not wailing, as though you were lying still and allowing this, he shoved all the clothing on your upper body away and pressed his lips to your chest. You were sobbing by then, so he laid his head against your shaking body and licked up from your belly until he had your nipple in his mouth. His tongue traced up and down over and over as his hot breath spilled onto your skin.

He had just shoved his hands between your giant thighs to grope you when you heard the door open.

“Beel, what the fuck are you doing?” Belphie hissed.

“Belphie, help me, please,” you sobbed. You’d done everything you could to avoid a fight, and didn’t want them to argue, but you were at your wits end.

And help you he did. Belphie rushed over, grabbing Beelzebub by the shoulders and leaning back until he pulled him off of you, the both of them toppling to the floor. Belphegor shimmied out from beneath his brother, smacking his face to get him out of his trance.

“You’re being scary. What kind of welcome is that into the family?” he chided. Belphie kept him placated with rock candy from his pocket, shoving it deep into Beelzebub's mouth and tugging it back and forth to occupy his mouth

At that point, your belly felt like a void, like its emptiness was sucking you in hard enough that you would collapse.

You had wanted Belphie to realize all along, you’d thought your Belphie would rescue you from Beelzebub’s wandering hands.

“Try being sweet and gentle,” Belphie murmured. "You are coming on too strong."

Beelzebub only tried to stand up again, then focused his eyes on Belphegor’s glare and held still, despite how visibly hard his cock was getting in his pants at the thought of you. Belphie stood and then leaned over you and pulled your shirt back down.

At that moment, you understood that he knew how Beelzebub clung to you and grabbed you and forced himself on you.

He knew it and he did not mind.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he sighed, kissing your eyelids when you started crying. “What’s wrong?”

You could only feel panic as you watched Beelzebub stand up and leer at you over Belphie’s shoulder.

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notjustjavierpena · 8 months

Note

The idea of javier and reader being a baby making factory is so 🤪🤪

Trying (Drabble)

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost

A/N: Actually! My idea of them is that they don’t do super well with their attempts at starting/expanding the family. Which is why I think that they accidentally made Sebastian; they didn’t think they were super fertile and got a lil sloppy. It has always taken a good chunk of time to get reader pregnant during the times they were actively trying but fate often has it that when you stop focusing on it, it becomes easy.

Word count: 500 words

Tags: Not explicit thoughts of infertility, trying for a bebe, soft!javi, the inherent suffering of being a person who has a womb, angst, hurt/comfort

Trying

“One line again,” you say quietly and try to hide your voice trembling as Javier leans against the bathroom sink. He reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose, letting out a frustrated sigh as the reality of not being lucky this time around either sets in. You shift on the toilet seat, “Really thought this was it this time.”

It’s been four months now without any luck.

“It’ll happen, baby,” he says without sounding overly optimistic. In fact, he sounds like he is in doubt, on the verge of giving up, and the tone of his voice makes you rise from your seat without a word. You twirl the pregnancy test in your hands for a brief moment before aggressively, and with exasperation, throwing it into the sink and pushing past your husband.

You start to cry the second that he cannot see you anymore. It’s big, heavy, and self-pitying tears that are accompanied by sobs as you walk into the kitchen with fast steps. You place both your palms on the counter, not caring about not having washed them yet, feeling stupid for being in this stupid house with two stupid spare bedrooms that you can’t help seeing as stupid nurseries.

Behind you, Javier says your name so softly that you heave for breath. You can only stammer your response, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Javier asks. You hear him come up behind you, so you turn to face him. Your face is tear-streaked, nose as well as mouth are puffy and red.

“The one thing my body is supposed to be good at doing and it’s not working. Probably won’t even be a good mom either,” your sniffles are filled with frustration, a fresh teardrop escaping as you tear yourself down in front of him.

“No, no, baby, no,” Javier shakes his head, tuts gently, and moves to cup your teary face. He wipes a few drops away with his thumbs, and you help by catching a few that threaten to drip off your chin, “It’ll happen. Think about how happy that’ll make us.”

“And if it doesn’t?” You know it’s a worst-case scenario, but admittedly it would be easier if people would only just talk about the struggles of getting pregnant. There is never talk about it not being a bed of roses, that it takes time for some couples. It’s always so fucking romantic and whoopsies, we’re having a baby.

“It will,” he stresses, holding your gaze while smiling gently, “Pero sí no, then we’ll figure it out. Maybe we’ll have our own Olivia like Connie and Steve.”

“Okay,” you reach up to hold onto his wrists, closing your eyes to steady your mind. He rests his forehead against yours.

“Okay,” he repeats, “And you’ll be the greatest momma in the world.”

You chuckle whilst still having tears in your eyes, “Okay.”

“Okay,” he chuckles too, “Now I think we need to wash your pee fingers.”

FOLLOW @notjustjavierpena-fics AND TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS 💖❤️💖❤️

#husband!javi #pedro pascal characters #javier pena imagine #javier pena x reader #javier pena one shot #javi peña #javier pena narcos #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fic #javier peña #javi pena #pedro pascal fanfiction #my writing

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imyourbratzdoll · 1 year

Note

need my request for glory role with historyProfessor!Ari where he is obsessed with the reader and she works on a glory role to help pay for college and one day he finally finds out how her lips feel around his huge cock 😏😏🥵

Could you also include a little flirting in the classroom and she being his favorite because she knows all the answers to his questions?? pleaaaaaseeee love you 💖💖💖

hey baby, I'm sorry this took so long, I didn't get to sleep till 7am yesterday. I love you too!

summary - your professor finally gets to feel your lips around him.

warning - smut, gloryhole, taboo, teacher/student relationship, oral sex, swearing, slut.

18+ only please, the gif I use isn't mine, divider by @newlips

Ari could feel himself harden at the sight of you entering his classroom. Seeing your tiny skirt and plump, glossy lips made his mind swirl with thoughts of you deep-throating him. You smile widely at him, waving as you say good morning. Ari watches you walk to your seat with a sway of your hips, and he holds back his groan as you take your seat right at the front, giving him a lovely view of your pink heart knickers. He clears his throat when the rest of the students begin to fill the classroom. He stands tall in front of the whiteboard, gaining the class's attention. Your eyes move down his body slowly, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth as they land on the giant bulge in his pants. It looks so big even when it’s soft. Ari hides the smirk that threatens to appear as he notices you checking him out.

“Right, Miss L/n?” You blink and feel your cheeks heat up as everyone stares at you. “Were you not listening, Miss L/n?” Ari smirks, his arms crossed over his chest as he stares you down.

You cheekily smile, “I’m sorry, sir. I got distracted by the god standing in front of me.” You watch his cheeks turn a deep shade of red before shaking his head and continuing with the class, smiling proudly at you as you answer every question correctly, and when the bell rings, you both feel disappointed that you have to say goodbye. But Ari sighs in relief, feeling his cock ache and strain against his dress pants. Ari knew it was wrong to follow you sometimes, but he couldn’t help it. You were his favourite student, he couldn’t let something terrible happen to you, and when he found out you worked at a gloryhole outside of town, he was both fuming and horny. The thought of other men besides himself touching you, experiencing you, made Ari’s skin crawl. So today, after class, Ari makes sure to head to your work, knowing you’ll be working tonight.

He’s swollen, thick and throbbing as he gets closer to finally feeling your lips around his cock, taking him deeper until your gagging and choking. Ari groans, sliding some cash to the woman before walking to your booth. He growls and pushes a guy out of his way before that man can even unzip his pants. Ari ignores him as he takes out his heavy cock, sliding it through the hole with a bit of a struggle, and grunts as your tongue flicks out and gives it a little lick. You wrap your lips around his large mushroom tip, sucking it deeper into your mouth, moaning around the base. Ari rests his forehead against the wall, feeling his cock throb in your wonderful mouth. “Fuck, I have dreamt of this for so fucking long. Best fucking mouth.”

Your eyes widen, recognising the voice as your professor’s. But his cock tastes so good to stop, your eyes slip closed, and you take him deeper, gagging slightly around him before you swallow, feeling your clit throb at the sounds that escape him. You suck hard, swallowing and tracing every vein with your tongue. Your hand comes up, and you begin to stroke the parts you can’t fit, twisting your wrist and jerking his cock. Your other hand slips between your legs, rubbing your puffy clit, and the pleasure causes your eyes to roll to the back of your head. Your moans vibrate his thick cock, making Ari jerk forward and let out a shout. “Shit! Are you touching yourself, baby? Being a good little slutty student for me?” You throb, and Ari’s eyes roll back at the intense vibrations, feeling his end approach rapidly. “Fuck! Get ready, I’m going to fucking cum, and you better be the good girl I know you are and swallow.” His balls tighten, and his cock twitches as thick cum spurts out of him and into your mouth.

You moan, eyes filling with tears as your tongue flicks the underside of his tip, prolonging his orgasm as you continue to rub your puffy clit. Your mouth overflows with his cum, sucking it deeper and swallowing as you cum, whimpering around his softening member. You slowly pull off, panting as you stare at his cock, watching as he pulls it through the hole and tucks it into his pants. “Get dressed. Your mine now.”

Let’s just say… You lived very happily.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

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sluttywoozi · 1 year

Note

congratulations on 4k lovie!!! you deserve it <333

honestly i can't think of any request rn since i've been off tumblr for so long but my request is: something you've been wanting to write for a while now but for whatever reason you didn't/couldn't

again,, congratulations on 4k 🌹🌹🌹

Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~1k

Warnings: pain mention, cramps mention, medication mention, lil bit of tears, not a period sex fic, multiple orgasms, oral f rec., fingering

AN: thank you thank you thank you!! this is such a sweet and thoughtful request, and you got me to write something i've had in my brain for months but never put into words 💖 i have endometriosis and its fucking terrible at all times so this is for me and anyone else with chronic pain 💖

“Still cramping?” Mingyu asks, sliding into the sheets next to you and laying a warm hand over your lower abdomen. You’ve been in bed for hours already and he hates to see the scrunch in your face that says it hasn’t gotten any better. “Need your meds?”

“Already took ‘em,” you breathe, the strain in your voice evident as you curl into the pain. It’s not always this bad, but Mingyu hates how helpless he feels when it is. He can’t feel the hurt for you, can’t take it away, but he knows he could cover it up with something else if you’d let him. You usually do it on your own, not because you don’t want him to, but because it’s hard for him to get straight to the point. When the pain is this bad, you need to cum fast and hard, over and over, for the oxytocin to do its job. Mingyu can do that, but he often forgets that this isn’t just for your pleasure.

“Let me help you, baby. I won’t get distracted this time, I promise,” he pleads as he rubs at your belly, pressing his palm down hard when you shift it over a specific spot. The pressure and heat of his hands helps and he’ll never complain about an excuse to get them on you, so he shifts to straddle you and offers his other hand, watching as you arrange him how you like. You’re still contemplating but he doesn’t rush you, just massages your tummy and looks down at you with all the love in the world.

“Okay,” you exhale, tears lining your lashes and your lips pursed in a pout, “I love you.”

“Love you too, honey,” Mingyu leans down to gently press his lips to yours, ignoring the saltwater he tastes on your skin. You tend to get a bit emotional when he takes care of you but he never points it out, doesn’t want to make you feel self conscious. You’re also just really pretty when you cry and this is one of the few times he can appreciate it without feeling guilty. His kisses stray from your lips down your neck, meandering over your clothed breasts before finishing at your hips. He pecks between the fingers splayed over your stomach and finally shifts his hands to start pulling your pajama pants off.

He promised not to get distracted so he avoids the siren call of your thighs and spreads them instead, working his broad shoulders in between and wrapping an arm around so he can keep a hand on your belly. You’re not wet but you will be soon, and until then he keeps the pressure and pace steady. It’s not long before your hips are moving with him, little gasps escaping you as moments of peace break through the mask of pain. He speeds up his movements, rotating his hand so he can prod at your entrance through your panties. The fabric is damp and he grins victoriously to himself, hiding his smile in the crease of your thigh. He knows you can still feel the canines pressing into your skin but he also knows that now isn’t the time for him to revel in his ability to make you wet. Now is the time to make you feel better, making you wet is just a delicious byproduct.

He can feel your clit changing under his thumb, feel it getting harder and starting to throb, and he knows you’re close. You always cum faster when you’re in pain; Mingyu thought it would be the opposite but it’s like your body knows what you need and wants to let you have it, so he doesn’t question further, just lets the circles grow faster and faster until you break with a cry. He doesn’t stop, drops down to suck at your clit through your panties and pushes at your entrance with two fingers, feeling his head start to spin as you gasp and whine. He loves your noises, loves when he’s the one drawing them from you, can’t get enough, and he smirks around you knowing that he doesn’t have to stop this time.

You both get tired of the panties at the same moment, your hands clumsily pushing them down just as he starts to tug them off, and when he finally sees the mess he’s made of you, it’s like his heart stops. You’re wet, so fucking wet, and blazing hot, and he wants to sink inside of you but he wants to make you cum more, so he doubles down on his efforts. He sucks your clit into his mouth and slips two fingers inside, curling them into your front wall and seeking out your g-spot. He finds it immediately, knows you inside and out, hooks his fingertips into the rough patch and starts working it. You get wetter around him, practically gushing, and when he stops sucking your clit to lash it with his tongue, you cum again. Your wetness soaks the lower half of his face as you clench around him, crying real tears overhead and tangling your fingers in his hair.

Mingyu loses count after number five, but he doesn’t need to know the specifics of how thoroughly he’s wrecked you. Not when he gets to slide into the bath with you after, and carefully do your skincare with his normally clumsy hands, and carry you to the bed you sleep in together, and bundle you up in his arms, and watch you fall asleep with not a lick of pain on your face. All of that is more than he could ever ask for.

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dailyreverie · 8 months

Text

Adore you

Part of the Your Wish is my Command universe

A/N: Requested by @dameronshandholder 💖 thank you so much for sending one in! This one ended up being 700 words of Poe being a sweetheart (and tbh exactly what I need rn). I hope you enjoy this warm Poe hug 😊

@flufftober - Day 4 Cinderella Moment (the "ugly duckling" gets their moment to shine)

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Solo!reader

Word count: 763

Flufftober masterlist || SERIES MASTERLIST

If there was something Poe truly admired about you, it was your quiet dedication. You always knew just what to say and when to say it, your words carrying an intelligent and thoughtful touch. Even during missions, your first instinct was to praise your team and share the credit with them. "I don't need anyone kissing the ground I walk on," you had once remarked, prompting a playful roll of Poe's eyes. He respects your work, applauds it every time he can, but sometimes he wishes you would let others see how hard you worked.

Poe's wish came true when you returned from a week-long mission, one that had started with you sifting through intel at your desk and eventually leading your squad to investigate a supposed First Order station. Your departure had been a quick, hidden kiss behind crates, but your return was met with cheers and applause.

He sees you come back victorious, like a bounty hunter who was about to get their life's worth in credits. The word had spread quickly, and soon not only the general, but most of the base went up to you. He sees you from afar, not able to contain the proud smile that begins to form on his face and the warmth in his chest that creeps up when he sees the praise you are receiving from everyone. With everyone clapping and cheering your cheeks begin to hurt from smiling and laughing; your mother goes up to hug you and whispers something in your ear that Poe can only guess is a confirmation of how proud she is of you, your own squad pushing you to receive the recognition you deserve. He could spend all day every day hearing all the wonderful things about you that you are getting from everyone, just to make you see that everything he sees in you is true.

From his spot far away from the crowd, Poe can see the sudden flicker of your eyes among the multitude that surrounds you, your search for him evident in his eyes, to which he can’t help but chuckle. You find him as if you had heard him, your cheeks immediately heating up from the way he’s looking at you alone, welcoming and shining, ignoring every rule of discretion you may have set before. If it were for you, you would ignore everyone else and run towards him, wrap your arms around him, and let yourself melt in the sweet nothings you knew he was saving for your ears only.

When the crowd finally dissipates he’s still standing there, the same glorious smile on his face waiting for you when you finally go up to him.

"Lieutenant," Poe greeted you with a nod, his smile revealing the depth of his feelings.

"Commander," you replied, your cheeks still flushed. "All of this attention feels a bit much." You did your best to remain professional in your words, knowing people could still be around, but deep inside, you yearned for Poe to whisk you away to his quarters and let you forget about the mission entirely.

“Are you kidding me? Sweetheart, what you did was amazing. You deserve every praise, and every cheer, and every hug everyone wants to give to you.” Poe declared, his hands gently caressing your shoulders with subtle motions to keep your focus on him. "I'm so glad that everyone can now see what I see. That you see what I see."

“Thanks, Poe.” Your words choke on your throat. You didn’t expect to get emotional, but the way he speaks makes tears begin to sting the corners of your eyes, his kind and beautiful eyes only emphasizing every word he says.

"I'm incredibly proud of you," Poe continued, his eyes looking around to ensure privacy before brushing away a stray tear that had escaped. "Always."

“Maker, I must be exhausted.” You chuckle as you justify your emotions, sniffing and wiping away your tears. “And I missed you, so damn much, which is probably why I’m getting so emotional.”

“I missed you too.” Poe joins your laughter and hugs you close to his chest, rocking you side to side softly. In the middle of his tight embrace, you can hear him whispering one more “I’m proud of you” against the top of your head where he seals the words with a lingering press of his lips.

Reluctantly, you pulled apart, but your hands lingered, promising a reunion after your mission debrief with the General. At that moment, you both knew that the sweetest reward awaited in each other's arms.

🚀✨🚀✨🚀✨🚀✨🚀✨🚀✨🚀✨🚀✨

Thanks for reading! Please reblog and comment if you enjoyed it!

#fluffltober2023 #day 4 #flufftober #star wars #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x solo!reader #poe dameron x female reader #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron fluff #poe dameron x you #poe x you #poe x reader #poe dameron x y/n #poe dameron au #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron fanfic #poe dameron fic

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desideriumwriter · 13 days

Note

hi! i saw you opened your requests and i have one :) i love fred, and i love angst even more. however, most of the angsty fred fics rotate around his death, which yes, it definitely hurts, but i'm looking for something else. i'm a sucker for unrequited love, maybe the reader could be pining after fred and he doesn't reciprocate the feelings or something along those lines. the only particular i'd like is hufflepuff!reader, other than that it's all up to you.

i love love love your writing, thank you in advance 💖💖💖

YES god yes, we all know i'll be on my hands and knees for any sort of angst, plus i've been thinking of writing one of these for awhile now. anyways, i hope you enjoy this lil blurb <3

wc: 682

“Something on your mind?” Fred’s voice ripped you from your daze as he began to walk beside you.

“Nope, nothing.” You shook your head reassuringly. Hoping he wouldn’t be able to see through your facade.

He did.

“Come on, you’ve been staring off into space.” He nudged you playfully, a small smile appeared on your face.

“Just thinking.” You shrugged and shook your head.

“Just thinking about what?” You mimicked your mumbled tone.

“It’s nothing!” You let out a breathy laugh, Fred stopped and stood in front of you.

“It’s something.” He grabbed your shoulders, his touch made it feel like there were fireworks bursting in your stomach.

“And you’re going to tell me.” He squeezed, tilting his chin down slightly to look you in the eyes.

You sighed as you tried to decide if you should tell him the truth or come up with a lie he wouldn’t believe. It was a shitty shot in the dark, and you were going to take it.

“You.” The word came out muttered, yet Fred was still able to catch it.

“Me? Why me?” He smirked, removing his hands from your shoulders and crossing them over his chest.

"Because you're funny, and you know how to get me out of a mood." You fiddled with your yellow tie, not knowing what to do with your hands. “And you’re super smart and talented, you know how to make all these insane potions, you don’t care how others see you or if you get in trouble,” Your eyes darted around, looking everywhere but his face. You didn’t know where you were trying to go with this, but you continued on.

“You’re charismatic and super handsome.” You sighed, you should quit talking now and cut this conversation short.

“And I just really like you Fred…I’m in love with you.” You scoffed in disbelief at yourself, by the time you were able to finally look at him, the smile had ranaway from his face.

He said your name softly, pitfully. You both knew what was coming next.

“Look, I like you too. You’re a really great friend, you’re brilliant even.” He began, your gaze fell to the floor.

You felt like an idiot, you felt humiliated.

You’ve been pining after him for so long, and now it feels like a moment of confidence has just ruined it all. You wanted to do so many things at this moment, you wanted to run, you wanted to kiss him, you wanted to slap yourself, you wanted to burst into tears.

Fred bit down on his bottom lip as his brows knit together, he was searching for the words.

“You’re talented and smart. And it’s kind of you to think of me like that, but...” He let out an awkward sigh, it felt like the ground was crumbling beneath your feet.

"I'm sorry, I just..I don't see you that way. I can’t say that I feel the same.” He gave you a tucked in smile.

A small, barely audible “oh” escaped past your lips. You nodded and tried to blink away the tears that were building up in your eyes.

It was quiet. So quiet and the look of sympathy on his face only made you feel worse.

“Well, uh, I better get going.” Your voice wavered, you tried your best to collect yourself. “I’ve got some papers to finish.” You sniffled and pushed past Fred, your steps speeding up as you walked down the corridor.

Fred called out your name once more, causing you to stop, you took a deep breath before you turned to face him.

“I really am. Sorry. I didn’t mean to lead you on.”

“No, it’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have misinterpreted our friendship.” You gave a weak smile through watery eyes, turning away and continuing down the corridor.

Fred stood there, rubbing the back of his neck in guilt as he watched you quickly escape. George came out of his hiding spot from behind one of the stone pillars, giving his brother a rough pat on the back.

“Congrats mate, you’ve broken her heart.”

tell me what you thought!

#fred weasley #fred weasley fic #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x fem!reader #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley angst #blurb #fred weasley blurb #request

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bunnii-143 · 23 days

Text

Seungmin

(7/8)

MDNI 💖

Mafia bosses have it hard. So busy, and stressful. Kim Seungmin. The love of your life. You love him dearly. And he loves you…you think. He’s so intimidating and hot. You can’t choose what to think. “Excuse me, pup? Hello?” He says slightly irritated snapping in front of your face drawing you back “sorry, what?” You mumble. You’re sitting on the edge of the big desk, in arms reach of him. “As I was saying…” you tune him out quickly. You’re never sure why he dragged you to this meeting. Don’t get me wrong. You’ve missed him…you’ve even been teasing him all day. Wearing the tightest little pink dress you own. Not long later everyone leaves and it’s just you and Seungmin. He quickly grips your hips and throws you into his lap, shooting you a tense and intimidating glare, “what the fuck are you doing!?” In a low growl which just goes into your aching core. “Doing what?” You ask softly and he’s grabs a handful of your hair causing a whimper from you and pulls you close to his face with a smirk across his face. “Don’t. Even.” He chuckles and pulls you into a kiss. Working fast and Wasting no time, stripping you of your clothes, and bending you over the desk. Using his tie to tie your arms behind you. Then flipping you over, Gripping your throat and he peers down at you. “Fucking slut, so wet for no reason.” He growls and you can feel him hover over your entrance. You expect him to thrust into you, as normal. But you feel and cold metal stretch you out, a loud moan to escape your lips. And you glance down to see the tip of his gun inside of you… you try to say something, anything! but then he moves it deeper and deeper inside of you. “Gon’ cum like this for me? Huh slut?” He growls out as he thrusts the gun in and out of you, with his free hand he rubs figure sights on your clit, which sends you toppling over the edge and the knot in your lower stomach snaps. Forcing the most breathless, pornographic moan out of you. You lean back on the desk to catch your breath, then slowly prob yourself up to see your boyfriend licking your release off the gun. Fuck…he’s so hot… you try to reach out to him but get a brutal reminder that your arms tied behind your back, you groan. How can you palm his rock hard dick with no hands?! You softly giggle, and press your knee softly on his bulge. He groans loudly and glares at you, the roughly flip you over and you can hear his pants fall to the floor, wasting no time to trust all of him into you. He’s not exactly girthy. But long and slender. He starts to move at a quick pace. “Is this what you wanted?” “Fucking slut” spitting his normal array of dirty words at you… “answer me!” He yells out and lands a hard slap on your right cheek, he’s never done that. But my fuck. You moan loudly, and he laughs dryly at you “fucking sicko-“ he slaps you again. He finally hits that perfect spot your walls clenches around him. “C-close…!” You moan out, and he hits that spot repeatedly as your eyes roll back, your orgasm hitting you like a semi-truck and your vision goes white. His follows not long after and he collapses on you. He speaks in a whisper “good girl…”

Suddenly Jeongin’s voice booms in the hallway…

“Seungmin, what the fuck are you doing in there?!”

A/N I’m back! Guess who’s a little stupid! I’m so sorry for kind vanishing. It’s theatre season, and my dumbass when long boarding in BOOTY SHORTS. And the got sick ☺️. Anywho. Hopes y’all liked it. Working on a daddy 2chan fic rn. She’s eating. Love y’all. Remember to rest, eat and drink water! Love you always and forever, byeeeee💕💕💕

#stray kids hard thoughts #stray kids x you #skz scenarios #skz smut #stray kids x y/n #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #stray kids x reader smut #stray kids smut #seungmin #skz #seungmin smut #seungmin stray kids #seungmin x you #seungmin x reader #seungmin skz

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piratesfromspace · 1 year

Text

Brandy & Gingerbread (Nick 'Santa'/Reader)

Nick 'Santa Claus' (Violent Night) x fem!Reader Rated: Explicit 1.2k words

Nicomund the Red and the Tooth Fairy meet again on Christmas day. Fluff and smut ensue.

This is my Christmas gift for @gipsydangerzone 💖

Content: mention of food and alcohol, implied violence, magic healing, Santa Claus kink (is that a thing?), smut, thigh riding, Christmas fluff, fem!reader, established relationship. This happens just after the end of the movie. Look at me expanding on the lore of this Christmas masterpiece that is Violent Night.

MASTERLIST

gif by nick-offerman

“Well, well, what do we have here? Isn’t that the Tooth Fairy herself?” The familiar gravelly voice has you shiver before you even see him.

“What are you doing here?” he continues as you swirl back to face him. Here he is. In all his glory, red velvet and white fur and the gray of his fluffy beard. Gold sparks of magic still floating around him.

“Nick! Nice to see you again! How am I doing? Fine, thanks for asking!” you answer sharply.

He seems unbothered by your sarcastic greetings. “You know it’s actually my night, right, sweetheart?” he croons, taking a step toward you.

“Well, it happens that the kid in this house lost a tooth today, so it’s also my night. I work all year round, Nicomund, I’m not some lazy old man who manages to complain while doing shit for most of the year.” you snap back.

“Oof, darling, no need to be so mean. You don’t want to end on my naughty list, don’t you?” He takes one step further, crossing slowly but surely the length of the living room. The place is cozy, old fireplace but modern floor, new sofa but vintage quilts. The tall christmas tree is a real one and it smells like pine and spice and sugar. Like Christmas. Fairy lights spread across the place bathe the room in a soft warm glow. Seeing him in such a decor, it feels like a freaking cheesy Holiday movie. Except you know him, know what he’s capable of, and he’s far from the lazy old man you accuse him to be.

“Well, I don’t have time to play games Nick, so unless you’ve lost a tooth yourself, I have to go.” you don’t sound as sure of yourself as you’d like. That’s his fault, he unsettles you, makes you dream of domesticity, of chocolate and marshmallows, of cuddles in front of the fire, of all those soft other things you don’t have time to indulge in.

“Oh sweetie, you won’t believe me, because actually I’m afraid I’ve lost a couple teeth earlier tonight.” He rasps, and behind the sirupy lull of his low voice, you notice for the first time the thin hint of pain. Now that he’s closer, you actually take the time to really look at him. There is a split on his right cheekbone, specks of dried blood on his jaw, spots of red on the white fur of his collar. His usual stupid hat is absent, and his hair hastily tied up in a bun. The tiny round glasses are nowhere to be seen. His sleeves are bunched up, showing off the dark swirls of ink under his skin, meeting the blue-black of fresh bruises.

“Nick, what happened…?”

Flashbacks of wars long lost invade your mind. Nicomund the Red and his hammer. Bathed in blood and mud and death. The stench of it clinging to the inside of your nose for days after the battles. Ears ringing with the screams of your dying enemies for countless nights. Your own sword covered in gore.

“Hey, you with me, sweetheart?” Nick’s hand lands on your shoulder and you’re suddenly brought back to your senses. To now, to the cozy living room and the smell of Christmas candles. He’s the one injured, yet he focuses on you. It’s not the first time. It’s been going on for millenia now.

“It’s a long story, but I’m fine.” he adds now that he has your attention.

“What about you?” he asks, and he cups your cheek, eyes the color of iron - moody skies - scanning your face. His palm is hot, rough pads against your delicate skin. You circle his wrist and nod in reassurance. He said he was fine but you can’t miss how he flinches under your touch, a muffled groan of discomfort escaping him.

“You’re still a bad liar, you know that, Nick? Let me see. My magic may help.”

He sits on the sofa, large thighs slightly open and strong feet on the ground, while you’re perched on one of his legs. You had opened his jacket, and traced his naked chest in search of every cut and bruise, blue sparks at the tip of your fingers, healing them on your way. You remember doing the same thing a very long time ago, when you both did not have your magic yet. It’s intimate. Weirdly familiar. His warm body under yours strangely soothing.

You push the jacket even lower, revealing his broad shoulders, hard muscles under the soft curves of his body. Runes and sacred symbols itched in his skin, reminding you of home. You shift on top of him to reach his back and powerful hands fly up to your waist to help you keep your balance. The heat of him warms up your core, and you find yourself not wanting to leave his embrace.

Once you’re mainly done, you sit back, and stare at his face. His hands are still on your waist, burning where they meet the sliver of bare flesh between your top and pants. It’s unconscious, your body reacting on its own, but you ground yourself on his leg, your cunt pressing against his thigh in search of something you’ve denied yourself for too long. He notices of course - arched brow and knowing smile - and the iron of his irises melt to a deep night blue. Your fingertips ghost over the crinkle at the corner of his eyes, smooth over the silver strands of his beard, just enough time for you to gather your courage and finally take the bait of his lips.

You press delicate kisses on his mouth, until he parts his lips. He tastes like gingerbread and brandy and it pairs surprisingly well. Nick keeps kissing you and strengthens his hold on you, brings you down on his thigh and flexes the muscle. He drinks your sudden gasp with a low chuckle. Bastard.

“You like this, mmh? Come on, take what you need my little fairy.” he whispers in your neck, his beard tickling your skin and making you giggle softly. He repeats his move, encouraging you to find your own rhythm. Warmth builds and builds between your legs, you can feel how wet you’re becoming while you seek the delicious friction of his thigh against your swollen flesh.

Nick is drowning you in filthy praises between two deep kisses, tongue tasting the roof of your mouth like you’re a sugary treat. Your hands are buried in his long hair, yanking him to you when he dares to leave too much space between you two. You’re close but it’s not yet enough, and you wish he would give you more, let you open his pants and really ride him.

It’s like he can read in your mind - you don’t understand how the whole wish thing works, maybe he is - and he rises from the couch, holding you in his arms in an impressive display of strength, before he spins and lays you back down on the sofa, landing on top of you.

“I guess you deserve a gift too sweetheart, you work so hard, it’s your turn to be taken care of.” He dips his head, kisses you once again, and there’s a devotion and a passion that wasn’t there a moment earlier. He smiles against your lips and his voice is like molten chocolate, decadent and rich: “Merry Christmas” he rasps, before sliding lower and bringing down your pants with him.

#nicomund the red #david harbour #david harbour x reader #david harbour imagine #david harbour fanfiction #santa claus #santa claus fanfiction #santa claus x reader #daddy christmas #violent night #violent night fanfiction #nick x reader #christmas fluff #holiday shenanigans

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manjiroscum · 2 years

Text

COTTONTAIL

Character/s: Bonten!Manjiro Sano

Warnings: f!reader, explicit sex, mature language, hybrid au, established relationship, reader is a bunny hybrid, mentions of past kidnapping, reader is an airhead, tiny angst, cunnilingus, rough sex, creampie, breeding kink, heat cycles, unprotected sex, and use of pet names. Minors do not interact.

Note: commissioned by bby grey @meganemoon 💖🥺 thank you so much and hope u like it luv!

Synopsis: Mikey would do anything for his wife—even hightail out of an important meeting.

WC: 2.7k

Ginza Six, everyone's favorite mall—or so your old friends used to say for the heck of it whenever you guys passed the area after class just to seem relevant. Their snobbishness always irked you, but in a place where friendships were hard to come by, especially for hybrids, you never complained. Pretty little head too wrapped up in the thought that despite how mean they can be, they were still your friends. The building’s postmodern architecture gave off an aura of exclusivity that people will never miss, especially during the sunniest of days when the light hits the glass windows. The difference back then was you didn’t like how it was too lavish and expensive to shop there, the design reminding you of a sleek rubix cube. Finding the prices of the shops’ items to be ridiculous and quite hilarious at that time as a student. A bit envious of those who can afford it. You had no money to buy beautiful dresses that cost more than a month’s worth of groceries. Now? All you had to do was swipe on the trusty old credit card your beloved husband gifted you the first three months into the relationship two years ago. No more snobbish friends or bills to worry about. Time certainly flies fast, especially with Sano Manjiro as your lover.

To spoil his pretty baby was almost second to breathing for him. There’s nothing he can’t do.

Seemed like it was only yesterday when he freed you from a mountain of debts, whisking you away from those icky men who were illegally selling bunny hybrids in the underground city of Tokyo. It was a pity on their part when they decided to mess with the leader of Bonten in the matters of trade and scamming them, but certainly a win for you. Yet, marrying Sano Manjiro wasn’t part of your plans after being set free that involved a quiet life in the countryside after escaping such a stressful situation. Nor did you ever stop and think that maybe this was indeed fate working to reward you for going through tough times.

At the end of it all, you’re more than content with your husband and how he takes care of you.

Other than just a place to spend your free time whenever Manjiro was busy with Bonten, Ginza was the perfect place to just hang out. But unlike any other day, the number of people has significantly increased due to the new shop that opened days ago. Making a mental note not to go through the crowded areas, you almost skipped your way to the first store you wanted to check out. Perked up bunny ears slightly swaying as you went with the shopping bags on your arms that you’ve accumulated from thirty minutes spent going around. Sashaying your way into the Dior store, you politely smiled at the woman. Instantly recognizing you from the countless times you’ve visited, she was quick to assist you with a warm smile.

“Good day. What would it be today, Mrs. Sano?”

“I’ve seen pictures of a new set of leather collars that came in just this week.” Fishing out your phone from your purse, you then started to search for the screenshot you took before holding it up to the woman to see. Specifically pointing at the pink one that had a golden heart as a centerpiece. “Wanna surprise my husband since he likes these. I think it suits me, too. Don’tcha think so? Do you have it in stock?”

“Alright. Let me go and check, okay? In the meantime, feel free to sit down or have a look around.”

Left all by yourself again, you exhaled lightly and began to walk around the shop after setting down your shopping bags on one of the black cushioned seats. Eyes searching for something that might catch your attention as you waited for the sales associate to return. Eyeing a clutch, your gaze traveled from it to the streets outside where a mother and child were passing by. Huge cotton candy in the shape of a familiar cartoon character in the child’s hand, a smile on his face brighter than any of the ladies inside the same establishment as you. Contagious it was, as a smile of your own graced your features at them having a good time. Line of sight falling to the golden band on your ring finger, it slightly faltered then morphed into a pout.

Oh, Manjiro…

Quite dangerous it was for your husband to walk around in broad daylight and accompany you out. Not only were the police after his head, but numerous rivaling gangs wanted to jump on the leader of the most notorious criminal organization in Japan to make a name for themselves. Plus, he strongly implements that you and he should never be seen together in the public eye. And while there were times he brought you to restaurants, it was usually those who had connections with Bonten or you both went so close to midnight where regular citizens have gone home. Manjiro was always careful, calculating in every move in order to keep you safe. Trips to Ginza or other places wouldn’t be possible at all if he wasn’t. But as much as you were thankful, the forlorn feeling never stops seeping into your heart whenever you see couples out doing romantic stuff without care.

Would it be so selfish if you wished for the same thing even after being handed almost everything?

Whether it was the AC blowing directly on you or how the store was cold, you shivered and hugged yourself. Why the fuck is it so cold all of a sudden? You cursed at yourself for forgetting to bring one of your coats in case these things happen. Nevertheless, you quickly beamed at the sales associate now walking up to you with a grin on her face. Finally, once this is over, you could go out and seek the warmth of the sun.

“Mrs. Sano, the collar you wanted is available. Would you like to try it on first?”

Before you could even respond, another chill ran down your spine, prompting you to rub your hands together. What was even more frustrating was how your body temperature was slowly rising, a thick warm sensation blooming from your abdomen. This didn’t go unnoticed by the woman, who quickly tried to reach out and ask about your well-being. Your reaction was instant, stepping back to evade her touch in fear of aggravating the condition that has dawned upon you. Warm flesh, the pounding beat of your heart that is bound to get worse, and the slick dampening your aching pussy folds that would soon be embarrassingly obvious to anyone every time your thighs rubbed against each other. Not to mention, your ears flopping down at the realization, the skin gradually heating up.

Fuck! How could you forget about your heat?! How could you let such an important thing slip past your mind?

“M-Mrs. Sano? Are you okay?”

“Huh? U-uh, yeah!” A weak smile on your face, you then gestured at her to wrap the item. “I’ll take it, d-dear. That and another—what other color do you have? Red? Black? Well, w-whatever, just give me that and another one—doesn’t matter what, just please hurry up?” Seeing her nod and rush away after handing your credit card to her, you sighed. This wasn’t how you pictured your little shopping spree to go… How could you even forget about your upcoming heat?

Well, the telltale signs were already there… From the mood swings and the cravings.

A men’s cologne being tested was happening nearby, notes of what seemed to be spicy bergamot wafting towards you. Your hand shot up to cover your nose immediately at the enticing scent. Averting your gaze from where the sales associate disappeared, you weakly turned to the other way only to catch a familiar shade of hair paired with a different face. Heart banging on your ribcage at the images of your husband sprouting like daisies through concrete, you wished the traitorous mind filling your sight of him would halt in its silliness and leave you be. Wishful thinking never does anything and everywhere you turn, all you see are mimicking faces of Sano Manjiro that merely fueled your desire to have his cock inside your aching heat—now.

“Here you go, Mrs. S—”

“Thank you, bye!” Snatching the paper bag and the card, you mentally took note to apologize to her next time before taking off. Every step you took was like stepping in shards of glass. You did your best to avoid bumping into people as you left looking like you stole something from the looks you are receiving. Eyes darting to the cars parked, you squinted while trying to calm your hammering heart and the heat that gradually enveloped your body to a point everything was a big blur. Colors swirling into a heap almost diluted. To kiss the pavement would have been possible until your chauffeur took a hold of you, scanning your sweaty face and dazed expression. It’s even a miracle you managed to reach the car without passing out or jumping someone. Although the latter would’ve been far-fetched. Clinging to the man, you groaned.

“M-Mikey, c-call him please!”

“Mikey?”

Bored. Tired. His feet screamed to go down the path headed straight to his motorcycle to take him home and see you. Mikey hated leaving the penthouse early, knowing you tend to be needy in the morning while he kisses you goodbye. But matters in the organization wouldn’t disappear overnight, especially when he’s needed. And today was no different, sitting at the head of the table, listening to Takeomi present the sales of the latest drug Bonten was selling. At the man’s call for his attention, the platinum-haired man was about to move his slightly chapped lips from staying utterly silent the whole time found his onyx irises falling to his vibrating cellphone on top of his desk. Brows furrowed as to why your chauffeur could be calling, he quickly picked it up and stood from his seat. The rest of Bonten instantly went quiet, prompting Takeomi to stand still and be ready to resume once Mikey was finished with his call.

Except he didn’t know it was connected to you.

“Speak.”

“It’s your wife, Sir. She needs to speak to you—”

“G-give me that,” your shaky voice cut through the chauffeur’s voice, worry spiking up Manjiro’s spine at how disgruntled you sounded. Keeping his wits together, he waited for you to voice out your thoughts when you practically moaned into the receiver, causing your husband’s eyes to widen a fracture. What were you up to now? “Manjiro…” You drawling his name so seductively had his pants tightening. Manjiro could only mentally curse at the effect you have on him. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you, baby—know how much you hate me callin’ if you’re busy but, fuck…”

“What’s wrong?”

“‘Jiro, my heat… it’s here. Please come home to me.”

Thirty to twenty minutes. That is the usual traveling time Mikey had gotten used to from the penthouse to Bonten’s headquarters every time his presence was needed. Yet, it merely took him five to reach the towering building and ride up the elevator to your shared home. Seconds to discard his shoes and pad to the master bedroom, trailing the clothes you wore now serving like breadcrumbs on the floor. And even before he could swing the door open to ask where you are, you flung it back and jumped him. Hot kisses stamped all over his face, lowering down to his sensitive neck where goosebumps littered while he held you in his arms to steady you. The tight squeeze of your legs around his waist almost bruising, the aching damp cunt of yours rubbing against his clothed bulge. In all his years of living a dangerous life, Mikey would’ve normally prevented anyone from surprising him after being numerously betrayed by those who seek to ruin him. How easily those principles he lived by crumble at the face of you whining for his cock to stuff you full of his cum, naked as the day you were born with your bunny ears twitching.

“‘Jiro… fuck, I need you.”

“Baby, calm down—”

His words were akin to white noise, lips still aching to kiss every inch of his skin and bury yourself underneath it until Manjiro’s scent would stay with you for days, for weeks—forever. Taking matters into your own hands, you unlatched yourself from him and pushed him down until his back hits the mattress. You looked at him from above despite lust clouding your thoughts. And all your husband could do was stare back at your hazed-up mind, swallowing a moan once you straddled him and started grinding down his leaking clothed cock.

“W-wanna ride you.” Groaning at the overwhelming scent of your lover, you figured your hands had a mind of their own and started stripping him down to match you. Your leaking cunt in full display to his dark eyes that never strayed from you. You were definitely out of it—sheathing his throbbing and oozing dick inside of your gummy walls at once, whining at the stretch and how warm it was. But Mikey begged to differ, hissing at the contact and the wet muscles clenching him tightly as you started to bounce fervently. His wife has lost all inhibition and mewled, fingers playing with your perked nipples that he wished to suck on while you rode his cock.

But he couldn’t. Not when you would furrow your brows whenever he made a move to dominate you or to pin you down on the mattress to fuck you himself. No, you wanted to take lead for once and just take. Slowing down to just feel his cock snug in your hot slick cunt, you moaned into the air.

“Missed you so much, baby… Miss this cock in me—mhm, fuck. Need you…” Biting on your lower lip that it almost broke through the skin and bled, your gaze befell onto your husband who could only stare at you in muted awe. He then nodded at your statement, sharing the same sentiments. His pale chest rose and fell at the sight of raw carnal desire unfolding in front of him. Because fuck, if he had to choose between you and Bonten, anyone can mess around with the latter and still lose. But when it comes to you, those fuckers better be prepared to pry his cold dead hands from you before he’ll ever let anything awful happen to his pretty bunny. “‘Jiro…”

“Take me, baby,” he breathed, hands holding onto your hips and waist, giving them a squeeze. “Take it all. I’m all yours.”

No one had to tell you twice, resuming on bouncing on the cock you oh so loved. Unashamed to take what was yours and screaming obscene words, knowing only Manjiro is the sole witness to it all. Holding your tits, you keened. Mouth whining at how you couldn’t go on anymore. He knew this was gonna happen, you giving up in the middle of it because you hated tiring yourself—hate doing all the work. His spoiled bunny. The encouragement of your husband came in grunts, goading you to keep going. To fuck his cock and cream around it until you could no longer keep your eyes open.

“Isn’t this what—shit, what you wanted? Take this fuckin’ cock of yours, baby. Let it breed this bunny cunt. Don’t stop now.”

Sobbing softly, you came undone at the implication. Your eyes rolled back and body quivered at how he spilled his creamy cum into you. Cunt squeezing him dry for the first time today, despite knowing full well your husband would rather shoot blanks by the end of it than stop until your heat was over. Your searing gummy walls painted exactly like his silver hair. You were close to collapsing on top of him when Manjiro held you steady. Your husband caught his breath, a tiny curl at the end of his lips was a telltale sign that this was far from over. He suddenly flipped you to have your back on the mattress. Your husband then immediately went down face to face with your pussy folds still oozing with his semen. Warm tongue darting out to lick on your clit, earning a whine from your parted mouth.

“My turn.”

#❣️pat.coms #tokyo revengers smut #tr smut #mikey smut #bonten mikey smut #sano manjiro x reader #manjiro sano smut #sano manjiro smut #tokrev smut #tw.breeding kink #tw.unprotected sex #tw.hybrid au

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months

Text

The Quiet Ones 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

Note: first draft of my final assignment is done, just need to do a few other things for class and I'm pretty much done.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

As night falls, you feel woozy. You don’t know how much longer you can hold out. The boxed macaroni and cheese only made your stomach hurt and you’re pretty much out of water. Tomorrow you might just have to venture outside and hope he’s not around. Somehow, you don’t think he’s ever gone. He seems to always be watching.

You can’t focus on your book. The edges of your vision are hazy and your head is pounding. You close it and look for something to watch. You just as quickly forget what you’re doing and shut off the television. You’re too weak to make it to the bed. You're tired, you just want to sleep.

You look at the window before you lay down, then glance down. The light isn’t there yet. Its absence unsettles you. You wouldn’t exactly prefer it was but it not being there makes you wonder if something else is coming.

You’re too exhausted to worry about it. You close your eyes as you lay flat on the couch. You exhale and let your body relax. The tension is as tiring as anything else. You’re always wound up tight, always waiting, always watching. You just don’t have anything left in you.

That familiar drifting sensation takes over you. Your eyelids itch and your muscles grow heavy. You slip into your unconscious little by little until your shrouded in a deep unbreakable darkness. You’re not scared or frustrated or happy or sad. You’re just tired.

The shatter of glasses splices through your momentary escape. You groan as you eyes snap open and you lay in the dimness of your apartment. What happened? The light was on when you passed out. What was that noise?

You push yourself up to your elbows and look at the window. There’s not green light but something worse. The window is broken. The jagged glass shines with moonlight as shards litter the floor. You sit up all the way and scramble around, unable to make sense through the darkness and your own sluggish perception.

You reach for the lamp and try to turn it on. On, off, on, off. You shake your head, trying to free yourself from the clouds, and stagger to your feet. You go to the wall and flip the switch for the overhead light. Nothing. The power must be out. You can’t even hear the hum of the fridge.

A tickle crawls into your throat and you cough. You smell smoke. You go to your desk and feel around for your phone. You wait for it to turn on as the dryness in your nose and throat build. You finally get the flashlight glowing on your cell and shine it around the room.

The haze isn’t in your mind. The apartment is filling with smoke. You pull your shirt up over your nose and cough again. Your eyes burn as you try to see through the fog. There’s a dark shape on the carpet spewing fumes. What the heck?

Adrenaline kicks in and instinct has you feet moving before you can think. You can’t breath. The smoke gets thicker as your eyes stream and you rack with coughs. You hit the door with your body, clawing at the lock, fingers aching as you twist back the latch. You waver as you step back, pulling the door inward and stumble into the hall.

Your feet hit the floor clumsily, flat and thumping, thunderous in the hue of night. You hack again, hand on your chest, and tumble to your knees. You grip your head as the strength drains from your body, seeping away little by little. Are you dying? Is this it?

You fall onto your side and suck in deep breaths. Your head lolls and your arm falls slack beside you. Your eyes roll up and a black silhouette appears above you. A tongue clicks and a whistle blows out.

“I didn’t want it to be like this, baby cakes,” the timbre skews in your ears as your lashes close, “don’t worry...” the world shifts beneath you, “daddy’s got you.”

👄

You don’t dream. You don’t think. You don’t feel. There is only endless black.

A sliver of light pierces the void. It's too bright. Painfully so. Your eyes slit and you peek out from beneath heavy eyelids. You don’t recognise those walls, the bed is too soft to be yours, and this place doesn’t smell familiar. You take a deep breath and force your eyes open.

Soft light glows through large panes to your left. The bed on which you lay is swathed in the dull tones of the morning rising just outside. You’re laid beneath blankets, several layers that make you sweat, and a cushy pillow cradles your head, many more litter the bed along the top. There’s too much of everything.

The ceiling and walls are black, the bed frame too, the silky and dark, with a fluffy zebra print throw across the foot. You can’t see much more as you lay on your back. You might not know where you are but you can certainly figure who brought you there.

On cue with your consciousness, the opposite the bed opens and you raise your head to watch a shadow enter. It reminds you of another figure, that one rippled with disorientation and impending darkness. He reaches to flip the switch beside the door and the two sconces mounted above the bet light up.

It’s him. It wouldn’t be anyone else. That stranger from the cafe. Your personal tormentor. The man who calls himself Lloyd and a litany of ridiculous names.

He stares back at you. You’re struck dumb with the dregs of you unconcscious and disbelief, meanwhile he looks almost giddy. A smile curves his lips under the line of hair and he rubs his palms together as he shifts his weight between his feet. He raises his hands appeasingly.

“Jellybean, before you scream, please hear me out,” he pleads.

You couldn’t scream if you tried. You’re too weak. This can’t be happening. Why would you be here? In a nice bed, in a nice room. You should be in some twisted torture chamber or out in the middle of the woods. If he’s going to kill you, he needs to at least be straightforward about.

He turns and strides over to another door; a closet. He slides it open and tuts as he browses the contents. You can’t see past him. You barely even try as you let your head fall back against the pillow.

“So, thoughts?” He turns to face you again as he holds up two hangers, “the navy is cute. I like the polka dots and the see throughness here and here, but the pink would bring out your complexion.”

Your eyes flit down and you gape at the two dresses, one in each hand. You shake your head and blink. You bring a hand up and touch your forehead, a grumble slipping free.

“You’re right, jellybean, it’s late,” he turns to put the dresses back in the closet, “we can deal with that in the morning. It’s not too far away... just a few hours.”

He nears the bed and you shrink down, curling your shoulders in as you fold your arms over the blankets. He lowers himself next to you, an elbow in the pillows as he peers down at you. He reaches to touch your cheek and you try to move away. He barely seems to notice as he strokes your face.

“I’ve just been so excited I can’t sleep,” he drags his knuckle around lightly, “but I didn’t want to wake you up. You need to rest. After everything you’ve been through.” He brings his legs up onto the bed and wiggles down to his side, “I know you don’t take care of yourself like you should, baby face, but that’s okay, because you have me now.”

“Why... are you doing this?” You wisp out.

He laughs, “you’re so funny...” he pets your chin, “and cute and...” he trails his hand down and squeezes your shoulder, “small. You’re adorable.”

“Please,” you groan.

“Why am I doing what?” He asks coyly, “why am I taking care of you? Why am I ready to give you everything? Why am I dying just to hear your voice and see your face and...” he stops and leans in, giving a deep sniff, “smell your hair?”

You want to shrivel up. Your lip quivers as the daze recedes and the fear sets in. He’s delusional and you have no way out. You don’t even know where you are. It hardly matters, you doubt you could get very far.

“You’re right. We should sleep. We have tomorrow to get settled in,” he reaches back to flip the light switch next to the bed, dimming the sconces back to black.

He lifts himself to free the blankets from beneath him and sidles under them. He nestles close as you go rigid. He slips his arm under you as he nuzzles your cheek.

“And every day after that. We have a whole lifetime ahead of us, jellybean. Me and you. Together forever...” he stretches his other arm over your stomach, “I never liked fairy tales before, babes. Not til you.”

You close your eyes. You’re tired but there’s no way you’re falling back asleep. This is a waking nightmare.

👄

The man, Lloyd, starts to snore. You feel his muscles relax and feel his breath steady against you. As much as you want to push him away and run, you can’t. You don’t know what it is. It’s akin to sleep paralysis. You’re awake but you can’t fight what’s happening. Something in your mind tells you it’s futile.

The sun rise on the other side of the large windows. In any other circumstance, you would admire a place like this. The sleek furniture, the luxurious blankets, the expansive view. It’s a far cry from your cramped apartment and its small windows.

You can only wallow in helpless self-pity. How did this happen? How did you let it happen? If you hadn’t been so indulgent, you would’ve never been seen. You should’ve known better than to go down to that cafe and splurge on something so menial. You could have made your own tea. You could’ve stayed inside, stayed safe.

His closeness has you sweating. It’s uncomfortable and itchy. You want to rip your skin off.

He moves and you hold your breath. He’s waking up. That can’t be good. At least asleep, he can’t do much. You curl your fingers into your palm and wait.

“Mmm,” he leans in and brushes the tip of his nose against your cheek before planting a kiss, his mustache tickles, “this is heaven. I can’t...” he pushes himself up, planting his hand on the mattress, “I can’t believe this is real. You’re really here.”

You look at him, almost glaring as you let your distress burn through. He doesn’t even notice as he rubs your arm and his blue eyes dance over you. Laying next to him as he looms over you, his size is more obvious. He’s much bigger than you.

“Coffee?” He asks, “I got this new dark roast. All the way from Colombia. I haven’t even tried it. I’ve been waiting on you. Bet it’s much better than that InstaCafe.”

You blink at him. All your fears are coming true. It’s not that he’s snatched you, it that he’s been watching you. You might never know how long but that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change this moment.

“And breakfast, if you’re hungry. I know you usually skip that but--”

“Please stop,” you croak, “please...”

“What? Honey, I’m just trying to show you all I can do for you. You don’t have to do all the work anymore. Staring at a screen is bad for your eyes. And your posture.”

“I... I didn’t mind...”

“Ah, that’s just you. You’re a hard worker. Resilient. You do what needs to be done. You don’t complain and you don’t make demands. Baby, you don’t have to. Whatever you need, I’ll give it to you without you even asking.”

“I liked... being alone. I want to be alone,” your breath hitches between words as panic pulses in your chest.

“Do you want to be alone or do you not know what it’s like to have someone? Jellybean, I’m scared too. You’re the first girl I’ve had in my bed that made it past dawn. Hell, the first girl I didn’t... you know,” he gives a crooked grin.

Your lips part as you stare at him, dumbfounded. Sure, he didn’t do more than forcibly cuddle you but it doesn’t change what he did do. You shake your head and sputter as you search for words.

“You followed me.”

“I kept you safe,” he insists.

“You turned my water off. I...”

“That’s what the IV is for,” he reaches over to touch your other arm. You don’t know how you didn’t notice the tubing before. “I brought you tea. All you had to do was open up--”

“You threw something through my window... there was smoke...” your lashes flutter as the memories creep back in.

“I did what had to be done,” his grin falls away and his expression turns stony, “what you made me do.”

You stare at him, speechless.

“I haven’t given you any reason not to trust you. I mean, all you had to do was have a coffee with me. Or even open your door. Honey, I should be mad at you. You hung me out to dry but I can forgive you,” his face softens again, “how can I not?” His eyes go doey, “you’re so beautiful.”

You lay there, unmoving. You feel as if any suddenness might trigger him. He traces along your cheek and jaw and down your neck, “did you decide?”

You narrow your eyes and frown.

“A dress? Blue or pink?”

You don’t answer him. You just look at him as he continues to touch you. Your skin speckles with goosebumps as a chill rolls through you.

“You know what, neither. I get it. You want something more classy. Yeah, given the occasion, I think you’re right, baby face,” he leans over you and looks you in the eye, “we’ll have a look in the closet after breakfast.”

Before you can react, his lips are on yours. You let out a surprised squeak as he holds your chin in place. His mustache tickles you again and his tongue flits across your lips, wetting them just slightly before retracting. He pulls away and sighs.

“Wow.”

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #the gray man #the quiet ones

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