#and then when he tried to break free of that he clings to the only stability he has anyway

[gutsby]

Cabin Fever

Pairing: Dark!Joel x Dark!Reader

Summary: Joel saves your life, but help comes at a price.

Warnings: 18+. DEAD DOVE: DNE. NONCONSENSUAL. I’m never ever beating the insane bitch allegations, I fear. Protector-turned-pervert-turned-unwilling-captor-kinda. Corruption kink. Daddy kink. Somnophilia. Misogyny. “It’s too big; it won’t fit” + Joel “I’ll make it fit” Miller. Captivity on both ends. Oral (f!receiving). Gunplay. Oversimplified first-time anal. Uno Reverse Drugging. Evil, inexperienced reader meets evil, feral, slutty Joel. Attempted murder x3. Russian Roulette…as foreplay?

Notes: Both characters SUCK. I condone nothing they do. Please do not take any of their behavior or language to reflect my own moral predilections. That is all 🚬😵‍💫

You were hardly shaking at all when he’d found you chained, maimed, and frozen half to death on the plains.

He didn’t see that every day, that was for-fucking-sure.

Joel Miller barely got to see his share of happy, grinning girls on the cold and bitter frontier he inhabited. Ones that were tied to posts and clinging to life were even less common, so the sight of you there had almost frightened him at first. He’d approached you like one might advance upon a sleeping bear: with the utmost caution and a Winchester Model 70 levelled directly at your head.

He’d learned you were unarmed and defenseless in less than a second. He’d come to realize you were largely unconscious—and unclothed—even sooner than that.

He had been industrious in freeing your hands and feet from their restraints but never uttered a word as he did.

Even on the two-and-a-half mile trek back home, he hadn’t spoken once. You’d hung off his left shoulder like a pretty, frosted slab of meat, covered only with the sherpa blanket he’d secured around your neck, and dangled precariously down his back for the entire fifty minutes.

Your toes were two shades shy of onyx with frostbite.

Your limbs were hanging like lead over his chest.

A whisper of, ‘You’ll be fine, darlin’, I promise’ had just seemed ill-suited for the circumstances and his nature. In truth, Joel didn’t know if you’d be fine. You might die. The blood wouldn’t be on his hands one way or the other, but he never had liked burying bodies this time of year. He’d have to wait until April to break ground, at least.

Presently, he dropped your limp form to the floor of his cabin and hoped he wouldn’t be needing to bury anyone.

You sort of looked charming in the firelight.

He stomped off to the kitchen and began rifling for pans, preparing to defrost the icy stranger as best he could.

You didn’t die.

You didn’t wake for forty full hours, but you didn’t die.

When you stirred on the floor with warm sherpa around your shoulders and a rough calfskin rug under your ass, you thought you had died—maybe taken a pit stop in cowpoke purgatory while you were at it—but then you blinked. Breathed. Realized you were still very much inside your body and most likely still in Wyoming.

You sat up where you were and looked around.

“Da-a-d?”

You knew it was useless, calling for your father.

He had been dead almost eight months; you just wanted to double-check to make sure you were still on earth.

When dead dad didn’t answer, you tried someone else.

“Momma?”

Still no answer.

Figured, since she was among the ones that had left you chained outside in the first place. It’d been worth a shot.

You started to rise from your place, when a sharp pain in your side made you plop back down on the rug. You winced and lifted the blanket, then your old nightie.

A neat little taped-down bandage had your ribs encased in antiseptics and gauze. You frowned down at a stain in the centre, which looked to you an awful lot like blood. That circle of old fluids must’ve been twice the size of your fist and currently oozing tiny, fresh beads of blood from the strain you’d just exerted. You pursed your lips.

Least they could’ve done is kill me, not leave me here.

You’d take it up with your old would-be assassins another day, you were sure. Right now, you were parched, starving, in dire need of a piss, and reeling on the floor to grab hold of something sturdy to lift yourself. But you were as much a child then as you had ever been, swaying in place and clawing at air like someone who’d never kept their balance before. Or might’ve been drunk.

You rolled onto your good side and cast a sweeping look around the cabin. You smelled slow-cooked barbecue.

Thank fuck, you thought.

Now, if I were a juicy rack of ribs, where would I be?

The kitchen was dark and empty; the smell was coming from elsewhere. You craned your neck, tilted your chin, spotted a loft overhead but figured it wasn’t too likely to find someone grilling up there, so where the hell was it?

And who the hell was it, smoking meats and mending up strangers in the cold and lonely dead of winter like this?

You put a pin in that thought as you searched for a place to pee.

By the time you’d hobbled out of the bathroom, the smoky smell had grown even stronger. It was so pungent it bordered on vertiginous, invading every inch of the cabin with a force. Then it was leading you, teasing you by turns to venture outside. All you had on your feet were some oversized socks and two strips of medical tape.

Against your better judgment, you continued to hobble.

Out the door, down the steps, slowly, then following your nose and the first whiff of smoke you smelled to make it to the place you were almost certain you needed to be.

You trudged around a corner of the cabin’s exterior and stopped. Turned around. Cursed your own senses for being so stupid to miss the huge fucking shed spewing smoke out front—or was it the back?—and plodded on.

Your feet might have carried you a third of the way there before your powers of sight and sound eventually failed you again, and you missed another big something.

Big and beige and coated in snow—baring its teeth and snarling at the unfamiliar presence as soon as it saw you.

The next thing you knew, sixty-two pounds of Belgian Malinois had had you knocked to the ground in less than a second. You hardly understood what had hit you until it was barking and chomping away an inch from your face.

You fought hard and frantic to shove the ugly fucker off, but your bandaged hands were no match for its paws. The dog continued to tear at your blanket, nip at your ears, claw at your neck, and all around snuff out any sense of peace you might have acquired in the dozen-odd minutes since you’d first woken up. You screamed.

You yelled as loud as you could and felt yourself cower and sink lower into the snow as you fought.

Just when you tried to raise a knee—to kick the animal in the ribs or else protect your own—a sound broke out above the buzz.

A voice, clear as day:

“CUJO!”

The dog stalled on top of you a moment, just to be yanked off the next, and the closest thing afterward was a face—kinder than Cujo’s but not by very much.

It was a broad, bearded, pock-marked head with more soot to recommend itself than skin. Lips smeared with ash and grime and curved down in the single most decisive frown you’d seen in your life, the man looked to be beside himself seeing you tits up in the snow.

He gripped one arm of yours, then dropped it.

Picked a leg up, paused, then hauled you into a cradle carry as graceless as you’d ever felt it done before.

“Come!” he snapped, and it took you too long to realize that he was talking to the dog. You’d already wrapped your arms around his neck in abrupt complaisance.

He carried you back into the cabin and kicked the door open in front of you. He held you firm for a second, then, just as he had outside, changed course before you knew what to do and was shortly depositing you on the sofa.

You winced when your ass hit the cushion.

You started to sit, grab a pillow for your back or just bring your knees to your chest, when suddenly a palm was pressing flat on your front. Forcing you to lie down.

“Hey, hey!” you cried when the man started lifting the hem of your nightgown.

If he’d heard you at all, he didn’t show it. He just worked his thick, dirty fingers under the fabric and raised the white satin like he might the hood of a car. He frowned.

It was then that you noticed a blooming red splotch on your side, slowly overtaking the terra-cotta color of dried blood on the bandage and spreading out. Then a pain.

Instead of pushing the man’s hands away, you were holding them tight, wrestling that same touch which was trying to keep you from poking around the area now.

“Quit,” the man said, sedate as could be.

“Hurts,” was all you could think to tell him—and you guessed he’d already had that part down by the outpouring of blood. He shoved your hands off.

The brand new crimson hue had already soaked through the bandage. He pulled it off. You caught a glimpse of a wound that seemed to be weeping through its stitches—oozing pus and blood and a gore you could’ve gone your whole life without seeing. You would’ve liked to run a couple gentle, awed fingers over it, but as it was, your coarse and tight-lipped medic wouldn’t let you.

“Hold still,” he commanded.

“Heystopstopstop!” you implored him, feeling a streak of pain up your side as his calloused hands delved deeper.

At your latest flinch and plea, the man seemed to have had enough. Or just needed to angle your body in a different direction for easier access to the site. He gathered you back up in his arms and walked over to the kitchen, where he set you down again on the counter. Hands moved to your hips, briefly, to push you back on the surface and allow him to stand between your legs. Again, the man frowned as he peeled off your pyjamas.

Two warring fears of pain and overexposure fought like wild beasts in your brain for a second—you yelping and trying to cover your breasts in a hurry, then realizing how much it hurt to lift your arms that way when your ribs were dripping blood, then the man making the decision for you both as he pushed your hands behind your back and said a simple ‘Fuck’s sake’ to keep you pinned.

You didn’t like it.

You didn’t like it, and you let him continue, because you knew that you didn’t know shit about doing this yourself.

Joel must’ve fixed your dressings fourteen times before turning you loose. He’d had you perched atop his counter like goddamned Prisoner-of-War Barbie, all riddled with bumps, bruises, and lesions galore, looked your body up and down just once, and nearly grew sick at the sight.

He’d disgusted himself by feeling as aroused as he was.

Shortly thereafter, he’d toted you off—before the blood could rush down to his dick and start to swell—shrugged your gown over your torso, and stepped away. Simple.

Then you’d had to go and throw a wrench in his plans.

“What if I need to pee?” you’d said as soon as Joel started up the stairs with you in his arms again.

He had meant to drop you off on the bed in the loft, out of sight, but it seemed you were more concerned about the prospect of traversing the steps up and down for potty breaks. Joel had audibly huffed above you.

“I can leave a bucket.”

“Yu-uck.” The latter word had been given two syllables to show the full extent of your disgust, like a child might do.

And that was how you’d ended up here: snug in his bed on the ground floor, curled up in more layers of flannel and wool than you could count and staring blankly up at the man who was standing cold and aloof off to the side.

Your eyelids were growing heavy with sleep.

He figured they would be.

Joel picked up the glass that sat beside your empty one on the nightstand and drank, watching you all the while.

“D’you know my momma?” you asked, voice sounding extra small coming from the depths of your cocoon.

Joel finished his drink in four big gulps.

“Sure hope not,” he said once he’d set it back down.

By the sight of the scars he’d found littering your hands and back alone, Joel was able to surmise you’d come from a pretty rough, ragtag group. Maybe even Raiders. Knowing folks like that simply never struck one’s fancy, so he’d been honest. You might’ve argued, or laughed, if you hadn’t been nabbed so tightly in the grips of those first stages preceding sleep, so instead, you nodded.

“Figured,” you mumbled.

7:11, Joel read on the clock. You’d finished your drink at seven, or somewhere thereabouts. Judging by your size, it wouldn’t take long at all for the medicine to take effect.

‘Medicine,’ Joel thought, sounded a whole hell of a lot better than ‘drugs.’ One was meant to rehabilitate, rejuvenate, bring new life to your worn and weary bones. The other would just knock you cold and keep you there.

On second thought, those were definitely drugs Joel had just slipped in your water before giving it to you to drink.

As your eyes blinked from closed, to open, to closed, then open but slightly less open than the time before, and closed again, he felt a sick sense of accomplishment twist in his gut. If only his former-nurse friend could have seen what he was doing with those morphine sulfate tablets he’d traded for—he likely would’ve slapped Joel across the face. And Joel would’ve smiled all the same.

Yeah, okay, drugging the unsuspecting and defenseless female he’d just saved from death’s doorstep two days ago didn’t look great on paper, he would fully concede.

But this was all in good fun.

Great fun, even.

For him.

“Sick fuck,” Joel muttered as he started to undo his belt. The button and zip were taken apart just as fast, and with two steps, he was standing at your bedside—his bedside—and tugging his trousers down his legs. He took his cock in his hand and glanced over at the clock.

7:15.

He nudged your shoulder.

7:16.

Peeling layers of blanket away from your body.

7:17.

“Hey…honey?”

A lot more nothing from the girl sleeping in front of him. He shrugged his jeans to the floor, kicked them off at his feet, and moved onto the bed. You just looked so sweet.

Joel tried working around the fabric of his boxers but got impatient pretty quick. He hauled those off, too.

Soon, his beefy, bare, and surprisingly tan legs were bracketing your hips as he stroked himself above you. His eyes roamed the lax and tranquil features undeniably characteristic of sleep, and he pumped himself faster. Really, there was no need for theatrics or enhancements now—he was already hard as three tonnes of steel—but Joel would be lying if he said he didn’t like the build-up.

You were no longer in danger of dying, thanks to him. You were slowly but surely on the mend, no thanks to Cujo at all, but many thanks to him, Joel Miller, the man who had pried you off of that post, pulled you out of your chains, ushered warmth back into your limbs, and stitched up your side out of the goodness of his heart.

Any objective onlooker could see that you’d availed yourself of his medical attention and aid without ever asking, so why should he request access to you now? This was the way of the world these days, anyway. Sex was no longer so much a question as it was an answer in most scenarios—a mere transaction, wherein the physically weaker of two parties was forced to capitulate. Not within the four unsullied walls of Jackson and a few other pockets of homestead communities here and there, but on the whole, absolutely. Jackson was down the road a ways away and sufficiently far enough from Joel’s cabin for him to be disentangled from their rules. What mattered now was obtaining what he was owed.

Still, the man hesitated a half-second longer above you. He jerked his cock even faster and felt his stomach start to clench. Was that? No—nerves were fucking juvenile. Getting close to cumming from just the sight of you alone was for chumps. Joel Miller was no chump.

He lifted your nightie and lowered the head of his cock to rest between your folds. Then he shifted his knees so that he could rub himself gently against your warmth.

Joel Miller was a monster, but he was no brute. He also understood female anatomy well enough to know that, well…wetter was better. He started moving his hips.

You exhaled through your nose. Nothing major; you probably hadn’t even felt him long enough to whine.

Joel planted a hand beside your head—a preemptive warning.

“There…” He liked to talk as though you could hear him. Like you might be semi-conscious and dimly aware of what he was doing to you then, “Right there…ah, baby.”

He never did catch your name.

That was no matter. So long as you stayed put and made a nice, wet, pretty little hole for him to fuck, you would be fine. By the feel of your folds alone, he could tell you’d be a fun thing to use. Soft and snug and plied with drugs, you could do, and be, anything he damn well needed.

Or maybe nothing at all, he thought without humor.

Joel brushed your cheek with the knuckles of his free hand and watched you turn away, making a face. He snagged your chin and tilted it back to him, sharply, before gliding those fingers down your chest, then your tummy, then your hips, then dipping between your legs. He found your clit and pressed it with a deliberate touch.

“Hey,” Joel whispered, again, as though you might hear, “You’re gonna stay still and let me do this.”

Your nose scrunched in response, thighs clamping together. Joel pried them apart with one push and continued sliding his cock back and forth. He grunted.

“Gonna let me take what’s mine, hear?”

You didn’t hear much of anything, he suspected, but he asked the question all the same. At least now your legs were staying open and he could rut himself gently into that space without having to keep them spread. A first, gentle ‘mmph’ sounded from your lips, and he was glad. He kept thumbing that spot he knew you would like and rubbing along the seam of your cunt with his erection.

Then Joel felt a weight on his shoulders. Remorse? No. Anxiety? Perhaps. This felt more like a fog, though, seizing his muscles and seeping gently between the grooves of his brain. He gave his head a fierce shake.

“Hold still,” he said, more to himself; you hadn’t moved.

Joel fisted the base of his cock and angled the tip toward your entrance, caring much less whether you were ready or not now that his desires had grown stronger.

He was met with resistance on trying to push in. He dug his fingers in the pillow beneath your head and scowled.

“Quit…clenchin’…like that. Ain’t…fair to me,” he huffed.

He was one to talk.

Now, he’d been with a staggering number of women, experiences ranging all across the spectrum, but even the tightest, most untouched pieces of ass he’d ever tapped had given way more than this. Your walls were unyielding, refusing to give him entry. Joel cursed and rutted his hips in a rough, entirely unsuccessful, thrust.

You hummed in response, eyes still closed, one hand fumbling mindlessly for something to hold. Joel seized it.

“Not lettin’ you off that easy, darlin’, I—”

“Fuck,” you breathed, followed by a low whimper.

Joel froze. Had you heard him? Felt him just now?

Something about the uncertainty laden in those questions sent his mind into overdrive, heart beating a wild cadence in his chest. He realized then that his mouth had gone dry, his vision was skewed just slightly on the outskirts. And his cock was throbbing.

“Ya like that?” Joel seethed, not thinking, still rubbing, “Like givin’ daddy a hard time before lettin’ him in?”

“Uh-huh.” Softly.

You little slut. He knew it all along.

Whatever it was that kept your body from being coupled with his was almost immaterial to him now. Joel’s mind was swimming with desire, cock dragging in desperate, fitful bursts between your legs, never penetrating but still wringing massive jolts of pleasure from that place.

With the way he was feeling now, Joel could cum from just fucking your thighs. And that was alright.

You were moaning underneath him. Even…smiling?

“Fuck, baby, you look so pretty.”

Joel had never called a girl pretty before and meant it. But he hardly knew how else to describe you now with how good and sweet and fine you were making him feel. A strange warmth sank into his chest, making it harder to breathe, and then he was panting above you, as if he were really inside that dripping wet spot. He was close.

“Such a pretty…sweet…fuckin’ thing for me.”

That red, raging, leaky cock of his was almost a blur between your legs, he was thrusting against you so fast. Joel thought for one frightening second that it might be his skull that would explode instead, so high was that pressure between his ears, but his fears were promptly put to rest as the first rope of cum came stuttering out. Then another. Then another. Then another.

By the time he finished, he could’ve sworn he’d left a hundred spurts on your tummy. When Joel glanced down and saw a sea of opaque, sticky white, he groaned.

Then he fell. Fully collapsed at your side with his brain in a tizzy of wild, heady feelings and sank into himself.

He hadn’t even fucked you, and he felt like he had.

He lifted a hand to wipe away his spend, but he couldn’t.

He would get to it in the morning, before you stirred, he thought. He thought. He didn’t have the chance to think much longer at all, as darkness started hedging him in.

He slept.

It was 7:57 when he woke.

The man had no real way of knowing that, though, seeing as he was greeted with a nickel-plated revolver between his teeth the second he opened his eyes.

You were straddling his torso, gun pinched between two calm, bandaged hands. You frowned when he jumped.

“WH—” he started.

“Shut up.”

“ST—”

“I said shut,” you cocked the gun, holding it tighter, then shoving it even further inside his mouth, “the fuck. up.”

The man obeyed.

‘Joel M.’—you’d read the name etched on the butt of his pistol before picking it up some twenty minutes ago.

“Pretty fuckin’ thing,” you mocked the man’s Texan drawl as you wiggled the barrel even deeper along his tongue, “Like givin’ daddy a hard time before lettin’ him in?”

The man’s eyes widened.

How dumb did he think you were?

Offering a semi-clear liquid that should’ve been water; he hadn’t even waited for the morphine tablet to fully dissolve before handing it over to you. Fucking idiot.

You were more disturbed by the fact he’d thought you stupid enough not to notice than him actually trying to drug you. The latter was almost to be expected from predatory, execrable men like him, but the insult to your intelligence? Unacceptable. You’d remedied that affront fairly quickly, though, swapping his glass with yours the second he hadn’t been looking, then nestling into his bed and playing pretend for what had felt like an eternity.

You’d been awake the whole time the man touched you, not knowing what the hell was going on but feeling like you had to stay still. Let him finish. Out of fear, at first, then curiosity, then some strange and unfamiliar sensation that you couldn’t quite describe as anything but a pleasurable itch between your legs. You let the man continue, hearing him grunt and groan and swear up a storm before he shot something hot all over your tummy. By the end of it all, you knew it was wrong, and you knew it was dirty—though you weren’t sure exactly what it was that he had done—but you wanted to learn more.

Which was probably why you hadn’t just shot the old pervert right between his eyes the second he’d stirred.

You shifted atop this ‘Joel M.’ and frowned once more.

“Why’d you stop?”

Gun still wedged in his mouth, Joel’s voice sounded garbled as he spoke, “Wha-agh-at?”

You retracted the metal just long enough to pose the question again. When you had, he still looked stunned.

“Answer me,” you barked, and feeling your patience lapse, got straight to pistol-whipping the motherfucker upside his half-grey head, “You DUMB, or somethin’?”

The man sputtered again.

“No, no— I don’t— dunno what you mean.”

He sounded dumb. You would need to spell this out.

“Why did you stop rubbing me like that?”

If anything, the clarification only seemed to baffle him further. He opened his taut, bearded mouth, then closed it, then eyed you up and down with a look that said he was considering something. Then he stared at one spot.

You glanced down at it too.

“And what is this, anyway?” you asked, swiping one finger at the mostly dried moisture on your stomach, “Why’d you spit this stuff up all over me, huh?!”

“I ain’t—”

You raised the gun as if to hit him again. He jolted back.

“I didn’t mean— shit. Shit, I just…came on you, ‘s’all.”

“Came?”

The word hung in the air like a grenade, waiting. Mr. M was already bracing himself for the impact, it seemed.

“Came?!”

That bracing served him well, because in the next second you were lifting the weapon even higher and eyeing him with the most pointed, putrid look of disdain. You’d never been one for letting grenades go untouched.

“Ejaculated!” Joel hissed, lifting a hand to shield himself, “Felt— felt so good I just couldn’t stop and I-I-I came.”

You paused.

Came. Felt good. Couldn’t stop.

You had felt good when he’d rubbed you. You had not wanted him to stop. But then he had. And you were mad. You’d never been touched that way in your life, and now you were feeling fifteen hundred emotions at once.

Were you supposed to ‘come,’ too? Why did he stop?

“Why didn’t you let me…ejaculate, too?” The words felt foreign and strange on your tongue.

For the first time, you saw one side of Joel’s lips twitch. Evidently fighting the urge to turn them into a smile.

“Girls don’t really…do that,” he said. Then, after a beat, “Why? Ain’t ever had your pussy rubbed on by a man?”

You shortly landed the blow you’d been holding over his head, splitting the skin along his brow with one hit from the butt of his gun. Joel jumped again, then moaned.

“Crazy bitch!”

“Creepy fuck.”

Your eyes narrowed with loathing, unable to comprehend how a man so vile had just made you feel so good. Your stomach was twisting in knots while Joel rubbed his forehead, pawing helplessly at the gash you’d just left.

“I saved your life,” he grumbled, low, “You owed me.”

“Did I?”

Abruptly, and without really thinking, you were sinking the muzzle of the gun into the spot you’d just cut, mouth kicking up in a smile at the sounds of pain it elicited.

“Did I, Joel?” you cooed.

“How the— the fuck do you know my name?”

Momentarily, you yanked the revolver from his face and tilted it to show him his name carved into the bottom.

“What’s the ‘M’ stand for? ‘Molester’?”

“Means ‘mind’ your fucking business,” he spat.

You probably would’ve hit him again had it not seemed as though he were trying to sit up just then. You slid swiftly from his frame—just to take a step off the bed, gun still pointed at his head. Then you backed away.

One by one, rapidly, you unloaded the bullets from the cylinder, maintaining a safe distance from the man all the while. You watched him blink and try to get some thing from his eyes, but he didn’t seem keen to move.

You left just one live round inside. You made a point to spin the cylinder and, again, aim it straight at his head.

The man was blinking even harder. Rubbing now, too.

“I feel…” Joel murmured.

“Drugged?” you returned, “Yeah, that must suck.”

A set of wide, irate, and horrified eyes met yours. His mouth hung open in a stupid look of shock. Trying to piece the last bits of this fucked up jigsaw puzzle together and growing angrier by the second.

“You fuckin’—”

Joel’s words were cut short by the weight of your body barreling back over his. Graceless, you imagined, but still nothing close to something you cared about now. You planted your knees on either side of his ribs and grazed the tip of the six-shooter down the length of his nose.

“Tell me,” you said, “How’d you make it feel so good?”

Your hips twisted for effect, jostling the man’s own parts beneath yours and clearly causing some effect in him. The muscles in his jaw jumped up as he gritted his teeth.

“You know damn well, slut,” Joel griped.

Without another thought, you squeezed the trigger.

Click.

The man’s whole body lurched underneath you. Trembling with the realization that you’d left just one lone bullet for him—and he didn’t know which chamber.

As far as foreplay went, Russian Roulette was probably a first, even for a man as wanton and depraved as Joel. You smiled sweetly and made another gyration with your lower half, which prompted him to grip you. Tight.

“What? Ya want me to fuck you, is that it?” he growled.

“I thought it wouldn’t fit.”

“I’ll make it fit.”

“How?”

Try as you might to conceal it, your gaze likely betrayed a hint of sincerity as you made that last inquiry. Joel’s eyes flickered between yours, searching for something there, and just when those glossy brown irises had found it, they stopped. Blinked. He shook his head, incredulous.

“My mind ain’t…right,” he said, slowly, “But I— I know you know what I mean by that, sweet pea.”

Something in your tummy fluttered at the sound. You gripped the pistol tighter to get rid of the feeling.

“I don’t,” you answered.

Again, Joel was stumped. For the first time, though, there appeared to be some sympathy behind his eyes. Or stupidity. Or just a shit ton of morphine coursing through his veins as he tried to make sense of this situation.

As if to confirm an idea in his drug-addled brain, he lowered a hand between your legs and hovered there a second. He watched you; you watched back but didn’t move.

Then slowly, almost clinically, Joel slipped two fingers underneath you and found a soft, pulsing warmth—far wetter than the last time he’d touched down there. When he pulled his hand away, both fingers and half of his palm were glistening with a fluid. You let out a startled cry at the sight of it and nearly dropped your gun.

“What is that?!”

Joel looked to you, equally awed—for different reasons.

“What do you mean?”

“Why’s it all…sticky?”

You couldn’t even try to hide your horror at the thought of that weird, syrupy stuff leaking out of you. It was strange enough feeling it come out of a freak like Joel, but from your own body? He had to be fucking joking.

“It’s normal.”

“Like hell it is— you— STOP!” The last fragment of your sentence was swallowed by a scream, leaping back when Joel moved his fingers toward your face.

“What? You’ve never seen this?” He sounded like he was teasing. You could shoot him for how smug he sounded.

In very small amounts, you’d seen stuff. Blood every month. Bits and pieces of bodily secretions that, to you, had always seemed gross. But never this. Never big, sticky globs of…whatever the fuck this was. You continued to back away on the bed, gun still tipped toward Joel but now trying to put some distance between your bodies. You didn’t know how else to act.

You did know you wanted to scream when Joel stuck his fingers in his mouth. Bile might’ve jumped in your throat.

He sucked the dew clean off the digits, then wriggled them to show what he’d done. You felt the urge to vomit.

“That came from— from— why are you eating it?!”

Joel grinned. Big.

You weren’t sure why, but he looked psyched to be alive in that moment, and not just because of the narcotics.

Before you knew what was happening, he’d pushed you flat on your back, hips pinned underneath his hands as he moved over your body. He didn’t even try for the gun.

“And here I was thinkin’ you were just fuckin’ with me,” he chuckled, palms sliding under your nightdress. When you felt the residuum of wetness from his spit and your slick stuck together on his fingers, you wanted to squeal.

But you didn’t. You tried propping yourself up on elbows until Joel was sliding your one and only article of clothing over your head, then beckoning you down on the bed in front of him. You watched his gaze flit down to your side.

“Still hurt?” he murmured, tracing over the bandage.

You shook your head no, though it did, a little. At the moment, it seemed the pain was the furthest thing from your mind as you saw Joel slide down your body and try to take up residence between your thighs—with his face planted right there. You kicked his shoulder in protest.

“Quit!” you cried, pulling your legs up to your chest.

“You quit,” Joel returned, yanking them back.

Then you felt you had no choice but to brandish the gun, taking the thing between two palms while you pointed it again—as if he needed the reminder.

“Fine. Why don’t you keep that thing aimed at my head while I give you some?” he muttered. The subsequent ‘See if I give a shit’ was silent.

“Give me some what?”

“Head.”

Head. You’d never heard something phrased that way. Joel’s head was down there, sure, practically grinning from ear to ear as he hooked your legs over his shoulders, but certainly he didn’t mean to do a thing as drastic and dirty as—

“JOEL!”

“Hm?” His voice was muffled by your thighs.

You tried to shy away, but he held you down.

“Joel, I— I pee out of there,” you hissed, “Why the fuck would you wanna put your mouth on that?”

As if your groans of disgust and vehement attempts to get away weren’t enough to deter him, you watched Joel’s tongue dart between his lips and down to yours. The sick fuck was actually licking your folds, tracing the tip across that warm, sticky place and moaning into your skin. Holding you tighter when you pleaded for him to stop. Then, with the hand that wasn’t prying your legs apart, he reached down and started stroking his cock.

Again, it felt dirty and wrong. Beyond the fact that this man was a perfect stranger and easily decades your senior, you were repulsed by the sight of his lips and his tongue and his spit mixing up in that messy, wet place you still didn’t quite understand yourself. You didn’t know much about your body, but it had never once occurred to you to be kissed down there. Joel was roaming every contour and crevice with his tongue like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he liked it.

“I hate it,” you whined, feebly.

You knew you could’ve easily blown the man’s brains out, but some small part of you was still plagued by curiosity. ‘Hate’ was just the first word that came to mind when you were faced with something that made you scared.

“It’s weird,” you tried again. This time pressing the gun to the top of his bobbing head while you grit your teeth, “And wrong.”

At that, Joel stopped.

His eyes flickered to yours, all glass-like and hooded.

“Why? Practically lickin’ ya clean here,” he said, starting to grin to himself as his words came slightly slurred, “There’s nothin’ wrong about this, sweet pea.”

You felt something flutter between you. He felt it, too.

“Like when I call ya that? ‘Sweet pea’?” he said, pausing to flick his tongue over the spot that had just stirred at his words. He watched you fight back a whimper.

“No,” you choked. You pinched your eyes shut, unsure whether it was pleasure or pure revulsion overtaking you—or both.

Suddenly, you felt Joel’s hand smooth over your thigh, still warm from when he’d been stroking himself below. He placed an affectionate kiss to your belly and grinned.

“Is that what this is? Feel guilty about feelin’ this good?” he murmured, “Think it’s…dirty, what we’re doin’?”

At length, and just barely visible to him, you nodded.

“It is dirty,” you corrected him quietly.

Then you saw that stupid pseudo-sympathetic smirk tug at the corners of his lips, and just when you thought he might nudge his way back up your body—to do what, you weren’t sure—he sank between your legs. This time, he made sure to hold your gaze as he re-assumed the position. His palm continued to rub at your thigh, as if to distract you from the rough brush of his stubble or the fact that his mouth was hovering so dangerously close.

“Sweet pea,” he rasped, “Ain’t nothin’ dirty about this.”

As if to punctuate his words, Joel dragged his lips down your slit to press a kiss to your centre, eyes never leaving yours.

“Not here…”

He pointed with his tongue, moving it deftly between your folds. You gripped the sheets, trying to ignore the pleasure that the simple act wrought through your body.

“Not here.”

He kissed your clit. You squeezed even tighter.

“Not on my tongue, on my fingers, anywhere, y’hear?”

You were about to answer—maybe tell him he was supremely full of shit, then flash the gun in his face—when Joel shifted onto his knees on the bed. He moved slowly and as calm as he ever had, motions languid while his mind was likely steeped in the morphine by now. He snagged one of your ankles. He slid his hand up the back of your calf and tugged you down to the edge of the bed. Then he stood up, right between your legs. The warmth radiating from his bare lower half was immediate, almost suffocating from where you lay. You didn’t like it at all.

You refused to meet his gaze, grip tightening on the gun.

“Joel…”

When that warmth at your front shifted inward, though, you hardly had a say in what your reflexes did or didn’t do. You jumped when you felt the head of his dick slip past your pulsing core, closer to the other hole below it.

“Not here, either,” Joel continued, grin still evident from his tone.

Before you could even think to ask what he meant to do ‘here,’ Joel moved one of your legs up, tilting your hips, and pushed ahead with just the tip of his cock. Not breaching it fully, but nudging—prodding at that hole.

For the first time, you let out a moan.

You hastily clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle it.

“Aw, honey,” Joel murmured, “Did that feel good?”

His words reeked of condescension. You scowled at the ceiling.

“No.”

You felt him push a little further—this time making the head of his dick notch into that tight ring of muscles.

No, the word rang through your skull once more. Your curiosity was shortly supplanted by disgust—how the fuck could you let this creepy old man, this stranger, press into you like that? Talk to you like you were dumb? You seized hold of Joel’s pistol with both hands and aimed directly for his chest.

“Stop doing that,” you growled. When the man’s grip on your leg only tightened and you couldn’t writhe away, you lifted the other and tried kicking him in the gut. Of course, Joel caught your foot midair, and it never landed.

“Just givin’ ya options, darlin’,” he said, easy-going. Not seeming to care about the firearm pointed his way.

Fuck it.

You squeezed the trigger again.

Empty chamber.

If Joel flinched, you didn’t see it. He did, however, knock the gun right out of your hand the next second, sending it tumbling with an unceremonious thump on the bed behind you. You tried to leap back for it, but your arm was quickly pinned. Joel cocked one silver-flecked brow.

“You done?” he asked, almost bored.

Your last—and only—leverage taken away from you, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of anger. And desperation.

“I don’t wanna do this,” you cried, trying to squirm away.

Joel didn’t move his cock, but he did hold you still. Blinking with indifference and a fair bit of drug-induced dissociation, it seemed, from the far-away look in his eyes. He pushed both of your legs so they were folded up to your chest, and ignored your whimpers when he did. At length, he pulled out just enough to smear some of your wetness down to the hole he was trying to fuck.

“You want this,” he countered gently.

“I DON’T!”

Joel continued as though he hadn’t heard you, and moments later, you sensed another slick something pooling against you. From your position beneath him, you could see a bead of spit slip from Joel’s mouth and stretch into a thin, glistening string all the way down to the space between your thighs. You watched him rub the saliva in with his fingers, almost meticulous as he did it.

Then he eased his hips forward an inch, wedging himself back in your ass. He groaned when he felt resistance—and a sharp clench of your muscles.

“I can teach ya…show ya everything…there is to know.”

His words somehow made it out through ragged breaths. That broad, tan chest was heaving with every labored pull of his lungs, and you could tell he was feeling good.

You might’ve been able to say the same for yourself, were your mind not singly occupied by the desire to escape. Still at war with yourself, wondering how it would feel or what you might see that first time, all the while despising the man who seemed hell-bent on forcing it.

He might’ve saved your life, but there was no fucking way he’d get to use you like that and stay breathing.

You were raised better than that.

You could do better than anything this man had to offer.

You resolved to kill him as soon as the drugs knocked him out—just like you’d had planned from the second you woke up on the floor of his cabin that afternoon.

Of course being chained, maimed, and frozen half to death on the plains for some well-meaning stranger to find you had always been part of your mother’s—and the rest of the Raiders’—grand plan. Having this stupid, horny sap take you into his home with the hope of claiming you as his own was just the icing on top.

Now you had a reason to kill Joel and steal all his shit.

At present, he fed another inch of himself inside you and grinned when you let out a startled cry.

“Atta girl,” he said, smirking, “Feelin’ okay?”

“Fuck you.”

“Will do.”

Then, as if to prove a point, he bottomed out, sheathing his cock to the hilt in spite of your cries. Your hands fisted the sheets, and you tried to pull off. It didn’t work.

In fact, all it accomplished was giving Joel more room to thrust back into you. And pull out. And shove back in. The snap of his hips was like cruel and excruciating clockwork, completely unhindered by your words or your gestures or your pleas to stop fucking doing that Joel, it fucking hurts! If anything, the sounds of your censure only got him harder, and with it, made it that much easier to fuck you rougher. His eyes shone with pride.

“What’s’at, sweet pea?” he hummed, strokes coming into a steady pace.

“It’s too…big…doesn’t fit,” you whimpered.

In response, Joel glanced down to see the spot where your bodies were joined. He pushed even deeper.

“Yeah?” he said when you yelped, “I think it fits just fine.”

Motherfucker, you wanted to wail, but then your neck craned sideways—your mouth trying to find purchase in anything you might grit between your teeth—and the only thing that escaped your throat was a sob. You tried burying your face in the comforter, only for Joel to yank it back.

Cupping your chin and pinching both your cheeks in a single, punishing squeeze as he continued to fuck you, “What’s the matter, darlin’? Too much?”

You groaned and clenched your jaw, head jerking away.

Per usual, Joel was undeterred. Even smiled.

“My pretty girl need somethin’a bite, huh?” he hummed.

He probably knew you wouldn’t nod, so he went ahead and decided to oblige that one need he saw anyway. Snagging your nightie, Joel raised a hand to your face and proceeded to push the fabric inside your mouth.

Just as he started to lift his hips to deliver another thrust, he had to stop. A sudden, sharp ‘FUCK!’ left his mouth, then a groan, and his hand retreated fast.

You’d bitten him.

You were grinning just a little, and you’d bitten him.

Joel promptly slapped you across the face. If you weren’t so fucking amused by the sight of his bright red fingers, you just might’ve winced. Instead, the smile stayed on your lips, the slap barely registered, and, to your utmost disbelief, something else had just then started to form.

Pleasure, in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuckin’—” Joel snarled.

“Shit,” you finished, eyes rolling back.

You couldn’t help it. Joel was rutting into you relentlessly. That brief hand bite detour had only stoked the flames of his hatred—and arousal—and now he was practically splitting you in half with the force of his thrusts. He slapped you once more for good measure.

“Oh, that you fuckin’ like?” he seethed, cheeks flushed, “Can’t get off with my…tongue on your cunt, but a slap— and my cock buried deep in your ass gets the job done?”

“Uh-huh,” you answered softly. Mindlessly.

Really, there were no two people more fucked up than you in this moment, you thought. Joel growing harder with each desperate objection of yours, you going all soft and hot and bothered the second he slapped your face and fucked you rougher, and together, the two of you letting out grunts and moans of pleasure while the bed shook like an earthquake just shy of a 9.5 on the Richter scale. Were you not already planning to slit the man’s throat after all of this was over, you just might’ve wanted to marry this Joel M for how wonderfully he fucked you.

You let him know as much when you seized his forearms.

Bouncing into his thrusts, you bit your lip and finally met his gaze. Joel’s eyes were trained in somewhat of a daze, pupils all but swallowing his irises as he fucked you.

“Like being daddy’s little cocksleeve, huh?”

Only the sentence was slurred so bad you could scarcely make out half the words. You nodded just the same.

“Like it when he fucks you in the ass?” Joel panted.

You nodded again.

That pleasure in your belly had worked its way up to a full swell—and whatever it was, you couldn’t bear the thought of losing it now. You gripped Joel’s arms even harder as his chest swayed into you, then sank further and further until your fronts were pressed flush to each other and your ankles were hooked tight around his back.

It almost felt intimate. That coarse, weathered, sweat-coated face spattered with patches of grey seemed to you nearly handsome as his lips hung limply in an ‘o.’

Joel’s cock dragged back and forth between your walls at this new, snug angle, and moans fell out of you both.

“Baby.” His voice was hoarse. Strained.

You couldn’t quite make sense of the expression above you, but there was an unmistakable, muted desperation lurking somewhere beneath it. Joel rutted into you quicker, balls leaving rapid smacks against your ass with every thrust. His hair was disheveled, and his hands were making fists in the sheets on either side of your head.

“Joel—”

“Jus’ lemme use you.”

Words so low they were barely audible as he panted.

“But—”

“Daddy’s…almost done, sweet pea. Just take it.”

You were surprised he’d had it within himself to be so soft. A peculiar sort of haze hung over his face, the pace of his hips picked up even more, and suddenly those plush pink lips were hovering a mere hair’s breadth away from yours. Mumbling. Rambling on and on about how wet you were, how perfect you fit him, how nice and sweet and tight your body felt as he fucked you stupid.

That sensation in your own stomach grew even stronger.

Unsure of what to do, you pressed a palm to his chest.

“Joel, I…I feel funny,” you whispered.

Joel hummed. Didn’t slow.

“I know.”

He knew?

“What’s it—ah, fuck.” Your words broke off in a whimper.

Instead of proffering a verbal response, Joel just slipped a touch between your bodies—thumbing sloppily between your folds to earn a couple more high-pitched moans. Your legs tightened around his middle.

“Joel, s-stop!”

It felt so good it almost hurt. He didn’t stop.

“S’just an orgasm, baby,” Joel panted, “You’re okay.”

And, in spite of his own impending climax and the effect of the drugs likely reaching a fever pitch inside him, Joel managed to slide his other hand beneath the back of your head. Cradled you to him while he fucked you into the bed and made you come unraveled with his touch. You tried to writhe away, but he was used to the drill by now—he just fucked you harder and rubbed you faster.

Whatever he wanted would come soon. You doubted there was anything you could do to stop it, but you tried.

Without thinking, you grabbed hold of the damp locks of hair at the nape of his neck and yanked on them hard.

“Joel, I can’t— I can’t,” you keened.

The hand at the back of your head held you firm.

“You can,” Joel returned, tough but surprisingly calm, “Give it to daddy, ‘s’all ya gotta do.”

What exactly ‘it’ was was still unclear. You just knew you felt good and warm and full—about ready to burst. When you felt tempted to give his hair another tug, Joel’s eyes met yours, and they were soft. Insistent, still, but soft.

Dilated as all hell and probably swimming in clouds of a delirious, bleary haze, but always soft. Almost tender.

“Be a good girl and give it to daddy,” Joel slurred, slow, “C’mon, sweet pea…cum for daddy, please.”

For the first time in that short, rough, utterly deranged time you had known this man, he was begging you. Pleading with you, now, as his body grew overwrought with pleasure and just needed release. You needed it, too, not even knowing how you would get it, but the force of his thrusts, the warmth of his body, the look in those warm, bare, powerless eyes—you fucking loved whatever it was that could make a man like that so weak.

You had to strike while the iron was hot. You slid back.

Joel didn’t notice, too focused on your face and the feel of your body to see when you’d reached for the gun.

Just as you took hold of it, a jolt of pleasure tore through you. Your heels dug into his back, and you nearly lost control of the pistol. Joel groaned in your mouth, begged you once again to cum all over this cock, make a fuckin’ mess of it, baby, please, and you could only whine, grip the metal tighter, and raise it slowly to the side of his head while he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

The peak of your pleasure had come into view. You felt it.

You nudged the muzzle through those soft, slick, salt-and-pepper shaded tufts of hair near the edge of his temple right when the first throes of euphoria seized you.

“FUCK!”

You squeezed the trigger.

#NEED DARK!JOEL TO TAKE ME TO HIS PENTHOUSE AND FREAK ME IN WAYS UNIVERSALLY CONDEMNED BY POSTMODERN FEMINISM #IT'S SOOOOO BAD Y'ALL #this might be too niche but i hope at least one person enjoys LOL #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #tlou #the last of us fic #joel miller x you #dark!joel

[cloudystevie]

pavlov's dog

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pairing || mob boss!bucky barnes x f!reader

word count || 1812

summary || he kept you waiting and it's his honour to make it up to you.

warnings || smut! loosely depicted mafia business, daddy kink, oral fem receiving, pet names, begging, mild degradation, dacryphilia, pussy slaps, cmnf, subspace, dom!bucky

author's note || 18+ ONLY. hi. i haven't written for more than a year and a half. ive been feeling some type of way about bucky and maybe getting back to writing mindless porn is what i needed to get my creative fulfillment ive been severely lacking. please don't mind the potentially choppy smut as i haven't written in a long while. feel free to reblog and leave comments!!

»» ──────ஓ๑ ღ ๑ஓ ────── ««

8:53.

8:53 PM, and you were still waiting for Bucky to finish his meeting. A recent competitor was threatening Bucky’s monopoly in New York, apparently, something to do with some guy who owned a publishing company inherited by his grandpa, who was looking to buy one Bucky already owned.

Whatever. You weren’t really listening when Bucky was talking about it over the phone because you were too busy keeping his cock warm.

You watch the digital clock flash another minute, and finally, your phone dings with an activity notification at the front door. Before you can try to be chill about it, you all but run to the door to greet your man, practically jumping on the balls of your feet with excitement. The door swings open, and you barely glimpse Bucky's tired and frustrated expression before it morphs into a sweet smile reserved for you, making his eyes crinkle at the corners and shine. 

Running into his arms, you koala hug him as you nuzzle your nose into his neck. He expertly toes his shoes off while showering you with the same attention. “Were you waiting by the door for me the whole time, baby?” He asks with a smile.

Nodding your head yes and widening your eyes while twisting your lips into a pout, you decide to play the sweet, patient girlfriend who Bucky knows you really aren’t. “You kept me waiting for 4 whole hours, Jamie, 4 hours. I stood right by this door and didn’t take a single break until you came home.” 

A hearty laugh escapes his lips at that, and you can feel the tension from his shoulders leaving as you gently rub them while still managing to cling onto him as he maneuvers you two to your bedroom. Unfortunately, both of you are well aware that patience is a virtue that you very simply do not possess.

“My poor, incredibly patient and honest baby. How rude of me to keep you waiting like this, huh?” He keeps his voice low, both in pitch and volume. It sends a tangible shiver down your spine as he sets you down on the bed. You bite your bottom lip, subconsciously spreading your legs, unable to hide your reactions from him.

Bucky loves how responsive you are to him.

“So mean to me daddy.” You whisper, “need you to make it up to me.”

Bucky licks his lips and clenches his jaw because fuck he needed this, especially after being stuck at his office for nearly 4 extra hours while you were at home looking like this. So sweet and soft and submissive for him; all he needed was someone to control because his empire in New York was being tried.

But Bucky had it under control. He always did. This wasn’t the first time he had to deal with a newcomer who decided to get a little ballsy and try and take over some of his territory.

He always did fuck you more aggressively when work had more hiccups than usual.

“Yeah, honey baby? How do you want Daddy to make it up to you? Use your words.” Bucky’s tone kept dropping, getting deeper and deeper with each delicious word he spoke to your somehow already foggy brain.

Even while he was giving you some control, he managed to maintain dominance over you, and that just flared the heat pulsing between your thighs.

“Need you, daddy, want your mouth.” You whisper, heat spreading your cheeks as you voice what you want, but a surge of pride goes through Bucky. At the beginning of the relationship, you had really struggled with voicing what you wanted, whether it was something like telling him you didn’t feel like getting dolled up to eat at a luxury French restaurant and wanted some burgers instead or how you struggled to say to him you wanted him to take his shoes and coat off before he came inside your apartment and sat on your couch. He dealt with people who feared him every day, people who never corrected him or crossed him. It was made abundantly clear you are not one of those people; you need to tell him what to do and how to do it, and he will. Bucky would bring the moon and the stars to you if the thought ever crossed your mind.

Dropping to his knees will have to do for now, he thinks.

His large palms spread your thighs as your pliant body falls back, but you prop yourself up on your elbows to watch the show. Bucky smiles at you with hunger in his eyes as he licks his lips once again while gingerly sliding your pajama shorts down your legs. You inhale sharply as the cool air from the open balcony doors hits your core. Bucky can’t help the rumble emerging from his chest as takes in your already wet pussy, bringing his thumb up to flick your swollen clit and messily run the tip of his finger around your pussy.  “You were waiting for me without any panties on? You’re that fucking desperate for me, sweetheart? Ready to bend over for me as soon as I walk through the door?”

You whimper at his fingers and throw your head back, nodding it desperately fast. 

“Aww, don’t go quiet on me now,” Bucky teases, “you were being such a good girl telling me what you want. Don’t stop now, angel baby.”

You whine high in your throat as you tug on his hand that is still purposefully brushing over your clit, “Please, Daddy, just- just-” 

Before you can finish your plea, Bucky licks up your slit, expertly swirling his tongue around your clit as your thighs jolt around his head, and a surprised mewl leaves your lips. “Oh god, Daddy, need more, please more,” your hands reach out to grab onto whatever you can, one hand gripping Bucky’s hair, making him hiss and buck his own hips against his tight slacks while the other latches onto the silk bedsheets.

“Greedy girl,” Bucky hums against your pussy, but to your delight, he indulges you, slipping a thick finger into your pulsing hole. Still, before you have time to react to that, he’s wrapping his lips around your swollen clit for the first time tonight and sucks on it. Making your back arch up and your legs quake as you try to simultaneously push yourself away from him but pull him closer. A near-pornographic moan leaves your swollen lips as your chest heaves. You cry out his title as he slides another long finger inside you, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks on your poor little clit and soothes it with kitten licks every few seconds.

“Oh Daddy, you’re gonna- fuck, you’re gonna make me cum please, Daddy, please can I cum!” You babble, drool seeping from your lips as Bucky always manages to reduce you to a mindless, pathetic mess. It had never been easy for you to stop or slow down your orgasm, as Bucky always tended to barrel it out of you. Although you had noticed that the high that spread through your body when he permitted it was much more euphoric than the orgasms that slipped out of you.

Maybe it was something akin to Pavlov’s dog effect. Conditioning.

Bucky was aware of this fact as well. He knew your body, your mind, better than you did. 

A satisfied smirk works itself onto his lips, and he grumbles something against your sensitive cunt, enjoying the way you struggled to keep your body at bay. “I dunno, my stupid little baby, dunno if you’re desperate enough yet.” Bucky’s words vibrate against you and propel you towards your high even quicker. Your whines get more high-pitched and breathy as you struggle against your boyfriend’s relentless tongue. “I am Daddy, I am desperate. Always am for you, please, Daddy, make me cum.” You whine a bit petulantly as your orgasm is right there. But he’s dangling it above your head and forcing you to obey him. So, you try the guilt-tripping route.

Tears well in your eyes, and your lip quivers, “Please, Daddy, don’t you wanna make me cum? Don’t you wanna take care of me? Make me cum all over your tongue and make a mess? Please, Daddy, need you so bad!” You cry, tears slipping down your face, and Bucky grunts, closing his eyes as he tries not to cum in his pants at the sound of your breathy pitch and the sight of tears slipping down your face.

He pulls back and curves three fingers toward your special spot, and takes his other hand to slap at your swollen clit in quick succession, making you squeal. Arousal paints your thighs as he quickly switches back to overstimulate your poor button by sucking on it so hard that your orgasm squirts onto his bearded face, making him groan in appreciation as he mumbles something like: “That’s it, there’s my good girl making a fucking mess like Daddy taught you.” But you are too out of your mind to really process his words as you struggle to breathe down from your high, tears slipping down your face as you bask in the overwhelming feelings of such an intense orgasm. 

Bucky kisses up your thighs and stomach, easing his fingers out and tongue away slowly so you don’t go from overstimulated to zero all at once. He cups your face in his hands and kisses your cheeks as he shushes you, bringing you down from your high with soft words and coos that appeal to your clouded brain. You cup his much larger hands in yours, pouting your lips up for a kiss, and he chuckles before placing a soft kiss against your swollen lips. He can taste the salt from your tears, and it sends even more blood rushing straight to his dick as he ruts his hips against yours, making you pull your lips apart on a mewl. 

“Daddy, will you fuck me now?” You ask with a certain lilt to your voice. Bucky scoffs before pressing his lips to yours and rumbling against your lips, “You’re an insatiable little whore you know that?” 

Manhandling you to the top of the bed, he throws you against the pillows as unbuttons his slacks and pulls his hard cock out, pre-cum oozing from the swollen red tip as he looks like he could destroy you. “I’m your little whore daddy.” You tease, spreading your shaky legs apart, and he licks his lips.

—--------

Bucky worked from home the next morning. Needing the extra time to make up for the late nights and the particularly strenuous activities that led into the early morning hours. 

As you sat on his lap, peacefully dozing in and out of sleep, he knew he had made the right choice that morning.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x yn #mob!bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes smut #mafia! bucky barnes x reader #mafia! bucky barnes smut

[yawnderu]

Mine — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Art by @ave661!

Synopsis: knowing he couldn't provide you with the life you wanted, Simon breaks things off with you. Two years later, you come back to base with a baby that isn't his.

Content: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, mutual pining, established relationships, breeding, erotic lactation, romantic love making, praising. No beta we die like Roach.

Ghost always knew his lifestyle would forever be considered out of the norm. A soldier who risks his life every single mission, a man who has built an entire plethora of enemies in multiple countries should never even bother settling down, yet why does it hurt to bad to see you come back to base with a baby that isn't his? It was his idea to break up— not wanting to destroy your dreams of wanting a family in a gated community, even when you reassured him living together as soldiers wouldn't be an issue at all.

"Say 'hi, Simon'." You tell the baby you're carrying, the tiny thing wearing a bear onesie is looking up at Simon, pure curiosity in her eyes. She simply babbles, short arms reaching out to touch his skull mask. To your surprise and to his heart break, he leans down so your daughter can play with the hard plate of the mask, not worried at all about her breaking it.

"She looks like you." He said with a choked voice, trying his best to sound calm. He doesn't even dare look at you, his gaze focused on the tiny girl you're holding.

"Dada!" She babbles out while touching his mask and Simon's eyes immediately go towards you, soul almost leaving his body in fear of seeing disgust on your face, yet all he sees is a bashful smile adorning your pretty features. He holds in his breath, eyebrows furrowed under the balaclava as he waits for your response.

"Astrid, that's—" You begin and she interrupts, one of her tiny hands barely being able to hold one of his big skull gloved fingers. "Dada!" She insists, louder this time. There's only 3 words the little girl can say including 'Dada', so you're not all that concerned about her seeing him that way.

"Sorry, she—" You get interrupted once again, this time by Simon.

"It's okay." If being delusional and pretending this tiny thing is his daughter helps him deal with the heartbreak making his chest hurt, he doesn't mind. The girl clings to Simon's neck and you lean closer, giving her a questioning look. She never liked being held by anyone but you, often crying whenever friends tried to hold her.

"This might sound strange, but..." His gaze shifted from you to the child, heart melting at the little girl holding onto the neck of his jacket for dear life.

"Can I hold her?" His voice was hoarse, hands almost shaking from all the emotions that hit him at once.

"Of course." Your warm smile reassured him, gently passing him the baby. He supported the back of her head with his hand, easily dwarfing her entire skull, yet being so delicate with his touch you could swear he thinks your daughter is made of glass.

Simon felt light headed as the little girl was slipped into his arms, fitting perfectly in his hands. His eyes lit up when he looked down and saw her soft, chubby fingers wrap around the chain of his dog tags, a small smile forming under the balaclava. He brought her close and cradled her, heart thundering in his chest at holding this lovely girl you created.

"Dada." She pointed at him with her finger, looking back at you as she squeezed his chain with her free hand. You could swear you saw one of his eyebrows lifting in amusement under the mask, the same cocky look you know too well.

"Maybe she wants me to be her daddy." He teased you, cradling the baby delicately in his strong arms, shielding her from any danger. He was instantly smitten the second he saw her, content to have your permission to hold her even after all you both went through.

"Don't be so smug about it, bastard." You playfully roll your eyes, leaning your head on his shoulder to give your little girl a kiss on the forehead, her hand holding onto your hair softly the same way you managed to teach her after one too many times of having your hair pulled by the tiny creature.

"Mama." She attempted to pet your hair the same you taught her how to pet a cat, albeit her tiny limbs moved much sloppier and with surprising strength.

"I think it's sweet." He said with a cheeky smirk, the pain in his chest going away more and more the longer he held your daughter. He was secretly hoping to get a reaction out of you after almost two years of not being able to tease you.

"You can tell her no all you want, but if she wants a dada, she's got one." As if to prove his point, he pointed with his eyes to the girl in his arms, the child reaching out towards Ghost with a giggle. His fingers tickled the baby gently, making her laugh even more. You look between Simon and the baby, a fond smile on your lips when you see just how easily they get along, the pupils in his brown eyes fully dilated as he looks down at her.

"Look at her." Ghost spoke softly, one of his skull gloved fingers running down the length of her short hair.

"She looks like an angel." He looked down at the child with nothing short of raw adoration, gaze drifting back to you, taking in the sweet moment of your body leaning against his while you both fawn over the infant. You hesitantly move away from his shoulder after a few seconds and he gives you a questioning side eye.

"I've got a meeting with Price, let me—" You reach out for your baby and he looks down at you, gaze softening.

"I can babysit for you." He offers with a hopeful look in his eyes. How can you deny anything to this man when he's holding your little girl as if he would die for her no questions asked? When those big brown eyes are looking down at you, the moisture in them clear as day? You nod your head, offering a warm smile as you give your baby one last kiss in the cheek, accidentally tickling her and making her giggle even more.

"There's a few baby bottles in the fridge, just run them over hot water for a few seconds until it's warm— but not too warm." He nods his head as you give him instructions on how to take care of the baby, listening intently. He doesn't have the heart to tell you he knows how to take care of a child— he babysat his former nephew many, many times before. He doesn't even realize he dissociated until you gently pat his shoulder, walking to Price's office.

"You and me, yeah?" He asks your baby who simply giggles in return, tiny hands going back to play with the hard plate of his skull mask.

The meeting took much longer than expected, catching up with Price and talking about your possible return to the 141. It isn't until three hours later that you go back to your quarters, heart in your throat when you turn on the lights.

Ghost is laying on your bed, civilian clothes on with a hoodie covering half of his upper face, your baby safely secured on his chest. You don't have the heart to wake them up, instead grabbing your phone and snapping a quick picture, making sure not a single feature of his face is seen for his own safety and privacy.

The change of lighting slowly wakes him up, offering you a tired smile before his eyes close again once he realizes it's just you. You take off your boots and turn off the light, sneaking into bed with your lovely baby and... your ex.

It feels too natural to even think much about it, one of his arms instantly wrapping around your shoulders to bring you closer, head resting on his chest along with the tiny offspring. He drifts off to sleep soundly with his two girls and for the first time in a long time, he's able to get a full night's sleep, not being woken up by his violent nightmares.

Weeks pass as Simon spends more and more time with you, your new contract signed the same day you had a meeting with Price, though he's not putting you on any missions yet until they figure out who will take care of your daughter while you're away. Today Gaz and Soap asked to take her out, claiming they wanted to buy some new clothes for her since she's growing up fast.

"Hey, big guy." You greet Simon, who seems to have relocated to your quarters for whatever reason— the man literally spends his whole time there and you don't even question it anymore, simply assuming he wanted to spend more time with your daughter. You know details here and there about his family, though he was never clear about the full story. You sit down next to him and he nods his head in acknowledgment, too busy looking at his phone.

"Can I buy her this?" He points his phone at you, showing you a website selling pajama pants for babies, the ones he's showing you are grey and have a skull pattern all over. You playfully roll your eyes, nodding your head before laying down next to him, head laying on his chest while you look at his phone, browsing the website together.

"You don't have to buy her things, you know?" You take a few seconds to admire his unmasked features iluminated by his phone—the soft jawline, thin pink lips, high nose and skin around his eyes that always seemed to be tainted with eye black no matter how well he washed it off.

"Telling me what to do, Sargeant?" He teased, raising an eyebrow at you and being an asshole jokingly just to make you laugh. It only earns him a slap on the arm, phone dropping right on his face. He turns his head slowly to look at you and you can recognize the look in his eyes— you try to run away but he holds you down, fingers already tickling your ribs as you laugh and struggle, trying your best to get out of his grasp to no avail.

"Pause." You kick and scream, laughter escaping your lips due to the tickles. As soon as you speak he stops, looking down at you with a tender look in his face. You gasp for air and he takes the chance to look down at your lips, so close, so inviting...

"I saw that." You tease and he jokingly pushes your head into the pillow, laying down next to you with an arm wrapped around your waist. You giggle at the remaining feeling of the tickles before laying back down on your side, hand absent-mindedly tracing patters on his defined, clothed stomach. You don't know when you both started becoming so close again, yet the comfort is always welcome in the turbulent life of a soldier.

"When's that lot coming back?" He looks down at you, longing mixed with curiosity. Truth to be told, he knows the boys will keep your baby safe, but he wants to have her right back where she belongs— in his arms.

"Like... two hours, I think. If they don't find anything too distracting. Don't worry, I made them take a jacket for her in case it gets cold." He would never tell you he was the one to put the baby jacket in the car because they all forgot.

"Good, good." He sighs, looking up at the ceiling, deep in thought. It's quiet for a few minutes, both of you finding comfort in the silence before he speaks again.

"Are you planning on having another one?" He asks curiously, gaze drifting down towards you, doing his best to hide the longing and hope in his tone.

"Maybe." You keep in simple, eyes staying closed as you trace patterns on the muscles of his stomach, feeling them flex involuntarily at your touch.

"Why? Interested on having a family with me now, Simon?" You tease, an eyebrow raised at him as you finally open your eyes. He seems to be thinking about it for a few seconds before hesitantly nodding.

"Bullshit." You sit up, looking down at him with a mix of confusion and hope.

"S' the truth." He plays it off casually as if he didn't confess being ready to do the same thing that broke both of you off two years ago. He pulls you back down to his chest, fingers gently massaging your scalp. You can hear his heart beat fast, his adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallows the knot in his throat.

You stay quiet, unsure of what to say. It's too much all at once— knowing Simon actually wanted to settle down with you bringing a mix of anxiety and fear to both of you equally. He never had a normal family, and though deep down he was scared of being like his father, he already proved to himself he can be gentle and tender, the same way he is with your daughter.

His hand slowly drifted down from your waist to the curve of your ass, softly squeezing it while looking at you for any signs of hesitation. He finds none, and instead sees you leaning closer and closer until your lips crash, the passion of two lovers who never got over one another present in the kiss.

Clothes are discharged all over the room with no care at all, the quarter walls bouncing off with a mix of your moans and his low groans, a pillow under your hips while he fucked into your cunt, slow and deep thrusts making the tip of his fat cock slam into your willing cervix.

"Gonna look so fucking pretty with my kid." He whispers into your ear, breathy groans leaving his lips as his thrusts slow down, making love to you rather than just fucking you for a quick nut. One of his hands cups your cheek, forcing you to look up at him.

"Tell me. Tell me how pretty you'll be all swollen with my baby." You hesitate and he kisses your lips gently, gaze tender while he looks down at you, thrusts hitting deeper and deeper each time as he waits for you to speak.

"I'll look... so pretty—fuck— with your child." You manage to speak out between whiny moans, the way he's looking at you with pure love and adoration is all you need to confirm he does find you attractive. Truth to be told, it's difficult being confident after glint through something that permanently alters your body, yet he's looking at you like you're even more beautiful than before. In his eyes, you are.

"That's a good girl." He praises, hips rutting faster against yours as he drove himself deeper and deeper into your cunt, the nasty squelching sound every time he goes hits it hard making this even more exciting. He holds himself up with his elbows, large hands cupping your tits while he pops one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking on it like a starved man finding shelter.

"These tits are gonna be so big too." He murmurs, swallowing the milk coming out of your tits with no hesitation. His hand gets busy with your other nipple, gently pulling and squeezing the sensitive bud, not minding the milk squirting all over. It's too good to be true— your body changing so much to keep your baby healthy and soon enough, it'll change for his baby too.

"So fuckin' perfect, baby." He praises, eyes closing as he focuses on how good your wet walls are wrapping around his unprotected cock, tongue swirling around your nipple before he latches onto it again, drinking the sweet milk coming out.

"This cock's all yours." He lets go of your nipple, face seeking shelter on the crook of your neck as his thrusts get sloppier by the second, embarrassingly nasty words coming out of his lips like prayer. You're the only one allowed to ever see him like this, to have him in any possibly way. He doesn't even care how he's promising you the world, offering all of himself to you without having any doubts.

"Everyone's gonna know you're mine, love." He whispers into your ear, voice hoarse and full emotion, hips stuttering before he buries himself all the way into your cunt, cum splurging out directly into your willing, fertile womb. He keeps himself inside, caging you in with his strong arms into a protective embrace, wanting to make sure not a single drop of cum is wasted.

"All mine."

#ghost mw2 #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod fluff #cod angst #mw2 x reader #mw2 2022 #mw2 fanfic #mw2 ghost #call of duty #mw2 141 #cod #call of duty modern warfare #breeding k1nk #breed1ng #mw2 smut #ghost smut #ghost x f!reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #ghost x female reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost x female oc #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you

[revenantghost]

Man, I think the best and worst part of Knives’s character is just how compelling he is*

I get it. You get it. We all understand exactly how and why he is the way he is. So many people have put this idea into better words than I could. He witnessed an unspeakable horror at an incredibly young age. He knew he was different, that he was other, and a worry set deeply into his bones that humanity would reject him for being born who he is. 

And he was right. It was so much worse than he could have ever realized. He was born to be an object for humanity to use as they see fit. All he wanted was love and peace for himself and his brother. And after seeing that? What they did so mercilessly to Tesla? Who can blame him for not believing in any future with humanity in it. Who can imagine a future without unbelievable strife and prejudice when you’re outnumbered and are seen as an item to dissect and toy with as you see fit

And yet

And yet

In his fear, in his need to control and correct, the cycle continues. The abused becomes the abuser. He assaults his brother multiple times. He takes away Vash’s autonomy and manipulates his body without his consent. Hell he happily experiments with/tests and uses Vash’s body while unconscious. He says he loves Vash while refusing to hear a word coming out of his mouth. Because, if he has a moment of doubt, any hint of weakness, all of that anger slips away and he becomes that boy again--afraid and weak and alone

In his fear, he takes plants. He strips them of their independence and will, denying them their souls. Again, he uses the bodies of his siblings against their will. He displays their corpses to keep him angry instead of putting them to rest. He kills and breaks apart the body of his sister so that he doesn’t have to die, so that he can be reborn. He willfully denies the thoughts, dreams, and pains of his sisters and instead absorbs them, impregnates them, tries to kill them in the “right” way

In his fear, he drove humanity into hurting his kind more. He forced their hand into injuring and killing more plants than they’d ever dreamed of harming. He’s the one that put Vash into a constant position where he’s gaining mountains of scars. (His brother who, on the opposite end of the spectrum, has let the cycle of abuse continue while using himself as a shield instead of breaking free from the pattern.) He uses and discards the humans near him no matter the kindness and devotion they shows him

The same behavior Knives shows everybody and everything else

He’s awful. Absolutely sick and perverted and so stuck in his own mind that all he does is hurt and hurt and hurt

And yet

I get it. I’ve been traumatized to the point where all I want to do is cause pain in return. To feel that justice can exist and will come to pass, no matter the cost. To be so afraid that anger is the only safe emotion you can cling to. It’s what makes him one of the most compelling antagonists I’ve ever seen. Kudos to Nightow for fucking me up about Knives and his pain more by the day, honestly

*Except for ‘98 Knives lmao, that man is fabulously unhinged and overly dramatic about everything and I love him for it

#Trigun #Trigun Maximum #Trigun Stampede #Tristamp #Trimax #Trigun Meta #My Trigun Meta #Long Post #I did NOT intend for this to be so long #Maybe a quarter of this length at MOST #Ohhhh this didn't show up in the tag I'M VERY ANGY

[lunargrapejuice]

no 'buts'

satoru gojo x fem!reader | satoru makes you watch, unable to touch him, as he jerks himself off<3

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, dacryphilia, masturbation obvi, your hands are tied up with his blindfold, overstimulation/edging, lots of pet names - this man cannot shut up ever okay + lots of cum

you aren’t totally sure how you ended up like this; with your hands held together by familiar black silk still lingering with the warmth of its wearer, the hand of the strongest holding them in place so you couldn’t move them. tears clinging to your lashes when, for the umpteenth time, your husband had torn away from you just as you were about to cum around his long fingers and was now having you watch him kneeling between your legs and jerking himself off so fucking sinfully, unable to touch him or be touched in return.

well perhaps you did have an inkling as to what led to this but you didn’t think your actions deserved this kind of punishment. and it was punishment of the worst kind when satoru didn’t let you touch him. 

yes, he had caught you touching yourself in the middle of the afternoon when he was supposed to be at work but stopped by home to see you. and while he had loved to see the way your little fingers tried to imitate the deepness and thickness of his own fingers in and out of your pretty cunt, a breathless murmur of his name on your lips, he was never one to miss the opportunity to tease and punish you.

you were ever his good girl but fuck he loves when you’re bad too.

“‘toru please,” you beg, your voice shaky and adorable and you try to tug at your pinned down hands but he doesn’t budge. “need to touch you. need you inside me.”

his smirk is devilish, cerulean eyes sparkling like a sea of diamonds and sapphires in the afternoon light coming from the window as he stares down at you through a heavy lidded gaze and snowy locks. you’re clenching around nothing just from looking at him like this but it’s not enough.

“don’t think so baby,” he coos, sticky sweet and followed by a deep groan when he pumps himself harder, faster, at your words. “you only get to watch.”

you swear you could sob and when you feel the cool wetness on your burning cheeks, you think you already are. you wanted him, wanted to cum, wanted him to fill you, needed to kiss him. “but-”

“no buts sweetheart. shit-” he’s head falls back, showing you the bob of his thick throat and when you look down his muscular body glistening with sweat, you see his cock flushed and leaking in his messy hand, his pre mixing with your slick that coated his hand from the time he spent reminding you that your own fingers would never make you feel as good as his, that your pussy was made from only him to touch.

he feels you weakly tug at his blindfold around your wrists, his free hand keeping them from going anywhere but this time he lets you move them, just a bit, enough for you to move so your fingers could lace together with his, giving your hand a light squeeze in time with his thrusts into the tight tunnel of his hand. 

“always so needy for me, aren’t you love?” he says, returning his nearly glowing gaze back to you, taking in your glistening pussy and tits with a light bounce at the way the bed moves as he fucks his hand. “can’t help yourself, can you?” he’s babbling, voice getting more and more breathless the closer he’s getting to his orgasm. “couldn’t wait for me to get home so you just had to touch yourself thinkin’ about me?”

“s-satoru,” you hiccup, your fingernails digging into his hand trying to make his hand in yours feel like enough contact but it’s not even close and you can’t help but cry at how mean he’s being. “please - please. wanna be your good girl.”

“oh yeah?” he feels his heart beating in time with his throbbing cock, your sweet pleas and fat crystalline tears nearly breaking him. “my sweet girl’s done bein’ bad? want me to touch you instead of touchin’ yourself?”

you were the only thing that could bring the strongest sorcerer crumbling to your whims and love but he was also the most annoying and stubborn man you knew, always getting his way even when he was so tempted to give in to you.

you nod desperately. “always wanna be your good girl ‘toru. i p-promise-”

“fuck angel-”

then you’re crying out, feeling the tip of his cock parting your sensitive folds, catching on your clit, throbbing and heated, thick cum drenching your pussy as he continues to pump his cock in slow motions, moving up and down your aching sex. never where you needed him the most but after building you and leaving unable to feel him, the slightest touch would have broken you like delicate glass. 

still making an absolute mess of you, satoru finally kisses you, leaning down to crash your lips together, claiming and heated, muffling your whimpers and his groans with deep, wet, kisses. 

you’re so lost in the overwhelming feeling of him that you don’t notice right away that he’s let go of your bound hands until you feel his fingers whipped away your tears, his other hand, drenched in both of your fluids and pulling away from his still hard cock with a lewd sound, finds your clit to rub in slow circle that soothes your cries and makes has you bucking your hips into his hand.

“just a little more sweetheart,” he murmurs against your lips and you can feel the smirk tugging at his own through the kisses you continue to share. “promise i’ll let you cum soon.”

♡♡♡♡♡

comments & reblogs would be so greatly appreciated!<3 thank you for reading ♡

main masterlist

#satoru gojo #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo smut #gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #satoru gojou #satoru #🌙moonlight.stories

[yestrday]

: ̗̀➛  DRUNK ON ECSTASY ! ft. yan! venti, kaeya, diluc, albedo

In a last-ditch effort to subdue your fiery spirit and finally claim you as his, your dear yandere mixes a little something with your food. different emotions arise, but one thing is clear— you’re soooo much cuter when you’re pawing at his sleeves and crying for him.

+ whew finally got this one out of the drafts!! did this instead of the reflection paper lololol

( yandere behavior, drúgging, aphrodisíacs )

venti does it in a last-effort ditch to break down your walls. don’t blame him, okay! he’s been trying sooo hard these past few months to even put a dent in that thick wall you’ve put up between the two of you. he’s confident in his looks and his charm, and has been exploiting the utmost out of them just to seduce you! but you’re sooo hard-headed, and he’s growing really desperate!

he adores your modesty, really! but the shy and reserved smile you put on when he makes a move on you pains him both physically and mentally. he wants to see all of you, the good ones and the bad ones, and he wants to assure you that he’ll love you no matter what! he wants to see you needy and desperate just like he is, but it looks like you’re trying to control yourself. but no worry though, because venti will make it his mission to set you free of such bothersome restraints.

and well~ ♡ venti giggles as he swirls the pink liquid around its heart-shaped vial, brazenly playing with it with your back to your wine. he knows juuust the thing to get you to open up. don’t worry, don’t worry ♡ venti can’t seem to repress the wide grin as he drops just a teensy bit of the potion. this is what friends do, don’t they? help each other out?

and he’s helping you out alright. not like he has much of a choice when you cling and grasp at him so needily. he’s laughing all the time, even when you’re begging for some sort of release. his laughter, bordering on maniacal and full of lust, is muffled by the blood rushing to your head. he loves it— those desperate eyes, the whiny pleas… you’re everything he’s dreamed of and more. isn’t this wayyy better? to be true to yourself instead of hiding what you’re really like?

“venti venti ventiventiventi pleaseee~!” your whines sound absolutely delightful to his ears, and even more so when he watches you cling to him with hearts in your eyes. your hair’s a mess, your cheeks are bright red, and you smile at him like you’re drunk on the attention he’s giving you. “hmm, i don’t know…” venti feigns hesitance, even though he’s kicking his legs in delight. “it’s getting late now… don’t you need to go home at this time already?” you shake your head fervently, clutching even tighter onto him. you stare up at him so desperately and pleadingly that it’s hard to connect you to the straight-laced person you were before. “i– i don’t need to! i’ll stay here for you, venti! just pleasepleaseplease!” you nigh sob, embracing his side as try to indulge in every warmth and touch his body can offer. “please touch me already!” the giggle he lets out is almost maniacal, one that would scare you if you weren’t high on aphrodisiac. he takes a large swig from the wine bottle (more pink than the usual red) and brings your face closer to his. your breaths intermingle, smelling of sweet wine and laced with lust, as venti takes in the prize he’s been coveting for so long. “you’re so precious, my darling,” he whispers, and when he swoops in to kiss you, tongue wrapped around yours, you swear you’ve never been more contented in your entire life.

kaeya believes that he’s not the sort of person to resort to such… disgusting tactics. he tells himself that he can win you over by his charm and hard efforts alone, but the way you smile politely at him or when you take every opportunity to avoid him… it only digs deeper into his insecurities. every witty remark he has is met with an awkward laugh, every time he tries to close the distance, you shy away. it hurts him more than he wants it to. he knows he should be giving up but when he stares at the vial of aphrodisiac he’d unthinkingly buy, he knows he’s far too gone to give up.

he tries to forget about it, tries his best not to think about what horrible thoughts he’s been having of you. but every time you show him even the slightest affection, a genuine smile here or a comforting touch there, he starts caving. how happy he would be if you showed that to him every day! he’d return every affection you gave tenfold, you’d never be starved of it. he wants you so, so bad it’s maddening, and every night he sleeps in his bed alone, his mind becomes a little bit crazier.

but tonight, you were with another. he knows he’s just a friend, that you see them nothing more than a brother, but that’s not how the other party looks at you. yet you lean into their touch so willingly, laugh with them without any restraints, and smile at them so blindingly it stuns kaeya even from across the room. he grasps tightly the bulge in his pocket, heart-shaped and taunting, and bites his lip.

he wants you so, so badly. so when you approach him with your wine glass lifted, greeting him with a drunken smile, he tries to pretend that he is the subject of your affection. tonight, it can be all pretend, but when he refills your cup and watches the pink wisps drown in the red wine, he tells himself that it’ll all be real after this.

“i’ve got you, i’ve got you.” kaeya acts like he’s not the one who made you like this, swaying tipsily from the wine and the drug and clinging onto him for support. well, maybe more than support, because of the way you nuzzle into his side and breathe a sigh of relief, kaeya thinks that maybe you’re longing for something more. “hehe, have i ever told you how handsome you are, mister kaeya~?” you ask him, smiling wobbly up at him as you gaze into his one eye. he gasps in shock when he realizes that your noses are barely touching, and he leans away quickly to save his rapidly beating heart. he wasn’t like this with others, he swears, but something about you makes him so vulnerable and flustered that he doesn’t know what to do. your rented room is barely lit, the candlelights on the side of the wall somehow adding a sensual atmosphere as he guides you to your bed. the feeling of your skin against his is like fire to ice, and the little whimpers you give as the heat tortures you from within sets his head spinning. he can barely handle it, and with the way you’ve been eyeing him… surely it wouldn’t hurt to hope for more. he tries to set you on the bed, but you’re quick to push him down first and straddle him with a triumphant grin. he knows he’s the suspect behind your behavior, yet you’re the one pinning him down and he’s the one blushing and gasping like he’s been caught in your trap. “kaaaeeeyyaaaaa~ ♡” you drawl, nipping lovebites and staring at him with heart eyes and a flirty pout. “keep me company for the night?” his breath hitches in his throat as he takes in your draping clothes and feels the warmth of your body on top of him. mustering up enough bravado, he summons his confident grin to his smile as he wraps his arms around your neck. his heart is beating in his chest, and his eagerness drowns out whatever guilt he may have felt. “anything for you, love.”

when desperate, diluc might not make the most rational of decisions. he had bought the love potion off the black market in a fit of mania after you had once again run off and hurt yourself. his illogical logic reasoned that if you weren’t willing to be under his care, safe, and protected, he might as well force you to want it.

the morning after, diluc’s face contorted with disgust as he looked into the reflection of a man willing to force the person he’d been pining for into something they didn’t want. he locked the crystal bottle under lock and key, swearing that not once would he ever use it. he loved you too much, and admittedly too prideful to resort to such cheap tactics. he needed you to love him of your own volition.

but tonight was another one of those nights, news of another dangerous stunt of yours in dragonspine reaching his ears. you were driving him insane. what archon would care if he kept you under his protection, shackling you to his side even if it meant depriving you of your freedom to explore the world as you wished? hell, he might even get rewarded for it, because you were going to kill yourself at this rate!

there must have been a reason why he didn’t throw away that potion like he had ought to do, a malicious subconscious telling him that he would need it in the future. and it was right, the side of diluc that he had despised so much was right. as he swirls the ominous glowing pink in its bottle, he watches it drop into your wine with a face devoid of any emotion– too sick with love and paranoia to even feel anything for the crime that he was about to do.

the way you’re shivering and reaching for his touch is making him go crazy. he had never expected the potion to be this strong (though he did drop a few too much just to ensure the… effectiveness), so he received your weak embrace with both surprise and a dark delight. your current image was one he thought he despised— babbling incoherently, swaying tipsily, airy giggles, just like the drunks he tended to— but on you, it was nothing short of endearing. especially with the way you whimper at his every caress, shaking in flush pleasure as you lean in for more. you’re pliant on his bed with hazy eyes anticipating his every move, and he gently lifts parts of your clothes to observe the collection of scars you’ve collected. “d– diluc…” you whimper, weakly grabbing at his wrist as he traces another once more. you’re so… small, hands barely wrapping around the width of his wrist. “wha… what are you doing…?” “observing my mistakes,” he replies, pressing a chaste kiss on your temple that has you whining. he sees this with dark eyes but refuses to let go of the leash he’s put upon himself. “all these scars that litter you’re body, it was my mistake for even letting you go out there when you can’t even take care of yourself.” he thumbs another scar and you bite your lip. “now you won’t have to worry anymore. i’ll be the one taking care of you.” “take care of me…?” you’re silent for a few seconds as if the reality of the situation has finally dawned on you. diluc sits in silence too, waiting for you to start screaming and kicking and demanding before a wobbly grin spreads on your face. “take care of me? ♡ then…” wrapping your legs around his neck, you pull him in closer till his chin rests on your tummy, and you smile so lovingly at him that he could almost fool himself. “then take care of me lo~ots tonight, ‘kay? ♡”

albedo doesn’t even bother reserving a love potion for a last resort. he might be a patient man with most things, but he sometimes likes to indulge in his sadistic desires. and there’s no other person than you who seems to rile up those desires more than ever. to have you shivering and weak on his table, moaning weakly as you beg with a bright flush on your cheeks… albedo could not have made the potion any faster.

he’s always been… scientific? when it came to matters of the heart. he’s not the type to chalk the unexplainable thumping of his chest to a mere clash of chemical reactions in his brain. rather, he looks for the fastest and most efficient way to get him results. he could try and be content watching you from afar, dressed in your cute waitress getup as you tended to customers, but archons knew how much he was itching to have his hands on you.

every time you smiled at him from across the street, bounding from good hunter to the little alchemy stall with food that albedo had ordered with ill intentions… it festered something dark within him. albedo’s no idiot, he’s fully aware of what dangerous ideas his mind has been cooking up this entire time. you chat with him with wide and trusting eyes, unaware of how his gaze lingers on your lips and how he purposely brushes your hair back to let his touch linger. 

it drives him insane how naive you are, but it is an alchemist’s duty to break down things and build them up again to truly understand the way they are. and albedo is nothing but curious about you.

albedo is delighted at how much the potion seems to have an effect on you. you could barely think, head empty except for the constant need of albedo’s touch, and you beg for it so~o prettily too. he tucks a messy strand behind your ear, just as he always did, but instead of warm smiles and thank yous he’s met with whines and hazy eyes. “‘bedo, ‘bedo, pleeasseee~” you sob into his palm, hugging his arm in an attempt to keep more of his warmth to yourself. “wh- what’s going onnn? i’m sca-ared…” he shushes you, soft caresses tickling your neck as he presses a kiss on your temple. it’s exhilarating how much you shuddered from a mere peck and wondered that should he have made the effects stronger, it certainly would have sent you right over the edge. “sh sh shhh, it’s okay, darling. you’re fine. your body’s just reacting… accepting… let me indulge in this moment for a little bit longer, ‘kay? then i’ll relieve you of your pain.” you don’t process any of his words, just looking up at him with fearful yet trusting eyes. he chuckles when he sees this stupidly cute expression on you and helps himself to nip on your earlobe. “ngh, nha ♡ n- no! not the ear…! ‘bedo, ‘s too sensitive!” your toes curl at the onslaught of pleasure, and you can’t help but kick your legs as you’re overwhelmed. “y- you can’t…!” “oh dear,” he chuckles, pulling away from your lobe and watching as you lay on his lap, panting and twitching at the sensation of it all. “it’s just the ear, darling. surely, you can’t be that sensitive yet?” he eyes the cup of tea that he had brewed, suspiciously tinged with pink. “you haven’t finished your cup yet, you know.” “c… cup?” you slur, tongue feeling leaden. through half-lidded eyes, you can barely make out the sly smile on albedo’s lips. “wh… whaddya mean…?” huffing a fond laugh, albedo shakes his head and reaches out for the teacup, before tilting it into his mouth. his lips descend on yours, tongue swiping at your lips to be permitted entry. you part them, and the distinct taste of tea enters your mouth as he kisses you even deeper. “that’s what i mean,” he smiles, pulling away with naught but a string of saliva attached. now his cheeks glow pink, as he watches you with lustful eyes as pleasure and unbearable heat shake your body once again. “it’s time to fall even deeper, my love.”

#yandere genshin impact #yandere x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere venti #yandere kaeya alberich #yandere diluc ragnvindr #yandere albedo #yester.writes

[willownwisp]

ree's leon valentine's day advent <3

hi everyone. <3 as the leon kennedy fluff truther, i'm making an advent for valentine's day because pookie deserves so much love! everyday, i'll be posting a fic ranging from nsfw/sfw fluff for babu leon, i'll be putting out the scenarios and snippets below if y'all are interested. author's note: i've been meaning to put this out like a week ago when i finally figured out the problem w my account as to why tumblr wasn't letting me reply to comments :( but sadly, college got me so head empty. anyway, i've already got 2 days worth of fics already finished so i hope y'all can give me a read. <3

FEBRUARY 8 𖹭 nice legs, daisy dukes. (vendetta!leon x fem!reader) Leon feels like a creep, fuck that. He definitely looks like a creep. Thirty-six year old in all of his 5'11 glory standing outside his girlfriend's college leant against his Ducati like a dick, carrying a box of those, instagrammable pastries you always like to look at. It doesn't hurt to be sweet. Not when you walk — run, at the sight of him in your preppy mini dress, highlighting those long, long legs. Nothing is sweeter, especially when it's wrapped around him.

FEBRUARY 9 𖹭 starry skies, blue eyes. (re4r!leon x fem!reader) Stars dot stygian skies, the night is young, the moon is high. Leon's heart soars with your every laughter. The way your eyes close and your nose scrunches. God he was so in love with you, he could forgive the fact that the tent should have been up hours ago before night. You swear you remember your knots from your wide-eyed Girl Scout days, and he swears these silly moments with you are what makes life bearable.

FEBRUARY 10 𖹭 cold woes. (re4r!leon x fem!reader) Leon S. Kennedy. The apple of his instructors' eyes (and yours), he's a top graduate in the Police Academy for fuck's sake. He's decimated hordes of zombies in his first day as a rookie cop. Endured military training in the middle of nowhere, he's saved the President's daughter. He doesn't get sick. Only that he does catch a cold at the expense of prioritizing you, his clumsy girlfriend, who forgot to wear a jacket on a camping trip, offering his warm clothes to you. He doesn't regret it, he likes taking care of you, but there's something adorable about your sheepish apologies as you wait on him. He could get used to being babied. FEBRUARY 11 𖹭 love on me. (di!leon x fem!reader) As much as Leon loves the sun, the beaches, the tropics. Oh what he would give to become a beach bum in his next life instead of being smacked by bioweapons day in, night out, and being a good bitch to good ol' U.S of A. Unfortunately, after the events of Alcatraz, maybe he's had enough of the sea for now. He gives himself a pat on the back, takes out a chunk of his savings to go to Japan because you've been eyeing it. You said you were interested in the food, culture, and sights. So why in the world were you dragging him to a love hotel? FEBRUARY 12 𖹭 fill up your cup. (re6!leon x fem!reader) He feels himself spiraling recently, turning to the bottle because a glass is never troubled by his woes. He breaks them of course, can't help it, seems like his life is doomed to him breaking in the end. Fragments of glass scatters on the floor, vodka spills on the floor splashes it around like his grief because his body can only take so much. You arrive as he tries to pick them up, attempts to pick himself up. You whisper assurance, he doesn't deserve it. The way you look at him ardently, the gentleness that is your existence. You empty out his pain, and fill it with love. FEBRUARY 13 𖹭 the thrill, the love. (damnation!leon x fem!reader) He wills his old Yamaha to go faster. Your dainty arms clinging to him, the softness of your touch as his speed breaks the sound barrier. What started as mere curiosity turns into rituals. Secrets that only the both of you know. He knocks on your door at midnight, drives you around town. He scolds you every time your arm breaks free, throwing them to the wind. You don't care, you love the thrill, you love him. Leon admits that there is something alluring to the thrill of the chase. Perhaps that's why he's spent his years chasing Ada, but with you it was different. FEBRUARY 14 𖹭 kiss it better. (di!leon x fem!reader) Leon is a man full of stories, his pain, his peace, his fears, his needs. There is more to him than just being a formidable weapon against bioterrorism. He never was a weapon, just a flesh and blood human, and in his mortality there are scars. Deep within him, and littered in his skin. You kiss the faded slash on his hand, he tells you how he'd got it from when Ashley Graham had tried to stab him under the influence of the plaga. You kiss it again, and what he doesn't tell you is the wave of warmth that washes his entire being, it tugs on his very soul. You kiss the scars because it's there, because it's him, and in his reverie, he thinks you truly are his person.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon x reader #leon x you #leon s kennedy #leon scott kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy fluff #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy imagine #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x y/n #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #resident evil x you

[iceman-soup]

amab masc!reader x switch!soap

Letting rottweiler!hybrid!Soap ride you as you do some paperwork. He's been following you around all day, even more touchy than usual: resting his chin on your shoulder whenever you're not moving; clinging onto your hand or arm constantly; crawling onto your lap and nuzzling his face into your cheek if you sit down. Pouting at you that he's hungry or cold - knowing that you'll give him a snack bar from your pocket and wrap him up in your jacket at his first complaint.

He follows you into your office, his hand clutching yours as he whines that he's bored, headbutting your bicep affectionately as if he were part-cat rather than part-dog. You turn to him, watching him kick the door shut then pulling him into a hug, lifting him up a couple centimetres off the ground to make him laugh, his tail wagging. Giving him a quick scratch behind the ears first, you pull his face to yours, kissing him tenderly, hands moving to cup his cheeks, your thumbs stroking against his stubble.

Feeling him kiss you back with much, much more intent than what you had initiated, his tongue prodding at your lips eagerly, little whimpers against your mouth prompting you to part them. Gentle kisses quickly turn into making out, Soap's fingers shaky as he tries to undo his belt, fiddling with it until you had enough and moved your hands from his face to swiftly do it yourself, unzipping his jeans and tugging them down his hips, breaking away from the kisses to help him out of them - and his boxers - fully. Your heart beats fast at seeing how hard he is already.

"Gotta do paperwork, love," you faux an innocent smile, pressing a tiny kiss to his cheek and leaving him standing in the middle of your office to go sit behind your desk, sliding a file to the centre of it and flipping to the page you need. Surprised to not hear a chorus of whines and incoherent protests, you glance back up at him - feeling your heart melt a little at the sorry sight in front of you.

He's standing there half-undressed, big, sad puppy eyes fixed on you with the most pitiful expression on his face you think you've ever seen. His tail is slightly tucked between his legs and his sweet floppy ears are slack. He lets out a soft, low mewl upon catching your gaze.

"Here, pup. Didn't mean to make you upset," you apologise, leaning back in your chair and patting your thigh, smiling gently at how his tail immediately starts wagging as he trots over, straddling your lap and nibbling at your earlobe adoringly. Your breath hitches as he starts to grind against you, letting out tiny, needy sobs, trying to free your own aching cock from your trousers.

Kissing his jaw tenderly, you take off your belt, then unbutton and unzip your own trousers, pulling them down only enough for your hard-on to poke out of the slit in your boxers. His tail wags eagerly, whacking against your knees a little, and you put your hands on his hips, guiding him to slowly sink down on your cock, both of you groaning at the feeling.

"That's it.. good boy, puppy," you murmur almost absentmindedly as he adjusts, his head falling to rest on your shoulder. You slide your hands up his body til they're resting under his t-shirt on his ribs, gently rubbing up and down to soothe him. "Stay quiet now, love, alright? Let me get on with these documents."

He nods, wrapping his arms around your neck and clinging to you, muttering out a "yes sir" and pressing small kisses to your skin. You reposition yourself so that you can see your desk again, one hand picking up a pen and the other resting on his clothed back, fingers curling to grasp his shirt when he starts to move. Muffled whimpers and moans seep into your neck from where his mouth is attached to it, sharp dog teeth nipping slightly to get you to buck your hips a little.

"Can't concentrate when you do that," you breathe out, eyes flickering as he sucks a hickey into your skin. He hums in response, moving faster on your cock, lips still latched to you. "Fuck- Soap, love-" voice becoming gruffer as you get close to your climax. Hands move to hold his shoulders so you can kiss him again.

"C'mon, sir-" he pants, and your eyes snap open before immediately rolling back as you cum, hips twitching upwards as you sigh out a moan. You can feel his tail bashing your legs as he rides you through your orgasm, then shakes and collapses onto you as he has his own.

After a moment, you crack open an eye, catching his as he looks up at you, still sitting on your cock, his head on your chest. "Been a while since you called me 'sir' during sex, puppy," you smirk, reaching a lazy hand up to pet his mohawk. He grins in response, reaching up to give your jaw an open-mouthed kiss.

"Aye, sir," he flirts, squeaking as he feels you start to harden inside of him again.

#eughhhh idk how good this is #i'm very tired and a bit disoriented in general #i missed rottie soap though sooo here #rottweiler!hybrid!soap #cw smut #cw pet play #cw sir kink #cod smut #x male reader #x masc reader #x amab reader #cod men x male reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap x male reader

[willowser]

i've never really put much thought into actual dragon dragon-king bakugou, but — what if —

you meet him for the first time in king todoroki's arena — on what you assume to be the last day of your life. over something menial like stealing a porkbun or something, and now his grace has decided that a trial-by-combat is a fitting punishment for you crimes.

only your opponent is a massive, hulking, fire-red dragon.

and you're not the only one thrown in there; a few other vagrants and miscreants, too, and they — stupidly — rush off to meet their own deaths as they try to strike him down with the blunt swords and dented shields you'd been thrown by the guards before they sealed you to your fate.

the dragon is chained up, of course, like a prized possession for the king. a large collar with inward curving spikes around his neck, which have worn scars into his scales, as well as some metal contraption around his maw to keep it shut. it doesn't hinder him useless, though, and when he tries to fly up and away from the amphitheater, the force of his wings sends you all rolling backward.

despite the fact that he's maiming people with the spines on his tail and bashing them into mush with the weight of his head — you can't help but to feel bad for him, trapped in an arena, put on display for people to taunt and laugh at. the chains look heavy, the muzzle tight; you wonder if his wings could even carry him anymore.

so you decide that the only way for you to live through this, if at all, is if you can manage to get this big boy off the ground.

while the other competitors fight the dragon for their lives, you instead rush for the chains that are nailed into the walls of the arena and smash at them with the rounded end of a shield. every time he jerks his head this way and that, or rears back on his legs, wings flapping wildly, the wall he's nailed to becomes looser and looser, starts to crumble and fall away.

and just as he turns to you — his last foe — it breaks free, and you swear, you swear, those big, red eyes of his narrow, brow furrowing, before he's jerking the chain twice. tugging it noisly, almost to get your attention.

you grab onto it just before he takes to the sky.

the rush of air is so cold and stinging that your eyes water, and you hold onto the lifeline as you're carried up and away from the kingdom, over the entirety of it, far enough that he can land safely without getting charged by the guards.

when you both hit ground, you think you're going to puke, especially as he stands tall and stretches his wings like he hasn't been able to for years — but instead of smashing you, too, to a clump in the grass, he only leans his head down to you, nudges you hard enough that you topple over.

you're still clinging to the shield and you use the edge on the nails of his muzzle, too, twisting them loose so that the iron falls away and he can stretch his jaw. show off his long, very sharp teeth that could easily tear you to bits.

and yet he doesn't. doesn't even try.

it'll be harder to get the collar off his neck, but he watches you with his slit eyes, brow arched menacingly, and nudges you to the long length of his neck. huffs until you're grabbing the spines and hauling yourself up onto him, like some kind of impossibly large horse.

and you continue on like that, for a bit; he finds a field of wild bulls and eats nearly all of them, maiming one for you before setting it aflame; you try to gather little shiny things for him, because you've heard dragons like treasure and you want to keep him, but he doesn't seem too interested; you have no family to return to, having grown up alone on the king's streets, and he becomes all you have.

you begin to feel like some chosen one from the fairytales you've heard spoken by firelight. the dragon bakugou stays with you, and the only reason you can fathom is that, maybe, he feels indebted to you — but you've saved one another, and that's what matters.

the night everything changes is when you're deep in the forest, camped up near the edge of a clear-water spring. the dragon bakugou grows lazy, curled around the perimeter of the water with his long neck and — he's a male dragon, you know, but you've got to wash yourself eventually.

you do feel a bit odd, undressing yourself as he watches, but you assume it's only out of plain and simple curiosity that he does; you assume that's why he does anything, for you, like allowing you to lay near his head when you sleep or huffing in your face until you laugh when you try to wrap your arms around his nose.

you try to pay him — an animal, a creature of fantasy — no mind as you dive below the surface, enjoying the refreshing rush of water over your skin. when you reach the bottom, tangle your hands in the gentle weeds, you feel a pang of sadness, that he might never experience such a feeling.

but when you return to the surface — he's gone.

in place at the water's edge is the collar you've never been able to loosen. rusted and creaking, looking much larger off his neck and alone in the grass, and your stomach lurches with a thousand horrible possibilities of what could have happened until —

"oi."

until you turn around and there is a massive, hulking man, naked as the day he came, with eyes the color of the scales that are dotted along his skin in stray patches. crowned in a mess of ashen hair, scars along his neck and face and arms—one of which is inked in some symbol you may have seen once. on those travellers, from the southern clans.

he, the man bakugou, you realize, has no concept of personal space — or the fact that he's totally naked and so are you — and he wastes no time in crowding into you. even rushing, a little, when you squeal and try to clamber back up the bank for your clothes.

like a stubborn boy, he pushes you into the dirt and even grins, evil and mischievous, with human teeth. you have no idea what to expect of him; men have never been too kind to you, afterall, someone without a home or family and easy to be rid of.

but he, the man bakugou, only nudges his face into yours, huffs against your cheek when you squirm, and you think, you think, you can hear some kind of quiet rumbling purr coming from the deep center of his chest.

#suddenly shy about how rushed this is but !! i had to get it out of my head he he #i love him !!! #you turn around and he's there and you're like ????? !!!!! who the hell are you !!! LOL #he doesnt want any ol' shiny thing 🥺 you are his shiny thing 🥺 #okay going goodbye for now !! big kiss big kiss !!! #๑ remember me love: bakugou ๑ #✿ willow writes #✿ thoughts: bakugou

[luveline]

could you do one with aaron or spencer?

maybe reader and hotch/reid are on a case together and end up being taken hostage by the perp and then reader has a panic attack while they’re stuck, just them two and the perp in the room, and hotch/reid comforts her??

💕💕

ty for ur request ♡ —hotch calms you down when you panic while being held prisoner. fem!reader, 1.1k

cw criminal minds typical gore and violence, reader having a panic attack

The floor is spotted with blood spots like black mould, a fine spray of dark red interrupted by the place where you'd been kneeling. Pulled back now, the unsub has you handcuffed to a pipe under a snug sink, short, your neck bent to fit. You think I won't fucking kill you? Sit still.

You're trapped. Tied and trapped, waiting for the unsub to snap. And the worst part is that Hotch is here to watch it happen. 

Hotch tried to de-escalate the situation, and for the most part it worked, but the unsub has yet to let you go. He stands panting and lilting from side to side, barrel of a gun tapping bruises into his temple. Every thwack makes you jump, sure that this will be the moment he turns his pistol on you. You're trained for this, you know what to do, but training can't prepare you for the reality of a hopeless situation. 

You're going to die here. Hotch is going to die here. 

You can't breathe. Legs crossed, you're slouched into yourself, the flat of your chest tight like the air has been suctioned from your lungs. The room is dark, shadows bouncing in the corners. The only light comes from a yellow strip above the sink mirror. 

"Fucking stupid," the unsub mutters, his voice choked with tears. "Stupid, stupid." He sounds agonised. 

You've all the raw panic of a bear trapped in metal maws, sharp pain at your wrist like certain death. You've given up on breaking free, rivulets of blood streaking from the broken skin ringing your arm down to your elbow. Every breath teases another drop. 

"Breathe," Hotch says, the metal on his cuff rattling. It's the first time he's moved since he woke up, a picture of calm while you'd been ragging yourself raw. "Y/N, listen to me… Take a nice, deep breath." 

"Shut up! Did I say you could talk?" the unsub seethes.

"My talking won't affect how this situation ends," Hotch says, with the gentle tone he uses while speaking to victims. "But if she panics, you won't be able to control her. I can calm her down." 

"Shut up shut up! Make her shut up!" 

Hotch's handcuffs rattle again. "Y/N, give me your hand. Reach out for me." You shake your head, your one free hand wedged between your legs. "Reach out for me. Please." 

You try to keep your gasping contained, that pushing, pulling war for air, a pervasive ache all the way to your fingers. You slide your hand across the floor. Hotch can't reach you fully, but he can lay his fingertips on top of yours. They're cold for once.

The unsub changes his mind, irate, a hacking cough of a voice as he grabs you by the back of the head and forces you up, ripping your hand away from Hotch's. "Fucking useless bitch. Keep your head up or I'll kill you. I'll kill you." 

You bite back a sob. You truly can't breathe, the panic attack twisting and twisting like a hand between your ribs, a corkscrew opener, your hyperventilating a white hot heat that eats up your throat. 

"You have to let me calm her down," Hotch says.

The unsub grabs you by the hair and turns to Hotch with fury on his face. You frown at Hotch through tears in a plea for help, knowing there's nothing he can do and wanting it desperately anyways. His eyes set, the line between his brows deepening, and his voice hardens. 

"I promise you that if you keep hurting her, I'll pay it back tenfold," Hotch says. 

The unsub lets you go, but his voice is dripping with smarm as he drawls, "Opposed to the gentle care I'd receive otherwise." 

Hotch pulls at his cuff, the radiator pipe it clings to buckling but not breaking under his strength. The unsub doesn't like this, doesn't like anything, and his splitting personality shifts away from cruelty and toward regret once again. He retreats to his corner. 

"You're okay," Hotch whispers, ignoring the other body in the room. "Honey, you're alright." He has a talent for surprising you, the pet name he uses like a soft touch even while your hands are bound and you're held apart. "It's going to be okay. I promise you that." 

"I'm– I can't breathe," you force out.

"Yes you can. I'll do it with you." 

Hotch looks at you steadily. "Breathe," he mouths, his face relaxing. He forms an 'o' with his lips and demonstrates a slow exhale, a bigger inhale. 

You follow his command. Hotch holds your gaze for what feels like hours but is more like ten minutes. He breathes in and out with a reassuring look about him, as though the unsub isn't there, as though you aren't both covered in blood and sitting in the gore of a dead calf. 

Your terrified panting turns to sorry sobs and then to gutted sniffles. Later, you'll feel embarrassed for losing your cool at a time that was so high stakes. Now, you unfold your legs and stretch them out, pressing the side of your shoe to Hotch's. He presses back

Morgan finds you, of course. You never should've doubted him. He floods the building with SWAT and takes your unsub alive personally. He's an amazing agent, a better friend —when he uncuffs you, he pretends not to see the way you crawl toward Hotch. 

Emily uncuffs Hotch at the same time, his big hand quick to hold your face. Then, in the same second, he wraps his arms around your shaking shoulders. 

"I'm sorry," you say, remorse thick on your tongue, apology squeezed out like a scared little kid's.

"Careful of your hand, your wrist. Don't hurt yourself worse." His voice drops to a murmur, for your ears alone. "Don't panic yourself again. Everything's okay." His hand moves down your back slowly, firmer now, "I got you." 

"Actually, I've got you," Morgan says. "Can you guys walk, or should I call in the EMTs?" 

Emily scoffs. "Morgan." 

Hotch drops his head back against the wall and sighs a long-suffering sigh. You can't see the relieved slouch of his shoulders, or the daunted look he sends Morgan. Your panic took more out of him than he's willing to show you. 

"I'll call them in," Morgan says decisively. 

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

[starneteyam]

i absolutely love your writing so much, i always enjoy reading your works 🫶🏻. do you think you could do an established relationship!neteyam x reader drabble where the reader gets kidnapped bu quaritch and his men and neteyam gets on protective bf mode when he finds out and saves the reader (like that one scene with neteyam and his bow and arrow). and when him and the reader reunite neteyam's frantic to make sure reader's okay and they just shut him up by tightly clinging onto him to which he holds them just as tight, just a fluffy and intimate ending 💗💗 thank you!!

KIDNAPPED ★

🖇️ char. Neteyam x Omaticayan! Fem! Reader

🖇️ warn. Mental torture, kidnapping, angst

🎥 In which you get kidnapped by Quatrich, and Neteyam is desperate to get you back

A/N I literally wrote this whole thing but when I saved it as a draft, it got deleted 😭😭 It’s a little angsty tbh, hope you like it!!

Everything happened so quickly. One minute, you were roaming the forest with Lo’ak, Kiri, Tuk, and Spider, and the next, you were being suffocated in the arms of an avatar. When you woke up, you were in a room you didn’t recognize, the white walls and white lights blinding you. You tried to get up, but realized you were bounded to a metal chair, with green panels surrounding you. “You’re awake.” You heard, the female voice echoing throughout the room.

You looked around as you eyes adjusted to the lighting, and was able to now see the Sky People surrounding you, all in lab coats or military clothing. As you had started to recall the events, you grit your teeth, trying to force yourself out of the metal binds. You hissed at them, baring your teeth and showing zero compliance. “Hey, hey now.” Quatrich said, walking over to you. Your free tail whipped towards him and smacked him, and he stepped back.

“Don’t make this hard, girlie. It’s either you tell us where Jake Sully is, and take the easy way, or you don’t, and you die.” He said menacingly, but you didn’t waver, hissing at him once more. For Neteyam, you would die in this chair, and so would your secrets.

Neteyam felt the same about you. Though, he was able to save his siblings, he couldn’t help but notice that Spider and you were gone. He grabbed Lo’ak by the shoulders. “Where’s my mate, Lo’ak?” He asked desperately, and Lo’ak ears pressed flat against his head. “They took her.” Kiri answered for him, her voice cracking as she said so. She looked at her dad with tear filled eyes. “Spider, too. They took them!” She weeped, and Neteyam could hear his heart breaking in his ears.

His breaths became patterned, his tail swinging wildly, ears flickering to show that he was currently in a spin of emotions. He was alarmed and confused, and scared. Just a few days ago, you had become his mate officially, and yet, here you were, out of reach and in the hands of danger. Neytiri hugged her son tightly, reassuring him. “She is the next Tsahik, she is closer to Eywa than any of us. She will be protected.” She tried to comfort him, but all Neteyam could think about was you.

The Sullys had moved to Awa’atlu, and Neteyam didn’t know what to do. He was opposed to leaving the forest, at first; of leaving you, but he had no choice. He didn’t know if you were dead or alive, or if he would ever see you again. He so desperately missed your touch, and the way you would look at him with nothing but love, or how you would mumble his name and pronounce each syllable properly.

Ne-te-yam.

Calmly and with that soft voice of yours. He missed you.

You had been on the ship with the Sky People, locked in a room and only taken out for interrogation because you opposed to complying at all. Spider, as you heard was kidnapped with you, was complying with them. You didn’t know the full story because you were in a cell the whole time, but you couldn’t help but feel disappointed of him.

Weeks had passed, and you didn’t know if it was because you were starving, but the air had started to smell like saltwater. You face was covered in dried blood from constant nosebleeds during interrogation. The machine they used on you worked very slowly because you were Na’vi, and had a different brain structure — you were too advanced for the machine to figure you out. You had bruises from low iron deficiency, you would constantly throw up from the little food they fed you, and you could barely stand from how drained you were, both mentally and physically.

You begged them to let you go, that they were just wasting their time and that Spider would help them anyways — but they didn’t. You just wanted to be back in Neteyam’s safe arms, but you knew that the only ticket out of this hellhole was by leaking everything; and you would rather die than do that, so you stayed silent and shoved your selfishness down.

You knew something was happening the second the ship you were in rocked heavily, as if it had run into something. Then, gunfire. You didn’t know wether to feel relieved or horrified. Were you being attacked or rescued? Staying silent as you listened to the muffled screams and gunfire, being swayed violently, and then, metal cracking apart.

You heart dropped to the bottom of your stomach as you realized that the ship was sinking. Every nerve in your body was panicking as you slammed your shoulder against the heavy metal door, banging on it and begging somebody to open. “Please! Somebody!” Your heart only started pounding harder when the tiny vent on the floor started flooding with water, rising quickly.

Neteyam jumped out of the sea, his eyes locked on Lo’ak, Tuk, and Tsireya, who were tied up on the ship. “Neteyam!” Tuk called, relieved to see her brother. “Ma Neteyam,” Tsireya called as he started cutting Tuk’s binds, “The dreamwalkers were talking about a Na’vi girl, saying she is locked downstairs.” Neteyam’s ears pressed flat against his head as he immediately recognized who she was talking about. “Thank you. Get Tuk out of here.” He ordered.

“Bro, hurry up!” Lo’ak ushered. “You go get Spider.” He told his little brother as he cut his binds, before rushing towards the stairs. “Bro! Where’re you going?” Lo’ak yelled. “To get her!” His heart was pounding in his ears, and every nerve was spiraling through his body. Knowing that you were there, alive, made his throat tighten. He missed you, and all these months, knowing that you were stuck in that small room made him want to beat himself up.

He ran through the halls, water at ankle level as the red lights from the alarms nearly blinded him. Water splashed violently as he ran from door to door, opening each one but not being able to find you. He entered an open space, seeing multiple electrical instruments and a chair with metal binds, and his heart dropped when he saw dried blood on it. He entered a different hallway, and his ears perched when he heard faint echoed bangs of a metal door.

His breaths were heavy as he arrived at the door, seeing that there was no handle and only an electrical panel that seemed to be a lock for the door. He grabbed his bow with both hands, before smashing the end of it on the electrical panel, continuously bashing it until it popped and sizzled, eventually falling off. The door cracked open, a body falling on the floor as if it had been leaning against it. His pupils dilated as he looked at you for the first time in forever.

You looked up at him, your lips parting open as you gasped. “Ma Neteyam.” You whispered.

Ne-te-yam.

It was really you. He fell on his knees as he took no time embracing you, a hand cupping the back of your head as he closed his eyes, breathing heavily as he felt you fit into his body like the puzzle piece that had been missing. You barely had the strength to hug him back, body limp against him as you leaned into him. He pulled away, both hands cupping your face as he quickly scanned you.

His eyebrows furrowed after seeing the dried blood covering your face, along with the tiny cuts and bruises. “What have they done to you, my love?” He mumbled, voice wavering. “Neteyam.” You could only say, tears welling your eyes. You only now realized how much you had longed to see him. “Are you alright? What- What did they do?” He frantically asked, searching your body. He was taken aback when you suddenly hugged him once more.

“I missed you, Neteyam.” You ignored his questions, and he dismissed his own, burying his face into your shoulder. “I missed you more. Don’t ever leave my side.” He whispered.

#avatar way of water #fanfic #fanfiction #neteyam #neteyam x reader #avatar #avatar twow neteyam x reader #neteyam fluff #neteyam x reader fluff #avatar twow #neteyam avatar #neteyam x female reader #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam x fem! reader #neteyam one shot #avatar x reader #awow x reader #neteyam awow #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x omaticaya!reader #neteyam x you #avatar neteyam #awow neteyam #awow #oneshot #one shot #neteyam fanfic #neteyam oneshot #fluff #avatar fanfic

[macabr3-barbi3]

can you do a fic of alastor comforting the reader after a nightmare? more fluff then smut please <333

I went full fluff for this anon, I hope this is what you were looking for! Super short but I had a fun time writing this cute little thing, please feel free to shoot me another ask and let me know what you think <3 (I should be sleeping but decided to write and post this instead 💕)

Tags: fluff; Alastor x Reader; nightmares; comfort; established relationship

Possible tw/cw for drowning? just in case

The darkness of the night is interrupted only by the crack of lightning across the sky, static in the air, your cries swallowed up by the boom of thunder somewhere nearby. You don’t get a chance to inhale, fill your body with one last sweet gulp of air, before the tide takes you under, chest burning with the effort of trying to hold your breath. You can’t hold it- it breaks free of your mouth with a rush of bubbles and a scream that no one can hear with your head underwater. Knowing that you shouldn’t, muscle memory makes you inhale once again.

You know that you’re dreaming, but that doesn’t make the intake of water into your lungs any less terrifying.

Your hands fly to your throat to try to stop it- a pointless endeavor since it has already entered you, weighing your body down. Glancing towards your feet, another crack of lighting illuminates the water enough for you to see the rope around your ankle before the cinder block tied to the other end starts to descend, dragging you deeper and deeper into the murky depths. The dark gray of the sky fades quickly from your view as you sink, mouth open in another scream for someone- anyone - to save you.

A hand grips yours, tight around the wrist, and you cling to it- drag it down against your chest, press your lips to the skin you find there like it can somehow push air back into your lungs. Relief floods your veins, the warm palm against your own a physical reminder that despite everything you were not alone- drowning but moments from salvation.

When it tries to pull away you resist, dig your claws into your could-be savior, pleading words on your lips that can’t travel on airwaves beneath the water as they are. They pull harder, out of your grasp, and your tears become one with the sea as you are pulled to the bottom of it without them.

Screaming is what awakens you, the ache in your throat violent and sharp enough finally that you bolt upright in your bed, Alastor’s crimson gaze settled on your face, his smile grim and tense. He’s crouched over your frame and holds both of your hands in his, your elbows and legs still fighting against water that no longer surrounds you. There are tiny rivulets of blood on his wrists from where you had grabbed him.

You force yourself to relax, deep breaths that do nothing to soothe the burn in your throat. You stop fighting Alastor, make your limbs go still against him and collapse back against the bed. Tears burn at your eyes, not just those leftover from your dream but new ones at the thought of hurting him while he tried to help you.

“I’m so sorry.” Your voice is a quiet rasp and your body goes boneless, Alastor finally releasing his grip on your hands and leaning back. Unlike the first time this had happened, there is no frantic pounding at the door in response to your screams- he had taken care of that problem after Charlie had shown up to your room in a panic, Vaggie with her spear at the ready before Alastor had explained that it wasn’t necessary. It was only ever when you fell asleep at different times; when he had other matters to attend to in the hotel or radio studio, or times when you feel asleep waiting up for him. He had been horrified to discover them at first, but since becoming accustomed to them he was quick to give you comfort in the aftermath.

He collects you in his arms, pulls you against his chest with a hand in your hair and the other in yours. “No apology necessary, dear,” he murmurs, pressing a small kiss to the top of your head. “I know it’s nothing you can control.”

“I hate this,” you whisper into his shirt. “I hate that it makes me so… so weak.”

You feel his head shake more than you see it. “Never,” he assures you. “You could never be such a thing.”

“You don’t have nightmares,” you say petulantly, and the vibration of his chuckle against you is something you could feel for centuries and never tire of.

“I have other terrors to face, I’m afraid. That doesn’t make the ones you handle any less difficult.”

You sigh, settling deeper into his embrace. “When you took my hand,” you say quietly, “it helped. It was like a lifeline- something to ground myself with. In the dream it felt like a rescue- I didn’t know it was you, I can’t get that far out of it to recognize that- but it helped me feel less alone.” You lower your gaze. “Less like I felt when I died.”

Panicked. Overwhelmed. Desperately, horribly isolated when you had been sent over the side of the ship all those years ago. There had been no cinder block- that part of the nightmare an unfortunate addition from your terrorized mind- your going overboard having been an accident, but the crashing of waves over your head as you tried to scream was always the same, the storm that raged overhead never ending as you had been left behind.

“Look at me.” He uses his hand in your hair to guide your face towards his, placing a chaste kiss on your lips before pressing your foreheads together. “I will never allow you to be in a situation like that again. Whether an external force or the horrors of your mind, I will always be here for you, darling.” With his other hand he gives yours a squeeze. “I will tie my hand to yours in the night if you desire, so I cannot pull away even by accident. So you always have that reminder that I’m beside you. I will not leave you behind.”

You fist your hand in his shirt, bury your face in the fabric so he can’t see the freshest tears. “I love you,” you say, and he brushes his hand gently through your hair once more.

“And I love you, dear. Rest easy now- I’m here with you. I always will be.” He hums something soft and gentle above you, and the low vibrations and the heat of him lulls you back into a blissfully dreamless sleep.

#hazbin hotel #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor the radio demon #x reader #alastor fluff #hazbin fluff

[circeyoru]

The Spirit’s Favourite Human _ Part 2

SURPRISE! I can't take the suggestion out of my head and written another one. But it's long................................................

[Human!Alastor x Spirit of the Forest!Reader]

Part 1

Part 2 (here)

Maybe you shouldn’t have put your hand in his offered one after several more of his visits to your forest to ‘chat’ with you. Because now you found yourself clinging to Alastor’s side as the lack of nature elements frightened you, it was odd to hear the sounds of humans chatting over the chirps of the birds or the bellow of the trees. The only comfort and safe haven you had was Alastor and you stuck to him like roots to the soil

Alastor didn’t mind the closeness of you hugging his arm, not at all. He loved it since you hardly came close to him, even during his visits to the forest, as those birds would come to you for any gossip that he couldn’t understand. Though it was wonderful to hear you speak to him in his mind, it was like you were everywhere around him

What he minded was how onlookers would stare at you and your perfect form. You’re clothed, yes, but it was off and revealing. He didn’t even notice until he was with you in the streets with people around and not the creatures of the forest

He placed his coat over you as he led you to the boutique. Picking a bunch of clothes that he thinks would look good on you. But they were too formal. So he had to change to another shop

You caught onto what he wanted to do and looked around while he took a break at a bench. A flowery shop drew your attention as you pulled Alastor along to see what was inside. It was another boutique with more comfy and casual wear that he wouldn’t like. He was going to bring you away but the look on your face stopped him and he let you pick whatever

The moment you stepped out from the changing room, he felt his heart drop and his body freeze over. Oh, you looked so divine he didn’t think it was possible. Flattery came from his lips like a song dedicated to you. The blush on your face was a good look on you, but don’t hide that expression from him. He brought everything you tried on and then some, he was glad you didn’t have the concept of money else you’d be declining his gifts and the bags that decorated his free arm like jewellery 

Last destination was his home. He noticed that look you had, it was wonder and curiosity. He knew you liked it when you dragged him around and had him open doors and fiddle with other objects that fancied you. There was one place you hated. The library or study he had

You suddenly bend over and place your hands over your ears as screams and cries come at you. Alastor thought the radio he had on was too loud and left to turn it off. When he left, you stepped forward, looking for what the screams and cries were directing you to. The books, the papers, the shelves. It was all made from the trees that gave you home

When Alastor returned, he only found you amidst the flying books and papers he used for his radio show. Your fury was another side he rarely seen, your lips moved and your eyes glowed as you glared, not directed at him, but he felt your rage. “Humans. Hurt. Home.”

So you knew some words and expressed yourself. He understood, the trees were hurt and turned to another form by humans. He only had that idea to try and soothe your pain and anguish. He’ll show you his basement that you have yet to pry into. He was going to let you find out during your fun tour of his house but it seems now’s a better time

He led you out of the study, ignoring the paper cuts that accidentally got him. He shut the door as he disregarded the state of the room you turned into. Had you been someone else, he’d bring them to his basement for another reason entirely

“Humans aren’t your woodland friends, my dear.” Alastor spoke as he opened the hidden doorway, lighting the way before the two of you began your descent. “You’ve seen my work and helped me in the forest. But before you pushed down those bodies…” He showed you the room where his tools lie and the heavy smell of iron remained. “I bring them here, if I could, to make them cold.”

Your raging emotions seemed to simmer down. Right. Cold. Death. That’s what you can associate. Alastor kills his kind, no different to the predatory birds that would eat other birds. The place Alastor calls home was like another forest. A place where the strong survive

Those trees lacked a spirit like you to protect them, you’ll protect your home. You weren’t a gentle spirit that would let humans cut down your friends in your home. Your duty was to protect the forest and its residents

You turned to Alastor, he was a human yet you weren’t angry with him. Not even when he hunted deers and other animals in your home. Well, he didn’t go over the line. You’ve seen other hunters that were disrespectful. No, Alastor honoured his prey to the best of his abilities

You cupped his face by his cheeks, healing his paper cuts and restoring his energy. “You. Protect. You. Good human.”

His smile melted to a smaller and more comfortable one as he leaned against your hold. “You’re a blessing in my lonely life, my dearest spirit. I’ll protect you as well.”

So started your life with Alastor in his human city. The first thing he taught you was communication in the human tongue. He found out the easiest way to teach was through songs and singing. You had some basic knowledge of words. But he was beyond surprised to see you imitate questionable phases and movements, saying that you watched other humans and listened to try and learn some

He added more targets to his list after that

You were a quick learner. Easily managing the new human knowledge that Alastor taught it, you chalk it up to his voice and demeanour being pleasant to you and you didn’t think it was useless to you since you liked Alastor and wanted to stay with him

Of course, you weren’t always in town with him. You had your duties back in the forest. And Alastor understood that. He’d bring you bodies of humans to bury and offer as nutrients for the forest. In turn, you offered him something you didn’t realize you were doing. A connection and care that he missed after his mother’s death

Alastor and your relationship became the talk of the town. The once famous and popular radio host that seek no relationship had someone that can invade his personal space without being shoved aside! Big news!

Someone had came up to ask the closest of your relationship with Alastor once while you were out shopping for some plant seeds to add to Alastor’s backyard so you could be alerted if the situation need be. But Alastor hadn’t taught you much about relationships, since it’s was closeness. You’d agree you and Alastor was close

“Is Alastor courting you?”

Courting. Alastor had mention it was done to someone close to another, and you and Alastor were very close that he’d share with you those ‘dark secrets’ as he called it. So you nodded and said ‘yes’ then left

When the news went to Alastor, he thought someone found out about his plans to formally court you. There was a reason why he didn’t teach you about relationships. He wanted to surprise you since nature was your ally and you’d know everything after getting a topic, it was like you knew all. To his surprise, you were the one that said yes before he had the chance to propose his courting to you

“My darling, you never cease to amaze me.” Alastor came back to you that night and hugged you like no tomorrow. You were confused but welcomed the touch. Then came Alastor’s explanation and your blushing to the next realm. “You’re not planning on backing down from your claim, now, are you?”

There was not much change, but Alastor did bring you out more often and showed you off more, even on his radio show. You can’t help but smile and blush at his praises. But his listeners would be envious of you two, sometime Alastor would have some comments coming in to tell him to get a room or move onto the next topic. That gave both of you a good laugh

That aside. You were the perfect accomplice. Your powers completed what he lacked. While his current methods were satisfactory and allured the police from pointing fingers at him, with you by his side, it was even better! Bodies can go missing for weeks and no one would know, only the missing posters increased, but not the number of murdered victims. He gave him a sense of thrill, power, and control every time he had to report it on his show

You sometimes couldn’t understand why Alastor would reveal where some of the bodies were on his radio, saying it was a tip from someone anonymous and pointed the police to find the body that was somewhere else (ones that wasn’t buried in your forest)

Still, as long as Alastor was happy and your home was safe. You didn’t mind. There was a term for this. Not just the romantics that Alastor announced to those around him. No, it was something you never showed to the other humans. Maybe to some children that would visit the forest, but never to this extent

“Favouritism.” You spoke as you caressed a black rose, sitting by the open window that gave you a clear view of your forest. A bird came by with a note in its beak, you recognized the cursive to be Alastor’s writing. You smiled as you kissed the petals of the rose. “My favourite human.”

Note: This would be the stuff that happened before that ask I answered

Another thing. You guys love the {Demonic Companion} one huh. Question, should I do a masterlist to include links to the posts? Or is without one okay? Or should I wait till there's more stories posted?

(″ ´ワ` ″)

Circe Y.

MASTERLIST

#The Spirit’s Favourite Human #alastor headcanons #alastor imagine #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #human alastor #Circe's Nighty Writings

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

how do you think different tr characters would react to being tickled? like on a scale of "doesn't mind/might start a tickle fight" to "DO NOT UNLESS YOU WANT TO DIE"

I kinda pictured this as being someone their friends with/ very close to being the one doing the tickling so keep that in mind! I've also tried to rank them from easiest to most difficult.

Mitsuya- Doesn't react, he actually isn't ticklish (Luna and Mana have complained about how unfair this is many times)

Mucho- Not ticklish, looks at you with a blank expression and asks what you're doing. 

Emma- Tears slip out when she's tickled, she just can't help it. Will pout after.

Naoto- Is surprisingly very ticklish, will beg you to stop then tells you to never do that again.

Koko- Will offer you money to make you stop

Pah- Thinks tickle fights are unfair and would rather arm wrestle 

Hina- Turns bright red when tickled and pleads with you to stop. Sometimes she'll try to get you back and other times she'll just leave it.

Angry- Laughs, actually smiling while being tickled. He doesn't always try to get you back either. 

Takeomi- Thinks you're being a bit childish, will sometimes attack back depending on how busy he is

Shion- Thinks you're very bold to try tickling him, will then say he will give you the worst tickle attack possible as revenge. It turns out to be pretty mild.

Yuzuha- Likes tickling others but hates it being done to her, half heartily tries to push you off.

Inui- Chuckles lightly when being tickled, it depends on his mood as to whether he tries to get revenge or not

Hakkai- Freezes up when tickled, will attempt to get you back hours later though.

Takemichi- Get's completely surprised by a tickle attack and doesn't see it coming. Ends up laughing uncontrollably then tries to get you back after.

Peh- Grins all throughout, he thinks it's funny, especially when he's tickling you back

Shinichiro- Also loves tickle attacks, any excuse to get to touch you and watch your face as you giggle. He thinks it's cute.

Chifuyu- Actually likes tickle fights, sure he doesn't like being tickled too much but loves that he has an excuse to tickle you back.

Senju- Laughs, you better watch out though because she tends to move her limbs about wildly while being tickled and you could be accidentally hit. 

Wakasa- Hates being tickled and finds it tiring. Will half heartily tickle you back but his main revenge is to cling to you, leaving you trapped in his embrace on the bed or sofa for a few hours. 

Kakucho- Is definitely competitive with this, holds back a little while tickling you back though. He doesn't want to hurt you.

Mochi- Laughs very loudly while being tickled and will try to get you back after, gives you a head start to run and hide before he comes after you.

Benkei- Gives you a bear hug after being tickled, trapping you in the air with one arm and tickling you with the other. Your choices are trying to break free and risk falling or waiting for him to stop.

Mikey- Laughs very loudly then 100% chases you to get you back, will then tickle you with no mercy.

Kazutora- Is very sensitive to tickling, it only takes a little for him to start laughing. Once he catches his breath he doesn't hesitate to run after you to get you back.

Draken- A very bad idea to try it with him, he's not too ticklish and will easily hold you down after to get you back. 

Ran- "oh?" Finds your boldness to be adorable but will attack without mercy. He's had a lot of practice while tickling Rindou.

Rindou- Can easily gain the upper hand in a tickle fight against you, especially if you don't know his moves. Teases you a bit after that, tickling lightly or not at all before going fully in. Likes the sounds of your laughter and screams.

Izana- Freezes up, unsure of how to react at first. He then sees it as a game and wants to win against you so will overpower you and tickle you until you declare him the winner.

Baji- Terrible idea to tickle him! He'll go for revenge immediately after and tickle you until you're begging him to stop.

Kisaki- Blushes when being tickled, then tells Hanma to tickle you back.

Hanma- Isn't ticklish but fakes it to get you to lower your guard. Loves the sudden look of shock on your face when he suddenly pounces on you to tickle you back. 

Sanzu- Hates being tickled, he despises it. His revenge involves tickling you in different places to try and find the most ticklish spot.

Smiley- You will die. He out right threatens you then tickles you non stop without mercy after.

Taiju- Do not tickle this man. Comes up with the worst revenge possible, may even ask Koko and inui to hold you still while he tickles you.

South- Grins like a maniac if you try it because now you've basically given him permission to tickle you back. You better run.

#tokyo revengers #tokrev #tokyo rev

[alicedash2]

Luffy's first love, Child!Luffy x Child!Reader (inspired by ponyo)

Repost

Collaboration with: @gatitties 💗💞💖

Her post: 🪼

I think is everything okay now, I will change something if I found something

Luffy found a weird fish!

🐟🌊🫧🌈🪼🦀🐙🐠🌈🫧🌊🐟

In the East Blue Sea, in the deep of the ocean, there was a small village that had been abandoned by its former inhabitants. However, now only one family lived there—a man with deep bags under his eyes, long white beard, and a slight hunchback. He maintained order at the bottom of the ocean, helping and nurturing marine animals. His house was large and peculiar but well-lit with various animals around. Inside this house lived YN, a small and chubby fish. For a while, YN had wanted to escape. After all, her "father" didn't allow her to leave because she was too young and careless. Despite being the most mature and largest among her sisters, she still couldn't go out.

The "species" of YN isn't exactly a fish, they are similar to the fish-men of Sabaody, but rarer and more special. YN emerged from a relationship between a human and one of the inhabitants of that village, who are creatures similar to humans but with the ability to control oceans, animals, and transform into either human or unique fish and extravagant forms

One day, while her "father" was tending to and raising new fish, guiding them to their destiny, YN sneaked out through the window, spying on her distracted father. Quickly, she fled. Being still somewhat small, she couldn't swim fast, but luckily, she managed to cling to one of the fishes swimming swiftly. Together, they headed towards the coast. Suddenly, they were caught by some merchant ships with long hunting nets. In the chaos, YN, trapped among the struggling fish, finally managed to break free. However, it didn't take long for her to be targeted again, this time by a large fish intending to prey on her. Despite YN's powers to control fish, tides, and others, she didn't know how to use them yet. Her only option was to flee, which almost failed if it hadn't been for another fish that hunted down the one chasing YN. The impact of the bite and the speed was so great that YN was flung towards the coast and landed directly in a glass jar, where she struggled to escape. In this moment of despair, YN managed to use her powers to call for help from a small group of fish, who quickly went in search of someone or something to help YN

°•°•°••°•°•°•°°•

Luffy, a small boy of 7 years old, was walking along the coast of his island, playing with the water and collecting some shells he found, putting them in his blue bucket. It was a sunny and comfortable day when he saw a small group of fish, for some reason, circling between his legs and nibbling on his skin. He tried to shoo them away, but the fish followed him. He attempted to catch one with his hand, but one of them jumped and resumed circling around him.

"What? Why are they following me?"

Without success and without an answer, the fish began to swim slowly and perform acrobatics away from him, then stop. Whenever Luffy approached them again, they swam a few meters away and stopped, as if waiting for him. He followed the little fish to a certain spot on the coast, a more secluded area. When the little fish guided him to another fish trapped in a glass jar, Luffy realized that the struggling fish was peculiar, a species he had never seen on that coast. He approached the fish, which was a bit large and chubby. Luffy held it, relieving it, and tried to pull the glass jar it was trapped in, but with little success. He tried harder, managing to break the glass jar with a nearby rock, freeing YN. As Luffy cleaned up the glass shards, he accidentally cut himself, but he didn't pay much attention. When he went to comfort YN, he noticed that she wasn't moving until he felt YN licking the small wound that was bleeding on Luffy's finger.

"Ah?"

Luffy was confused, but quickly grabbed his bucket again, pouring out the shells and filling it with water. Then, he placed the little chubby fish inside. The fish remained motionless for a few seconds, tense, thinking that the fish might have died. However, it soon started swimming normally, which relaxed him.

"What a strange fish, I've never seen a fish like this before."

Luffy commented with a huge smile. The fish itself was quite different, it didn't have exactly fins, scales, or gills, but it was a beautiful and cute fish. The fish had a round face, small arms, and even hair, which in this case, was YN's hair.

As Luffy walked back to the village, the tide rose violently along with the waves, as if trying to attack Luffy and take YN back. But Luffy didn't pay much attention.

"I'll show this to Ace and Sabo!"

So, Luffy ran to DanDan's house with his bucket full of water containing the fish he had just saved. When he got there, he looked for Ace, who was nearby.

Meanwhile, YN's father appeared above the waters, with only his waist visible. He saw Luffy with YN.

"...this is terrible...hm, terrible and terrible...yes, terrible..." he said, rubbing his hand on his beard.

°°°°°°•••••°•°•

"Ace! Ace!"

Luffy ran up to the older boy, who looked at him already annoyed.

"What's up, Luffy?"

"Look what I found! A really weird fish!"

"A fish? I've seen many and..."

Ace stopped talking as he saw YN, who was swimming happily in circles.

"What...the heck is this?!"

Ace looked closely at YN, who was still swimming cheerfully.

"What an ugly fish!"

"What? Don't say that! How mean, Ace!"

Upon hearing this, little YN glared at him and spat a jet of water in the boy's face, making Luffy smile and laugh.

"W-What?! What a bold little fish! Give me that fish; I'll put it in the fire!"

"What?! No! Stay away!"

"Quick, give me that damn fish!"

"No!"

A few hours later, in the evening, DanDan and others had already prepared dinner. When Luffy came down and joined them for dinner, he didn't hesitate to bring his new friend along. Luffy placed the bucket with YN on the table, the dinner was rice and meat.

"You must be hungry, right? Here, have some rice."

Luffy offered rice, but YN slowly looked at Luffy's meat.

"....meat? Here."

Luffy tore off a piece of meat and handed it to YN, who didn't hesitate to simply take all of Luffy's meat, leaving him indignant.

"Hey! Don't take all the meat! That's all I have!"

Luffy said as he tried to take the meat back from YN, but he only managed to retrieve half.

YN enjoyed the meat with great pleasure and happiness.

The next day, Luffy, still with YN in the bucket, was with Ace, who was still wary of YN.

"Ace, Sabo!"

The boys heard their names being called, and when they turned, it was Sabo, running towards them.

"Sabo, look what I found yesterday!"

"What is it?"

"It's... a fish... I think."

Sabo approached and looked at YN, who had a sweet smile.

"It's cute! Have you given this little fish a name yet?"

"A-Ah..."

Luffy took a moment to realize that he hadn't named YN yet, but when he started thinking, YN stuck her head out of the water and said:

"YN!"

Luffy, Ace, and Sabo fell silent for a moment.

The fish spoke.

Luffy shouted and almost spilled the bucket on the ground, but Ace held him back. Ace and Sabo looked scared.

"It spoke, the fish spoke!" Sabo said, a little trembling.

"That's not a fish!" Ace said, in a low tone.

Luffy composed himself and stared at YN.

"You can talk...you can talk!"

Luffy stomped the ground in happiness.

"How amazing!"

"Luffy!" YN said, her voice cute and happy.

"Yes, it's me!"

"I like Luffy!"

YN started swimming in circles and doing pirouettes, making Luffy blush a little.

"I like you too, YN!" Luffy said in a soft tone.

Once again, Luffy was in the village, and Shanks was there. Nothing better than introducing his new friend to Shanks. As soon as Luffy entered the bar, he had YN in the same bucket of water.

"Shanks! Shanks!" Luffy ran to the counter. Shanks looked at the boy with the same smile as always.

"Hey, Luffy! What do you have there?"

"It's a fish, but...I don't know what kind of fish it is. And she talks too."

"...a talking fish?"

"Yes! Come on, YN, say something!"

Luffy put YN on the counter, where she leaned against the edge.

"Shanks!" YN said.

Shanks looked surprised. He held Luffy by the shoulders and looked serious.

"Luffy, listen to me. You need to return this fish to the ocean."

"Why?"

"It's not good. The "father" of this fish's species is one of the survivors of the village that was massacred by the Celestial Dragons. If this fish stays with you, she might end up dead. It's unknown how many of her species are left, but they were crucial for some islands..."

"I'm not going to! I won't, I won't!"

Luffy stomped his feet.

"If they find out you have this fish, they will kill her, and who knows what will happen to you...or to your island."

"Luffy!" YN said.

Luffy got angrier, with tears in his eyes. He took YN and ran away, back to the mountain.

"I won't leave you, YN..."

"Luffy!" YN swam happily.

°°•••°•

A few more days later, Garo came to visit his grandchildren, Luffy didn't know if he was hiding YN from his grandfather or not, but it was useless, Garp ended up finding out and went to talk to Luffy, who was on the beach

"Luffy..."

"um, grandpa?"

"...this fish"

Luffy was soon surprised

" I'm not going to give it back! She...she's my friend! "

"Yes, you will."

YN's "father" appeared, riding on one of the kings of the seas

"She can't be with you, boy"

"I won't let you get her!"

"boy, don't make me repeat myself, I don't want to take YN by force from you"

YN's father said in a threatening tone, causing kings of the seas to appear, Garp prepared himself for any fight, Luffy, hesitantly, refused to give back

"I already said I'm not going!"

"either you give her back, or I sink her entire island, boy, just for YN to be here is a risk to all the only survivors of her species!"

while they were arguing, YN sneakily got out of the bucket and entered the ocean, she swam a few meters and screamed

"Luffy! run!"

Before Luffy could act, large waves began to appear and hit the coast violently, Garp was quick to take Luffy and get out of there, but little by little the island was almost being flooded by the waves and would be sunk by possible future tsunamis, but YN submitted to return with her "father" with the promise that he would not harm any living being in the village Foosha" was the last time Luffy saw YN that day

°°°•••°

A few more days passed, and Luffy was very depressed. Even with the help of Ace and Sabo, they couldn't find YN.

Luffy was walking around the village, and he saw Shanks outside the bar, talking to Yasopp. He approached with a sad look.

"Still haven't found her?" Shanks asked, and Luffy just shook his head negatively.

"Luffy... this way is better. She's safe now. Maybe one day she'll come to visit you."

Luffy cried; he didn't want visits. He wanted to be with her. As much as she was a fish, Shanks took Luffy to his ship so he could cheer up a bit.

When he got close to the ship, strong waves began to appear, and on them, a colorful little fish. During this time without seeing YN, she managed to create a form that allowed her to walk. It was strange, but she did it in a hurry. Luffy smiled when YN reached the shore. She ran with the bucket that Luffy had left on the beach and been washed away by the waves.

Shanks widened his eyes when he saw the little creature with legs and arms running to Luffy. Shanks tried to grab YN, but she dodged him. Her form was finally complete when she acquired her human form, a slightly chubby and cute child, wearing a vibrant dress. She ran and threw herself into Luffy's arms, rubbing her face against his cheek. When they let go of the hug, they looked at each other.

"YN! You... you've changed!"

YN just laughed and stomped the ground, dancing.

"Do you like it? Took me a time for create my human form!"

Luffy jumped with joy and hugged his friend again.

"Shanks! YN is a human now, look!"

Shanks was incredulous, unsure of what to do or say, but it didn't matter much since Luffy took her hand and ran to his brothers. In the end, YN became part of them too. Garp, now that he understood what had been done, adopted her as his granddaughter and wouldn't let her "father" try to take her away either, as she had won Garp's big heart. That cuteness and innocence, now Garp himself called her the "princess of the seas" and "My princess"

DanDan didn't accept it at first, but she saw that YN could be useful regarding food, managing to easily bring fish.

YN was very well accepted by the village. Her father had made a deal with Luffy

that he should protect her with his life since YN is still a rare species, who acquired a human form and still managed to escape both her father and the Marines (Garp). And so, Luffy did.

It didn't take long, but Luffy was in love with YN, whether it was love or not, he couldn't stay away from her. YN agreed to join Luffy's crew and would help with whatever he needed. She was Luffy's first love, and now Luffy wanted to conquer the seas together with YN.

#one piece #one piece x reader #akagami no shanks #shanks #mugiwara no luffy #straw hat luffy #one piece luffy #monkey d. luffy #with: luffy #luffy

[obey-me-disaster]

Hey, I was wonderin if ya could write a headcanon of how the characters could deal with MCs death, if they weren't revived after Belphie killed em in lesson 16.

Thank ya :purple_heart:

A/N: I am not sure if by 'characters' you mean all of them or not. I will do the brothers for now and if you want anyone else, feel free to ask ^-^

Demon brothers x gn!MC

Spoilers for lesson 16!!

Warnings: death and description of it, grieving

MC stays dead for good

Lucifer

He is feeling so many things and none of them are good. MC is dead, his little brother did it, he failed to protect both and it all can be traced back to him.

MC's injuries are beyond healing and all he can do is watch them die and regret everything he has done up until that point. He regrets every time he tried to harm them, he regrets not hiding Belphegor better, far away from them.

When Diavolo and Barbatos appear he lets himself have some hope that they could save MC, only to get hit with the realization that not only would they stay dead, but Belphegor will be taken away for treason too.

If Barbatos decides to reveal the whole Lilith thing, this whole situation will become unbearable to him. He let down everyone he loved and he only has himself to blame.

If he knew how deep of a wound would MC's death leave in his heart, he would have chosen anyone but them for the exchange program. Or maybe not, it was still a privilege to get to know them in the first place.

After MC's death he becomes even stricter with his rules, so none of his brothers can do anything stupid that could get themselves in trouble. He can't bear to lose anyone close to him, especially if he can do something about it.

Mammon

He was the one that held their dying body. All his attention was on them, he couldn't hear the way Belphegor was mocking him for crying over a human.

Despite feeling how they were dying in his arms he was still trying to cling onto the hope that they could be healed. Unfortunately, fate was having something else in mind.

For a good while after their death he could still feel them dying in arms. He is really conflicted over trying to remember that way MC felt in his arms and trying to forget how it felt when they died.

Despite all of that he tries to be of help to all of his brothers. Lucifer can't be the only one trying to keep the family together, especially when he is grieving too. In a way this whole thing reminds him of how all his brothers were after the fall.

He stops takes a long break from gambling and from money making schemes. He really sees no use for the money if MC is not there with him.

He will most likely beat himself over the fact that he couldn't protect them. He was their first man after all, the demon that was put in charge of protecting them and he failed! He is not getting over that guilt any time soon

Leviathan

He thinks it's all a bad dream. Why else would his best friend be dying? At the hands of his brother?? He tries to deny it but it's pretty hard to do so when MC is literally dying in front of him.

He wants to believe that this is one of those moments when the protagonist of an anime is on the brink of death, but through the power of plot armor they get a new power. The only thing MC gets is a one way ticket to the Celestial Realm. guess Simeon and Luke will see them after all

He refuses to come out of his room and face reality. He will rewatch every anime he has watched with them. Will try to recreate the conversations he had with MC by talking with Henry 2.0. His brothers will have to bring food into his room to be sure he doesn't die of starvation.

It takes a long while before he starts going out again, after all, who is The Lord of Shadows without his Henry.

Any and all progress he made on seeing himself in a better light will go down the drain. He will need some time to snap out of it and realize that MC would not want to see him hate himself.

Satan

He knew there was no hope of saving MC bu just glancing at them. That was probably the only time in his life where he cursed all his knowledge and wished he was ignorant. Maybe that he way he could still have some hope that MC will live.

He goes between complete fits of rage and feeling numb. MC taught him how to better feel emotions other than anger and now that they are gone he doesn't know what to do with himself.

He doesn't know who should he direct his anger to. Belphegor for killing them? It seems obvious but it's not enough. Lucifer for creating this situation to begin with? He would love to, but Lucifer is also at his lowest so it doesn't feel right. Himself for not seeing the signs of MC working behind all of their backs? He already does that.

He avoids any and all romance books. He keeps seeing MC in the main love interest and he hates it.

He keeps thinking of all of their injuries and in how much pain they must have been in their last moments. If he wanted to, he could name all of their injuries that he recognized just by looking at their body.

He knows that logically he couldn't do anything, but sometimes the thought of 'if I was better at human medicine/biology I could have saved them'.

Asmodeus

It makes his skin crawl just thinking of the way MC looked as they were taking their last breath. He still has it in the back of his mind. Along that, he also has the feeling of helplessness memorized.

If anyone would think he would stop taking care of himself after MC's death, they would be deathly wrong. MC was one of the only people that didn't like just for his looks, and probably the only one vocal about how they loved his personality. Now with them gone, he thinks there is no one he can show flaws with.

He has to be at his best. To not let anyone know about his imperfections. The demons that don't know him may think he got over MC's death pretty fast, but his brothers that live with him can hear him sob in his bedroom.

He sleeps with a lot of demons and humans in hopes of getting rid of the pain but it doesn't help since he is missing the affectionate, non sexual, touches that MC would give him.

He made a special album of all the photos he ever took of MC. He didn't want to risk the photos from his phones disappearing by accident and lose something important for him. He would hate to not be able to gaze at their face, even if it's just through photos

Beelzebub

This man is crushed. Not only did he lose MC, he lost them at the hands of his twin. He is beyond torn on the inside, and no matter what side he chooses to take he will be riddled with guilt.

At that moment he felt just like during their fall. A huge joke of a protector that couldn't keep his loved ones alive. His nightmares after the whole incident will be nearly a daily basis.

He tries to talk with Belphie about the whole incident, he doesn't want to lose two people at the same time, but he also feels like he is betraying MC's memory by trying to save his twin.

If the whole reveal of MC being Lilith's reincarnation's descendent happens that will literally end him. He couldn't protect the last thing that was related to Lilith.

Just like Satan, his sin is out of control. He goes between long periods of not eating and periods where his gluttony is worse than ever.

The only thing worse than his gluttony is his survivor's guilt. People he loves and cares about keeping on dying/being taken away yet he remains unharmed and for what? Is that a cruel joke of the universe? He didn't even get to protect MC/talk with Belphie during the incident. He literally couldn't do anything but ask himself 'why?'

Belphegor

I already made a post on how MC and Belphegor got to bond before lesson 16.

At first he feels justified. He got his revenge, proved his point and protected his family from having the same faith as Lilith. Yet despite all of that it feels wrong.

Satisfaction from killing them quickly turned into anger at seeing his brothers cry over a 'random human' to regret. He realized that he himself got attached to them, and now that both his anger and MC were gone he was left with nothing. His brothers must hate him now, after all he murdered someone precious to them.

Due to treason he is locked up somewhere away from his brothers so in his mind, he really lost everything. If Diavolo and Barbatos reveal the whole Lilith thing he will literally want to end himself on the spot. He lost his sister, MC, the only remainder of his sister, lived in hate for something that was not even true, betrayed his brothers and lost them. In one night his life took a turn for the worst in a way he could not even imagine.

And on top of all of that, he can feel the way Beel is trying to cope with the loss of MC and feels even more guilty for making Beel go through that.

He also can't make himself grieve for MC cause in his mind, he has no right to do that, after all he killed them in cold blood and laughed over their body.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me x mc #obey me x reader #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me lucifer headcanons #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me mammon headcanons #obey me mammon x mc #obey me leviathan headcanons #obey me leviathan x reader #obey me satan headcanons #obey me satan x mc #obey me asmodeus headcanons #obey me asmodeus x reader #obey me beelzebub headcanons #obey me beelzebub x mc #obey me belphegor headcanons #obey me belphegor x reader