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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Text

Between Dreams and Sugar

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: Your screams will haunt his dreams until the day he dies.

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Torture, gore, angst, violence & death, suggestive joke, fluff, happy ending, rescue fic but who rescues who...>:)

A/N: Guys, I have a confession - I don't think I can write Ghost properly lmfao. This is horrifically mid.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

There was so much blood coating your body that you had forgotten where the wounds were and weren’t. It flowed from you like viscus water—a homogeneous mixture of congealed shades of red like rubies except for the simple fact that this was not beautiful; it was not desired or sought after.

On the ground, soaking in indistinguishable pools of crimson, ripples are sent out when your limp foot twitches mutely in its clutch. That was all you could do now. Twitch. Writhe. They didn’t even bother tying you to the chair anymore—just let you slouch half out of it like a school kid who had gotten too drunk the night before.

Hell, you wished you were drunk.

“Sergeant.”

You wished you could feel your fingers. You wished you could move your neck up from its bend position as if it was a wilting flower; hair stuck to your skin. Blood dribbles out of your mouth. Drip…drop…drip…drop.

You’d bitten your tongue open in a vain attempt to stop yourself from screaming, hadn’t you? You…you can’t quite remember.

“Sergeant!” Groaning long and low, the violent chills that wrack your form only serve to make yourself bleed out faster, tension forcing precious life fluid out from burst veins and slashed ankles.

Cuts far span your legs and shoulders. Your back is nothing more than a painting of burns coated with sweat and infection; puss sticking you to the backrest of the chair like yellow-colored adhesive. Your clothes are the opposite idea of modesty. Tattered, torn by blades to create harm. Fuck, could you even breathe properly anymore?

Lungs only create a wheeze—you’re not getting enough oxygen to function.

A dark growl bounces off the walls.

Ghost struggles against his binds, uniform also in a state of disarray with very obviously broken ribs and bruised chest. Splotches of yellow-white mounds signal blunt trauma over the pale skin that’s already laced with old scars.

They’d all but anchored him to his chair—and even then the red marks that blister are a signal of the brutality of the large man as he peels back his skin to try and struggle himself out.

You whine, the loftiness stuck in your brain addictive; to pull back that curtain was as much of a struggle as staying awake. That harsh Manchester accent was something to draw closer to, though, professionalism a key to the lock on your failing consciousness. The reminder of companionship.

“G…” Your vocal cords fizzle, “Ghost…”

“Open your eyes.” Every word was enunciated, deep and guttural.

Parting your lips, more blood drowns your lap in thick globs, and soon your battered throat vibrates with coughs that make you see stars, mild panic the moment you realize that you can’t breathe.

Jerking forward, you gasp, eyes snapping open as your neck bends ahead in desperation. Mucus and other bodily fluids spray over your lap, tinged scarlet, but the blockage in your throat is dispelled as your broken ribs quiver in agony.

Whimpering like a kicked dog, you wonder how long it’ll take for Ghost to realize getting you to focus on him was pointless. If this all continued, you’d be dead within the day.

But you entertain him.

Head slowly balking back as your jaw hangs loose, you rest it on the wooden frame behind you as softly as you’re able with a most likely concussed brain and a fractured skull. Only one eye opens, and even then it’s half-glued to your cheek with dried blood.

Ghost’s balaclava had been ripped off. It felt wrong to see him in the open like this. Exposed. It was quite obvious he disliked it just as much as you did.

Blue eyes blazed at you; blonde hair going this way and that as crimson fell down the swell of his Adam’s Apple from a very broken nose. That gaze was unrelenting, and even with your blurry vision, you knew it would be unwise to look away.

His stubbled jaw sets as a heart can be seen skipping beats in his breast. You were totally out of it, enough so that you missed the way his lungs slightly released when you had pulled yourself back to the present.

The gulping sigh.

“That’s it, Sergeant.” You cough once more, wet and haggard, and your head falls back to your chest before you have to force it back up on shaking muscles. It was getting harder. “Easy does it, then…Thought I lost you.”

“C–can’t,” the useless feet flicker over the ground, sloshing through fluid in unstable jumps as you slur out, “Hurts, Ghost.”

A slow and dark inhalation meets your ears before a sudden grunt of a struggling body; jerking arms as the chair squeals with old nails being torn out.

“I know, Birdie, I know.” His tone is lesser now as he bites back a curse as the blisters on his arms pop, the rope burns turning a vile color as his muscles strain, “But you keep those pretty little eyes on me, yeah?”

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

Black Operations were dangerous, yeah, but never had the Lieutenant been so down in the gutter as he was right now. Mainly because of you, no, entirely because of you. He could withstand months of torture—mental and physical—with no problem. He’d done it countless times before.

But never had he been forced to watch someone hurt you instead of him.

They would come in every day, these pitiful excuses for German drug runners, and would make him watch as they ripped open your skin with blunt knives and other tools coated in rust. Questions would be asked—questions that Ghost knew he could not answer even if it was you who would get punished.

Every time you would flinch when the door to this concrete basement opened, it was harder to keep his tongue from wagging. He was watching you die; letting it happen.

Fuck, it made him sick.

Ghost violently reems a shoulder up and down, not caring about the long stripes of now oozing blood on his forearms or the pain that the action brings bone-deep. There was so much scarlet flowing from you. Too much.

What he knows for certain is that he can’t let you die here. He’d never forgive himself for that.

How is she still conscious? The question was utterly genuine as Ghost’s dead eyes narrowed dangerously, sparking with urgency at the uneven risings and fallings from your chest.

“Fucking hell,” the Lieutenant growls, each word punctuated by a desperate attempt to free himself. He had to get you out of this. You were his responsibility; his team.

His…Ghost pants, sweat dripping down his arms.

You didn’t abandon him, how could he do the same to you? When questioned you hadn't given up his true name, hadn’t blabbered to save your own skin so you could avoid a horrible amount of pain. Pain that Ghost knew well.

Pain that was never supposed to be known to you.

Your screams would haunt his nightmares until the day he died.

“Ghost,” blue eyes freeze, snapping away from the sight of the bone around his wrists becoming visible through a thin coverage of remaining flesh. He pauses like a guard dog. Your optic was glinting, flicking with failing consciousness. The movement of your chest sputtered as the man clenched his teeth together. “You’re hurtin’ yourself.”

“‘Bout to do even more damage, yeah?” he gets back to it, working enough blood into the rope to make it slick; dripping. “If it’ll get me out of these bastard things.”

The weak smirk on your face gives his brows a deep furrow, sweat glistening on his forehead.

A part of him hated you. Hated you for the way you had this effect on him. He shouldn’t care if you lived or died—that wasn’t his cross to carry.

But you’d made him soft these last few months. Soft, and weak, and disgustingly concerned for your safety. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t Ghost.

“Gonna b…bleed out, y’know.” Your tongue slips, mind so loose that anything that comes to the front slips out like water from a slip-and-slide. Fingers twitching, your limp body grows so cold that you shiver.

“Negative.” Ghost barks, slipping one hand partially under the restraint and his flesh, acting as a zipper, starts to go with it. He hisses under his breath, body hot and spilling. Mutilating himself. “Shut your damn gob.” Blood splatters to the floor, “I’m gettin’ us out of ‘ere.”

“Tell me a joke.” Blue eyes flicker, blonde lashes slipping over pale cheeks.

You feel another wave of pain shutter through you—one that makes you whimper as quietly as a soft breeze on a summer day.

“Joke?” Ghost hisses, glaring over at you without heat. “The fuck are you on about?” A wobbling eyebrow raise is all he gets.

He grunts feral-like, evocative of a bear that hadn’t gotten his supper. Your lid droops and panic spikes.

“How long can a fish breakdance for?” Ghost slips a hand free, snarling in the back of his mouth as the entirety of his left hand is left ripped open, the fissures itchy and welling. Wasting no time, the limb goes to assist the other, pulling with ripped-off fingernails at the tight knot. A side-eye is sent your way.

Only you weren't moving. Lips snap in a moment of obvious concern, not only by the tone but by the way the man jerks forward in the chair—no matter if one arm and both of his legs were still restrained.

“Love!” The door handle rattles with screeching chains, but Ghost is occupied with raging at you. Ordering you to stay awake with terrifying eyes. It was as though for the first time in a long time there was true fear in his throat. True hatred.

Chucking voices heat veins that he had long since thought were cold, and the Lieutenant composes himself with a sharp pause. He leans back slowly into the chair; jaw so tight his molars almost crack in the back of his mouth like candy. Your face is tilted downward, and Ghost memorizes the make of it, trails his gaze slowly over every slash and cut that mars you. Feet slap off the concrete as multiple people enter the room, but it was like a switch had flipped internally, walls going up.

The mask was still there, even if all that physically remained of it was the black paint in his sockets.

He’d return every mark, from a bruise to an open wound, tenfold. But you needed to wake up first. You…you needed to.

You had to be okay.

Three men encircle the two of you, faces hidden and obviously enjoying a bit of their own product.

“Look at this, Lutz, the man got a hand out of the binding.” Blue eyes travel to stare dead-on into a pair of blown pupils; mind gone.

The second man goes to grip your hair, forcing your head up in inspection. Ghost’s vision immediately travels over, biceps going tense like a dog with its hackles raised and vision going red.

“Don’t worry about that. It’s one hand, what can the Bastard do?”

“Oh,” another laughs, though his body is wound tight, “careful with the woman, Alric—the beast looks like he’s about to snap at you.”

The three share sly looks. Alric, the one with your hair in his grip, shakes your head back and forth, blood flying around in the air as your limp body jerks. Ghost lunges, but he only makes it as far as the chair allows him before he’s shoved back by a hand on his chest.

Moving quicker than an animal, bone snaps, and an agony-laced scream echoes off the walls not a millisecond later.

Ghost had gripped that hand and twisted, making the wrist joint completely flip on itself. Blank blue eyes watch with glints of sadistic glee as the man wails, grabbing onto himself and falling back onto his ass.

The one holding you instantly releases your hair and rushes to his friend.

“Holy fuck!” Everyone divulges into frantic German curses, Ghost making out a command to leave and go see a doctor.

“Cheers. Good luck with that, ya’ Bastard.” Grumbling under his breath, the Lieutenant realized he was probably enjoying this more than he should, but always his attention shifts back to you. How you hang limb, battered face covered by your hair, and loss of blood steadily leaving your hands curling into the palms—

Ghost’s eyes widen slightly as the two still try and calm down their companion. Your hand. It wasn’t curled because of onset rigor mortis. You were holding a blade.

The Brit’s large chest swells with pride; jaw going somewhat slackened as he stares at you. So you were faking it….Fucking hell, Sweetheart.

Slowly, his vision peels to the empty sheath on Lutz’s belt. It wasn’t a big knife—nothing more than a three-inch blade on the end. But you were still conscious enough to hear these goons show up before he had; had used sleight of hand that anyone else in your situation would have just given up on.

It was hard to hold back a low chuckle, but he managed. Fuck, you were something else.

The two unmaimed men shove the third out the door, shouting down the hallway as his sobs and sniffling nose reverberate even as he’s out of sight.

Grunting, the Brit shifts his hips, lips pulling in a snarl at the bouncing electrical wire that goes up his ribs. Many were broken; along with his nose and a dislocated shoulder, but he knows he can deal with it. Getting you out and to the Evac point was his top priority—his wounds weren’t over-the-top life-threatening unless they went too long without treatment.

You on the other hand.

Lids narrow on the way the knife-holding hand shakes with exertion when simply applying pressure. If this was going to happen, it had to happen now.

“That was a nice little show,” Alric growls, standing in the middle of the two in the chairs and keeping a considerable distance farther from Ghost than you. Blue eyes blink blankly, emotions swiftly wiped away. “One-handed? I’m impressed.”

Ghost raises a single blonde eyebrow, “More where that came from.”

Alric smiles.

“Emil—get the gun.” Legs slowly tense, but other than that there’s no outward display of nervousness.

Seconds later a barrel is level with Ghost’s forehead, the chilled metal pressing deep into his blood-coated skin. He doesn’t balk back, he doesn’t even flinch, just watches with a dim flicker in his optics that remains even after he blinks. Like a cat’s slitted pupils.

It would be no use shoving the gun out of this man’s hands—he would fire before the Lieutenant was able to steal the weapon for himself.

“I’m getting sick of this game, Soldier. We’ve been through this day after day.” Alric swipes at his nose, white powder stuck under his nostrils. Ghost can’t stop the small tick of his mouth. “Tell me who you are,” the gun swivels, and the Brit’s heart seizes up. It points at your abdomen. “Or the girl gets a nice new stomach.”

Lips thin into a small line as hidden fury swells.

“Alric…” Emil seems nervous, his feet shifting and hands twitching. The aura Ghost was emitting was like a dark cloud around the room; sheer size and indistinguishable emotions rose to drown out all else when a threat to the beast’s bird was brought into the picture. There had been multiple times throughout the days when the men had been scared to touch you at all for fear of the look that had been leveled their way. Those eyes…fuck it was like a demon was stuck in flesh. In blue so close to gray the color was more like the concrete of a prison cell. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Tell me.” Alric growls as Emil gets closer to you. Ghost stays silent, unblinking as his fingers curl into fists. His knuckles crack from the force. “Tell me!”

Emil bushes your shoulder and you lunge. Bringing the blade into his chest, your form brings the both of you to the floor in a splash of scarlet and twin screams of pain.

The Blonde’s heart seizes at the sound in an aggressive bounce.

Alric whips around, eyes widened and gun loose in his grip. Ghost wastes no time, trusting your judgment, and shoves himself forward. A shot goes off as the Lieutenant rams his shoulder into the man, but the bullet bites into the far wall instead of your back as you dig your knife into Emil’s throat; wrestling for life.

The chair still attached to Ghost was a problem, but his body weight was used to his advantage. Sinew bunched as a growl exits his lips, Alric and him slamming to the floor in a flurry of rabid intentions and the likeness of wolves caught in a trap. Ghost’s eyesight goes red, remembering every cut and beating you went through for him in the reflection of Alric’s eyes. That pathetic drug runner had made you bleed.

His bird doesn’t bleed.

Teeth and nails are tools kept for animals, and now that the gun was too far from grip and you were limp beside the gargling body of Emil, Ghost decided that being a bit insane might do him well at the moment.

He had to get you out of here. And in no world was this man going to get away to live one day more.

“Please, don’t,” Alric begs, clawing at his behemoth build, “I’m not—I wasn’t—!”

Blood-stained teeth snap into the thin flesh of a visible neck as dead blue eyes keep you in sight like a dog does the moon.

—

You don’t recall anything after slashing one man’s neck and even that is a blur of flashing colors; instances of one waxing expression waning into another. Trapped between bouts of failing consciousness and pain that could rival someone getting their bones snapped one by one.

But you know the feeling of moss on your cheek. The shadow that sits above you and the fingers that prod at your back, pressing cooling salves of Silverweed into the burns and cuts. Your eyes weakly flicker, a low moan stuck in your throat.

Every limb is a cinder block.

“Stop your moving.” The command was stiff but quiet, and the pressure on your spine increased. Flinching, the sensation of tight bindings all along your body became apparent to you, slowly but surely.

“That…hell?” You cough, throat bare and dry. Sweat drips down your temple.

Blinking rapidly, you try to focus on the cold wind whipping past your bare skin, the trees in the distance of what appeared to be a glade. The sound of a running stream makes your ears perk.

A canteen was suddenly shoved to your lips and you grunt in surprise, water slicking your closed lips.

“Drink.” You don’t argue, peeling back your lips and letting the liquid drip into your mouth, most falling to the moss under you and getting re-adsorbed into the earth. “...There’s a girl.”

The metal container disappears just as quickly as it showed up, and you lick at the corner of your lips, cheeks burning at the comment.

Ghost kneels above you, bar a shirt, and you narrow your lids to focus on the black and blue splotches completely covering him. He still doesn’t have a mask, and you glance over the blonde stubble; the scars, and the aggressive set of his eyebrows. The blood had been washed away, and you wondered if the stream in the background of this place was still stained with crimson and the telltale black of eye paint.

“Simon,” whispering seemed appropriate, though you don’t know why. Your voice was better now but still, your body refused to listen to your instructions. Every plea to move your arms or legs was denied, sharp needles poking into your flesh that made you shake. “What…?”

Blue eyes blink down at you, something hidden in the depths. A finger curls to flick a stray hair from your face slowly. Skin brushes skin.

“Snagged what I could before I ran off. Wasn’t much.” That harsh voice, the gravel in it. You frown weakly, your lids heavy. “Bandages. Extra shirt. Blanket I used to stop the bleeding.”

He won’t tell you he was begging you to wake up when he’d been stuffing old fabric into your open wounds.

Coughs wrack your frame, whole body jerks that overtake what little peace there was to be found. A hand tilts your head back to the ground, patient as the other grabs your hair, peeling the strands away as a flood of vomit escapes your mouth.

Eyes burning and face hot, you sputter as a thumb runs deep circles over your scalp.

“Easy…” Ghost whispers, tattoos like obsidian in the darkness of the world around the two. Late afternoon and this was the first time you’d woken up since he’d been carrying you. A nail was taken out of his heart.

Seeing your eyes flicker, even filled with the tears as they were, was a blessing he’d thank whatever God that was out there for. “Easy, Sweetheart. Breathe for me.”

“Fuck,” you gasp, shaking more than a leaf. “Fuck it hurts, Simon.”

He shifts you slightly away from the bile, the familiar words burning his lungs.

“Evac point is four miles.” It felt like a death sentence to you, your eyes going buggy at the thought. “I’m carrying you there.”

“Bullshit,” you pant, wheezing. “Your arms are destroyed.”

Ghost blinks before scowling, sending a glance to his limbs. They’re both raw and skinned, just like his fingers; red with burst blisters the size of rocks. One hurts far more than the other.

“They’re nothing.”

“Nothing pretty to look at,” blue eyes narrow on you in annoyance, but the dry-humored Brit doesn't miss a beat.

“Seems you’re in good spirits, Sergeant. Fancy walking on your own?” Your lips flick, delirious and high off of whatever pain meds that Ghost had found when he had been carrying you out of the basement of that house.

Try as he might, the feeling of your dead weight was worse than he ever could have imagined. So, outwardly, he stayed numb but knew that every little look from you was as beautiful as a sunrise.

“Want me to try?” Palms begin to shift, a hand pressing deep into the moss that bends and yields to your form.

Ghost snaps forward.

“Fucking Bastard!” He puts weight on the back of your shoulder as you hiccup dull chuckles, “Quit it! Else I’ll leave you here to annoy the damn plants.”

The threat was empty, and your eyes softened as they spread their fatigued gaze over the span of the Brit’s visible skin, glee leaking out. Ghost sighs, shaking his head sharply at you, agitation stuck in his skull as it always was.

So beastly, this man, but his hold on you was about as gentle as you could imagine.

Your attraction to him was anything but one-sided. You knew his emotions as well as your own; it was quite obvious to everyone but him. The long looks, the concerned glances. His touch freely given.

He had given you his name and, to you, that was about as close to a proposal as a ring was. You’d kissed; you’d shared beds and shared skin. You knew when he was being horrible to himself deep in the confines of his head.

“Simon,” you whisper, and a blue gaze stays stubbornly away, glaring at your burns with venom. A tired smile peels your lips. “Simon.”

A huff is all you get, a bush of skin as breath wafts over your bare back. Your hand goes to touch his knee, brushing softly over the torn fabric. The flinch would not be noticeable to anyone but you. Brows pull slightly tighter.

“I had a dream about you, y’know.” Speaking hurt, but the attention that is finally brought your way was worth it. Birds chirp in the distance.

“What’s that?”

“Hm,” you lightly nod, cheek ruffling moss as you take down slow inhalations. Staring into each other’s eyes you for a moment forget the agony under your skin. “You were trapped by a giant fish underwater.”

A Blonde eyebrow raises, slow smirk unable to be hidden. It was impossible not to be entirely taken by you. How you speak, how you breathe. Even like this, you had placed a spell of black magic over him, binding the darkness that made up Simon Riley—Ghost—to your every action and whim.

“That right, Sweetheart? What happened, then?”

Chuckling, Ghost’s hold goes to your neck, massaging the skin so delicately that you lose your train of thought for a moment as shivers erupt, “I had to save you.”

Lips press to your scalp, a bent nose digging despite the shifting cartilage as lion limbs shake with a want to drag you to him. Such a rabid beast that devotes himself to your life.

“You tend to do a lot of the savin’, Love.” It’s muttered into your hair, softly, lowly. Compliments are rare—Ghost prefers actions above all else—but they’re treasured.

You know what he means.

“Yeah, I love you, too, you brute.” Deep chuckles dance in your ear, and you both stay there for a while, simply breathing in each other as the sky bleeds into the earth. So content, your heart had slowed, the salve in your wounds and the bandages compressing the areas with the most problems and forcing them to be numb.

When you had nearly fallen asleep, Ghost had peeled back to look down at you; eyes malleable as they slipped over your battered body.

“Hm,” he hums, reaching to his side and grabbing for the shirt he had stolen. After a few minutes of quiet curses and apologetic kisses, the large piece of fabric was over your top. The Lieutenant had begrudgingly admitted that the scraps of pants you had on now would have to do until you got proper attention.

“Giving the squirrels a show, then, Simon?” The man rolls his eyes deeply at the sarcastic comment, rubbing up and down your legs to keep circulation going as he readies to move you.

“They better keep quiet ‘bout it,” Ghost grumbles, running a hand through his hair, “Else I’ll have to rip a few tails.”

“So violent,” You wince when your shoulder is gripped, neck limp as your upper half was rotated. Gnashing your teeth, the Lieutenant shushes you comfortably, raising your body to rest in the crook of his large arm. Muscles tense and loosen, your cheek now resting on your Lover’s pec. You hear him hiss silently at the pressure on his broken ribs as guilt hits you. “Not the squirrels’ fault.”

“It is if they keep looking at ya. Only I get to see you like that.” Your pain-laced laugh is cut off when you’re lifted, large hands under your knees helping equalize your body.

A strained whine exits your lips, straining to get air as you pant and clench your eyes shut. Ghost wasn’t doing much better—gritting his teeth and tilting his head back.

Feet stumble before righting themselves, lids opening as lashes flutter over bloodless cheeks to stare down at you.

The word seems to stop.

“...Tell me you’re alright.” You heard that for what it was—Tell me to keep going, because if you don’t then I won’t be able to.

Blinking up at him, your nose slots under his chin as you feel him shake with exertion, lips pressing deep into his raging pulse. You swallow down saliva as his grip on you tightens, pressing you closer; giving you his body heat.

“I’m okay, Simon. Not…not lost yet.”

“Good.” He lets his eyes close for a moment, taking you in as he lets his nose be coated in your scent, the flesh under his fingertips. Ghost knows some of your wounds reopen, and, thus, his bare feet start off into the woods. His men would still be at the Evac point waiting for them. Price would have given the order. “...I’ll be needing you ‘round. Might lose my head otherwise, eh?”

“You do seem to have a few loose screws when I’m not near.”

“That was an exaggeration,” Simon grumbles.

You scoff, trying not to puke at his limping steps. The word swirls, but the man carrying you stays ever clear. “No,” you whisper, “No, it wasn’t.”

Scared lips pull up, but the birds respond for him.

Less than ten percent out from the Evac point is when you drop a tidbit of a thought to the man.

“Y’know what I want, Ghost?” The large Brit side-steps a downed tree, sweat dripping down his chin to splatter to your skin.

“What is it?” He pants, sparing you a glance as his eyebrows are constantly furrowed in concentration. Your talking made it easier to push on.

“A fucking cake. A big one.” Blue eyes blink and his feet nearly stumble to a stop before he forces on. A gasp of a chuckle makes your heart skip a beat as voices start up from the next tree line.

“Keep talking to me, Love, and I’ll buy you the whole bloody bakery.” Soldiers burst from the bushes, and Ghost calls out identification as everyone gapes. Guns immediately lower.

Medics rush forward, but still on high alert, the Lieutenant snaps at them, bringing you closer into his hold as he pushes onward.

“Where’s the fucking heli?!” Everyone stops and points. Huffing, Ghost shoves forward.

“The whole bakery?” You slur, giggling and feeling the kiss on your head.

“Every bastard pastry’ll be yours. Count on it.”

—

“Simon, you promised.” Your wheel-chair bound form pouts as the man in question deadpans from behind you, leaning on the handles. His balaclava can only hide so much.

The air is sweet with the scent of desserts and bread.

“Birdie, you can’t eat all ‘O that, you’ll explode like you took a .308 round to the head.” The woman behind the counter pales, pulling at the collar of her shirt with her smile becoming strained.

“Is that a challenge?” You glance over your shoulder, smirking wide.

“No,” Simon blanky states, the skin over his nose bridge and under-eye completely black and blue.

“I think that was a challenge.”

“It wasn’t.”

The customers grind their palms into their eye sockets, some tuning around in line and leaving entirely.

“Simon,” you intertwine your hands and lean to show him, eyes wide and pleading. “Please.” Drawing out the word, you smile with everything you can.

The both of you connect in a battle of wills—you with that infectious innocent and sly nature, and Simon with a tight glare and tired eyes. A blatant will to please you in every aspect and a need to see you happy at all times. This goes on for a full minute before a loud sigh echoes off the walls, shoulders deflating. A hidden kiss is pressed firmly to your head.

You giggle loudly at the authoritative order.

“One of everything.”

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thehmn · 1 year

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I haven’t seen anyone talk about this but everything about Perrito from Puss in Boots 2 implies that he comes from either a puppy mill or some very unethical backyard breeders.

He tells us that him and his “litter mates” lived with a “family” that would first throw him in a dumpster and when that didn’t work they tried to drown him in a river.

First, “litter mates”? Why not siblings? That suggests that inbreeding was probably a thing and they called each other “mates” to disguise that. (Edit: I’ve been informed that in English “litter mates” is used to distinguish a litter from the “siblings” a dog or cat will have later when they’re sold off which add a whole other level of sad because it means he was taught from the start to not get attached to his parents or siblings if he use that word despite never being sold off)

Second, he was the runt of the litter so the “family” just threw him away, most likely because they wouldn’t be able to sell him for a lot of cash and didn’t want to waste money on feeding him.

Third, he’s a merle chihuahua.

The merle gene in chihuahuas comes with so many health issues that most kennel clubs won’t allow you to register them no matter how purebred they are, and the few who does will only allow it under very specific conditions. The coat is considered so unethical that a lot of chihuahua fan forums won’t even allow you to join. If you breed two merle chihuahuas the puppies are fucked. And chihuahuas can carry the gene even if they don’t have the merle coat meaning even ethical breeders risk breeding two merle chihuahuas without meaning to. And Perrito clearly has a lot of birth defects like lopsided ears, underbite, wobbly run, and some kind of internal issues that required an operation at some point if the scar on his stomach is any indication.

A lot of Puss in Boots 2 fans are so dedicated to hating chihuahuas that, because they like Perrito, they refuse to acknowledge that he’s a chihuahua and instead prefer to think he’s a mutt or even an Australian sheepdog puppy (nevermind that Kitty asks if he’s part of a chihuahua gang or that Perrito says he USED to be a puppy) not understanding that him being a merle chihuahua is another subtle hint to his horrible past.

#puss in boots #puss in boots the last wish #perrito #chihuahua

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luvrxbunny · 4 months

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guys my first time being outwardly horny abt a girl 🙊

so ellie williams am i right??

i think she honestly LOVES eating you out. not really in general, like she loves tasting puss in general but eating you out is a whole other experience for her

the way you taste, writhe, and moan for her. the pride she feels in making you feel so good.

the first time she eats you out she’s shocked herself at the way it feels for her. like every stripe she licks up ur cunt sends a jolt of pleasure to hers. like you’re both connected or something.

and as your taste coats her tongue she begins to lose her mind. i think she’d be really teasing, giving little kitten licks but as your taste soaks into her mouth.. she can’t get enough— she throws all her teasing tactics out the window and just drinks up as much of you as she can.

i think she’d get so desperate that she’d have to grab a pillow off your bed and place it between her legs, just to give herself some stimulation, something to grind on as she feasts on you.

and think she’d get distracted. she’d be grinding on her pillow and her mind is running wild with your taste and in no time you’re gushing into her mouth, flooding her with more of her favorite flavor and she’s trying to suck it all up. she refuses to let any of it go to waste.

but with that being the only thing on her mind she forgets that you’re getting more sensitive the more she does. she can hear your ragged moans but she can’t process what they mean, just how amazing they sound so she just keeps drinking you up, trying to get more of your taste, more of your sounds.

eventually you have to tear her head away from your core. she fights it a bit too, not even being able to comprehend why you’d want to push her away.

and you can see it in her eyes once they meet yours. she has that far away, confused, kicked puppy look as she waits for your explanation, still grinding on her pillow and licking her lips, gathering any remanence of you.

she’s probably so out of it you have to let her fuck you to calm down, to ground her

and after she comes to, she just babbles about how perfect you are, how amazing you feel, taste, and sound. aftercare comes so naturally to her

whoopsie!!! wrote a little more than i meant to

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yonphilia · 7 months

Text

(S)CREAM.

( SUMMARY ) : you just wanted to give gojo a lesson for not inviting you to his halloween party, but why did that lead to you being fucked on his couch?

( WARNINGS ) : smut!!!! (heavy) ghostface! reader! (f) reader. dirty talk + degradation. pussing eating/fingering, cunninglus, gojo has big dick (duh), and just filthy stuff! modern au. college au. reader gets railed by gojo <3

( WK ) : 3.5k+ (i'm ovaluating)

( NOTES ) : proofread a lot! but probably have spelling mistakes :P, i thought of this while thinking of what to dress up as for a college party and drawing ghostface ^^

A doorbell rang, making loud echo noises all throughout the quiet house. It was Halloween night— but it was a bit too late for kids to be trick or treating. the door bell continuously kept ringing nearly every 3 seconds, which sounded as if someone was extremely desperate to get sweets or they just wanted everyone to know what they were doing.

“The party is over!” Gojo shouts from behind the door to lazy to open it.

Not until the bell rings again.

"Hmm..?" Gojo opened the door, only to find no one there, he squints his eyes scanning the place, a look of concern and confusion spread across his face— but soon fades knowing it was probably kids ding dong ditching.

Not shortly after he closes the door and was just about to sit down back on his couch, the doorbell starts to ring over and over again.

He lets out a groan before getting up and walking towards the door, his hand grabbing the doorknob and twisting it, opening the door in attempt to find the culprit.

“….what the hell?", Gojo spoke, his tone was frustrated as his eyes dart around to find no one there. Was this going to continue for the whole night? Did this person just want to annoy him?

He scoffs shutting the door again. Now he could just step onto the porch and look around to see who was bothering him at 1am, but Gojo was a lazy guy, he was not going to put on his slippers just for that.

The doorbell rang again and Gojo decides its best for him to just ignore it, he didn't respond, just stayed silent for a few seconds as he walked into the living room resuming his movie.

His head shook in disbelief when the doorbell rang again and again and again, but this time— there was a giggle, a giggle that got him slightly agitated and brows twitching, but he knew that the best course of action was to ignore it.

Still, the curiosity to know who was getting on his nerves, who kept on repeatedly abusing his poor doorbell, who wanted him to open the door so fucking bad, grew inside of him. It felt like the person was just right around the corner. Yet he chose to ignore it.

A couple of minutes pass, it was quiet now, the only sound was his TV playing some horror movie as he munched on his popcorn and some left over pizza from the party earlier.

He turned his head to look at the door and stayed still for a few seconds, before slowly getting up and walking towards it. He grabbed the doorknob, his head and eyes filled with nothing but curiosity. Could he at least just look? Just once? It’s not like some killer will jump out and kill him?

He slowly twists it open, peaking his head out, and he feels his heart skip a beat.

There stood you, dressed in a ghostface costume— in a tight dress with the mask covering your face, hand stretched out and index finger pointed just about to press the doorbell, but of course Gojo didn’t need to know it was you, he was too stupid, heck! he hadn’t even invited you to the long finished party.

“Who the fuck are you?” He said in an irritated tone opening the door fully and leaning against the frame, not until his gaze falls to the shiny metal coated with red in your hand, realising that was a big mistake, the knife looked a bit too realistic to be a costume.

He scans you up and down, wondering why you were dressed as ghostface? Of all the things, why choose a character from a random horror movie? Was this some kind of joke..? And why in a tight slutty dress?

Gojo then narrowed his eyes, analyzing the situation carefully and seeing exactly what was going on. It didn't seem hostile.

As you remained silent, he tried to ignore the knife in your hand from catching his eye, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“It’s Halloween isn’t it..? Well, your choice of outfit…” He trails off as his eyes drop to the dress hugging your body, “quite interesting to say the least..”

A huff escapes your mouth as your bring you hand back to your side. “You caught me i suppose” you mutter under your breath looking away even tho he couldn’t see your face, but oh you could see his— how his hair was messy, his grey sweats loosely hanging on his waist, his matching shirt unintentionally rolled up on the side indicating how much he got up from the sofa to check who was at his door, and his eyes that were constantly scanning you.

Gojo let out a small laugh at your reply. "So what's the reason that brought you here miss ghostface?" he spoke once again, slightly chuckling at his own question as he looked over at you.

You looked cute in your outfit according to him, and he wanted to compliment you about it, but something was holding him back. "Did you come here to annoy me? Or for the party? It finished an hour ago ya know?" he asked with a sly smirk on his face.

You kiss your teeth rolling your eyes at him, arms crossed as you glare at him through your mask. “I know that— i bet it was a stupid party anyways”

He stifled a laugh, despite not ‘knowing’ the pretty lady at his doorstep, he had a feeling he knew who it was, he wanted to tease her, and so he did exactly that. “Oh? I had no idea you wanted to come to my stupid party that bad” he replied with a smirk.

“I didn’t plan on coming anyways— not like you totally forgot to invite me or anything” You say bringing the knife up and pointing it at him, the knife was fake yes, but it was realistic enough to get a reaction out of him.

He takes a step back and his eyes go wide as he lets out a nervous laugh “Oookay okay, and do you mind telling me which one of the pretty girls you are that i so happen to forget to invite..?”

You feel tempted to take off your mask and show him your face, but you don’t, not yet. A smile forms on your face as you press the tip of the ‘knife’ lightly into his neck “let me in first.''

Why was he even hesitating? Your dress as exposing your body in all the right places making his mouth drool. His mind was screaming to invite you inside, and so he does.

''Well now that I look at you like this..I don't see a reason to why not?'' He says as his voice drops an octave and he steps out of the way letting you into his house.

You certainley do not hesitate to rush into his house, taking your heels off and plopping yourself down on his couch, causing your chest to bounce in the process. A huge blush starts to form on his cheeks the longer he stares at you, he could feel his cheeks and ears burning, were you teasing him? playing dumb? or were you really just that innocent?

''Do you want a drink?'' He asks as he leans over to the mini fridge beside a couch, and once you nod, he takes two cans of beer out.

Seeing you put your feet up on his coffee table causing your dress to sneak up your thighs, Gojo makes a mental note to get your number or anything after this. He hands you a can before he sits down beside you.

''So why were you trying to fry my doorbell?'' He pops open his can and takes a long sip of his drink causing it to trickle a little from the corner of his mouth. And that certainley caught your attention.

''Why didn't you invite me to your party?'' You retort back as you open your own drink and air it above your mouth.

''I still don't know who you are-'' He cuts himself off the moment he sees you air your drink, causing it to spill all the way down to your perfectly exposed clevenge and breasts.

He felt too distracted to answer your question, at how stunning you looked right now, at the position you were in on his couch, not caring about the fact he should get you some napkins to help you clean up.

''Well?'' you say as you lick your lips, playing dumb as if you couldn't feel the cold beer trickle down your chin and neck all the way to your exposed chest.

Gojo stayed silent for a few seconds, his eyes glued to the place where the beer stained your skin and dress, he wanted to look away but he was so mesmerised by now. He blinks and quickly looks back at your face, ''I-I don't know- I mean I kinda have no clue who you are but'' He lets out a breathy laugh, ''I definetly want to.''

You let out a laugh at that, setting your beer can down on the table and looking at your own beer stained chest. ''Whoops my bad-'' You turn your head towards him. He couldn't see your face which made him more aroused then he already felt.

''Won't you help me clean up…toru...?'' You whisper sitting up and leaning into him slightly.

Gojo couldn't help but let his eyes wander back to your chest, feeling his dick pulsing in his pants at just the sight of how hot you looked to him. He felt his heartbeat quicken as he finally managed to speak up.

''Y-Yes! Yes of course right away'' He says reacing over to grab a few napkins only to be stopped by your hand grabbing his wrist.

''No.'' You say immediately, ''I meant with these...'' Your other hand comes up to his face before your fingers ghost over his lips. He gulps, his blue eyes meet yours, trying to take in your beauty.

''C'mon don't be shy Satoru...I see the way you look at me in class'' You let go off his wrist and cup both of your breasts leaning into him further until your chest was pressed against his.

''I.....'' He felt like a complete pervert, gawking at your body infront of him, how was he holding himself back from burying his face in your tits right there and then?

''Clean me up-''

Before you could even finish your sentence, he dived straight in, his lips latching to your sticky stained skin, sucking and licking the beer off making him more and more aroused by the growing minute. His white lashes flutter shut at the feeling on your hands snaking up behind his head to tangle in his hair, your head tilting back as your feel his warm tongue lap at your breasts.

His tongue slid up and down trying his best to clean the drink off of you, earning soft whimpers and moans from you causing the bulge in his pants to ache and grow.

''S-Satoru-'' You whine out feeling him suck at your skin, he doesnt hesitate to tug your dress down around your chest.

''No bra huh?'' He mumbles as he smirks before putting your nipple in his mouth sucking on it as if he was a baby and your nipple was the pacifier, biting and tugging the flesh with his teeth until you were pulling at his hair.

Both your bodies were a hot mess, your face red and flushed from how hot you felt right now. You let out a loud whimper feeling him fondle with your breasts.

''F-Fuck! w-wait'' You breath out cupping his cheeks to pull him away, you tilt your mask to the side and lean in to attatch your lips with his swollen pouty ones.

Gojo instantly kisses you back grunting, His hands squeezing your breasts causing you to gasp and he slides his tongue into your mouth, swirling and exploring every inch of it. He kisses you harder and harder, teeth clashing and tongues dancing with each other, his hand goes up to cup your jaw, trying to mold his lips into yours until your mask bumps at his forehead.

''Take it off'' He pants out as he pulls away staring at you.

You let out a shaky breath hesitant at first, but then shake your head, your lips curving into a smirk. ''Lets see if you deserve to see my face hm?''

He groans throwing his head back from how aroused he was, feeling the tension in his abdomen build up.

You were sprawled out on his couch by now, your dress long gone, yet you still hadn't took off your mask, gojo insisted you should, at some point he even tried to take it off- but when he saw you were dead serious about wanting him to fuck you with the ghostface mask on, he felt like he could cum right there and then.

He stares at you hard. You're used the intensity of his gaze, but this is that special stare. That lusty one he gives you in class when you sit there all pretty with your mini skirts laughing along with the other students.

He's practically caging you on his couch hovering on top of you, leaning in and stopping right beside you ear.

"Do you know how fucking good you look right now? How badly I've wanted to fuck you?'' He says as his voice drips with lust. ''I know its you (name)- cuz-'' He lets out a shaky breath leaving a sloppy kiss right under your ear and the area around your neck. ''Can recognise that slutty body anywhere''

He holds his position, all up in your personal space as his fingers trail up your bare thigh. ''I know these pretty thighs all too well by the way you walk around me in school'' His hand inches upwards, fingers hooking around the band of your panties before pulling them and letting them go making them snap against your skin.

The sudden sting causes you to jolt and whimper, a pout forming on your glossy lips, your mask still tilted to the side only enough to reveal your lips.

Gojo smirks as he gets off of the couch, going down on his knees, his arms hooking around under your knees to pull you closer to the edge.

''Lets see if you can actually scream huh'' He mutters as he inches forward to your soaked panties, his breath fanning your silk covered fold earning little whines from you.

''S-satoru-ohh-'' Your words are cut off once he connected his puffy lips to your clothed pussy, sucking on the material and your folds as he groans sending vibrations up your core.

''T-take them off!'' You whimper, your hands going down to hold his hair and tugging on them slightly causing him to smirk. And so he does, in an instant he rips your panties off and without any warning, he connects his lips to your soaking folds, as if it was a magnet pulling satoru.

He sucks and licks at your folds, his tongue laying flat against your labia before he drags it up until it was pressed against your swollen clit, his eyes staring at your unholy expression through his white lashes, how beautiful you looked to him right now, lips parted slightly. He couldn't see your face but he knew your eyes must be closed from the pleasure.

Gojo was sloppy. He gently bites at your senstive bud before he starts to slurp at your juices, creating the most vile sounds known to mankind, suckling slupring licking until you were a moaning mess, gripping his hair and grinding your hips into him.

''O-Oh oh torruuuuu- fuckfuckfuckk g-gon make me cummmmm- ngh'' You cry out arching your back, nipples hard and thighs trembling vigorously, your legs wrap around his shoulders practically suffocating him with your thighs, but he doesn't mind it he has wanted this for way too long now, he was too pussy drunk to notice.

“Mmm..s’sweet mmm” He mumbles into your cunt sending vibrations up your core.

You're mweling as you feel a new sensation build up in your stomach once you feel his tongue enter you, his nose nudging against your clit. his tongue rolling inside you and your spongey spot that will lead you to your destruction, he knows you're close- and just when you're about to have an earth shattering orgasm, he pulls away with a cocky grin, lips glossy and puffy, cheeks and chin stained in your juices, eyes fully lust-blowen. If it was possible, Gojo would definitely have heart in his eyes right now.

You whine and buck your hips shifting closer to the edge of the couch, hands yanking his head back down into your core in attempt for any stimulation.

''You think I'll let you cum that easily after what you did huh?'' He stands up, veiny hands going down to discard his sweats. ''Sly cunt'' He mutters out, his eyes never leaving yours through your mask.

Once he was completly naked infront of you, your gaze drops down to his dick, the one you heard so many rumors about. He was big and he knew it, fucking bastard.

His tip was an angry red, already leaking with precum as it trailed down all the way to his base. He purses his lips staring at your leaking cunt as he runs his slender hand up and down his base smearing his precum, his eyes closing for a few seconds as his head tilts back revealing his neck, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down by the thought of you squeezing his dick.

You part your lips to say something but he shoves his middle finger into your aching hole earning a loud moan from you. ''Ooh- fuck!'' You moan out arching your back, hand going to grip at his forearm.

''Hmm.. she seems ready, don’t ‘cha think pretty girl?'' He says grinning as he slowly takes his finger out admiring your slick, he brings it up to your mouth pressing it against your lips, you open your mouth and welcome his finger, sucking on it tasting yourself.

And just as you’re lost in sucking on his fingers like a lollipop, he's quick to start inching his pretty pink tip into your tight cunt, his gaze never leaving your pussy as he watches you take him in.

You gasp letting out muffled whimpers, eyes squeezing shut from the feeling, he wasn't even fully in yet and he stretcthed you out.

''Fuck- fuck you're tighttt woman'' He hissed out feeling you clamp down on him. ''L-lets actually make you scream huh? Ghostface wannabe'' He breathed out, removing his finger from your mouth, his thumb fidling with your aching clit as you melt against the couch.

He hadn't even fucked you yet and you were a shaking whining mess. Blabbing all sorts of stuff like ''So big- So full'' or just bunch of ''Fuck me fuck me fuck me''

And Gojo does. He shoves his hips forward, hands coming down to connect your ankles together as he lifts your legs- desperatley hugging them as he whimpers

''P-Pussy so so good- Lord- Fuck me hmphh'' He doesn't even give you time to adjust as he ruthlessly starts to slam into your poor cunt, your tongue lolls out as drool hands down your chin, your hands clutching onto the couch trying not to pass out from how good he stretched you out, his thick length hitting all the spots you didn't even know you had. Your mask barely hung on your face, tilted completly to the side only covering you eyes but revealing your flushed cheeks.

''T-Too much-- t's too much- gonna break my pussy'' You sob out, you could barely think straight anymore, all you wanted to do was to prank Satoru for not inviting you to his party- yet here you were folded on his couch as he uses your leaking cunt as a fleshlight.

His thursts were messy and sloppy, the only sound audible was your squelching hole, his whimpers and praises, and your dumbfound words.

''You gon make me cum babyyy'' He whines out as he leans forward, the back of your legs pressing against his chest, his hands holding your sides, tight enough to leave bruises on the skin. ''Squeezin me s'fuckin good- gon make me fucking cum'' He says pressing his forehead to your mask, his heavy breathing fanning your nose and lips.

''W-Wanna see that pretty face please pleaseeplease-'' He begs closing his eyes shut feeling you squeeze him so good. And once he hears no reply from you and only whines and moans, he takes it as a sign to remove your mask, and that was all he needed to loose the little sanity he had when he laid his eyes on you.

Your eyes rolled back, lashes wet, cheeks tear stained and drooling running down your lips and chin, that's all he had to see that had him spurting inside your gummy walls.

He pulls out of you and slams back in so fast that you don't even have time to procces your orgasm, your cunt squelching and gushing around him, hot liquid spraying everywhere all over his couch and abs. ''fuckfuckfuck fuck- a-ah g-gonna p-pass out'' You cry out, your legs were quivering- your brain absolutely numb, your nails digging into his biceps.

He doesn’t even care about the fact you just creamed on him, he only seemed to be lost in his pleasure, a thick white ring appearing around his base as he continues to tear into your senstive hole, his haw hanging loosely, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead and neck slightly flushed red.

Not soon after, Gojo was painting your insides the same colour as his hair, breeding you over and over again until you were just a sobbing and babbling mess chanting his name over and over again- apologising over and over again.

And so was he- it would be hard to believe this was the same tough boy that got any girl he wants, right now he was just praising you and you cum stained leaking cunt repeatedly.

He pulls out of you panting, watching his thick load leak out of you as you squeeze around nothing, his fingers going down to smear his cum along your inner thighs and folds, being thankful for not inviting you to his party which ended in this.

You whine squirming away from him, body trembling and your breath hitching.

You both pant and heave trying to catch your breaths as he flops down beside you, a cocky smirk plastered on his face.

''Guess you really are apart of scream huh?''

©yonphilia 2023

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bits-and-babs · 1 year

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑 || 𝐉𝐎𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

summary: When Ellie is taken by David, Joel breaks open the part of him locked away since his hunter days. As the guilt eats him alive, you try to help him subdue the black dogs of mental warfare.

word count: 4.1k

warnings: Very 18+. It’s giving morally-grey Joel. Depiction of gore, violence, mentions of cannibalism, mentions of David that is a warning in itself. Very vague insinuation of SA as shown in the game. Discontent for Christianity (don’t like, don’t read my dude). Angst, guilt. Hurt-comfort. P in v sex, unprotected sex.

authors note: This got so dark it actually caught me off guard! I am so incredibly proud of this piece. I started it 5 whole weeks ago, and spent up until the night of posting (March 5th) editing and retouching. I hope it does Winter, my favourite part of the game, proud.

tease: “I jus’ need to be close to you.”

Continuous dripping sounds from the radiator, drip, drip, drip. Globs of blood seep down the grooves of the heater, falling when the droplets reach the edge and settling in a pool of coagulated gore. A headless body leans left, slumping against the metal the handcuffs chain it to. What’s left of its skull plasters the walls, the ceiling, and the steel pipe discarded in its lap.

Another lifeless body lays strewn sideways, the chair it’s tied to thrown haphazardly across the floor. Its neck is angled awkwardly; its eyes rolled back so only the whites show.

When you manage to tear your eyes away from the carnage, you can still hear the panicked shouts of the captives before Joel slaughtered them, rattling inside the cavern of your skull. Joel’s callous answer rings in your ears.

“Fuck you, man. He told you what you wanted. I ain't telling you shit!”

“That’s alright. I believe him.”

Snowflakes stick to the window of the home Joel had appropriated as a slaughterhouse, the wooden planks weathered and falling apart after years of neglect. The cold creeps in through the holes in the ceiling and the gaps in the wood, but you find yourself doubting the chill responsible for the goosebumps littering your arms.

Inhaling slowly, you will yourself to speak, but the words die in your throat before they even form on your lips, melting away on your tongue. Your pleas for reason would fall on deaf ears, and you know it—Joel’s far beyond reasoning with.

He’s pacing up and down the room, the floorboards creaking under the weight of his boots as he studies the map gripped between his imbrued knuckles. It’s unlike him, you note, to be so rattled. In the years you’ve known Joel, his steadfast resolution had been comforting, a certain. Not now. The men he’d butchered had mentioned details you could only describe as buzzwords that had Joel’s survivor alarm bells ringing.

David’s newest pet. The Town. Cannibals.

Heaving breaths he expels from his lungs vaporise in the air, still catching his breath from pummelling radiator-man’s brains out. If you couldn’t hear the wheezing in his chest from his laboured respiration, you could damn well see it.

Stepping forward, you wince when the floorboard beneath you creaks. “Joel—“

“They got Ellie, Darlin’,” your partner leaps into an eerily calm rundown of the dire situation despite you having been in the room for the entire interrogation. “They got Ellie, an’ they’re gonna kill her.”

Nodding slowly, you reach across the small distance between you to hold onto Joel’s bicep. Blood splatters the fabric of his brown winter coat, and you can feel his body heat radiating beneath the layers of cloth as his body fights infection. The gaping wounds in his back and stomach from the protruding rebar he was impaled on, thanks to a scuffle with a looter at the university, have stopped weeping puss. However, Joel was still largely incapacitated by the pain — despite the feral display of resilience against these two bandits.

“I know—” you try to ease him, but Joel’s buzzing with adrenaline.

“I gotta go get her; you can’t stop me doin’ this, Darlin’ I have’ta-“

“I know,” you speak firmly, and Joel stops dead in his tracks, clearly not having expected you to green-light his suicide mission, “I know I can’t stop you, which is why I insist upon going with you.”

You expect Joel to make a scene, to lose his temper and tell you that you weren't going anywhere, that it was far too dangerous and losing either of you would crush him. You know about Tess; Ellie told you everything when you joined them in Pittsburgh. She detailed Joel's heartache, despite his desperate attempts to appear indifferent. It's times like these that you can't blame him for being overprotective, knowing he had lost so much.

However, your expectations are not met. Joel looks at you, the whites of his eyes tinted red, and the skin beneath shadowed dark with exhaustion. He nods slowly, evidently realising he cannot compete with an army of cannibal bandits single-handedly with the state he’s in. He surrenders.

Wordlessly, Joel grabs your backpack and begins to sift through the items within. Apparently, he decides you don't have enough ammo, sacrificing his El Diablo pistol and offering it to you.

You accept it without fuss, knowing damn well that leaving with him is out of his comfort zone. Making a scene would make him change his mind.

It doesn't take long for Joel to spread out your limited supplies. Within five minutes, he's lifting his heavy backpack onto his shoulders with an agonised groan. You move out silently, Joel holding the door open for you as you step out into the blizzard.

You hear the frozen grass and layers of snow crunch beneath the rubber soles of Joel’s boots. You set your whole life to the pace of each of his steps, a monotonous metronome. Sometimes, on hot days in the summer, you can smell the rubber melting on the tarmac if you stand still for too long.

It’s bizarre, especially as he guides you into a death trap with an unknown sum of threats, but you find yourself thinking you’d be happy for him to lead you anywhere.

-✩-

Snowflakes cling to your eyelashes, eyes weeping from the cold and freezing the coarse hairs together. It's so cold that you’re convinced that the tears that develop as a result of the stinging cold freeze before they can drip down your cheeks.

Even without the natural eyelash glue, it's hard to see Joel ahead of you in the chaos of the bandit’s town. The blizzard has intensified, casting a light grey fuzzy haze over what you can see— or rather, what you can't. You're not even sure that the shadowy figure in front of you is Joel, but you're too afraid to ask in case a stranger turns around and shoots you in the stomach.

When you and Joel arrived, it was pandemonium already, armed bandits practically running into you as they attempted to reach their battle stations. The whistling of the wind muffles gunshots, and the bell from the church tower rings deafeningly loud across the snow plains in warning. What exactly had happened, you are unsure, but what you do know is that the cracking of the bronze bell will draw in runners from miles away.

You had to find Ellie. Quickly.

"You all right?" Joel calls out above the din, his Texan accent a welcome relief. It takes you a second to find your voice, the cold having momentarily stolen it.

"Yeah!" You shout back, trembling fingers grasping tightly to your gun.

There is a roaring sound on the wind, rising in volume as you continue to trudge blindly through the snow. The gunshots are more frequent now, yet still too far away to be a threat to you. You wonder if Ellie is raising hell or if the infected have already arrived. Neither scenario was good.

An orange glow peers through the blanket of falling snow that distorts your vision. You'd noticed the flaming barrels as you wandered through the town, but this was different. It was huge. The closer you got to it, the clearer the sound met your ears. It was crackling, wood-burning and billowing acrid black smoke.

Joel whistles, the pitchy sound catching your attention over the deafening thunder of the fire. You can't see his expression, but you can vaguely make out his silhouette pointing toward the building swallowed by flames. You were going in.

One step forward and the blaze is singeing your freezing skin, burning the peach fuzz on your face. You swear you can smell your eyebrows smoking, the flames so strong that you're almost scared to step into the building.

Despite your concerns for the integrity of the structure, Joel is quick to pursue the only lead he has to Ellie. He feels blindly all along the entrance, hissing as his palms come into contact with red-hot glass panes. It's a wooden door inset by small rectangular windows. The frame is deep brown and littered with orange, glowing embers embedded within the grain. You're scared, and open your mouth to dissuade Joel from doing anything rash. He doesn't give you the opportunity.

His shoulder slams into the weakened, charred door without hesitation, the windows falling from their frames and shattering on the wooden floor. The blazing heat inside the building wafts over you, causing sweat to bead at your brow.

Desperate, Joel pushes through and stumbles into the building, which you now discover is a diner. The smoke burns your lungs, and your eyes sting so much that you're almost blinded by the tears prickling your waterline. The dark grey clouds are so thick that you're suffocating, unable to take in any oxygen. Had it not been for the noises piercing through the terrifying roar of the fire, you would have aborted the entrance in fear of asphyxiation.

High-pitched grunts of exertion and the sound of metal slamming into wood catch Joel's attention. He looks up, alarmed by the noise and yet scrambles towards it despite the danger.

"Ellie!" Joel shouts out, running on adrenaline as he rushes forward. You let out a sob of relief, knowing that Joel has eyes on her, but the consolation doesn't last long.

When you catch sight of her, you find Ellie in a blind rage. Her bloodied hands hold onto a machete handle with a white-knuckled grip, raising the weapon above her head and bringing it down into the mess of the fractured skull and smashed brains of the body below her. Blood sprays across her face with the sheer force with which she plunges the blade into the meaty mess, tears of fury leaving tracks in the crimson on her cheeks.

"Stop! Stop," Joel wraps his forearms around Ellie’s chest, dragging her away from the mutilated body to a chorus of devastatingly broken ‘no's’. Ellie screams, fighting Joel’s grip and clawing at his arms in an attempt to free herself.

"Don't fucking touch me!" She sobs as Joel hushes her, wrapping his arms around her body and holding her to his chest in a desperate attempt to prove to Ellie that she is safe. He sets her in front of him, forcing the broken young girl to look at him and recognise him.

"It's me," he speaks firmly, trying to access the rational part of her brain as he holds her still, his palms settling on her bloodied cheeks and inevitably smearing the ruddy liquid across her skin. "Look, look. It’s me."

Her tearful gaze settles on Joel, still in a panic as she searches his face. It takes her a moment, but relief swallows her expression and she practically falls into Joel's embrace.

“Oh,” she sobs out, eyes falling to the blood-streaked floor as the shock kicks in, “He tried to-“

“Oh, Baby Girl…” He murmurs brokenly, clinging to her as though he feared the world would snatch her from him again if he didn’t hold her in a vice-like grip. “It’s okay. It’s okay….”

“Joel…” Ellie sobs, burying her face into his chest and soaking his already bloodied clothes with yet more gore and tears. Joel presses his head to hers, repeatedly murmuring that it was okay, that he had her.

As Joel speaks to Ellie, you allow them this delicate moment of solitude. Of course, you were part of this family, but the bond Ellie and Joel shared far outweighed anything you could offer. A found father-daughter relationship that filled the holes in each other's hearts. It wasn’t your place to intrude.

Casting your teary eyes to the ceiling, you catch sight of a rudimentary hanging sign made from a white mattress topper. Scrawled upon it in mostly black paint, the lettering bulky, and only one word is written in scarlet.

“WHEN WE ARE IN NEED, HE SHALL PROVIDE!”

Bile rises in your throat as you take in the quote reminiscent of bible scripture. It turns your stomach, knowing what this man would have done, what the town no doubt did do to others, all while justifying it with thinly veiled Jesus worship.

It was an odd realisation, one that left you feeling quite numb as Joel helped Ellie from her knees. The comprehension that for the past 20 years, humanity had been coming together to fight the Cordyceps virus in the hope of removing the scourge and returning to normal life. Instead, the happenings in the diner, in this town, proved that the Cordyceps virus had little impact on the real plight.

That humans, people, are the true sickness.

-✩-

You are fearful at first that Ellie wouldn't be able to sleep after the trauma of her ordeal. She had, at first, been delicate on the journey back to the cabin that Joel had been recuperating in since his accident. Exhibiting signs of shellshock, she refused to elaborate on anything she had seen or heard during her captivity, and both you and Joel decided it best to leave her to unpick her thoughts in her own time.

The brass bells in the cannibal town had drawn the attention of a ginormous pack of runners, and you were scared that Ellie would be unable to find it in her to fight for her life.

However, as Ellie often did, she proved you wrong. Perhaps that is why she retreated to a dream world the moment her head touched the pillow. The sound of her steady breathing is the only noise permeating the silence that had settled in the cabin basement.

Joel retreats into the shadows when Ellie finds sleep. Leaning his back against the rough brick wall, he groans in agony as he sinks into a half-comfortable position. You watch him settle, eyebrows pinching together as you witness him fall back into the blackest corners of his mind.

You hesitate. You've only ever seen Joel like this once, distraught by the deaths of Henry and Sam after barely reaching freedom beyond the Pittsburgh Bridge. He had withdrawn into himself for weeks, the guilt eating him alive despite not belonging to any of you.

The black dog of mental warfare was a friend you knew Joel had come to know well. Before Sam and Henry, there was Tess, his hunter days, and of course, Sarah. Each time, the darkness would require him to carry a heavy burden of culpability despite his lack of fault.

"I'm glad," Joel's gruff voice cuts through the silence. He sounds broken, battling an insidious infection that you can't see. Similar to the Cordyceps virus, it encroaches on his mind, turning it against him. “I'm glad she killed him."

Again, you withhold your innermost thoughts as Joel battles to admit his feelings. He looks up at you, resting against the opposite wall. His expression is cold, but his eyes reflect a tragic pain within him.

“I’m relieved she killed him. Because I dunno what I would’a done.”

The black dog has returned, settled at Joel’s feet, and with it the guilt lands in his lap.

"Joel," you whisper, rising to your feet and approaching your crestfallen partner with delicate steps, "It’s not your fault."

Shaking his head Joel refuses to acknowledge your exoneration, beginning to launch into a tirade of self-hatred. "No. No, if I'd‘ve-"

You interrupt him, a firmness quite unlike you seeping into each syllable. "It's not your fault."

This time it appears to strike home, Joel slowly nodding his head in acceptance as you sink to the floor with him, resting your head on his shoulder as you settle beside him for warmth. The following silence isn't as emotionally charged. Joel appears to find comfort in your embrace. The black dog slinks out of the room through the crack in the open door.

You gently press kisses to the soft expanse of skin peeking from underneath Joel’s collar. It's a comfort, one that you regularly award Joel before sleep. He tilts his head in the opposite direction, offering you further access to the skin layering his jugular.

Without question, you continue to pepper his skin with endearment. He wasn't one to regularly ask for it, so you took this as a sign that Joel required some tenderness right now.

"’m sorry," he mumbles, embarrassed by his needy behaviour, “'m just-“

"You don't have to explain anything," you whisper, the curve of your lips dragging against his pulse point as you speak to him. He hums deep and low, eyes slipping shut as you continue your ministrations.

Achingly slowly, you drag lips across his jugular, pressing kisses to spots on his neck that you know are reactive. The soft valley behind his ear, the curve of his jaw, the junction between his neck and his shoulder. They all receive your affection, and you begin to hear Joel's breathing labour ever so slightly.

Joel’s infectious fever bleeds into something akin to fervour, his ribcage rising and falling with heavier, unsteadier breaths. His eyelids flutter closed, the searing, sour pain blending with the pleasure that sparks in him when your lips brush over his pulse point.

“Darlin’-“ He whispers, and it’s utterly broken. Pitchy and cracking in his throat when your fingertips work at his shirt buttons to expose more of his clavicle. His hands are settling on your hips as you swing your thigh over his lap slowly, thumb pads sweeping over your hip bones in delicate patterns.

“What is it you need from me, Joel?” You murmur softly, nose nudging at the bottom of his throat, at the v where his collar bones meet.

“F-Fuck,” he chokes, eyes cast skyward as he attempts to piece the broken pieces of his mind back together and find an answer. “I jus’ need to be close to you.”

He thought he’d lost Ellie. Thought he’d find her strung up with pieces of her flesh scattered about an unsanitary butcher's room. No doubt his mind was spinning with all the possibilities. What if you’d been shot trying to get her back?

Joel needed to be confident you were alive. Needed to feel your pulse thrumming against his palm.

“I can do that,” you promise him gently. You never pledged anything to Joel; nothing was certain. However, right now, you could offer your word. Could swear to ease his trepidation.

“I’m here.” Your words are spoken with conviction, his head nodding slightly as you take his wrist in your hand. “You can feel it. Come here.”

Delicately, you lay his bloodied, trembling hand across your chest. He lets out a quivering breath through his nose when he feels the thump of your heart against the lifeline of his palm.

Your free hand settles on the brass button holding his jeans together, popping it open and exposing the trail of dark, greying hairs that trail down his naval. His eyes flicker to your own, chapped lips parting slightly as you pinch the zipper and drag it down with a quiet ‘zzzp’.

The thud against his palm picks up the momentum as you feel him harden beneath the denim of your jeans, and you catch his lips pull up. A short, single scoff of disbelief- relief- as you gently work the jeans down and over his hips.

“Does this old man really do it for you that much?” He whispers, his fingerprints teasing the stitches of your collar. Your flannel is worn, threadbare and velvet soft, and your skin is burning hot beneath. “Even greyin’ and broken like I am?”

“Joel,” you whisper, pressing a delicate, lengthy kiss to his forehead, between his eyebrows. Fumbling with your cargo pants, you have them over your ass in no time, dragging your panties along with them. “You are the only man alive that makes me feel this way.” Your lips brush against the creases on his brow; frown lines etched deep into his skin after years of misery.

“Mhm,” his rich, oak eyes drag down your form as he watches you undress and expose your soaked cunt, thighs glistening wet in the low lighting. “That ain’t hard when most of the population died out.”

“Joel,” you repeat with a less-tempered tone, nose nudging at his hairline as you wrap your fingers around his length. He grunts quietly, careful to smother any loud noises to avoid drawing Ellie’s attention. “There wasn’t anyone before outbreak day, either.”

“Not even that actor-… What was his name, George Cloo-oh fuck,” his stupid joke dies on the tip of his tongue when you slowly sink down onto the head of his cock, walls fluttering around the stretch of him. His voice is hoarse, whisper breaking into silence as he slowly pushes the crown of his head into the terracotta brick walls.

“No,” you chuckle softly, watching him struggle for logical thought as you take more of him, and slip him further in. “No, not even him.”

Joel grunts, digging his teeth into his lower lip as you take him to the hilt. He nudges your cervix in this position, the sensation almost like a mild bruise, but you love it. Love that it will match the hickeys he leaves on your shoulders- marking you inside and out. Claiming you as his, Death and His black dog be damned.

“Oh C-Christ,” he lilts, and it sounds like a whimper as you squeeze around him, “I can feel it. Can feel your pulse-“

“See? I told you I’m alive,” You muse, wrapping your fingers around his wrist as you slowly begin to grind your hips forward in a circle. Joel just nods dumbly, his previously pale cheeks flushed slightly.

No bouncing, no thrusts. Joel is too fragile, his immune system fighting a nuclear war inside of him as his white blood cells try to secure the perimeter of the wound in his abdomen. You focus on rolling your hips instead, slowly inching off his cock and sinking back down onto his velvety length.

“Hoh- uhng, fuck-“ his illegible groans make your heart batter his meta-carpel bones, compelling him to acknowledge your vital signs and their optimal function.

He’s twitching inside you, the slow rise and fall of your hips forcing him to feel you stretch around each ridge and pulsing vein of his cock. Joel looks like he could break down, the sensation of his building orgasm such an overwhelming sensation in his already exhausted body.

Pushing your fingers through his soft curls, you clasp the back of his skull and lean forward to hold his face to your chest. He can hear it loud and clear now, the shell of his ear cupping the cavity of your chest where your heart batters against his cheekbone. His arms wrap around your waist, squeezing you as tight as his septic-fatigued muscles can hold you.

It doesn’t take much for you to work yourself into your own fever. Joel’s cock always manages to find that spark inside you, nudging it and coaxing your orgasm to bloom between your thighs.

“M’gonna cum,” he rasps against your chest, his hot breath fanning across your skin. Joel’s pressing sloppy, clumsy kisses there, exhaling heavily with each roll of your hips.

“Mhmm-“ you muffle your cry by biting your knuckles, focusing on the clench of your walls and the buzz of your orgasm surging up through you. It’s like a whirlpool, pulling you under and drowning you in the wave of bliss that overtakes you.

Joel’s follows almost immediately after, his whole body tending despite the pain as it pulses through him, his cum painting your insides. His hips stutter, burying deep within you and letting out a ragged breath of relief that edges into a moan of your name.

Passing carbon dioxide between you, your foreheads press together as your breath fans over each other's faces. His eyelashes flutter with exhaustion, and you can feel them tickle the peak of your cheekbones. It’s so tender, so unlike Joel.

“I won’t let him take you.” His voice is so quiet the words almost don’t form, just barely leaving his throat in a sigh. His hand, not having left its rooted spot above your left breast, slowly inches towards your throat. You feel his index finger prod at your pulse, sealing his conviction that you are safe.

In honesty, you’re unsure who he means. Death, probably. David is long gone, but Joel’s fever is tipping him closer to delirium than reality.

One thing was for certain; you had managed to stave off the Black Dog for now. It lay at the doorway, stuck beyond the threshold it was forbidden to pass over, waiting until Joel allowed it back inside.

END

@hoeneey @howaboutcastiel @welcometostayingawake @syrma-sensei @ethanhoewke @foxilayde @bookfrog242 @wh0reforbucknasty @zakizigekwe @ahookedheroespureheart @buckys-other-punk @anxious-sappho @alexloveskili @captainrexstan @knights-power @southcrnbelle @niallsbunny @hold-our-destiny @vermillionwinter @stormkobra-5 @erenbissexual @alwritey-aphrodite @maggotzombie @deadpige0n @bakerstreethound @whatthehekko @cottagebunny9 @bit-dodgy-innit @peachyproserpina @pedrosprincess @inklore

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pedge-page · 3 months

Text

Plushies!Drabble: Sweet Kitten

(18+ ONLY)

- - - -

Plushie!Joel sleeping on his belly with his Kitty squishmellow as his secondary pillow, all buried under his nose. And he sniffles a little and wakes up, inhaling it more deeply. Eyes go wide. He recognizes an instant problem.

You wake up to frantic pounding on your door at 3:40am. Rubbing your eyes, you saunter over and turn the knob, only for Joel to rush in, pick you up and carry you like its nothing over to your bed.

"What the f--"

You're barely awake enough to resist his hungry kisses, rubbing his thigh thigh between your legs and nudging your clit with his knee. His mouth devours yours, licking and biting along your neck and groping your tits under your sleep shirt, HIS shirt he likes that you sleep in.

It's not until you start moaning under his touch, and rubbing your cunt against him that he finally pants, "You wet for me baby?" While nipping your lobe.

You nod, shivering with arousal. A little more awake and ready for Joel to soothe the achy problem he's now created deep in your puss--

He's tossing you on the bed in the blink of an eye, grabbing something large that had been protruding out of his back pocket and shoves its plush softness between your thighs.

"Good. Get ta grindin'."

It's Joel's Kitty plush.

You're a little confused, but he doesn't have time for your thoughts as he's fisting it into your wet naked mound and rubbing it along your folds.

"Cmon, angel. Know you can soak it with ya little kitty puss puss." He keeps licking along your chest. There's something a little desperate in his eyes, a little agitated in his voice. And you now realize, with his tongue biting between his teeth while obsessively watching your little folds part and your nub catch along the soft fluff, that he just wanted to get you riled up so you could add a fresh coat of pussy slick to his Kitty plush that had been lacking your scent for some time.

Horny, tired, a little too unbothered to scold him, you get on your knees and start humping the plush again, with Joel holding your hands. He's whispering praises like "fuck, look so pretty rubbing that slutty little cunt all over Kitty like that." "Such a sweet pussy, can't wait to lick it all up." "Give daddy all your naughty juices, I want you to soak that little fucker up" "You could piss on this and I'd still take it, just wanna stain your scent on my Kitty forever."

His eyes watch the entire time, transfixed as the plush slowly darkens from wetness with each rock of your hips.

Eventually your little high pitch whimpers lead way to your orgasm, falling forward and clutching Joel's big strong form for dear life as you spasm on your Kitty plushie, rubbing your slick all over its face with little aftershock rolls of your hips.

"Good girl, fuck yeah, that's it, keep gushin'. My good little slutty girl."

It's all over so quickly. He grabs the Kitty, shoves it in his face and inhales the wet patch on its fur, grunting satisfactorily. He collapses forward on your bed and almost instantly falls alseep as your pussy juice and Kitty's plush suffocate him.

Left abandoned, your clit twitches, legs spread with a slight sticky mess, wondering what the fuck that was about.

Permanent Taglist:

- - - -

Series masterlist

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrs-oharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96

#pedro pascal smut #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #last of us fanfiction #last of us smut #joel miller fic #plushies!joel

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cloversreblogs · 1 year

Text

Puss: I only wished for my 9 lives back!

Kitty: I only wished for someone I can trust!

Goldilocks: I only wished for a fa- a HUMAN family!

Jack Horner: I only wished to have a coat made out of puppies!

Cast: *LOUD PROTESTS AND ANGRY SHOOING* GET OUTTA HERE

#source: twisted #puss in boots #puss in boots 2 #kitty softpaws #goldilocks #puss in boots goldilocks #Jack Horner #starkid productions #crack #puss in boots the last wish #Dreamworks #twisted

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femzai · 8 months

Note

dazai fingering chuuya

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

“ see you in the hall like "hello, hello!" / up against the wall like "let's go, let's go!" ”

NSFW WARNING

tags ㅤᵕ̈ – fingering ofc, cooter having chuuya, spit kink >_>, me being silly lowkey

gee i wonder who requested this!? ^_^ ; (nikolai your sick and twisted and delusional but its okay i support you and your freaky endeavors!)

omgomg this time dazai is just dazai!! how surprising!??? and chuuya has a cooter becuz that man is not CIS sorry not sorry chat ♥︎ (he/him dazai, he/it chuuya btw!!)

word count — 1,164 words

“So cute.. aren’t you?”

Dazai held Chuuya’s face, looking at him intently. “You’re face is super flushed..” He muttered, head moving to kiss Chuuya’s neck. Biting and sucking at any piece of skin he can see, biting even harder whenever he hears a moan from the ginger. Moving one hand to grab Chuuya’s neck, and the other to gripped his waist.

“You asshole…” He gasped out, clinging onto Dazai’s coat. His legs spread apart from Dazai’s knee being right between him, rutting against his pant leg. “Fuck–” Chuuya whimpered, thoughts getting hazy each second. To think, poor Chuuya would be against his own wall, being kissed and toyed with by someone he hates. His grinding got more and more desperate, closely reaching its little climax just by humping. “You don’t know when to wait, do you?” Dazai sighed, frowning a bit upset at Chuuya’s neediness.

He hummed, moving his legs away from between Chuuyas. Its legs were shaking, and the denial of cumming was too much for him. “You… ASSHOLE..” He groaned out, contemplating whether or not he should throw out his dignity just to cum. “Aw.. Don’t worry..” He cooed, kissing Chuuya on the cheek. His hands slowly made their way to Chuuya’s thighs, grabbing his ass a little before picking him up.

Dazai walked him to the bedroom as fast as possible, tossing it onto the bed once there. It wasn’t long until Dazai was on right on top of him, holding his hips down and kissing. Practically spit on spit, purposefully as sloppy as humanely possible. Dazai made quick work of himself, removing his coat and unbuttoning his shirt. Throwing it somewhere that will be a pain to find tomorrow, but who cares right now? He moved his knee to tease Chuuya’s cunt through its pants, smiling a little as he heard his quiet moans.

“..Like some help, Chuu? I promise I’m good.”

He replaced his knee with his hand, rubbing through the fabric tauntingly. He shifted to move behind Chuuya, pulling the ginger to sit up between his legs. On the other hand, Chuuya let it happen. Quietly moaning while leaning into his chest more, hand covering his mouth. Dazai pressed down a finger onto Chuuya’s pants, hands knowing where his clit was and circling it quickly. Kissing and whispering sweet nothings into its ear, quickening his pace. “Do you want more..?” He panted, running his hands along the seam of Chuuya’s pants.

“ ‘Course you do, right? I’ll be nice to you this time, hm?” He began to hum, moving in to kiss more around Chuuys’s neck. Meanwhile, his rough hands busied themselves and unzipped Chuuya’s pants for him. Watching Chuuya kick them off desperately, taking off his boxers too in the process.

“Just.. get this over with, cunt..” He whispered, with gloved hands reaching to hold onto the fabric of Dazai’z pants. “Calling me names, already? How cruel are you?” “Only the worst–” Chuuya gasped loudly, being cut off by the feeling of rough fingers already circling its clit. Not a word could be said from the poor redhead anymore, holding onto anything it could while his clit was overtaking his senses. Dazai moved his other hand towards him, spitting on it as much as he could, before using it to mess with Chuuya’s folds; making it slicker with his spit and his pussy juices. He pouted, kissing Chuuya’s ear, and getting off to his bitchy moans.

Lord, was Dazai’s dick was getting even more harder by the second; the sounds Chuuya’s pussy made.. he just wanted to hear more thats for sure. After a while of teasing him, he decided to finally give Chuuya what he wanted but wouldn’t admit. He circled its hole for a little, listening intently to how Chuuya whined. Then, he put two fingers in with no hesitation, going in and out as fast as possible without a warning.

“Fuck! Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck!?” The feeling of both fingers immediately in him caught him off guard, with his back arched closer to Dazai. Speaking of Dazai, his hands worked overtime. One circling the gingers clit and the other with his fingers ramming into it. It was impossible for Chuuya to not close his legs, squeezing them as tight as he could to the sensation. “tsk, Don’t close your legs!” Dazai quickly grabbed onto his thighs, holding it back to give him room to work with while fingering him.

Chuuya was pushing its hips more onto Dazai’s hand, whining. His back arched, and his hands clawing onto anything it could grab. Dazai stopped for a second, feeling Chuuya shudder at the sudden pause. “Hold on, Chuuya..” He smiled, leaning over and spitting onto his pussy.

“..You’re fucking disgusting…” “Are you complaining?” “….Of course not.”

Dazai kissed the top of Chuuya’s head before slamming his fingers back in, smiling stupidly as he snuck a third in. Continuing to keep the same pace he had earlier, if not more sloppier. “..So.. fuckin’.. stuffed…” Chuuya whined, drool leaving his mouth. “Hm? You like that Chuuya?” He laughed, at this point Dazai was stupidly hard. He’s been rutting his clothed cock against Chuuya’s back without it knowing, hiding it behind his rough finger fucking. Chuuya’s needy whines were music to Dazai’s ears, mesmerized by him entirely.

Dazai picked up the speed quickly, seeing the familiar twitch whenever Chuuya was always so close. He whispered out more and more praises mixed with insults against its ear, just to get him to cum faster. He can’t always give Chuuya just praises during sex; the whore really needs to understand its little predicament. However, Chuuya now is just a poor, stupid, whimpering mess unable to even speak. It took Chuuya a few more seconds until he started to cum, shaking and giving a final loud whine.

Dazai waited until Chuuya stopped shuddering, carefully pulling out his cum covered fingers from inside of it. Dazai stared at his fingers, feigning curiosity. He waved his fingers around for a little, until he placed all three of his fingers in front of Chuuya. “Clean them.” That was all Chuuya needed to hear before lazily opening his mouth. Allowing Dazai’s fingers to be shoved into it before he started to suck. Its vision was refocusing as he cleaned off his own cum with his mouth, making sure to keep his tongue beneath all three fingers. Dazai moved his hand once he felt satisfied with Chuuya’s work, re-examining his hand and everything.

“..So what were you saying about me being gross?”

“..Shut… up.”

Dazai sighed, frowning dramatically while moving his hands hug Chuuya. The ginger didn’t fight this, sighing himself before try and calm down. They stayed like that for a moment, being in each other's presence until Dazai broke the silence. “…How about we do some more?” Chuuya scoffed upon hearing that, moving away from Dazai before turning to face him. “…I’m going to permanently shut you the fuck up.”

“I’m looking forward to it, Chuuya!”

a/n – smut. scares me sometimes. and this is one of those times LMFAOOO

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the-weeb-of-the-uchiha · 15 days

Text

"Once more, I had to put in extra hours. Most likely, Y/N is dozing off. I should enter silently." He pondered in his head.

Nanami strolled down the apartment building's hall, checking his watch. While searching for the correct door key, he gets closer to the door. Loud music caught his attention. The fact that it was your own playlist was the only thing that caught his attention.

Nanami believed it was considerate of you to know he didn't enjoy your music and thought it was strange.

"She normally sleeps around this time."

Entering the apartment, he placed his bag and coat on the hook at the entrance. The sound of the shower was audible to him. Taking off his tie by loosening his shirt. He walked into the kitchen to be welcomed by a note on the counter.

" Darling I also walked in the house late. The food is in the fridge. I might not be sleeping." Love, wifey

As he read the sick note, a slight smile curled across his face. He couldn't help but smile at your handwriting. It made him happy. He slowly walked towards your bedroom but stopped as soon as he saw the bathroom door wide open. You had just closed the shower curtain and didn't notice him. You just kept singing. But he could not deny that what little he saw of your body had not aroused him.

"Damn it," he thought to himself.

Then he remembered something he promised you when the both of you first rented the apartment. He decided to undress right there and suddenly got in the shower.

"AH-" You almost let out a full scream before I covered your mouth.

"Wifey, calm down; it's just me," he said while uncovering your mouth.

"I was genuinely scared, Nanami!" You hit his chest multiple times before he stopped your hand.

"I'm sorry. I'll say something next time." He started to wrap his hand around your waist.

It was so small in his embrace. He could not restrain himself any longer. He trailed light-hearted kisses down your collarbone. He could tell you were genuinely upset. You would have normally given in to his flirting as soon as it started. This time, you just turned around to continue bathing.

"Wifey, don't be upset. You made me react on impulse." He turned your body to face him.

He pulled you in for a passionate kiss and pushed your body against the shower wall to pick you up.

"Nanami, wait, we might fall!". He liked to see you worried. "Don't worry about it, Princess.

He knew what that word meant to you. It made her act like a teenager who had just fallen in love. He preferred to call you wifey and only used Princes in case he was in a tight situation and had no other options. He could see it on your face; your cheeks were turning red.

"Princess, you have to let me do this."

"I know what you're doing, Nanami!""

"You are not fooling anybody yourself. You're already wet."

"It's from…"

"Don't blame it on the water."

He could not help but chuckle at the excuses. You could see he was getting rather impatient.

"Na-Nanami I can feel the tip."

"I thought I was being sneaky." Just as he said, He shoved the rest in one go. Your voice filled the bathroom with moans and screams.

"Does it feel good princess? I know I have been neglecting that sweet puss- ahh"

He had turned you on. The way his voice caressed your ears. You felt pain but the pleasure was sure to overcome it soon. That was always the way with your husband. The way his cock rubbed against your gummy walls was the best feeling. The only thing that was sitting on your mind other than feeling of his cock inside you was the fact that he was not moving.

"Nanami why aren't you moving ."

"Do you want me to then princess"

"..."

"If you want something you must learn to ask for it princess maybe even beg"

You knew exactly what he wanted from you. You kinda didn't want to but you were quick to give in. If that is what he wanted. You put on a cute face and batted you lashes.

"Please get me pregnant honey"

He wasted no time thrusting his swollen cock in and out of you. Tears started to fill your eyes as his paced quickened. Your moans mixed in with him grunting echoed through out the bathroom traveling further. His glasses slowly falling off of his face. You take them off one hand holding onto his neck. You were so close but your back continues to hit the shower wall.

"H-Honey can we ta- ah"

Your husband stops his pace to letting you breathe. It took you a few minuets to catch your breath. You could feel your self tightening around him.

"What is t-groans "

"sorry "

"what's the matter princess"

"Can we go to the bed my backs hurting"

"Sure we can princess"

He leaves a kiss on your lips before taking you out of the bathroom into the bedroom.

a/n : This was hard as fuck. I went weak at the end. I'm sorry 🙏

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timeoveritasconsumofigmentum · 6 months

Text

Yandere!Fisherman x F!Mermaid Reader Smut Alphabet:

Part 1 How he looks

Warnings: A Whole Lot Of Sexual Content. MDI.

[A/n: Decided to post some smutty head cannons of yandere!fisherman while I work on a new story, make sure to keep an eye out for that. :) Not proofread. ♡]

[NOTE: In this, once mermaid reader is plucked out of the ocean, she gains legs once her tail is dry like in the movie aquamarine. Low key got Stockholm syndrome lol. Enjoy.]