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haywire-hetfield · 2 months

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SORRY IF THIS SOUNDS DEMANDING ESP SINCE YOU RECENTLY WROTE ONE BUT ughhhh I love your pelle and oystein writings sooo much pleade feed us another one

It's not demanding at all! I hope you enjoy it

Warnings: Hand jobs, frottage, forest sex, depression, self-harm.

Words: 3,043

Øystein didn’t think anyone would call Pelle easy to deal with. Between the dead things he dragged back into the house and his bouts of confining himself to his bed, he was a handful and often grated on Øystein’s nerves. Handling him seemed to be an almost full-time job.

Still, there were good times when Øystein could simply forget about how difficult it was.

It seemed that there was never a medium, simply two different extremes. Either Øystein felt ready to actually kill his bandmate or he felt like he was on top of the world and would never come down. Luckily, today seemed to be one of the latter situations.

Øystein had followed him out into the woods, creeping as quietly as he could along with Pelle. He was hunting after something, although Øystein was unsure of what it exactly was. It might have been a rabbit, but it was all the same to Øystein in the end. He didn’t gain any of the pleasure Pelle did from killing something; he was simply in it because it made Pelle happy. It was a good reprieve from the usual melancholy Pelle usually conducted himself with.

Pelle had kept the knife with himself, insisting Øystein wouldn’t be able to catch something and he did have a point. Although, Øystein wasn’t sure how many things Pelle actually caught either. But he was perceptive and quick. Ironically enough, Pelle reminded him of a cat in a lot of ways.

Øystein barely had time to react when Pelle suddenly took off after something that he himself hadn’t even noticed.

“Pelle,” Øystein called to him, running after the blonde as soon as he realized what was going on. Flashes went through his mind of Pelle falling with the knife and accidentally killing himself, impaling himself too deeply for duct tape or a few stitches to fix. “Drop it,” He insisted, speaking to him in the same way one might talk to an unruly dog who had grabbed something it shouldn’t.

Pelle glanced over his shoulder to look at Øystein, giggling at him and obediently tossing the knife into the fallen leaves on the forest floor. He kept running, though. The realization hit Øystein a moment later that Pelle was no longer running after something, he was running from Øystein. And he wanted him to chase.

It wasn’t the first time they’d done this, Pelle often enjoyed playing weird little games with Øystein. He was happy to indulge this one, it rarely carried any risk of Pelle actually getting hurt outside of a few scratches and bruises. It made Øystein’s lungs and legs burn, however. He wasn’t used to running after something and he knew he only ever grabbed Pelle once the man let himself be caught. Sometimes, Øystein believed Pelle liked being captured more than being chased.

Øystein gave chase regardless, doing his best to catch up to the taller man. He followed the flashes of blonde hair, trying to avoid the trees and roots. He wasn’t quite sure how Pelle managed to make this look so graceful and effortless.

Pelle glanced over his shoulders a few more times as he darted through the trees, smiling every time he did so. Øystein could get used to seeing him carefree in this way, even if it was making his breathing grow heavy and his heart race faster. Pelle always seemed to know exactly how long Øystein could go, letting himself be caught up to. This time was no different.

Suddenly, Pelle stopped in his tracks and spun to face Øystein. He didn’t have enough time to react before he crashed into Pelle, sending them both onto the ground. Pelle was laughing sharply as his back hit the ground, the noise becoming strained and airy as the wind was knocked out of him. Øystein landed roughly on top of him, grunting as their bodies collided hard enough that he worried there would be bruises by tomorrow.

“Jesus, Pelle. Don’t do that,” He complained, trying to reorient himself. He did a quick mental check of his body, making sure he hadn’t seriously hurt anything on the rough tumble to the ground. Nothing seemed to be out of place.

“Stay,” Pelle encouraged as Øystein tried to climb to his feet. His arms curled around the dark haired man’s middle, keeping him close. It earned him a weird look that he only met with a smile. “I don’t want to go back yet,” He added, softer than he had been before.

Øystein checked around them, making sure nobody could see them tangled up like this. Logically, he knew they wouldn’t be disturbed out here. They were in the middle of nowhere with nothing to find except the occasional animal. Knowing that didn’t keep him from double checking.

“We can stay,” Øystein told him softly, almost as though he was afraid to get too loud. He knew what Pelle wanted, the same thing they’d tried a few times before now. Not that he’d ever admit it, but he wanted it too. He’d wanted it every single time, although he never initiated and often tried to put up a fuss about it before always giving in.

Pelle moved first, knowing he had to. The press of their lips was gentle in the beginning, it usually was. He liked to ease into things most of the time, Øystein had discovered. It was surprising to him if he was being honest, Pelle was so quick to dive head-first into everything else. Øystein didn’t really mind warming him up a bit first if that was what he needed.

He waited for a moment before he kissed Pelle back, deciding against truly fighting him on this. There was nothing around, no chance of someone stumbling upon them. Even if there was somebody else all the way out here, they’d hear them crunching through the leaves and twigs long before they could stop them.

Øystein waited for a bit, just kissing Pelle softly for a time before he slipped one hand up beneath his shirt. Pelle’s skin was slightly chilly underneath his touch, both from his natural coolness and from the fact he wasn’t dressed warmly enough for the weather. He never seemed bothered by the elements and Øystein thought he could be freezing to death without even being phased.

Pelle pulled free from the kiss to catch his breath, shifting around a bit when Øystein’s fingertips grazed over semi-fresh cuts littering his sides. The blood on them was dried, although they hadn’t begun to truly scab over yet and Øystein could tell that they were sensitive.

“Show me them,” Øystein murmured and Pelle knew exactly what he wanted. He shoved Øystein away from him enough to wiggle out of his long-sleeved shirt, tossing it aside and trying to get comfortable on the abrasive forest floor. As it was, leaves and dirt already clumped in his blonde hair. “There’s so many more,” Øystein noted, a hint of awe in his voice as he looked on.

Pelle’s pale skin was marred by angry red marks covering so much of him. There were old ones, some that had already scarred over and no longer looked irritated. Øystein’s eyes were drawn to the new ones, though.

There was significantly more than there had been and he wasn’t sure where to look first. Most were thin, long lines going horizontally along his sides. It appeared as though he had tried to trace lines over each ridge of his ribs, but had either gotten bored or otherwise forced to stop quickly into the idea. There were only two cuts that traced over his ribs on one side. The rest were scattered haphazardly, seemingly no real reason to it. Some were long, some were short, they were all various depths.

Øystein reached out to touch one particularly nasty looking one close to Pelle’s hip, stroking his thumb over it gently. It was deep, almost to the point where Øystein would worry it might need stitches if he’d seen it when it was fresh. Now, the blood had dried into thick globs along the wound and he dug his nail into it harshly without thinking. It made Pelle’s body jerk and a hiss escaped his throat, although he didn’t fight against him.

The action drew blood to the surface, dislodging the dried blood that was already there and forcing fresh red to ooze out. He was captivated by it for a moment and he wished he could draw more, but he kept the thought to himself. His eyes wandered and landed on a small X that had been carved into his side. The placement was specific and Øystein realized that it was a target of sorts. It was the right angle for a knife to be forced inside and up into his heart.

He reached out to trace over the small mark and he felt Pelle tensing beneath his touch. It seemed he’d learned his lesson from a few moments prior, now fearing nails would always follow fingertips. Øystein remained gentle with him this time, looking up to meet his eyes.

“Do you want to die?” Øystein asked him. Pelle blinked at him slowly, another one of his habits that reminded Øystein of a cat. He’d never tell him that, of course, not unless he wanted to really piss him off. Maybe another time. Pelle considered the question for a while, lost deep in his own thoughts and Øystein wondered how the question was truly that difficult. Either Pelle wanted to die or he didn’t.

“Sometimes,” Pelle told him after his brief silence. His tone was flat and unreadable, and Øystein hated him when he took that voice with him. He didn’t enjoy not being able to tell what Pelle was feeling or thinking and he suspected the blonde haired man knew as much.

“So, why haven’t you?” It was a question that had lingered on Øystein’s mind often. Pelle’s obsession with death, his depression, the self-harm. All signs pointed to yes except for the fact that Pelle was still alive.

Killing oneself didn’t seem overly difficult to Øystein, he was sure he could do it himself if he wanted to. And Pelle certainly could. He’d proven time and time again he had no issue with hurting himself, getting close to actually dying once because of it. He could do it if he really wanted to.

Pelle did not answer him this time. Instead, he leaned up to grasp onto Øystein’s shoulders, pulling him down closer to kiss him again. This one was rougher than the previous had been, the younger clearly attempting to change the subject of their interaction. Pelle had always lacked a certain tact for social situations, even by Øystein’s own standards, and one of his biggest social faux pas was how sharply he changed topics when he didn’t care to discuss something.

Øystein decided he could let it go this time. They could talk about it more later if he truly desired the answer, although he wasn’t certain if he actually cared or not. The decision was ultimately Pelle’s and he sincerely doubted he wanted someone trying to force their idea of what was best for him. In all honesty, Øystein didn’t even know what would be best for Pelle. It was much easier to just let the topic drop and focus on this moment again.

The kiss deepened and that was more than enough to recapture his full attention. He could count the number of people he’d kissed on one hand, but Pelle was easily the best at it. Long fingers reached down Øystein’s back, fiddling at the hem of his shirt and attempting to pull it off, earning a sharp slap against his knuckles.

“It stays on,” Øystein told him, drawing away from his lips enough to speak. It earned an indignant look and noise from Pelle, but he didn’t fight him on it. Finally, something Pelle just accepted and didn’t force Øystein to argue with him on. “Don’t pout.”

Pelle didn’t say anything about it, although his expression didn’t sweeten by much. Øystein chose to ignore it. Instead, he kissed Pelle again and pressed closer to his body. He didn’t even notice when he started rocking against the blonde, too caught up in paying attention to him. Long fingers settled for just touching Øystein’s skin beneath his shirt, fingertips running along his spine before nails dragged back down the length.

The sharp sting on his skin spurred him to continue rocking against Pelle, groaning as his jeans provided a bit of harsh friction. He was hard in his jeans now, straining against the front. Pelle seemed to be in a similar state when he thought to take notice. His hands slipped between them, pulling away from the kiss and putting space to open their jeans.

His fingers were clumsy as he worked them open, shoving them down only far enough to serve its purpose. Pelle was completely hard when Øystein finally exposed them both and his fingers wrapped around the blonde man’s cock a moment later. He didn’t react much at first which surprised Øystein, but he supposed the other had always been odd.

For a long time, he hadn’t even been sure Pelle desired sex. He’d never expressed any interest in girls and hadn’t ever really showed signs of enjoying sexual contact at all. By now, Pelle had made enough first moves to dissuade the idea that it was completely uninteresting to him.

He stroked harder, wanting to draw a reaction from the other man. It took a bit more, tightening his fist the way he’d learned Pelle liked most, before he got what he was looking for. Pelle squirmed suddenly and nearly dislodged Øystein from what he was doing, a soft cry escaping his pale lips and he sounded almost surprised by the pleasure.

Øystein smiled once he’d found his satisfaction, stroking him for a bit longer before adjusting himself to be closer to Pelle’s body. Pelle’s fingers reached out to curl around Øystein as soon as he was close enough, making the dark-haired man whine. He wished he could be more like Pelle, less sensitive and more composed, but everything had him shifting and crying out. He stroked Øystein slowly, savoring each noise.

“Your hands are cold,” Øystein complained weakly. It was very obvious it didn’t bother him too much, he never became less hard nor did he try to escape from Pelle’s touch. If anything, the coolness of his skin added an extra layer of unique pleasure to this.

“I can stop if it’s a problem,” Pelle retorted with a knowing grin. Øystein’s eyebrows furrowed at being teased, but he kept quiet and focused on the pleasure for another second more.

He shoved Pelle’s hand away from his cock and lined up with Pelle’s own, trying to wrap his hand around both of them. It was an awkward angle and Øystein found his hands weren’t quite long enough to manage this. He still tried valiantly. It was a lost cause and they both knew it, but Øystein moved his hand and adjusted his grasp on them as though he may find a technique that allowed this to work for them.

“Let me,” Pelle encouraged, his voice softer and less teasing this time around. Øystein wasn’t happy about it, but he relented and let Pelle’s hand replace his own. It turned out to be a good choice in the end because Pelle made it work.

His fingers and palm were large enough to wrap around both of them, palm resting on his own cock and his fingers curling around Øystein’s to press them close together. The added pressure excited Øystein, especially when he considered how odd or unconventional this may be. The taboo nature of being with another man like this excited him.

They moved without speaking after that, although it was far from a quiet experience. Whimpers and moans dragged their way free from Øystein with every particularly good stroke. Sounds were even pulled from Pelle at times, mostly airy and high noises that Øystein clung onto every time. He wished Pelle was more vocal, but he would survive.

Pelle stroked them together for a while until Øystein felt himself growing closer. At that point, he began rocking his hips almost involuntarily. He was chasing after the feeling and it was amplified when he could set his own pace. There was also a primal element to it, fucking mindlessly into Pelle’s hand, crouched on the forest floor.

He was lost in it, almost missing when Pelle came. Luckily, the noise caught his ears. Pelle let out a louder cry, a harsh shudder going through his body and his fingers tightened around them. He spilled fast and hot over both of their skin, slicking the movement even more. A whine escaped him as his come settled on a few fresh cuts on his stomach, but he let it rest there until Øystein was finished to avoid disrupting the man.

It was sweet of him and Øystein would make it up to him at another time. He wasn’t far behind him, not making him lay in his own come for very long. Pelle tried to move his hand from his own cock to wrap solely around Øystein’s, but the dark-haired man reached down quickly to tighten around Pelle’s hand in order to keep it around both of them.

“Don’t. Feels good,” Øystein told him and Pelle seemed to want to argue against that. Ultimately, he let it happen. “Thank you,” He breathed, continuing to rock into the grasp. He tightened his hand around him even more, holding onto Pelle’s hand to guide him. Pelle’s fingers rubbed at the sensitive head and that was too much.

Øystein cursed as he came, holding Pelle’s hand hard enough to nearly hurt. His eyes closed while he finished, thighs trembling and breath shaky. When he opened his eyes again finally, his come had added to the mess on Pelle’s stomach and without thinking, he instinctively moved to pull his own sweater off to clean them up. Goosebumps rose to his arms when the cold air hit his bare skin, but it was worth it to make sure Pelle was more comfortable now.

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charlietheepicwriter7 · 3 months

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Source Red Robin: Torture me all you want, I won't tell you anything! Dr. Danny Fenton, Gotham rogue: Oh, I don't want you to tell me anything... I want you to beg, I want you to whimper... I want you to sing. I don't want to talk; I want to hurt you and I want to enjoy it. Red Robin: Well, it's going to take a lot to get me there! Danny: Oh, I hope so. I can't wait to hear you scream- Ellie: Um, hey boss? Danny: Ah- What? What is it, we're a little busy here! Ellie: Yeah, I can see, it's just... I had a question? Danny: Oh, for Christ's sake, what is it, Ellie? Ellie: Well, the goons and I have been talking and we were just wondering... When are you two going to fuck? Danny:...What? Red Robin: Yeah, what? Ellie: Like, I get that this is a torture session and all, but... it kinda sounds like ya'll are gonna bone or something. Danny: This is my archenemy, what the fuck, Ellie! Ellie: This isn't like a enemies slash lovers thing because like, I'm down for it if you are- Danny: Get the fuck out of here, Ellie! I'm busy, don't ever interrupt me again! Ellie: Alright, I'm going, I'm going! Danny: Jesus, Ellie... They almost caught us this time. Red Robin: Well, that was close. Danny: Do you just want to make out now? Red Robin: Yeah.

#dead tired #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #c: danny fenton #c: danielle fenton #c: tim drake #based on a youtube short #cw swearing #cw implied nsft

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dontmakemeright · 6 months

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Hearing them moan for the first time ~ Not whining, not whimpering, none of those sweet, needy noises. A low moan escaping their mouth from deep down, thick and guttural - in absolute disbelief about how good I'm making them feel. Ughhh.

#adding the look on their face and them holding onto me #dead #deceased #ftm dom #ftm top #ftm trans #trans dom #trans top #dom/sub #ftm t4t #trans boy #trans man #kodakpost #t4t nsft #ftm nsft

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chernozemm · 9 months

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carnal

from Christian Latin carnalis, from caro, carn- ‘flesh’ -pertaining to or characterized by the flesh or the body, its passions and appetites; sensual -merely human; worldly

chewing drywall at the parallel with Eve eating the apple but crowley chose to tempt aziraphale with meat.

also bonus XXX content under the cut

#go2 #good omens #good omens fanart #crowley #aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #ineffable husbands #myart #truly obsessed posessed upset and screaming at the shortcut this scene was #to introducing aziraphale to the concept of his own body and how good it can feel #and to the pleasures of being human #dead dove do not eat #nsft

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schrodingersschlong · 6 months

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whaaat no I totally didn't get hard as a rock just from blowing you that's crazyyy you totally shouldn't be mean to me about it or make fun of me that would be terribleee

#<3text #god. uh. what's even the word for this. humiliation??? whatever i'm #brain dead rn #mlm nsft #mlm ns/fw #nblm nsft #nblm ns/fw

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thatwriterchick222 · 25 days

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snakebite (arthur morgan x f/reader) oneshot

summary: you get bitten by a snake and arthur has to suck the venom out... what could go wrong?

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“Shit…” You cursed under your breath, clutching at your thigh as you fought to push down the pain of the snake’s venom coursing through your veins. It was a deep bite, and you barely caught a glimpse of the thing before it slithered away. But the throbbing in your flesh was enough to know it was venomous.

Your horse had gotten spooked by the snake and bucked you off, fleeing for the treeline. The wind was knocked out of you as you hit the ground and unfortunately landed right on top of the reptile. Deciding it had had enough, it lunged and bit your thigh, rightfully so. Its fangs shot through the material of your skirt and bloomers, down into your muscle.

Thankfully, Arthur wasn’t too far behind.

“What the hell?” He asked as he pulled his horse to a stop, seemingly confused by your horse running off and finding you lying on your back in the grass.

You were lightheaded. Nauseous. “A damn snake bit me.” In an effort to sit up, you pressed down harder on your bite, hoping to at least slow the venom as it seeped further into you.

What an embarrassing way to go. Especially in front of Arthur, of all people.

“Christ.” He said, quickly stepping down from his horse. He made his way over to you as you managed to sit up against a tree, breaking out into a sweat.

“I don’t feel too good.”

Arthur knelt down to your level, his eyes scanning yours with a sudden urgency that made your throat close up. “Don’t look too good ‘neither.”

“Thanks.” You chuckled.

He reached forward and felt your forehead with the back of his hand, and your heart fluttered in your chest.

Even on your deathbed, you could not suppress your lasting crush on Arthur Morgan. Pathetic.

“Where’d it getcha?” He asked, looking down to where your hand clutched your leg.

You lifted your hand, “My thigh.”

“Okay…” He thought for a quick moment, scooting closer to you. “Lift your skirt up.”

You froze, swallowing thickly with your dry mouth. “I- Alright.”

Trying to ignore his wording and the pit in your stomach, you did as he said, pulling your linen skirt up to expose the small patch of blood on your white bloomers.

Without a word, Arthur grabbed the fabric, pulling at the holes where the small fangs had broken through, and ripped them wide, exposing the wound.

“What are you doing?”

“Gettin’ the venom out.”

You blinked, feeling the warm pads of his fingers brush your skin. “How?”

His hand reached under your knee, pulling your leg up, and you nearly flinched. Not because you were scared, but because you didn’t want him to know how much you liked it.

His eyes darted up to yours. “I gotta suck it out.”

You took a sharp breath in, adjusting your body awkwardly. “Oh.”

Then, as quickly as he had ripped your bloomers apart, he bent down, gripping your thigh tightly as he brought his mouth to your bite.

And it stung like all hell. He created a suction and you felt as if you were being bitten all over again, a searing pain overcoming the area as you gasped.

But there was still something very erotic about all of this. And you scolded yourself for thinking it. If someone were to pass by, they would see a cowboy with his head buried in your lap, and that brought a blush to your cheeks as he pulled away, turning to the side and spitting the venom out into the grass.

When he went back in, it hurt even worse, the numbness from your adrenaline wearing off. He sucked especially hard, and you grit your teeth, instinctively reaching forward and grabbing his arm. “Arthur–”

He pulled away again, spitting into the grass. When he turned back, he looked at you, his eyes strangely dark and his brow furrowed in concentration. Why was his face so close to yours? Maybe it was the venom. It had gotten to your head. Your skin was heating up, and your heart pounded hard in your ribcage. His hands were on your thigh, your fingers digging into the arm of his shirt, and you only stared back at him.

He broke the eye contact and went back down, this time only sucking lightly. You assumed he had gotten what he could out of your body. But your belly was warm and you felt the overwhelming urge to get closer to him, your body pulsing with pain and… arousal.

You pressed your lips together in pain, and when he sucked one last time, a whimper fell from your lips. But he didn’t suck anything out of you like he did before. His lips were on your skin and then they weren’t, and then they were back, landing higher up your thigh. Your hand loosened on his bicep and you didn’t know why, but you started rubbing him with your thumb.

You couldn’t see his face under the brim of his hat, but you felt him move his mouth higher, his teeth grazing you and his beard scratching against your skin. It tickled. His fingers dug into your thigh, and you drew in a breath, a suspenseful silence overtaking you.

A sudden bravery took over your body. You scooted closer to him, and he moved even further up, his lips pressing lightly against your skin. Was he… kissing you?

You swallowed when his nose brushed your inner thigh. And then you spread your knees further apart.

Any pain you had was replaced with the burning ache for him to touch you.

“Arthur.” You finally got the willpower to croak out his name, but you didn’t know what else to say. You said his name like a question, but also like a request. A demand. Like you wanted him to stop, but you also never wanted him to stop.

He halted anyway, lifting his lips from your skin, the coolness of the breeze on it telling you that you were wet with his saliva. He didn’t look up. He kept his face hidden by the brim of his hat.

You could slice the tension in the air with your knife. But why would you want to? You had been waiting for a moment like this for the entire time you had known him.

He was always shy, and barely ever spoke about how he felt. You figured you would have to make some move or give him some hint… but now, at such an inopportune time… he seemed to want something from you too.

Were you drunk on adrenaline and snake venom? Probably. Was he taking advantage of you in a vulnerable state? Maybe.

You lifted your leg, shuffling even closer. You couldn’t speak. And neither could he. But somehow there was this silent agreement that you both wanted something. You lifted your skirt higher, and he finally looked up at you.

He almost looked like a different man. His jaw was clenched, his pupils large and his eyes burning into yours like a wolf hunting its prey. There was a smudge of your blood on his bottom lip.

You nodded. Please don’t stop.

With just as much urgency as he had when trying to potentially save your life, he quickly reached for the waist of your bloomers and pulled them down. If it had been any other man in any other scenario, you would have hidden yourself in embarrassment and covered your eyes so you didn’t have to see him see you.

But it was Arthur. And he was quickly lifting your legs, pulling your hips up and closer to him, and burying his face in between them. He didn’t have time to take it slow, and you didn’t care, your insides pulsing and your face going hot. Your bloomers were still around your ankles, and his hat was still hiding his face as his breath was on your cunt.

You lay back against the tree and he dove into you, his tongue exploring you aggressively, drinking you in with such passion you thought you might pass out. It suddenly occurred to you as you cried out that you were only meters away from the dirt road, barely hidden by the grass. Now, if someone passed by, it would look like you had a cowboy’s face in your lap because… you did.

Your hand flew to your mouth when he began to suck on you, those same lips that had just been sucking snake venom out of your leg moments prior. Your thighs clenched around his head, threatening to knock his hat off, but you kind of liked it on. He couldn’t see you, and you couldn’t see him. There was some level of anonymity to this act, like maybe for just a moment you could be different people and not have to deal with the aftermath of your actions.

But fuck, he was good. It made you question if he had been practicing on someone. Who had he been practicing on? He could practice on you for the rest of your life if he wanted.

You bucked your hips into his mouth when he groaned into you, already finding yourself nearing your breaking point. His tongue was rough but rhythmic, and it was so quiet outside you could hear the squelching of your wetness against his mouth.

The feeling was building up inside you. You were floating, you were grinding yourself on his nose. Your eyes darted to your snake bite, red and swollen, and to your torn bloomers around your ankles, and to Arthur’s arms holding your legs as he bent over, doing something fucking incredible with his tongue.

You cried out as you came in his mouth, your hand finding his forearm, digging your nails into it. Your back arched and your hips bucked, shuddering with the feeling of it. He groaned into your core, seemingly just as pleased to feel you come as you were to come, and he slowly let you ride it out.

Catching your breath, you looked around, slowly coming back into yourself and realizing where you were. What you both had done.

Arthur’s grip on your legs slowly loosened, and when he pulled away from you, his eyes avoided yours. He lifted your leg and untangled himself from you and your bloomers. You wanted to rip his hat off and look at him. You wanted to kiss him. To taste yourself on his lips.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, clearing his throat. “Sorry.”

You sat up, your bare ass scraping against the dirt. And you couldn’t help but laugh.

Sorry? He was apologizing? Like he didn’t know what came over him. Like he couldn’t help but make me come on his tongue. A simple mistake. Oops. You laughed harder, pulling your bloomers up. The pain of your bite suddenly came back to you, and you winced as the fabric rubbed against it.

He finally looked up at you from under the brim of his hat as you managed to get your bloomers back up. Then he let out a chuckle.

You wanted to return the favour. You sat up and were about to reach for him, grab him and touch him and maybe provide him with an ounce of the pleasure he just gave you, but suddenly a voice came from the road.

“What the–”

You and Arthur both quickly looked up, seeing a man on his horse staring at the two of you with confusion.

You were still flushed, and coated in a sheen of sweat, and your skirt was pulled up as Arthur knelt beside you. Oddly enough, it actually was exactly what it looked like.

“Snakebite.” You fought your smile, looking down at your leg as you spoke to the man.

Arthur nodded, “Had to… suck the venom out–” He stood up, and you noticed the bulge in his pants. Thankfully, he turned away from the man before he noticed.

“We should get you to a doctor,” Arthur said, reaching his hand out to you as if nothing had happened. You were still burning from your orgasm, but you pushed your skirt down and grabbed his hand, allowing him to pull you up.

“Well,” The man cleared his throat. “Good luck, then.”

###

You both rode back to camp in silence.

You wanted to pretend nothing happened, but you couldn’t help but watch Arthur keep adjusting himself in the saddle, clearly uncomfortable with how hard he was. To be honest, you had never experienced a man do something like that and not expect you to return the favour. But, you liked the idea of it, the taste of you in his mouth making him harder than ever. It clearly wasn’t going away, either, because he probably couldn’t stop thinking about it.

You smiled, kicking your horse to ride up next to him. “Need a little help there?” Your eyes flicked down his body, and he looked at you out of the corner of his eye. His cheeks were adorably red, and he looked away again.

“Let’s just get back to camp, first.” He reached down and moved his belt slightly, trying to ease the pressure. “Make sure you ain’t dyin’ on us.”

You smirked. “And what if I am?”

“Then we’ll need to work fast.” He shot you a look.

You felt your cheeks go just as red as his. “I can do fast.”

#arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan nsft #smut #rdr2 fanfic #oneshot #rdr2 smut #arthur morgan smut #hurt/comfort #literally so random #imagine

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tanjiroslittlesib · 4 months

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big brother!tanjiro who feels so guilty when you get needy for him

big brother!tanjiro who knows he shouldn’t help you but feels like a bad brother if he doesn’t :(

big brother!tanjiro who tells you that you’ll find someone who can satisfy you that way and that it can’t be him because it’s wrong, even though he hates the idea of sharing you

big brother!tanjiro who gives in every single time when you whine, bat your eyelashes, and tell him he’s the only one you want

big brother!tanjiro who is so gentle with you until you tell him you want him to be rougher with you, that you’re not glass that’s going to break

big brother!tanjiro who loses himself in you, as he always does, and “forgets” to pull out (you lock him in with your legs so it’s impossible for him to pull out anyway)

big brother!tanjiro who apologizes for finishing inside of you and kisses your cheeks and face profusely

big brother!tanjiro who offers to clean up his mess and doesn’t wait for a response before he’s kissing down your body

big brother!tanjiro who eats his own cum out of you and makes you cum once more on his tongue <33333

big brother tanjiro is the best brother 🥰🥰🥰

#this isn’t about nezuko it’s an x reader amen 🙏#tanjiro kamado x reader #tanjiro x reader #tanjiro smut #tanjiro kamado x reader smut #tw.incest #tw:incest #dead dove #nsft #minors dni

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darling-deadest · 1 year

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if im good can i cockwarm you while you play video games? i promise i’ll only squirm a little

#t4t #t4t nsft #anyone can reblog #t4t nblm #t4t nblnb #t4t mlm #t4t nblw #t4t kink #inspired by the hot guy i play red dead with like sir let me sit on your cock please #in other news i’m collecting a harem who wanna fuck me so bad it makes them look stupid #told one id bite him if he woke me up and he promised to give me the best dick of my life if i did so

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pseudonymphomania · 3 months

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Reverse Bunny: Solomon

#THAT’S IT FOLKS #Solomon is the last bunny and my hands are dead but IT’S TIME #ITS TIME FOR VALENTINES DIALUCI BUNNIES #I’ve been looking forward to drawing them for two weeks ❤️ 🖤#obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me solomon #obey me reverse bunny #reverse bunny #my smut art #obey me #fanart #obey me fanart #i was originally making these as shit posts but i ended up taking it seriously lol #a bunny per day until valentines #obey me nsft #obey me smut

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storytimewriting · 2 months

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More Than Fucking

“Fucking” is too vulgar for what we do, But I don’t want to call it making love When I haven’t yet said that to you.

I could pretend it doesn’t affect me But I’m not sure it would be believable When you touch me so intensely.

You treat my body as a temple. You make me want to worship you- The way you have me shake and tremble.

I’ve never considered myself religious, But when I’m on my knees before you My emotions are prodigious.

While it’s too soon to call this what it feels, Just know I’ll never call it fucking- What we do is far too real.

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thatwriterchick222 · 1 month

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save a horse, ride... two cowboys? (arthur morgan and joel miller x f/reader) AU

summary:

“What’s a pretty young thing like yourself doin’ out here all alone?” The older man said as he approached you. You licked your lips, turning to peer inside the window of the saloon, spotting your fiance chatting with a few men at a poker table. “I’m not alone.” “That’s a shame.” The older man said, his eyes running down your body. “It is.” You replied. “Well…” The brunette leaned forward, peering through the same window you had looked through just prior, his eyes searching. “Your husband ain’t with you right now…” You smiled, trying not to let his smell of earth and smoke as he leaned closer to you cloud your judgment. “Fiance, actually.” “Even better.”

a/n: y'all this one is kinda crazyyyy... porn with plot at its finest. i also love combining my hyperfixations teehee

-------------

“Bend over this table, now .” The man’s gruff voice came from behind you, his large hands shoving you down onto the wooden table. You yelped as your cheek came into contact with the hard surface, your bare breasts pressed painfully down, your body completely trapped by his strong arms.

You struggled, but couldn’t fight the moan that escaped your throat when you felt something hard press into your backside through the rough material of his jeans.

“Good thing we tied her up.” The other man said– Arthur, you think you heard him being addressed as– and you wiggled your arms that were tied behind your back, the rope looped around your ribcage a few times.

All your clothes had been forcefully ripped off aside from your pantyhose. While you were practically naked, the men were fully clothed, the roughness of their attire giving you a painful reminder every time it brushed up against your bare skin. A shiver ran through you.

###

You had been out for a few drinks in town with your fiance, whom you honestly had gotten bored of within the span of a few minutes, as per usual. But, it wasn’t your choice to be engaged. Your parents arranged it, and you had no other option but to go through with it.

This was where the so-called “high class” life had gotten you, you supposed.

When you went out for a smoke, you spotted two men leaning casually up against the brick wall, their hats tipped down just enough that you had to squint to see their eyes in the dimness of the streetlights. They looked like proper cowboys.

From what you could tell, they both seemed older, but one of them more so. He had a salt and pepper beard and you saw the traces of even greyer hair underneath his tan leather hat. He had a green plaid shirt that had the top buttons undone, and you swore you could see a dusting of chest hair beneath it.

You watched the man reach up and take a draw of his cigarette, noticing his hands. They looked like working hands, hands that had been through a lot. Strong hands. You watched him blow the cigarette smoke out through his nostrils. Then, to your surprise, he looked up at you, meeting your eyes with his own.

You blushed, averting your eyes immediately, focusing on the cigarette in your gloved hand that was almost burnt out. But you couldn’t help yourself as you looked back over at the man, and he was nudging the younger one beside him, drawing his attention to you as well. Oh shit .

The other man had lighter brown hair, his jawline wide and sharp, dusted in the slightest bit of stubble. He had an even bushier mustache on his upper lip, and his brow was furrowed as he looked up, eyes finding you immediately.

###

The younger man, Arthur, came over to the other side of the table, abruptly reaching down and fisting his hand in your hair, yanking it back. You gasped as he craned your neck painfully, forcing you to look up at him, a playful smirk on his face.

Your mouth hung open as you stared at him, breathing heavily. His eyes flicked down your face, and you yelped as you felt the other man grinding himself into your backside, rubbing against your bare skin.

Arthur hummed. “Let me put that pretty mouth to use, hm?”

###

“What’s a pretty young thing like yourself doin’ out here all alone?” The older man said as he approached you, the metal of his spurs rattling on the concrete sidewalk. His voice was soft and deep, with an attractive southern twang. You let out a small laugh, shaking your head.

“Young?” You smiled. You were only twenty-four, but from what you had been through, and where you were, you didn’t feel like it.

The other man came up beside him, his hands resting on his gun belt. “Still… Alone, in a place like this?”

You licked your lips, turning to peer inside the window of the saloon, spotting your fiance chatting with a few men at a poker table. “I’m not alone.”

“That’s a shame.” The older man said, his eyes running down your body. You swallowed, shifting your weight to avoid the heat pooling in your stomach. It was intriguing, this outright form of flattery. You liked how forward they were, unlike the people you knew. Where you were from, even hinting at it got you a slap on the wrist.

“It is.” You replied, tossing your used cigarette to the damp cobblestone sidewalk and watching it go out.

“Well…” The brunette leaned forward, peering through the same window you had looked through just prior, his eyes searching. “Your husband ain’t with you right now…”

You smiled, trying not to let his smell of earth and smoke as he leaned closer to you cloud your judgment. “Fiance, actually.”

“Even better.” The older one said, reaching up and placing his cigarette between his lips, his eyes dark and hungry as they raked over you.

###

A rush of excitement shot through you when Arthur reached for his gun belt, undoing it with ease and unbuttoning his pants with one hand. He kept his other hand knotted in your hair, the hair you had taken so much time pinning up before you went out.

God, your fiance was probably worried sick at that moment. Running around the saloon, asking people if they’d seen you, calling out your name on street corners. You fought a smile at the thought of him being worried sick, while you were tied up, pinned between two filthy cowboys in some barn in the middle of nowhere. Part of you wanted him to find you like this. To see you getting something you never got with him.

When Arthur finally pulled himself out of the restraints of his pants, you felt a chill run down your spine at the size of him. You had only ever seen your fiance’s, and it was… underwhelming, to say the least.

You swallowed thickly, feeling the other man’s warm hand run up your back, grabbing your arms that were tied.

You were utterly helpless as Arthur guided himself to your parted lips. “Open wide for me, darlin’.”

to be continued on ao3!!!

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tanjiroslittlesib · 2 months

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omg bigbrother!giyu would be so hot— just imagine him jerking off to the thought of his lil sis or something, knowing it was wrong but he couldn’t help himself :(

oml im sorry for ranting sm 😭 i js read ur tanjiro fic n loved it, so then when i saw u were taking reqs i couldn’t help myself 🤭

omg thank u so much!! i’m so glad people liked it!! ofc i’m sorry this took a hot minute to write. not the happiest with it but i hope you enjoy 🙏

big brother!giyuu being a perv for his lil sibling

tw incest, masturbation, giyuu’s a virgin, reader is gender neutral but afab

It started as an accident, genuinely, he didn’t mean to peak in on you when you were changing. He caught your naked form from the barely cracked open sliver in the door when he was going to gather you for dinner. What wasn’t an accident was how long he stared, cheeks turning a bright red as he took in your bare form. He watched the way you twisted in front of the mirror, inspecting some of the scars littered on your skin from different battles. He has to stop himself from gasping when you palmed at your chest. Like a virgin who’s never seen a pair of tits before. (He hadn’t.) Despite being a Hashira, he found himself frozen in place when you had redressed yourself and began to make for the door. Giyuu only got about a foot or so away from your door when you swung it open and looked at him puzzled. Luckily, for him, you hadn’t noticed him quite literally perving on you.

“Dinner’s ready,” Giyuu mumbled, refusing to make eye contact as he hurried back to the dining room.

The next time he ogled you was less of an accident. You had both stopped at a hot spring after a long mission. He agreed to let you go first, being the loving big brother he was. You had assured him that it was fine, you could both bathe at the same time, but he refused. Weird. But you didn’t look too much into it, agreeing with him and heading to bathe by yourself.

Giyuu sat for far too long thinking about you naked by yourself. That same blush from before dusted his cheeks as well as brought a tent to his pants. The guilt that followed was overwhelming, what kind of brother was he? Getting hard for his little sibling like that. He tried to shake it off and wait for you, as a good brother should, but instead, his feet moved without thinking. He got up and started to head back to where you were in the spring. His heart raced even faster when he spotted you, relaxing in the spring with your eyes shut. Giyuu hid himself behind a tree regardless, peeking over at you. His thoughts raced in his head of what he’d seen before and how he wished he had pushed that door open farther and just took you on your bed. The image in his mind made his dick throb, and he reached down to palm himself through his uniform. A slight groan came out of him involuntarily and he froze in panic that you had heard.

Luckily for him, you didn’t. But you did move slightly so that the water was below your chest now. Relaxing in the spring as the water warmed your body and soothed your sore muscles. He released a shaky breath, wishing at that moment that he could fuck your tits. Giyuu undid his belt quietly, and slowly so you wouldn’t hear. Fishing out his hard and aching cock, and gathering the sticky mess at the head so he could stroke himself. He felt absolutely disgusting, touching himself like that to you. While you were unaware and innocently bathing yourself. But he ached so bad, his cock weeping to be inside you, any of your holes. Or between those beautiful tits. One hand gripped the tree to stabilize himself while the other one sped up, his movements getting sloppier.

When he watched you get up out of the water, your body completely on display, he bit his lip to hold back a groan while he carelessly stroked himself faster. It was when he noticed, in his lust-drunken haze, that his little sibling was staring right at him.

His knees almost buckled as he came, spilling all over his hand and dripping to the ground lewdly.

As soon as he comes to his senses, he meets your eyes again, shame beginning to weigh over all his other emotions. You stare at him in shock, your eyes practically bulging out of your head.

“Giyuu…?”

#demon slayer smut #giyuu tomioka x reader #giyuu x reader #giyuu tomioka smut #tw.incest #tw:incest #dead dove #nsft #minors dni

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twinkmusk · 9 months

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here's some sexual dutch van der linde headcanons :3!

heavy dom/sub aspects, dutch is a sadist, gn and bottoming reader!

dutch needs to be in control at all times

like really, at all times.

even outside of his tent he likes to remind you that he's in charge, standing behind you while you're engaged in conversation and slinking a strong arm around your waist

if he's feeling especially bold or especially possessive he might go as far as pressing open mouth kisses onto your neck, regardless of who's watching

enjoys watching you fluster in front of your peers all because of him

everyone knows you're dutch's plaything, he makes it obvious enough, and you do as well with your volume levels at night

basically the master of whispering sweet nothings, always murmuring compliments and praise into your ear when deserved

would never admit it, but he loves when you're a brat and he gets to give you an attitude adjustment

if youre being especially unsavory he will punish you accordingly

always very serious when you're in trouble, he just likes to make you squirm under his gaze and make you nervous he'll do something drastic

spanking is his favorite punishment to give you by far, he absolutely adores how undone and submissive you become for him after the first 10 strikes

he won't take his rings off either, which adds an aching kind of pain to the already sharp sting of his palm

takes pride in his ability to both please you and make you cry <3

dutch uses sex to fuel his ego and to hear what he wants to hear, whether that's you underneath him moaning his name or you sobbing and apologizing bent over on his lap

on bad days, when dutch is sure people are losing faith, he'll edge you until you're blabbering about how loyal you are to him and how much you need him

wants you to be dependent on him, like you couldn't possibly survive or achieve pleasure without him

the use of honorifics make his pants tight, hearing a timid "yes, sir." is music to his ears

teases you by going real slow, loves feeling you roll your hips against him

loves to listen to you beg for him to take you properly even more

but don't you worry! he'll use you properly after some time, always leaving you choking on gasps from the brutal pace he sets

finishing on your face is his favorite, like he's marking his territory

and that will always end with him wiping it off with his thumb to make you suck it clean

hope this is okay n not super ooc :D im a daddy dutch truther sorry </3

#rdr2 smut #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #dutch van der linde #dutch van der linde x reader #dutch van der linde x y/n #dutch van der linde headcanons #dutch van der linde x gn reader #rdr2 nsft #red dead redemption 2 headcanons #dutch van der linde smut

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glimmeringtwilight · 17 days

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Daffodils p2 | Yandere Diluc x Reader x Dottore

this might be incoherent. i still dislike the ending but atp if i keep chipping away i'm going to abandon it lol

CW: referenced reader death (from p1), angst, captivity, yandere themes, body horror (mild for. y'know. my usual), minor character death, NSFW (not super explicit, and no specific wordage for uuu parts), cuckholding, blood, non-consensual voyeurism (diluc), dubcon, unhealthy relationships, unhealthy coping mechanisms (do not imitate)

Word Count: 2.6k

It’s a dreary autumn day when the master of the winery returns with you in tow.

The manor is quiet, still as the Snezhnayan winter that he trekked through for the past several sleepless days and nights to get you. More quiet, however, is you, who hasn’t spoken a word since Diluc dragged you out of that dimly lit, dilapidated lab stinking of chemicals that he found you in.

He’s tried everything he knows on the journey back. You didn’t struggle once as he carried you back home– didn’t try to run when he’d rest with you in his arms– but you didn’t say a single thing to him no matter how hard he tried to get you to speak.

That’s fine. It’s shock, he supposes. He doesn’t know what that madman did to you, and if he didn’t have such precious cargo he would have gone back there and burned that place to the ground; charring the snowy, lifeless landscape surrounding it.

But he has you. He has you now, and that’s all that matters. Even if your skin has lost some of its color now, dull and cold. Even if there’s a quiet ticking in your chest in place of a heartbeat. Even if you only ever look through him, now. It’s enough.

This is what Diluc tells himself as he returns you to the room that had been your prison for months, as he dusts off the bars of your gilded cage before locking you back inside.

You don’t say anything. But it’s enough, just having you. It’s enough, he thinks.

Adelinde keeps checking in on him now that he’s returned. Her face is always pinched with a quiet concern when she speaks to him, and the servants in the manor part like the sea against jagged stone when he walks past them in the halls.

The estate seems to hold its breath around him; no longer a ghost, but perhaps something worse. As though the light he’d held against the darkness was snuffed out, and the shadow cast in its wake was long. But he’s fine. He swears it. He’s fine, now that you’re back. He’ll be perfect for you, the perfect gentleman; the man he swore he was but could never seem to be, before.

It’s enough to just have you. To hold you every night as he lays next to you, still in your bed like a corpse, listening to the ticking in your chest like a clock counting down to nowhere. Diluc finds himself dreading the ticking and seeking it out all the same.

Weeks pass like this, with Diluc unraveling slowly as he tries to cling to the crumbling memory of you, bastardized by his selfishness and immortalized in the husk of you he keeps locked in your room.

None of the servants are allowed to see you. He hears them at night, whispering to each other when they think he’s gone to sleep.

“He’s lost his mind.”

“Are they even alive, in there? I haven’t seen them at all. Adelinde said they–”

“Keep your voice down– are you trying to wake him?”

He hasn’t lost his mind. He has you here now, to ground him, to make him whole. Even if your body seems to be crumbling, tearing apart with every passing day.

You don’t say anything anymore. You don’t eat, but you choke down whatever food he forces down your throat, teeth clacking against silverware as you stare off into nothing. Most of his days are spent taking care of you, keeping you together, stoking the fireplace in your room to keep you warm.

You don’t seem to mind the cold, but he still forces you to sit by the fire, warming you up in a facsimile of living flesh. He tries everything– cleaning you carefully every morning before dressing you, tending to the sutures that never seem to heal.

But he can’t seem to bring you back fully. Can’t seem to warm the skin that cools quickly when you’re not kept by the fire, can’t seem to wipe that glassy look from your eyes, can’t seem to drown out the ticking in your chest.

Adelinde comes home one day from running errands to find all of the clocks in the estate smashed and left out on the front steps, some of the servants already tending to the mess as the master of the estate slips back inside the manor like a shadow of the setting sun.

He can’t figure it out. You won’t talk to him, won’t hardly look at him unless he takes you by the jaw and forces you. He can barely stand to hold you.

It’s enough. It’s enough. It’s enough.

But he knows it isn’t. He can’t bear living with the ghost of you, settling for the corpse he keeps in his bed. He wants you to smile at him like you used to. Needs to hear your voice again. Holding you close while you’re still so far from him is driving him mad.

It’s another dreary day when he finally breaks. Rain pours against the roof of the estate, blazing trails down the window panes. You’re sat by the fire again as you always are, most days.

Diluc kneels at your feet, his head buried against your knees as he begs you to speak.

“I love you,” He says. He reaches up, pressing a trembling hand against your cold cheek. He can’t seem to chase the snow out of you. You don’t respond. He tries again. “I love you.”

Your eyes flick to his, the barest indication of life in them– but you look through him all the same, as you have been for weeks, now. He sits up, eyes wild, and leans over you, grasping your face desperately. He can’t bear to look at it anymore.

Diluc pulls you close, burying his face against your nape and gritting his teeth at the smell of chemicals clinging to you. You still smell like that place. Like chemicals. Like the Doctor. No matter how many times he bathes you, no matter how hard he scrubs. It’s there. Always there. Faint, but still there.

“Please come back to me,” He whispers, clutching you against his chest like you’ll slip through his fingers at any moment. …Like you haven’t already. “Please. I’ll do anything.”

For the first time in weeks, you speak. Your voice is hoarse, quiet and wispy from disuse. It’s like the sun peeking through the clouds after a long storm, a refreshing wind–

“Take me back.” You rasp, and his blood runs cold. When he doesn’t respond, you repeat yourself. “Take me back.”

Diluc stays there a minute, gasping through clenched teeth as grief and anger rattle through him. You don’t mean it. You can’t. You let out a quiet, pained sound from how tight his grip on you has gotten, and he pulls away like he’s been burned.

He can’t look at you. There’s a ticking behind your chest, behind his ears– whatever it is the Doctor replaced your heart with– he can’t unhear it. Without a word, he leaves swiftly, locking the door behind him as he goes.

When he returns, the fire in the hearth has dimmed to embers, and you’re still perched exactly how he left you. Like a doll. He breathes a shuddering sigh and moves you to the bed, laying you down and tucking you in with all the tenderness and care his trembling hands can manage.

Instead of begging you to speak, he slips out of the room again, instructing Adelinde to look after you while he’s gone.

He knows how to fix this: it must be your heart. Must be that facsimile of a beating heart stuffed into your chest that’s causing you to act so hollow and lifeless. If he can just find it, he can bring you back. He’s sure of it.

Diluc journeys for another several days and nights, returning to the lab he’d found you in and tearing the place apart until he finds what he was looking for– your heart, preserved in formaldehyde and kept in a jar like some sort of sickening keepsake.

There’s no sign of the Doctor anywhere, but Diluc doesn’t have enough mercy left in his heart to spare for the Fatui grunts unfortunate enough to get caught in his path. Blood stains his jacket an even deeper shade of red, sinking into the stitching deep enough that he’s certain even Adelinde wouldn’t be able to remove the stains.

He burns the place down once he’s finished, true to his word, leaving the smoldering building behind as he makes the journey back with bloodstained boots and clothes, carrying the final piece of you; the missing puzzle piece in his hands.

Biting winds at his back keep his pace hurried as he rushes home; he has barely slept by the time he finally returns, the sun rising over the peaceful estate of the winery like a promise of hope.

He’s delirious and exhausted from hardly pausing to rest throughout the entire journey home, but he has it– he has what he knows will fix you, bring the light back into your glassy eyes.

The manor is quiet when he steps inside, and Diluc freezes when he sees Adelinde’s body laying at the bottom of the stairs, neck twisted at an unnatural angle and her expression frozen in horror.

No-

His first instinct is to find you, stepping over Adelinde’s body despite the pang of grief that lances through his chest. Every step only turns his blood cooler in his veins, cutting through exhaustion and delirium like a blade.

The door to your bedroom is cracked and he throws it open, freezing as he sees what’s there.

You’re smiling. For the first time since he lost you, you’re smiling, eyes crinkled with warmth as the number two of the Fatui Harbingers looms over you like a malaise.

Floorboards singe underfoot, but Diluc isn’t given time to act before hands snatch his arms, ripping his Vision from him and tossing it aside. Whatever angered curse he was going to say is cut off by another pair of hands shoving a gag into his mouth, and it takes several agents to drag him into the room and force him into the chair set up by the bed.

There’s the sound of breaking glass as the struggle knocks the precious cargo he’d carried all this way from his hands, shattering against the floor. Whatever grief he may have felt at the sound is drowned out by the sight of you as the Fatui grunts forcibly sit him down in the chair and start to tie him down.

Rope cuts into his wrists and his legs as he’s tied to the chair; two of the pyro agents stay behind to keep him from thrashing or knocking the chair over as the rest slink back into the hallway.

It isn’t until the last of the rope is secured, leaving the frazzled wine tycoon seething from behind the gag but unable to do much else, that Dottore finally speaks up.

“I’m glad you could finally join us, Master Diluc,” The Doctor drawls, words dripping with condescension and cyanide. “I was beginning to worry.”

A knowing smile tugs at Dottore’s lips when he turns to see Diluc’s expression, distress creased in the lines of his brow as his attention remains fixated solely on you.

Diluc sees now. That bastard is sitting in your bed, the bed you’re meant to share with him, as gloved fingers lazily toy with your nipples. The clothes you were wearing are haphazardly strewn about the floor.

Dottore readjusts. Takes hold of your legs and wraps them loosely around his hips as he situates himself more comfortably on the bed. Diluc feels nausea roiling in his gut.

He can’t tear his eyes away when Dottore’s fingers drift downward, tracing over your stomach before dipping between your thighs. The soft sound you make burns him.

It’s torture, listening to you. He’d wanted so desperately for any sound from you– anything at all– these past few weeks, but not like this. Not while you’re looking up at that monster like he’s the moon– the most life Diluc’s seen in your eyes in weeks– as he defiles you.

Every noise seems to chip a piece of him away, cutting deeper than any blade could hope to manage.

As much as it rends him to watch, he can’t tear his eyes away, taking in the sight of you shuddering and moaning softly in response to another man’s touch.

Something acrid and bitter swells in his chest– he can’t help but think that if it weren’t for him, you’d never be here. If he hadn’t stolen you, held on too tight so that you’d run away the first chance you’d gotten, you never would have died… Never would have wound up under the Doctor, on his operating table or in this bed.

Worse, still, is the selfish insistence he still feels. If he hadn’t taken you, he fears the worst may have happened to you– as though the worst hadn’t already come true. He did all of this to protect you– yet he’d failed to do even that.

You eventually shudder in a way Diluc recognizes and he sags against the chair, feeling something crack inside him. This is killing him. As much as pain rips through his chest, he can’t help but cling to that rending heartache, tolerate it if it means he gets to see you smile again. You’re still in there– not a doll, not a ghost.

He loves you; he always will. Even this will never make him hate you– it’s not your fault that you’ve been caught up in the jaws of a monster. It’s not your fault that he’d failed you.

Dottore adjusts, and whatever self-loathing Diluc had felt starts to wither at the sound of rustling fabric. No. No-

He tries to thrash in his chair, held down by the two agents standing behind him with a firm grip on his shoulders. He tries to turn away, to close his eyes and shut out the world as the whimper from you that follows sears him like a brand. Hands dig into his jaw, prod at his eyelids with a force that threatens to blind him until he unwillingly opens them again.

Months ago, when Diluc thought you’d finally settled, finally adjusted to your new life here, there was the barest beginnings of warmth in your eyes. Acceptance. Love, his heart hoped. He’s reminded of that again; you have the same embers of warmth in your gaze as you once did before the sky fell.

That same look you’d once given him, but now it’s directed at the monster grinning down at you. He never thought that warmth could ruin him, but the grief that settles into his bones is a worse pain than one he’s ever known.

The hope that he’d journeyed home with withers and dies at his feet like the heart the Doctor had stolen from you– to know it wasn’t merely literal is agony. His greed had been the undoing of you both.

In the garden, the daffodils had died months ago; it was the end of their season. They’d planted sunflowers near where your grave once was instead, but those are dying too, afflicted by some disease or pest.

Diluc had once hoped you’d go out into the garden to see them, but ever since he’d brought the ghost of you home you’ve only ever haunted this one room; days spent staring at the hearth instead of out the window like you’d used to.

Jealousy is ugly and loud in his head, clinging to his throat like tar.

Perhaps he’s damned; he wishes that you hadn’t found the light that he’d stolen from you in another man.

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