#3 from hell x reader

[thatweirdbitchjax]

Witchcraft

Witch!Reader: Most books on witchcraft will tell you that witches work naked.

Otis: Oh let's go, let's go, naked witchcraft, baby.

Witch!Reader: glaring at Otis That is because most books on witchcraft are written by men.

Otis: Welp, that was embarrassing.

@puppet200 @purpleeggyboi @th3-r4t-48 @zeroisreallygood @im-a-simp898 @artsycrow46 @evry1h8s-me @aflairforthemelodramaticc @caretaleandotherstuff

[wreckedandpolemic]

mine - matty healy

(mdni) in which your husband feels the need to remind you exactly to whom you belong. a white and gold future fic. 2713 words.

warnings: problematic age gap, daddy kink, branding, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, praise, degradation, mild cumplay, dirty sleazy possessive man

You really, truly didn’t mean to find yourself in this situation. Sometimes, you’ll admit, it’s on purpose, playing up the brattiness until Matty snaps, doling out whatever punishment he wants as you cry and promise to be good next time. This time, though, it isn’t your fault. It isn’t. You can’t help it if your husband’s business partners see his young, hot wife and decide they want you for themselves. Besides, Matty’s always telling you to be polite, so you were. Smiling, laughing at their jokes, leaning forward as you listen with interest.

It’s not your fault if some (old, stupid) man takes that as the wrong kind of interest. Matty watches as he stumbles through attempts to flirt with you, pet names tripping clumsily off his tongue. Steam practically curls off your husband, his face hardening in fury as you smile blithely, accepting the affections without encouraging anything; he doesn't take the hint. When he tucks a loose piece of hair behind your ear, trailing his hand down in a garish attempt to touch your tit, Matty catches his wrist in a punishing grip. “Keep your fucking hands off my wife, yeah? Unless you wanna get knocked the fuck out.” His usually-subtle accent bleeds over his words, roughens their edges. Everyone suddenly becomes very interested in the silverware and heat prickles under your skin as Matty’s grip tightens on your waist, possessive.

He pulls you in for a kiss, slow and deep and an obvious performance, a public message: mine. Matty stays tight with anger the whole evening, the tension in his shoulders not loosening until you’re spread out on the bed, your dress crumpled somewhere on your living room floor and your hair haloed out on the pillow as he stares down at you. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” you say cautiously, and his face softens.

“Oh, baby, I’m not mad at you,” he promises, climbing over you to press a gentle kiss to your lips. You accept it eagerly, the bitter taste of red wine lingering on his lips. “Just need to make sure everyone knows whose girl you are, yeah? So pretty, baby. Drives me fuckin’ crazy. You know, every single one of those men wanted to take you home. Can see it in the way they look at you.”

You flush, a note of pride creeping under your skin. “But they can’t,” you say, a slow smirk spreading across his face.

“That’s right. You’re Daddy’s girl, yeah? I’m the only one who gets to take you home, gets to see you all pretty and pleading and spread out for me, yeah? Bet they go home and dream about seeing you like this.” His nails dig into your skin as he grips your hips, snapping the elastic of your panties against your skin.

“Only you, Daddy,” you promise, and Matty presses a kiss between your tits, just over your heart. It thuds faster, calling out for his touch, a wave of love crashing over you as you sigh happily. “All yours,” you say, pouting as he climbs off you and goes to root in a dresser drawer for something.

He comes back to you with an uncapped Sharpie, grinning as you shudder. “Need to make sure everyone knows whose girl you are, yeah?” You nod shakily, Matty kneeling over you and leaning down. The scrape of the pen against your decolletage sends a shiver up your spine, something close to pain but not quite it blooming where the ink stains your skin. Concentration is evident on his face as he writes, the letters bold and clear as he moves down your body. Sitting up to admire his handiwork, Matty plucks at the strap of your bra. “Can you take this off for me, princess? Wanna see your pretty tits.” You obey thoughtlessly, arching your back to slip a hand behind you and unhook your bra, tossing it carelessly to the floor. Naked but for your panties with Matty fully clothed on top of you, you shiver, exposed. There’s something that feels right about it, though, handing Matty all the power like this, and trusting that you’ll only love what he does with it.

“What did you write, Daddy?” you ask, craning your neck to try to read, but the letters are upside down and your skin bends in a way that makes the letters illegible.

Matty pushes you back down gently. “Here, darling. Let me show you.” He slides his phone out from his back pocket and takes a couple of photos before handing it to you. Eagerly, you drink in the sight of yourself, heat in your cheeks and your lips red and kiss-bitten. Then, your eyes track across the words scrawled on your skin. Property of M. Healy. A pulse of heat throbs in your belly so thickly it almost hurts, liquid desire dripping between your legs and pooling in your underwear.

Property. You turn the word over in your mind, savouring the way it traces deliciously up your spine. Matty’s property, his kept girl, his pretty toy, his to do with whatever he wants. The thought makes your head go fuzzy, the idea of being his whenever and wherever he wants melting your insides to goo. “You own me, Daddy,” you murmur, his eyes so wide with lust that they look black.

“That’s fuckin’ right,” he breathes, stripping out of his suit and boxers, his cock thudding against his belly. Eagerly, you slide your panties down your legs and kick them to the floor, watching Matty’s eyes fall to your soaked cunt. “So wet for me, princess. Does it get you off, knowing you’re all mine?” You nod, drool pooling in your mouth  as he strokes his cock slowly. “Such a good girl. My good girl. Can see how bad you want it. Bein’ so patient, princess.”

Trembling, it’s a fight to keep still, keep your hands to yourself. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, Matty still just watching. “Please, Daddy,” you whine desperately. “Can do whatever you want to me,” you breathe, and the words finally snare him, his eyes darkening as he falls on top of you.

“Whatever I want, yeah?” he murmurs, a gush of heat flooding between your legs at his words. “C’mon, sweet girl. Legs up for me. Gonna fuckin’ ruin you,” he promises, thumbing over the bold, stark letters on your skin. He dips his head, biting a harsh bruise into your neck, one you know will be luridly purple by the next time he takes you out. You giggle as he takes a greedy handful of one of your tits, grasping possessively. “These pretty tits are mine, yeah?”

“Yours,” you whimper, the heat between your legs unbearable as Matty works his way down your body, repeating it like a litany as he grasps possessively at your skin.

“These hips.” His. “This ass.” His. “These pretty thighs.” His. “This sweet, needy little cunt.”

A strangled moan escapes you as he brushes his fingers featherlight over your clit, teasing. Desperation wells under your skin, your cunt aching with need. “S’all yours, Daddy. ‘M your property,” you moan, rolling your hips up against nothing.

“That’s right,” he grins. “Bein’ such a good girl for Daddy, princess.” A moan of pure lust spills from your lips as Matty licks a broad, flat stripe over your cunt, your hands fisting in the sheets at the wave of pleasure that cascades over you. He laps at you insistently, setting a dizzying rhythm over your swollen clit. You tremble with the effort of keeping still, letting Matty do what he wants while you take it like a good girl. “S’okay, baby. Wanna hear those pretty sounds you make, feel that sweet little cunt grinding on my face,” he murmurs, the words vibrating through your core.

Matty wraps his lips around your clit, the sensation making your body jolt as he sucks on your swollen bundle of nerves. Heat blooms under your skin as Matty tongues at you and moans into your cunt, the vibration rolling gloriously through you. He digs his fingers into your thighs, so hard that you know there’ll be bruises tomorrow, further proof he owns you. Mind-melting pleasure winds deliciously through you, Matty plunging his tongue deep inside you, devouring you from the inside out.

He refuses to fall into a rhythm, refuses to let you get complacent, switching between sucking on your clit, licking at your hole and tonguefucking you at a dizzying pace. Whining incoherently, you fist a hand in his curls and grind your hips up against his mouth. Matty’s nose bumps your clit as you writhe, legs kicking in the air. Molten pleasure melts your brain, dripping sticky from your ears and puddling on the mattress. “Are you close, sweet girl?” Matty asks, pulling away to kiss wetly at your thighs. Your hazy, addled mind struggles to latch onto his words, and you gasp as he blows cold air over your clit. “I asked you a question, princess.”

“‘M sorry, Daddy,” you whimper reflexively. “Yeah. Yeah, ‘m close,” you whine, tugging on his hair to pull him back to your cunt. Matty’s fingers join his tongue, a bolt of ecstasy striking between your legs at the scrape of his calloused fingers. He works skilfully at your clit, your legs turning to jelly as waves of pleasure pin you to the mattress. “F-fuck, Daddy, m’gonna cum, want it s’bad, please, please, please!” you cry out, babbling incoherent pleas into the air above you.

“Go on, darling. Cum for Daddy.” He pairs the words with a harsh pinch to your clit, your body wracking with shudders as you pitch over the edge. Pleasure drips stickily down your spine, your vision blurring as your orgasm crashes through you. Matty doesn’t let up, sucking insistently on your clit, your cunt still pulsing with the aftershocks.

Pleasure tinged with pain kicks under your skin, overstimulation burning between your thighs. “S’too much, Daddy, I can’t–” you whimper, his free hand pinning your hips down when you try to squirm away.

“‘Whatever you want,’ you said,” Matty reminds you, running a finger through your sensitive folds. “What I want is for you to take it like a good girl, okay?” You nod shakily, swallowing thickly around a whine. “There’s my sweet girl. Colour?”

“‘M green,” you promise, shifting your hips and moaning when Matty’s tongue finds your clit again. You choke on a gasp as he sinks two fingers into you, meeting no resistance at your soaked hole.

“Such a good girl,” Matty murmurs, kissing and biting the soft flesh of your thighs, marking you as his, the undercurrent of pain glorious weaved through the pleasure licking up your spine. He finger-fucks you hard, your cunt clenching and legs kicking in the air, a second orgasm already building at the base of your spine. “My fucking girl, yeah?” Your hand drifts unconsciously down to where his name is written just below your tits. “All those men today wanted you, princess. Wanted you so badly,” he coos, your mind staticky as his fingers thrust in and out of you at a pace that sends you reeling. “Wanted my gorgeous, sexy, irresistible, perfect fucking wife,” he groans, punctuating every adulation with a quick, deep thrust, moans spilling endlessly from your lips. 

“Can’t have me,” you slur out, your mind off-balance against Matty’s unfaltering pace.

“That’s right, princess,” he says, pride colouring his tone. “You’re mine. All mine. That’s my  ring on your finger, my name next to yours.” he growls. Maybe that’s not enough. Maybe I should take you out like this, show the whole fuckin’ world how much you love bein’ all fucked-out for me, wearin’ my name, bein’ my property.” You give a helpless, strangled moan, turned on beyond words. “God, you love that, don’t you, baby? Such a good little slut for Daddy. Do you wanna cum, angel?”

“God, yes, please, please, please!” you scream out, writhing and squirming uncontrollably as the tide of pleasure wells up inside of you, threatening to overwhelm.

Matty kisses your clit softly, your cunt fluttering around his fingers at the sensation. “God, you beg so pretty, baby. Go on, darling, cum,” he orders, and your body obeys. Your second orgasm is even more intense than the first, pure pleasure washing over you and wiping your mind clean. Your vision whites out, a scream you’re only dimly aware comes from your own throat ringing out. Euphoria burns from your core, flooding your limbs, hot and intense.

You come back to Earth to Matty’s tongue working insistent and sure over your clit, your body going boneless against the fervid pleasure winding up your spine. “Again?” you whimper.

Matty pinches your hip with his free hand. “Don’t be a brat. How many times have I told you I wanna spend all day with my tongue buried in this sweet cunt? ‘S what I want, princess, like you said. SHould be thankin’ me. Colour?”

“‘M still green, Daddy. Thank you,” you say dopily, letting your eyes slip closed as pure electricity washes over you. 

You lose count of how many times Matty makes you cum, skilled fingers and tongue sending you spiralling over and over and over again. Your body feels barely a body; ecstasy in place of organs, pleasure in place of bones. When he’s finally satisfied, pulling away with his lips and chin fucking dripping with your arousal, your cunt feels sore and swollen, and you know you won’t be walking right for weeks. He climbs over you, pulling your jaw open like you’re a fucking doll and spitting the taste of you into your mouth. You swallow instinctively, smiling up at him and showing off your clean tongue.

“Good girl,” Matty coos. “Got you trained up so good, hm? God, I fucking love you, my girl,” he groans, leaning down to kiss you so that the taste of you smears further across your tongue.

“Love you too,” you say, gazing up into his eyes, lust-darkened but still liquid with adoration. “Yours forever,” you promise, lifting your left hand so your wedding ring catches the light.

Matty kneels up to take in the sight of you, fucking wrecked for him, his eyes blowing wide at his name in stark ink on your skin. He unbuckles his belt, freeing his cock, flushed red and drooling. Two fingers swipe through your soaked cunt, and you whimper at the prospect of cumming again. “S’okay, darling, m’not gonna make you go again,” Matty promises, wrapping his wet hand around his cock. “See how hard you make me, angel?” He tips his head back with a groan, slowly pumping his cock. “All for you. M’yours.”

“Made for each other,” you say breathily, eyes glued to the point where his cock disappears into his fist.

Moaning low in his throat, Matty nods. “Made for each other,” he agrees, fucking his fist wildly. You can tell from his face, the way his motions get more erratic with every passing second, that he’s close. With a gasp of your name, he’s cumming, white ropes splashing on your belly and over your tits. His jaw goes slack as he gazes down at you, his cum splattered over the brand of his name driving him wild. “Fuck. Look so fuckin’ gorgeous, darling. God, I wanna keep you like this forever.”

You giggle. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

He sucks in a sharp breath. “Can I?” he murmurs, awed.

“As many as you like, Daddy,” you smile. “I’m your property, remember? Your little slut. Your pretty cumdump.”

Matty gives a shuddering moan. “For such a princess, you’ve got a filthy fuckin’ mouth,” he chuckles, retrieving his phone from his discarded jacket. He takes at least a dozen pictures, pausing in between each to stare at you, unabashed arousal in his face.

“I learned it from you,” you smirk; you both know that isn’t true, but he likes hearing it. You drag two fingers through the mess on your stomach and suck them clean, grinning proudly up at him.

“Fuck,” Matty groans, cock twitching valiantly as he watches you. “God, drives me fuckin’ crazy when you do that. Makin’ me wanna fuck you properly, baby.”

A thrill skitters up your slime. “Please?”

[cz19y]

JEALOUSY !

[!] A.U. — High School !

FT.: Rin Itoshi & Shidou Ryusei × GN!R

:D *happy* zoom in for quality TT | No reposting on other platforms ! [ My art ]

[astrobolical]

Just out of reach

Can’t get this thought out of my head— Mammon’s too damn adorable. And the Kings’ relationships with one another and their antics is just aghhhhhh.

Mammon and Satan, bickering endlessly as you look on, watching the spectacle unfold— knowing full well that even if you deigned to interfere, it wouldn’t stop the Kings from continuing. So you look back and forth as they go on, wholly embarrassed with each claim that you ‘owned’ them more thoroughly. That one was closer to you than the other. That you were theirs.

Mammon’s tone was playful and amused, a smirk on his face as he stood with utter confidence, arms crossed over his broad chest, while Satan grew more agitated by the moment, smaller frame practically vibrating as his teeth gnashed in frustration. At times the duo would look to you, but they would interrupt themselves before anything fruitful could come of it. As embarrassing as it was, it was also quite amusing— you knew that even if it did come to blows, it’s just how they were. Yet Mammon suddenly paused.

Satan’s complaints died off as Mammon smiled, tilting his head to the side as he seemed to contemplate, golden gaze drifting to you. It happened faster than you could comprehend it— large hands on either side of your middle, lifting you effortlessly, as if you weighed no more than a kitten. Protests died on your tongue as you found yourself settling atop his shoulders, seated behind his head with legs on either side of his neck, one hand grasping at his remaining horn for balance. “Mammon!” You squeaked, taken by surprise and unsure of what he could possibly be thinking.

Yet when you settled you found yourself staring down at Satan, still grinding his teeth and glaring up at the other King with narrowed, rage-filled eyes. And you realized it all at once:

Mammon had essentially done the equivalent of taking a toy from a toddler and putting it out of reach— and only by using his massive, intimidating stature.

And, similar to a toddler, there appeared to be an incoming tantrum, as well.

Yet Mammon seemed unbothered, his laugh bubbling up as he watched the other’s expressions twist— and then he simply walked away with you still atop his shoulders, ignoring the protests of Satan and all of his insults and threats. He knows Satan could reach you if he wanted, but he wouldn’t risk your safety by simply pulling you off, either.

Rather than give Satan attention, he simply asks you what you would like to do that day— after all, you’re his and he is yours, and he will give you everything. Yet all you can do is sigh, accepting that you wouldn’t be getting out of this anytime soon. Though, being carted around by Mammon himself really wasn’t such a bad thing.

Perhaps not the best way to end the bickering, though— you were sure it would only escalate later.

[slashv1xen]

dating otis driftwood SFW headcannons

a/n: this man is fine FOR NO REASON GODAMN

his love language is either physical touch or acts of service (he either won’t get his hands off you or he’ll give you princess treatment)

he LOVES hyper-feminine girls (a little too much)

if you can cook well he is already proposing. he (unfortunately) can’t cook, so having you there is a real asset, but also he loves watching you cook (he finds it relaxing and a turn on)

definitely hates rom-coms or chick flicks, but if you like them he’ll put up with them for you (he’ll make fun of you and whatever you’re watching though)

will make portraits of you, whether that’s painting or sculpting (or something really strange), he does it as a way to show affection (and to appreciate your beauty)

he will go on rants about you (in a good way) and will do some artistic shit about you (write you poems, draw you, sing you your favourite songs, etc), as it’s easy for him to show his love, (jeff buckley coded) although he does this secretly and will NOT tell you about any of this

this man barely showers, but every time he does he wants you there (and he literally melts every time you run your fingers through his hair while washing it)

otis NEVER shows emotions he deems “weak” (sadness, vulnerability, etc), so good luck trying to get that out of him

he likes gifting you jewellery and little accessories + clothes for you (don’t ask where he got them from)

if you’re dancing to music and you ask him to join you, he will flat out refuse. no exceptions

[honeyblackberries]

toji who loves to spend all of your birthdays with you.

toji who says that every year you spent your birthday alone in the past doesn't matter anymore. he'll always be here to celebrate it now.

toji who understands what it's like to have no one wish you a happy birthday, so he always makes sure to be the first to say it when you wake up and the last to say it when you go to sleep. 

“happy birthday baby,” whispered under the blankets. the scar on his lips ghosting your ear as his hands wander your body. 

toji who’s not remotely religious or spiritual but he thanks whatever higher beings are out there for your birthday. thanks them for giving him to you.

toji who looks at your face and can’t help but believe that every wish he’s ever made came true the moment he was allowed to celebrate your birthday ♡

[a-writer-on-elm-street]

I got a lil idea with Otis with a s/o that likes to were a beauty headband with bunny ears to keep they hair out of there face when there drawing or relaxing 👀👀👀 feel like it would be a recipe for trouble lol

-❤️‍🔥

Rabbit

a/n: omg you have NO IDEA how much i love this!! thank you so much for this i had so too much fun writing it! <3

pairing: otis x afab!reader

warnings: smut, oral sex (m receiving), otis calls reader 'rabbit', no pronouns used but it's implied that reader has long hair

word count: 407

"What the fuck is that thing?" Otis asked, tugging at the bunny ears on your head.

"It's a headband," you simply told him, readjusting it. "It keeps the hair out of my face."

"Oh yeah? Well ain't it just convenient that they're little bunny ears," he smirked, toying with the ears again.

"Otis," you warned. "Where is this going?"

"It's going somewhere good is where it's going," he mused, crushing you under the weight of his stare.

"And what's your definition of good?"

You knew there was no way you could say no to him, and you could absolutely see where this was going, but you were more interested in seeing how long you could drag this out.

He leaned back on the bed, opening his legs slightly, an amused grin on his face as he looked down at his crotch. "Come on, rabbit, I know you want to."

"Want to what?" You teased, shifting closer to him on the bed. "I ain't doing nothing 'till you tell me."

Otis simply looked down at his crotch again, like that would somehow serve as a decent enough answer. And it did, but you weren't about to tell him that.

You swung your leg over his waist, straddling his lap, unable to hide your amusement as you leaned down to press a kiss to his neck.

"Am I getting closer?" You asked, your breath hot against his skin, your lips twisting into a smirk.

A dissatisfied sigh fell from his lips, as he dug his fingers into your thighs. "I ain't playin' no games, rabbit."

"Who said it was a game?" You questioned. "I was only askin' if I was close."

In response, he pushed his fingers harder into your thighs, making sure you knew he wasn't interested in messing around.

You sighed. "Fine, I'll suck your fuckin' dick."

You scooted down his body slightly, opening his pants, and soon enough, you had your hand wrapped around his dick.

"You know, I expect a certain level of enthusiasm when it comes to these things," Otis said. "And you don't look very enthusiastic."

You didn't bother to answer him as you wrapped your lips around his tip, his hips jerking beneath you from the sudden motion.

As you took him into your mouth, you could feel him playing with the bunny ears on your head, quiet groans falling from his lips.

"That's right," he muttered, petting your head. "That's right."

[ Main Masterlist ]

[venus-haze]

Pretty Tied Up (Otis Driftwood x Reader)

Summary: Or, the perils of working at Red Hot Pussy Liquors.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. This takes place between House of 1000 Corpses and The Devil’s Rejects. Based on the Guns N' Roses song. Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Armed robbery and implied kidnapping. Sexually explicit content that involves extremely dubious consent and sadism, gags, bondage, groping, and gunplay. Otis is pretty much his own warning. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Having regulars at a liquor store was a double-edged sword. You got to know some customers well enough to like them, but over time you’d notice they looked increasingly worse for wear as they came up to the checkout with their usual purchases. The exception, of course, were the Fireflys, who you always found unsettling, despite Baby’s attempts to seem affable. 

“My brother likes you,” she said one day, leaning against the counter as you rang up three bottles of vodka and two six-packs of beer.

“RJ?” you asked, glancing at her brother standing a few feet behind her.

RJ was always nice enough. Didn’t say much. Tall. Burly. Strong. Ruggedly handsome. You’d be open to going out with him.

She laughed in her usual high-pitch that always toed the line of being spine-chilling. “No silly! I’m talkin’ ‘bout Otis.”

You stared at her blankly. “Who’s Otis?”

“You know, long hair, blue eyes, scruffy ol’ beard. He came in here the other night. You must’ve made one hell of an impression. He won’t shut up about ya.”

Oh yeah. Him. Bought a bottle of whiskey and a stack of hardcore BDSM porno magazines. ‘You ever look at this stuff?’ he’d asked, eyeing you as you put a magazine with a nude, distressed-looking woman suspended by intricate ropes on the cover into a brown paper bag. When you first started working there, you could hardly stomach the sight of the rougher fare. As time went on, you found yourself hesitantly intrigued. ‘Gotta have something to do besides go to church on Sundays,’ you replied, earning a wicked grin from him. 

“That’s nice,” you said.

She snickered. “My brother’s not nice.”

“Is this everything?” you asked, hoping to move the interaction along.

“Hey RJ, you gettin’ anything else?” Baby asked over her shoulder.

He shook his head, approaching to pick up the crate you put the bottles in.

Baby handed you a wad of cash. She almost always overpaid, letting you keep the change, which was most of the reason you humored her antics in the first place. “Thanks darlin’! See ya real soon!” she said, wiggling her eyebrows, keen to something you were yet to be aware of.

Two nights later you were working the store alone. Your coworker Billy didn’t even have the decency to call and let you know he wasn’t coming in–or quit. He just didn’t show up at 9:30 when he was supposed to, and your phone call to his house was met with a busy dial tone. Asshole.

It’d been a slow night anyway, but you would have appreciated the heads up, or at least another body in the place when the front door was kicked open.

“This is a robbery! Don’t fucking move or I’ll shoot!”

Despite the bandana covering the bottom half of his face, you knew who it was right away. Long, graying hair and piercing blue eyes that were burned into your memory from his last visit to the liquor store.

You lifted your hands in the air. Your manager had told you on your first day that there was always a possibility of this happening. Better to just let them take whatever cash and booze they wanted and report it to the police once they left. ‘Don’t go playin’ hero. We got insurance.’

“Keep those hands up,” Otis said, slowly approaching the counter. “I’m gonna walk back there, and you’re gonna open the register for me.”

You nodded, eyes glued to him as he slithered around the counter like a snake, gun steadily pointed at you. 

“Go on,” he said.

With a trembling hand, you opened the register, the cash-filled drawer popping open for him. He pressed the gun to your temple, instructing you to put the cash in one of the brown paper bags by your side. You tried not to glance at him too much while you stuffed the paper bag with the money, finally pushing it toward him and sticking your hands up again.

“Alright, now turn around.”

“Wh-What?”

“I ain’t got all night.”

You glanced at the door. No way you could make a run for it, but maybe someone would walk in and be able to do something.

He followed your gaze and let out a cruel scoff. “Ain’t nobody coming through that door who can save you. I’m the closest thing to salvation you’ll ever get. Now turn the fuck around.”

With a shaky breath, you did as you were told, freezing when you felt the barrel of the gun press against the back of your head. His free hand grabbed your ass through your jeans, his strong grip almost painful as he squeezed each cheek. “Wonder how much it’d take to make you bruise?” he mumbled, almost to himself. He squeezed again, harder this time, as if he were trying to dig his fingers into your flesh. “Too much work when I can just cut into ya.”

“Don’t hurt me,” you pleaded, though hearing your own voice, you weren’t quite sure how convinced you were that you didn’t want him to do his worst. Knowing what you did about the Firefly clan, the rumblings around Ruggsville about the strange family–it would be pretty damn bad.

“C’mon now, mama. You led me to believe you liked it rough,” he said, voice gravelly and low as he slipped his hand between your legs from behind, rubbing the rough denim material and your cotton panties against your pussy, the friction hitting your clit in just the right spot for you to let out a shameful moan. Your hand flew to your mouth, the other clenched in a fist as you tried not to give him the reaction he wanted. Didn’t want to prove him right. Show him how curious you were. You didn’t even have it in you to fight back, not when you were on the edge, so achingly close until suddenly you weren’t anymore.

You nearly whined when he pulled his hand away, horrified at yourself, your reaction to his groping you. He grabbed each of your arms, roughly pulling them behind your back and tying your wrists together with something itchy and uncomfortable that dug painfully into your skin as you fruitlessly tried to free yourself from the secure knot he made. What the fuck did he use? Your eyes widened at the carpet burn-like sensation that’d begun to sting your skin. The roll of twine beneath the register. You used to secure some customers’ more sensitive purchases sometimes. 

Fingers and cloth forced their way into your mouth until you were gagged with the bandana Otis had pulled off of his face. He turned you around, looking you over with a slow, satisfactory nod. “I was having trouble getting over this mental block in my art. Started drivin’ me crazy. Y’know, they showed this nature documentary about a group ‘a lions a while back. How they protect and provide for their families, stalk their prey and go in for the kill–do you ever think about how we’re the only species where killing is taboo? For the rest of the animal kingdom, it’s just nature, part of the circle of life. There was a scene where the lion saw a gazelle from way across the savannah, and it was like nothing else existed except for its prey. It couldn’t rest until it tore that damn thing apart. That’s how I felt when I saw you.”

You shook your head frantically, your pleas of mercy muffled by your gag. Fat tears blurred your vision until he morphed into something monstrous, straight out of a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from. 

“I ain’t gonna kill ya,” he said, roughly petting your head, “not yet anyway, that’d be a waste when I’ve barely even started.” He gave you a mean grin as he grabbed a hold of your hair by the roots. “I got a lot planned for you. Those magazines gave me a lot of ideas too.”

He lowered the gun, dragging it between your breasts and further down your abdomen until he reached the waistband of your jeans. Using his other hand, he unbuttoned and unzipped them with alarming ease, pulling them down until they fell to your ankles. Your breath hitched as he pressed the barrel of the gun against your cunt, the thin fabric of your panties the only thing stopping him from being able to slide it inside of you. 

Still, the cool metal sent a shiver through you as he rubbed it against your clit, black spots creeping into your peripheral as you hyperventilated through his sadistic experiment. He was hard. That much you knew, but what frightened you, perhaps most of all, was how wet you had become since he tied you up. Your skin still screamed against the rough twine that’d been cutting into your flesh, soon to draw blood as you kept struggling.

Your hips jerked, pressing the gun barrel closer to your pussy that was eager to betray you and clench around it if he just pushed past your panties and shoved it up there. You didn’t want him to do that, not in your right mind. But no one in your situation could be considered in their right mind, could they?

“Don’t fight it,” he encouraged gruffly, blue eyes piercing through you as he watched your knees threaten to give out as you neared orgasm. “Give the devil his due, mama.”

Your hands curled into fists, nails threatening to break through the skin of your palm. Then he did it. Slipped the barrel of the gun past your soaked cotton panties. Your brain short-circuited in a rush of terror and thrill at the sensation. You came, eyelids fluttering shut, a guttural moan tearing from your throat and pushing through your gag. Your limbs felt like ghosts, incorporeal parts of you that could only offer a vague sense of feeling compared to the sensation that overwhelmed your body, pleasure and adrenaline coursing through your veins all the same.

Gun be damned, you collapsed against the checkout counter, unable to support yourself any longer. Your chest heaved, unable to catch your breath with the now saliva-soaked bandana still shoved halfway down your throat. An astounded whine escaped your lips when he brought the gun up to his nose and sniffed. “This is it, mama. This is the devil’s salvation.”

He wasn’t making any damn sense, or your brain was too fuzzy to comprehend what he was saying. All you knew about the devil was from the Bible and that stupid Dr. Satan story people regurgitated like spoiled food. If Otis was the devil, you’d believe it, though.

The sound of a car door slamming shut made your eyes widen, and you glanced over your shoulder, your muffled screams of either help or warning to however was approaching.

“Sorry about this, darlin’. We’ll have a lot more fun later,” he said, hitting you across the face with the gun, sending you to the brink of consciousness. 

The bell on the door faintly jingled, and the last thing you remember seeing was a large, familiar figure walking towards you.

“C’mon and help me get ‘er in the car,” Otis said just as you passed out. "Don't forget the cash."

[ghoulsbounty]

Hii! What's your headcanons about relationship with Otis Driftwood? Nothing too violent towards reader after they became a s/o, if you could, without going into ooc <3

Otis Driftwood In a Relationship

Warnings: smut (18+), control, possessiveness, gaslighting, mentions of sex work (not reader), canon-typical violence, aggression, narcissism, it's otis - he is a warning!

Words: 1.1K

A/N: Thank you for my first Otis request! I've been in love with this man for going on twenty years so I have lots of headcanons for him. I feel like this is realistically (to me) how he would have a relationship with someone who wasn't either a victim or murderer while still keeping him in character (I hope!) Also yes I had to get the quote in the last bullet, I was watching the film as I wrote this. I hope you enjoy it. I’d love to know what you all think to this, and feel free to send me more requests 💌

→ It's widely known that Otis harbours some unconventional interests. In the small town of Ruggsville, the Firefly family's prominence, especially their ties to local celebrity Captain Spaulding, is undeniable. In this backwater community, everyone has their own shades of darkness when it comes to entertainment or survival, so you don't bat an eyelash at the rumours circulating about the family.

 → Otis charms you with his quick wit and sharp tongue, an aura of danger enveloping him and lingering in his presence. He frequents the local watering hole where you work, spending quiet summer evenings regaling you with stories of travelling the country with his younger sister, moving from one stolen car to the next. When you ask why he returned to the dead-end town, he nonchalantly declares that family is the most important thing to him. And then, with a mischievous grin, he casually mentions his involvement in a Satanic cult. 

→ Otis thinks that perhaps what draws him to you is your refusal to flinch at his unsavoury stories or the sly smirk you offer when he alludes to the sweet taste of your skin. He enjoys the recoil from others, welcomes it even because it's what he's known since he was a child and means he's got the upper hand. You give him pause, a dangerous thing indeed. In you, he sees a kindred spirit equally disillusioned with societal norms, and he wonders how long it will take to break you. 

→ With every aspect seemingly covered, there's no obvious place for you in his life. Yet, thoughts of you intrude on his mind during the day, distracting him from his tasks. The persistent idea that you might offer something different to his routine gradually consumes him, eroding all other thoughts until only you remain. 

→ His carnal needs are met by the bottom feeders he keeps around for a quick release. Sometimes, when their pleading becomes bothersome and he wants the peace and quiet, he will end it fast because it's easier when they're cold. He pulls them into his cot and curls into them until they have festered and rotten to the point that Tiny has to dispose of them. If it's a willing body he seeks, a trip to the whorehouse suffices. 

→ It's a few months before you meet the family. Otis doesn't need to tell you the importance of the moment, you can sense it in his tense demeanour, permeating the lounge as Mama parades you around the room like a prize pig at the county fair. You sense his eyes upon you, observing your reactions to each member, particularly noting your response to Tiny's imposing presence and your handling of Grandpa's vulgarity. In his mind, he rationalizes that you'll need a strong stomach if you are going to be with him. 

→ You are under no illusion that you're not the only person from whom Otis seeks comfort. He isn't shy about the fact that he needs more than what you can give him, says as much when he insists on you leaving him be for a few days to exorcise his darker urges. He doesn't approach the subject of you joining him sometimes until he is certain that you won't spring like a scared rabbit. When he finally does ask, you accept with a morbid curiosity.

→ Otis certainly has his private indulgences, but he takes great pleasure in involving you in some of his less solitary activities. Whatever the pursuit may be, it often concludes with him inside of you, his teeth leaving raw marks on your skin as he draws out multiple orgasms from your pliable body.

→ In these moments, he alternates between showering you with praise and delivering sharp, cutting remarks, his rough fingers encircling your throat as he thrusts into you with relentless force, pushing you to the brink of ecstasy until you're cock drunk and screaming his name. He relishes in the intensity of the experience, breaking you down only to rebuild you according to his desires, sculpting you into his perfect masterpiece.

→ Over time, Otis's possessiveness and control puts an end to your employment, your independence dwindling in the face of your need to be with him and his need for your servitude. His affection is conditional upon your compliance and submission, and when you prove yourself to him is when you get your reward of a tender kiss to your nose, or being pulled into his lap for a warm embrace. His love is a privilege to be earned, and he is fast to take it away if he deems you unworthy of it.

→ Otis perceives you as an extension of himself, expecting you to conform to his desires and interests. He finds pleasure in your engagement with his world, he likes when you lounge on his stained mattress in nothing but his shirt listening to his musings on the complexities of human nature. He encourages you to challenge his viewpoints, igniting debates that fuel his passion.

→ However, you soon discover that venturing into this territory can be perilous. It often results in Otis's eyes blazing with fury, his hands trembling with conviction as he towers over you, unleashing a torrent of berating and belittling words until you find yourself on your knees before him. It's a volatile dance of intellectual stimulation intertwined with the raw intensity of his dominance.

→ It falls to you to navigate these moments, gently guide him back to a sense of equilibrium with a steady stream of apologies and affirmations, trail open mouthed kisses down his body until you feel him relax under your touch. Sometimes his tumultuous thoughts wouldn't waver and he'd either take his frustrations out on your cunt or push you away until you are begging at his door. For Otis, isolation becomes a test of your loyalty—will you stay, or run? 

→ And time and again, you choose to stay, receiving no verbal apology afterward because that is Otis' way. However, when he deems fit, he leaves small tokens on the bedside table for you to find in the morning—a small sculpture, a painting—his non-verbal way of acknowledging his feelings about his actions. You know better than to draw attention to these gestures. Instead, you offer a kiss to his lips as a silent acknowledgment of his effort to make amends. His response is typically playful yet affectionate, a light smack on your behind accompanied by an eye roll, never one to dwell on sentimentality.

→ Overall, Otis is content with you, would dare say happy. You fit into his life with ease, don't give him much grief when you're not busy bitching a song about nothing. However, the devil makes work for idle hands, and there's still work to be done in fully acclimating you to his ways. He does love watching you break.

[sijssjsbssjsnsnnskbskwns]

Hell of a summer (what songs I think match the vibe) (part 2)

Movie summary…

Y/n L/n

[mblue-art]

"…what are you staring at?" out comes the muffled question, soft and warm, like the half-eaten sesame ball lightly squished between their fingers. golden eyes flicker down for just a second at the treat, reminding him of their cheeks earlier when they were stuffed full as they chowed down on fried rice. his smile stretches wider. it's that same, lovely grin that never fails to make their heart flutter. "you," (adorable you), "of course. what, i can't lovingly stare at and appreciate my cute, cute partner?" a wobbly smile is followed by a puff of breath and the bloom of red on their cheeks. "whatever…" his grin stays.

[thatweirdbitchjax]

House of 1000 Corpses/3 From Hell Masterlist

Stories

MechFox

Incorrect Quotes

Reader Driftwood

Powdered Donuts

Just Listennn

Witchcraft

Headcannons

Runaway

Mental Child

Dear Angel

[danwhobrowses]

What's this? My skin, cleared? My crops, watered!? My heart, soaring!!??

Callowmoore softness, comfort and sleeping beside each other my FUCKING BELOVED!

[bosinclairsgff]

Dating Baby firefly head canons

(Reader is female)

Warnings: mention of NSFW and “cheating” in a way?

Holy fuck she’s so hot guys.

- Baby would be utterly obsessed with you. She’d bring you up in every conversation even if you aren’t relevant to it.

- She loves putting makeup on you and dressing you up. She thinks you look amazing either way, it’s just her love language

- Another one of her love languages is touch, so she always has a hand on you. When you guys are out walking together she’s holding your hand, if you guys are sitting next to each other her hand is on your leg.

- Some days she’ll be right by your side all day. Other days you won’t be able to find her till nighttime. She enjoys her freedom.

- Baby loves you, that’s why she thinks it’s okay to sleep with other people. She loves you so you have no competition ever. However, she’s to free to just only ever be with you. It does make her a hypocrite though, she would never let you sleep with someone else. Unless it was you, her and someone she chose.

- She would kill for you. If anyone even looked at you the wrong way, they are so dead. They’d have some horrible death to. Maybe even getting a visit from Otis.

- You get along with mama and Otis. Of course Otis can be cruel but you’ve gotten use to it, mama is usually always very nice to you. This makes Baby so happy that you get along with her family.

- One of her favorite things to do is dress up and put on a show for you. She’ll sing and dance for you.

- For dates you guys will either go visit Captain Spauldings shop and hangout there for a bit. Or you’ll go to the liquor store, get drunk and do some fucked up shit! (Not really she knows you hate violence towards people and animals so you guys will probably just watch movies and paint your nails!)

- The pet names she uses are normally sweetheart, sugar, love bug and honey.

[ghcstpyre]

Ted’s first joint headcanons, please 🥹

Also, imagine shotgunning a hit with Ted 👄💨👄🫠🫠🫠

it's time for the resident stoner to write some stoner!ted headcanons. i feel like this is becoming my staple lmao i love it

cw: drug use (weed), underage drug use and underage drinking (only at the beginning), shotgunning

also i feel like i need to say this but obviously i don't condone doing drugs or drinking alcohol while under 18. this is fictional and all my own personal headcanons :)

ted (and by extension, bill) were 16 the first time they tried weed. they'd somehow managed to get invited to one of their classmates' house parties and at some point in the night had found themselves sat outside in the back garden with a group of people who seemed the complete opposite of drunk and smelled really funky. they'd accidentally slipped into rotation while a blunt was going round, not realising at first that the group was sat in a circle for a reason.

bill was more than happy to give it a go when it was offered, but being the more cautious of the pair, ted was a little nervous. if his dad somehow found out, or smelled it on his clothes later, he was toast. after some encouragement from bill and a few of the others in the circle, he caved.

much to his disappointment, ted didn't actually get high the first time he smoked. he felt more relaxed, but that was about it. he spent the rest of the night slowly sipping on his beer and laughing at/taking care of a very stoned bill. it wasn't exactly an unpleasant experience for him - he didn't cough his lungs up like bill had, it didn't taste terrible like he'd expected it to, and one of the cute girls in rotation had called him a natural which acted like a soothing balm over the simmering pot of nerves still lingering in his stomach.

it wasn't until a few years later that bill and ted became fully fledged pot heads. they'd smoked a little here and there when it was offered, but only managed to get their hands on a dealer's number sometime after graduating high school and moving into their apartment.

ted was designated roller the day they christened their apartment. they'd both attempted rolling before, and while they weren't the best, ted's rolls were infinitely better than bill's; wonky, a little loose and slightly pregnant, but smokeable. needless to say, the two of them got blazed that day and ted actually managed to get high. bill blamed it on his height ("you're just too tall dude!"). they ordered a copious amount of junk food and ended up passed out together on their shitty sofa with a nature documentary on tv.

it wasn't until you came into the picture that both boys actually got good at rolling. ted in particular. not because he wanted to impress you or anything, no way. a cool, sweet, totally bodacious babe who liked all kinds of music, smoked weed and wanted to hang out with him? it was almost too good to be true.

one night with you in particular made ted's head spin.

bill was at work, leaving you and ted alone in the apartment. obviously, ted had already rolled another for the two of you for when bill left - he'd been waiting for a chance to smoke with you alone. it was the perfect chance to make a move.

he'd planned on ordering food, sticking on a movie (maybe a rom-com, girls like that right?), scooting closer to you on the sofa while you smoked and maybe try the whole fake-yawn and stretching an arm behind you maneuver. ted only got as far as scooching closer when you plucked the blunt from his fingers and took a long drag before cupping his cheek, turning his head to look at you so you could part his lips and blow the smoke into his open mouth.

in that moment, ted was pretty sure he fell in love with you.

[slashv1xen]

*kicks open door** GROSS CREEPY REDNECK MAN!?

No but seriously Otis is my guilty pleasure character and I need him with a 'tomboy' reader (aka a basic rural southern woman (It'd be nice if you could include her being oddly feminine despite all the hunting and the cursing and the fighting: Like she calls him a cunt then goes and bakes a bunch of sweets or goes off to work on a dress tailoring project XD))

i like the way u think ;) also otis does NOT have enough fanfics/headcannons written about him and it’s actually a crime

i feel like otis has two types of girls: the same (tomboy like u mentioned) or the opposite (hyper feminine girl from the city).

i also think that when he stumbled upon u he had the only intention to kill u like other victims, but something keeps him from doing so (that’s up to u anonie). and i think it sealed the deal after u got along with his family (helping mama clean up around the house + doing baby’s hair for ex.) after keeping u locked up in his house for months. he’s also definitely a family man, so he appreciates it.

like otis, u have a smart mouth on u (which otis thinks is cute only to a certain degree, going further than that and u wish u hadn’t opened ur mouth in the first place). nonetheless, otis still loves u, and thinks ur cussing and smart mouth makes u all the more loveable.

because u happen to be a tomboy, when u do traditionally more girly things/have girly hobbies it surprises him, but he doesn’t hate it (in fact he thinks it’s cute but he would never say that out loud), which makes u a combo of both fem and masc (best of both worlds - his words not mine).

one shot 💗

“yes!” you shouted as the bullet that shot from the rifle hit the deer in the head, otis grumbling (but you knew he was proud of you). the two of you had a bet on who could shoot prey first, and you won. “pay up baby!”

otis rolled his eyes with a cocky grin on his face as a slapped a scrunched up $10 bill in your hand. “i was just going easy on you, i could easily beat you next time.” he yelled as you walked away giggling with the money, waving him off. “yeah, yeah!”

as the both of you made it into the house you noticed that otis’s air around him was tense. you frowned slightly but didn’t say anything, after all he hated speaking about his emotions, or just hated talking about emotions in general (it didn’t help he was practically a pro at hiding his emotions). then it clicked in your head as he roughly put his rifle down. ‘is he annoyed he lost the bet? i wouldn’t have picked him as the sore loser, petty type.’ you chuckled, finding it a little cute, but you still didn’t want him sulking around.

suddenly an idea came into your head, and immediately you began working, knowing that this would surely cheer him up.

after around 2 hours you knocked on his door, and he muttered that you could enter. you did, and set a warm tray on his bed. he was sitting at his desk, working on some art project (he’s always got some art project to do). he smelled the air and turned to the bed, and his eyes lightened up for a second before a confused expression emerged onto his face.

“cookies? what’d ya do this for?” he rose an eyebrow, wondering if this was a ruse or something. you tsked, annoyed he didn’t understand the gesture, but you explained it to him either way. “well i noticed you seemed a bit annoyed for losing the bet, and i thought this would make you feel better.” you smiled, feeling proud of yourself.

“hm, didn’t pick you for a baker type’a girl.” he mumbled, inspecting the cookies. you scoffed before his eyes met with yours. “y’know, this is unnecessary. i’m not even mad, you’re seeing into things that aren’t there.” he said, speaking up louder. you were annoyed at this reaction. you spent 2 hours baking him cookies (he has a big sweet tooth) to cheer him up and this is the thanks you get.

“fine, i’ll just take these back and give them to someone who’ll actually appreciate them and won’t be a dick about it. maybe baby, or tiny.” you grabbed the tray before you felt otis’s calloused hands grip your wrists, forcing you to set the tray down.

“hey baby, don’t be like that. y’know i didn’t mean it like that, i appreciate the effort, i do. i’m just surprised, okay?” he looked genuine and his eyes met yours. you were waiting for him to say sorry, but the way he his, he probably wouldn’t. you sighed, not saying anything. he sighed as well, and with all his strength, he mumbled something. “…sorry.”

you’re eyes lit up when he said this. otis driftwood, saying sorry? that was a first. suddenly a grin flew onto your face as you hugged him and laughed.

“now, stop that bad mood of yours and let’s eat these cookies before they get cold.”

tysm for this request, i had so much fun writing it! i’m sorry if this wasn’t up to ur standards it was a challenge to write and i wanted it to get out asap. if u have any more please send them in, i would love to hear them x