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sadhours · 8 months ago

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quit acting like a puppy • part one

BILLY HARGROVE x F!READER

masterlist

cw: 18+ minors dni, smut, dirty talk, rough sex, spitting, oral (m & f receiving), slapping, name calling, p in v, unprotected, friends with benefits, enemies (?) to lovers, pining

summary: you hook up with Billy and it’s great but you’re not looking for anything serious. but he can’t get enough of you.

Your fingertips move over his abs, drunken eyes focused on the way they flex and as they glance up, you catch a wicked smirk and darkened blue eyes staring back at you.

“C’mon, babe,” he purrs, “go ahead and get your fill before I keep them hands busy.”

In your intoxicated state, his words work but if you were just a smidge more sober, you’d cringe at them. You feel down his hip bones, down where his muscles point down to the thing in his pants he was bragging about back at the bar, the reason you’re even at his apartment in the first place. Sure the rest of him is gorgeous, but he talked a big game about his uh, endowment.

You drop to your knees, rolling your eyes at his comment before licking at the skin right above the waistband of his jeans. He loses a bit of composure from it and the way you scratch manicured nails down the sides of him. Makes a pretty sound that inflates your ego and has you sucking bruises against his golden skin. He shaved recently, the hairs barely there and you think it makes him more sensitive. Billy cards his fingers through your hair, tugs at the roots and chuckles out a breathy, “Guess your tongue works, too.”

“Oh, my tongue works. You’ll see,” you tell him confidently, licking a broad stroke up his abs as you unbutton his Levi’s and tug them down around his ankles.

You move down to mouth his hard on over his briefs and Billy groans. You glance up to catch his head tilting back with pleasure and you’ve barely even started, it makes you smirk against him. Focusing on the head, your hand moves to cup his balls and you’re quick at work making the fabric of his briefs soaked where his tip is. Sucking and licking. When you squeeze Billy’s balls, he lets out a louder noise and his hips jerk forward as he pulls on your hair. You can taste the saltiness of his precum seeping through the material and you hum happily against him. Billy attempts to shove your face against his crotch harder but you push on his thighs, pulling away from him.

“Sit,” you tell him, nodding to his bed, “Take them off.”

As Billy steps back, he pushes his briefs down to his ankles and kicks them off along with his jeans. Sits on the bed, palms on the sheets and spreads his legs for you. It’s easy to scoot between his feet, smoothing your hands up his thighs and scratching down them as you admire his cock and balls. He’s thick, mushroom tip shaped perfectly and it’s pink, leaking out the slit and dripping down the shaft. His balls are heavy but tight, sit pretty on the sheets and you think you’ll start with them. A quick glance up to make sure his eyes are on you before you lean down and graze your lips against his sack, feeling the weight of his cock against your face.

“Christ,” he breathes out, watching you intently, “you’re a fucking nymph, aren’t ya?”

You reply by licking at his balls, looking up at him with wide eyes. Nose nudging his shaft with your motions. The dude has stars in his eyes. You’ve had plenty of experience in this department but you’re determined to impress him because he might be the hottest one on the roster. You take the time to admire him, sculpted muscles corded in his arms and chest that lead up to a strong neck and jaw, surrounded by an overgrown curly blonde mullet. He’s got stubble but it’s thicker above his soft, pink tinted lips. Sharp cupids bow to match his angular cheekbones. Soft and adorable button nose that leads up to strong brows. Matched with the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen and some seriously luscious and curly dark eyelashes. The guys a natural blonde, as his pubes prove but his brows and lashes are dark. Like God was looking out for him.

“You’re fucking hot,” you admit as you pull away from his balls and Billy scoffs, all condescending but it’s cut short when you grab hold of his cock, tight at the base of him as you blink up at him. “But you know that. I don’t need to tell you.”

“You can tell me,” he gasps, abs flexing from the pleasure shooting up his body. “I like hearing it from a pretty girl like you.”

You pout, tilting your head as you raise up on your knees. “Just pretty?” You gather all the spit in your mouth you can and let it fall from your lips onto his tip, watching as it drips down the edge of his tip, the side of his shaft and to your fist wrapped around him.

“Hot, fucking— so hot,” he gasps, eyebrows furrowing, “Sexiest fucking woman I’ve ever seen.”

You giggle, “That’s more like it!” You stick your tongue out and slap the head of his cock against it, keep your eyes locked on his as you lick the most sensitive bit like an ice cream cone. He looks submissive in this moment but everything leading up to this tells you that’s out of place for him. He’s the one in control during moments like this. But you can’t have that. His lips are parted as he stares down at you, eyes all glassy. He doesn’t whine but he breathes heavy, squeezes the sheets in his fists as his muscles tighten. He’s trying not to thrust up at your face. Like a good boy. And you haven’t even told him.

Wrapping your lips around the tip, you sink down slowly. As slow as you can, taking breaks to circle him with your tongue and you haven’t moved your fingers yet, they’re still firmly holding on to the base of him. As you watch him, his eyes roll back before his lids flutter shut. There’s a goal here. Make this beautiful man fall apart. You think you have a talent. Once you get him as deep as you can, nose hitting the curly blonde hair, you exhale out of your nose and focus on not gagging. He’s deep though, poking the back of your throat and it’s not exactly comfortable but the sound Billy illicites makes it all worth it. Voice wrecked with the loud moan that pours from him. His thighs tense under your palm. You pull up, but not off entirely, stopping when just the tip is in and you suck, hard. Sinking back down and repeating the motion a couple of times. Billy’s large hands fly into your hair, determined to set the pace but you have other plans. If he doesn’t push your head down, you suck him harder and start stroking whatever isn’t in your mouth.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He spits out, “Wait— Jesus, slow down.” His voice is breathy and spent, “Don’t wanna cum yet.”

You pull off with a loud pop, string of saliva still connecting your lips to his cock, “Isn’t that the point of this?”

“Gotta feel your pussy before I cum,” he chokes out. “But, holy fuck, you’re good at that.”

“Thanks,” you grin, like he complimented you on a softball pitch and not your dick sucking.

You stand then, still between his feet as you begin to pull your dress up and over your head. Billy’s eyes scan your body and he still has this like, starstruck look on his face. It’s flattering, sure but you’re in your head. The guy is way too attractive to look at you like that. Even if you almost made him cum in record time with your mouth.

He sits up and gets his hands on your hips, pulls you closer and gets his mouth on your tits. Licks at the hardened buds, sucks one and moves his hand to squeeze the other breast. It feels good, his mouth is warm and determined and you grab onto his shoulders. Let him mouth at you for a bit, moaning as you look down to watch him.

“That feels really good,” you tell him, voice heightened with arousal.

“Yeah?” He asks around your nipple, moving his hand down to cup your heat over your thong. Rubs against your cunt with firm and rough fingers. Makes you gasp and lean your hips forward into the touch.

“Yeah,” you whine.

Billy smirks, “Sucking my cock made you so wet. Can feel how soaked you are.”

Damnit. The cocky bastard is back but it feels too good to stop him. Your hands lace through his curls, mouth agape as you look down at him. Watch as he licks and sucks on your chest while his fingers easily find your clit and rub circles against the bundle of nerves over the sticky material of your lace underwear. Billy has thick fingers. You wanna feel them without the underwear.

“Take them off, wanna feel you,” you whisper.

He pulls back with a smile, pushes you a step back and leans down. Bites on the strap of your underwear and drags it down with his teeth. It’s the hottest fucking thing you’ve ever seen. He uses his hands to help get them the rest of the way off and then slides them up to grab handfuls of your ass, squeezing the flesh and biting the skin of your hipbone. You whimper, staring down at him with desire. He spanks you, rough and abrupt.

“Need you to sit on my face, pretty girl,” he tells you, licks against your hipbone before spanking you one time and then lays back, pulling you with him. You grab hold of his jaw once you’re straddling him, feeling his shaft against your folds and you crash your lips into his. Billy kisses filthy. All sloppy. Tongue invading your mouth, dragging against your teeth, tongue and roof of your mouth. His hands easily find your ass again, kneading at the fat as he rolls his hips up. His cock catches against your clit and you moan into his mouth.

“I meant it,” he mumbles against your lips, “Gotta taste you. C’mon, sit that pretty pussy on my face.”

You don’t hesitate, kissing him one more time before moving up. Once your pussy is hovering his mouth, he grabs the tops of your thighs and pulls you down on him. Wet, hot mouth meeting your cunt. He moans into it and then licks through your folds. Prods his tongue at your hole and moves it back up. You gasp, hands flat on the mattress to keep yourself upright. His tongue meets your clit, flat and broad and your hips roll on their volition. And before you know it, you’re riding Billy’s face. Setting the pace, grinding down on his tongue as you focus on finding your climax. Using his mouth completely. His stubble causes some friction but you like it, humping against Billy’s face as you’re totally lost in chasing your orgasm. It’s almost pathetic how quickly you’re cumming.

Coating his face in your juices as you cry out, body jerking as the orgasm crashes through you.

“Fuuuuck!”

Billy doesn’t let up, continues lapping at your sensitive cunt as his fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs. Moans with you as you climax. Gives you a minute before he’s rolling over, pushing you on your back and slapping your pussy. Looks at you with these frenzied eyes and easily slips two fingers inside of your cunt. You cry out, overstimulated but ready to go again as he pumps his fingers in and out of your soaking hole. Your back arches, vision blurry as your eyes prick from tears. It’s almost too much, almost.

“Such a good girl,” he coos from above you, lips and chin shiny from your juices. Looks even prettier like that.

“Fuck,” you curse, eyes crossing slightly as he fucks you deep and hard with his thick digits. Then he grabs your jaw with his free hand, forcing your mouth open as he looms over you. Has this wicked, borderline unhinged look which shouldn’t turn you on like it does. And then the fucker spits in your mouth before licking against your tongue and kissing you as filthy as humanly possible. Your eyes roll back, lids fluttering shut as you let him have control. Taking the brutal thrusts of his fingers and the intrusion of his tongue that tastes like your pussy,

Is Billy the first man to make you cum before he does? Yeah, but you’re not keen on focusing on that right now because the way it fills your stomach with butterflies is making you a bit sick.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he babbles out as he curls his fingers up, “Look like a fucking dream, taking my fingers like a good little slut.”

Motherfuckers unlocked a kink and you’re too far gone to hide it. Crying out and bucking your hips up at him, whimpering pathetically as you nod.

“Oh,” he smirks, voice dark, “You like being called a slut, don’t you? S’that get you going? ‘Cause you know it’s true. Know that you’re a dirty fucking slut, don’t ya?”

“Yes,” you pant, legs shaking as he drills his fingers in and out of your obscenely dripping cunt.

“Say it,” he growls, face so close to yours. “Tell me you’re a dirty slut.”

“I’m a dirty slut,” you gasp, “Fuck me like the fucking whore I am, Billy.”

He bites his lip as he smirks, gripping your face before spitting on it. Barely any of it lands in your mouth and he smooths his hand over your face, smearing your makeup with it before he slaps you. “Want me to show you what a desperate, dirty whore you are?”

“Please,” you beg, “Please, pretty please!”

He pulls his fingers from you abruptly, you feel empty so you whimper and wiggle your hips. He smacks hard against your pussy, then spits down on it and grips his cock, spreads the saliva as he drags his tip through your folds. Slaps the tip against your clit, making your body jerk as your back arches and you squeal.

“Think such a desperate slut deserves my cock?” he pouts, shaking the head of his cock against your clit which sends the most incredible shockwaves through your body.

“Yes, yes,” you pant, “I need it. I’m such a slut, I need it, need your cock.”

He laughs, a soft exhale that’s cruel but he’s looking down at you fondly. Even strokes your cheekbone with his thumb, drags it down to the corner of your lips and you move to lick his fingertip. Suck it into your mouth and look at him desperately. He groans softly, the tip of his cock slipping down to rub circles against your entrance. You hum needy around his thumb, hands moving up to grab hold of his wrist as you wiggle your hips, trying to maneuver his cock inside you.

“You’re—- you’re something else, babygirl,” he says and his voice is deep and so sexy. “Think you’ve earned it,” he breathes out and slips inside you, eyelids fluttering shut as he feels your cunt suck his cock in. You inhale sharply with his thumb still pressed to your tongue. He sheathes deeper inside you, left hand still extended so you can suck on his thumb while his right grips your hip tightly. The head of his cock brushes against that sweet spongy spot deep inside you so tenderly, has your eyes cross before they roll back and you grip tighter on his wrist as you moan around his thumb.

Hookups aren’t like this. You know that. You’re usually bent over, so they aren’t looking at your face. You’re not typically drooling around their thumb while they fuck you missionary. This is good sex. Which you’ve had but not… not this good. Never so intense and intimate. You get that uncomfortable feeling in your tummy again until Billy reels his hips back and snaps forward harshly, deteriorating every thought in your head. He fucks you dumb, thrusts quick and deep. Spilling out moans and repeatedly telling you what a slut you are. Not much else to think about when you’re being fucked into oblivion.

You blink your eyes open, vision blurry for a beat before you’re met with the prettiest sight. Billy’s sweating, beads forming at his hairline and you move to feel down his back, sweat forming there too and it’s all gross and sticky and so fucking sexy. You gasp, lips parting but he doesn’t pull his thumb away. It’s still pressed to your tongue and he punches little, repetitive uh, uh, uh’s from you. The sound of your skin meeting, harsh slaps, fills the room. His cock is so thick, stretching your hole deliciously, and so long, massaging against your g-spot with every stroke. You feel ten times drunker and you know it’s from his cock, and not the shots shared at the bar. And you feel fucking dumb too.

“S’a good little slut for me,” he growls, eyes locked on your face which is kind of overwhelming but incredibly hot, “taking my cock so good. You my little princess, huh?”

That’s a new one, feels better than slut which surprises you. Has tears stinging at your eyes, making your mascara bleed as they roll down your cheeks. Billy takes his thumb out of your mouth to wipe them away, leans down to kiss you. Softer this time. Tongue just barely swiping across your lower lip. You cling to him, back arching as he thrusts particularly deep.

“Feel so good,” he keeps talking, lips dragging against your wet cheek. “So pretty for me.”

“B-Billy…” you stutter as you wrap your legs around your waist, which somehow has him even deeper inside you.

“Yeah,” he coos, brushing his nose against your cheekbone, “Feel nice? Can feel me so deep inside you, princess?”

“Billy,” you’re fucking stupid. All you can say is his name. And you’re not saying it. You’re whining it. “Billy… Billy… Billy…”

He hums, kisses your cheek, holds you steady as he drills into you, “I know.” God, this is so intimate. There’s a white, hot pleasure spreading over your nerves. Brings you to even more tears. It’d make you so sick if you weren’t so elated in euphoria. If this were any other hookup, you’d be panicked about the lack of condom. But you’re aching for Billy to cum inside you. Wanna feel it fill you up. Want to make him feel so good he cums before he has time to pull out. This has you tightening your legs around his waist. Heel digging into his ass as you arch your back.

The second climax hits you like a tidal wave. It’s unexpected, you don’t even realize you were close as it washes over you. You cry out his name, tears streaming down your cheeks as you writhe against him. Scratching down his back. Clinging to him, pulling him impossibly closer as your vision goes completely white. He smells good. It’s what you notice as you come back to reality, faces squished together at the cheeks and your nose is pressed up against his damp curls. Makes your orgasm drag out as you inhale deeply, shuddering a breath out as you gasp out sobs. It’s foreign to you. Crying from an orgasm but Billy doesn’t seem alarmed. Grabs hold your face and kisses you harshly as he thrusts quicker and deeper until his hips still and he spills his load against your fluttering walls. Groaning your name against your lips.

—

Turns out, the cocky bastard is a clingy one. As you were sneaking out the morning after, he woke up. Rolled over and sat up, rubbed his pretty eyes and blinked at you, “Ya gonna leave before breakfast?”

So you’d stayed. Made small talk. Told him where you work.

Three weeks later, there’s flowers being delivered to your office… for you. They’re pretty. Tropical flowers like you mentioned you liked. Your coworkers ask a million questions. While you remember the sex as being the best you’ve ever had, you’re not really looking for a boyfriend. The past handful of them never worked out, so why would Billy be any different. You’d been panicked for two weeks after the hook up because he came inside and you were praying that your period came early. And it came late. By two days which had you in a fucking frenzy. So you were relieved when it came but then came the flowers. You stared at them angrily as you typed away memos for your boss. You’re made that they made you blush. When you read the handwritten card, you wanted to puke.

Had the best night of my life with you. Would like a chance to properly woo you.

And his phone number.

You refused to call. You wouldn’t. A boyfriend wasn’t part of the plan. Dating casually wasn’t a part of your plan. Regardless of how incredible the sex was.

Boyfriends. Love. The whole thing made you bitter. There’s no way it’s happening.

A week passes, the flowers die and you throw them away. Then you’re finishing up a memo your boss asked you to type when there’s a knock on your door.

“Come in,” you call, not taking your eyes away from the typewriter.

“Hot shot, huh?” His voice has you jerking your head up and damnit, he looks handsome.

Tight Levi’s, motorcycle boots and a red button up, but only the last two buttons are done up. Tucked into his jeans. His hair is luscious. Blonde curls framing his face and a dangly earring in his ear. His skin just as golden as you remember, not that you’re trying to.

“Can I help you?” you can’t hide the disdain in your voice.

“Ouch,” he presses his hand to his bare chest, “That any way to treat a man who made you cum so hard you cried?”

Your eyes widen as you look at the door, “Keep your voice down. The women in this office have big ears and even bigger mouths. Don’t need anyone knowing the gritty details of my sex life.”

Billy kicks the door shut with his foot and then leans against it, “I was hoping I could take you out to lunch.”

“You were dreaming,” you smile at him, dripping in condescension.

“Sure was. What do ya say?” He steps closer to your desk, hand on his belt.

You sigh, lean back against your chair as you look at him, “You sent me flowers with your number, if I was interested, I would’ve called.”

Billy purses his lips and flattens his palms against your desk, leaning down as he says, “Thought maybe you’d be intimidated, so here I am, making the uh, third move.”

You blink at him in disbelief, “Don’t know how to take a hint, do ya?”

“I don’t need to bring up that you cried again, do I?”

“You just did.”

“Come to lunch with me,” he shrugs, “If you’re not feeling it afterwards, I’ll leave you alone.”

You chew on your lip as you think about it. It is a free lunch. And you skipped breakfast so you’re kind of starving. And okay, yeah, Billy looks good. He’s handsome but he’s more annoying than he is pretty.

“Fine. I’m hungry,” you sigh, “But I have to finish this memo, first.”

You go back to typing, trying to ignore the guy's eyes on you. You glance up to glare at him and he just chews his gum obnoxiously and smirks. “You’re insufferable,” you tell him.

He grins, eyes crinkling with it, “Thanks, toots. You are so fine in this uh, get up. Very professional yet very seductive.”

You sigh exaggeratedly, finishing the end of the memo before pulling the paper out of the typewriter. You grab your purse and usher his out the door, dropping by the front desk to hand the receptionist the memo.

“I’m going to lunch. Mr. Harrington wants this memo forwarded to the whole staff,” you tell her and ignore the way she eyes Billy up and down.

“Will do,” she smiles, “Have a fun lunch.”

“I won’t,” you reply with a sarcastic smile and head out the front doors, Billy close on your feet.

“Mr. Harrington?” He questions as he follows you to the parking lot, “Like Steve Harrington?”

“Yeah, his dads my boss,” you explain, “Where are you taking me to lunch?”

“Enzo’s?”

“You can afford that?” You tease as you stop in your tracks, tilting your head at him.

“Uh, yeah,” he looks shocked by that, hands shoving in his pockets, “I’m an electrician. Well, I do construction in general but right now, just an electrician.”

“I didn’t ask,” you roll your eyes as you walk to his annoyingly pretty car. A sports car fits him, though.

He rolls his eyes but opens the passenger door for you. You sink in and notice his car smells like cigarettes. He smokes? As he slides into the drivers side, he pulls a pack of Marlboros from his shirt pocket and lights one up. And a cigarette sounds good right now so you make grabby hands and he hands it over before lighting another.

“You keep proving to be the woman of my dreams,” he says with dreamy eyes and you roll yours.

“Take me to lunch, loser.”

#billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x y/n #Billy Hargrove #billy hargrove smut #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove x female reader

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stsgluver · 1 year ago

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synopsis. your husband still ignores the side effects of his cursed technique just so he can get a glimpse of you.

wc. 1.2k

gojo satoru was born with six eyes — a special cursed technique that allowed for an extremely precise manipulation of cursed energy, down to an atomic level. it also blessed him with a beautiful pair of ocean blue eyes that were practically glowing. you’d never seen eyes so pretty.

the drawback to this gift? the skull-splitting migraines that came with the excessive information constantly being processed by his darting eyes.

as a child, the pain was manageable. gojo didn’t have much of a hold on the technique so his weaker state meant that the migraines were subdued as less information was being absorbed. however, as he grew older and more powerful, he would find himself bed ridden for at least twenty four hours if he did not take some sort of measure to protect his eyes.

his go to method was the sunglasses, almost 100% tinted — no other person would be able to clearly see out of them, if they could see anything at all. his sight, on the other hand, so impressive that he could distinguish people and the objects around them through the levels of cursed energy radiated.

still, accidents happened. whether it be him breaking his glasses, or forgetting them as young children do, he quickly learned the drawbacks to his technique. no normal medicine could relieve the pain and no sorcerer was strong enough to either.

gojo satoru met you at fifteen years old on his first day at tokyo jujutsu high. you wore a uniform similar to shoko's but your skirt was closer to the floor than it was to your thigh. your hair was longer than most female sorcerers and tied into a plait that hung against your back. in all honesty, you appeared quite plain to him. nothing particularly stood out. not even your cursed energy was particularly strong.

but you were gorgeous. completely and utterly gorgeous. his glasses slipped slightly down his nose as he analysed you from afar and it wasn't till a slap on the shoulder from geto that he snapped out of it.

within six months of knowing one another, the two of you were dating. you picked up on his habit to forgo his glasses around you pretty quickly and you definitely didn't miss the increasing amount of discomfort that would cause him.

"why do you do that?" you asked him one time.

the two of you were on a date in the park. a picnic blanket had been laid out and satoru had bought basically every single pastry and sweet at the bakery next to the park. you'd barely managed to make it through half till the both of you had given up and opted for cloud watching, giggling as he joked that one cloud in particularly looked very similar to nanami's 'emo' haircut.

satoru turned to his side to look at you questioningly, his head resting on his hand, "do what?"

"take off your glasses," you gestured to the folded pair of black glasses by his head. "i don't have to be a doctor to realise that you're in a lot of pain right now." the longer you lay there, the less satoru was actually looking up at the sky, instead just listening to you as you pointed out shapes and animals.

you knew the toll six eyes could take on his body.

he kept his eyes screwed shut when he wasn't looking at you to ease the the pain from the intense light that was too overpowering for his splitting headache. he winced when a kid screamed too loudly or ran too close and his fingers would push against the sides of his head frustratedly. as if he thought hard enough, the pain would just go away.

his lips tilted up into a lopsided grin, "but i see you."

you twisted so that your body was parallel to his. there was a faint blush on your cheeks now but you didn't look away from his eyes. how could you? "you always see me."

"not with those stupid glasses," satoru frowned, and you think it was the most serious you had seen him since you met. "seeing you and seeing your energy are two very different things."

"you're hurting yourself," you pointed out, placing one of your hands onto his cheek to gently stroke your thumb against his skin. his shoulders relaxed slightly and he leant into your touch like it was magic. like you were some drug that numbed the pain, replacing it with a special serotonin only you could give him.

"worth it." satoru kissed your palm.

that was his only response. worth it. and he stuck to it even a decade later.

"old habits die hard, i guess," satoru tried to laugh at his poorly made joke, but only a few shakey breaths came out. you'd been home thirty minutes and he'd already been sick twice. he'd curled himself up in your shared bed not long after the second time and that was where he was when you began scolding him for his carelessness.

"you are twenty eight," you rant exasperatedly, juxtaposing your voice that is no louder than a gentle whisper, "you have three first years to be looking after right now, but no, someone wanted to go out for dinner and someone didn't want to wear their glasses, and someone-"

satoru's much larger hand squeezed yours, "don't be cruel. i do this for you, my love." his blindfold was now on (you had made him put it on as soon as you had gotten home) but you know him well enough to know he was staring up at you with those lovesick eyes that made you weak at the knees.

"i just worry," your tone eased. you had no issue looking after your husband, you never had. it wasn't his fault that he got the migraines per se. yes, he could definitely be doing more to mitigate the severity, but he was stubborn. that had never changed. "i've seen you fight special grades. i hate seeing a stupid headache hurt you so much."

"lay with me."

"you're sweaty and sick." you scrunched up your nose, eyes flicking to the en suite you'd just cleaned and back to the cold flannel on his forehead as his body temperature fluctuated.

he shook his head, placing his index finger over his lips. "shhh, i'm passed that stage. pretty please? i need you."

gojo satoru was irresponsible at the best of times. he'd been raised to believe he was invincible and had been spoiled to always get what he had wanted. there was no telling him what to do when he'd already decided an hour ago exactly what he wanted to do.

but there was something about being needed by gojo satoru. you could never say no to him. so whether it be due to his own decision to stare into the eyes of his wife during a romantic night out, or an extensive fight against a cursed spirit, you would always be there to clean up and make sure he was wrapped up in bed all cosy.

and you would always lift up the covers and climb in once there was no more that you could do but simply act as a pillow for your husband as he tried to sleep off the throbbing pain.

a/n. um so my previous post on this topic blew up and i’m so so grateful so i thought i’d expand a little on this hc for anyone that was interested. rambled a bit towards the end but i hope you still like it!! love you lots xxx

#— toru!!#gojo drabbles #satoru #gojou satoru #gojou satoru x you #gojo headcannons #gojo fluff #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo #gojo jjk #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #satoru drabbles

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novaursa · 3 months ago

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The Dragon and The Wolf

- Summary: Rhaenyra sends her daughter instead of her son to fly North. You.

- Paring: velayrion!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is second born child of Rhaenyra, has silver hair and violet eyes and is a dragonrider. For more of my works visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+ (expect for rating to go higher in the next chapter)

- Word count: 3 681

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @21-princess

- A/N: I had this one stored away, but I've decided to post it on a request. Harwin Strong one is not yet finished, but will be posted in coming days. I'll see how both of these are received before posting more.

The wind whips across the snow-dusted fields, biting and cold, as you soar above on your dragon, Thraxata. The North stretches below like a vast, white ocean, with Winterfell looming ahead in the distance, its grey walls rising like ancient guardians against the winter sky. The sun hangs low on the horizon, casting a pale light that glimmers off the frost-coated land.

Thraxata’s dark scales gleam like polished obsidian, a stark contrast to the endless white beneath. Her massive wings carve through the air with graceful power, the membrane tinted in deep shades of violet and blue, like the twilight sky before night fully descends. She is known as the Midnight Fury in whispers—born of shadow and flame, a terror in the night skies. Her roar splits the silence, echoing across the fields, a sound both commanding and otherworldly.

From your perch on her back, you spot the waiting banners below: the direwolf of Stark, surrounded by lesser sigils of Northern houses. Lord Cregan Stark stands at their forefront, a tall figure clad in thick furs and armor, as still and stern as the land he rules. He expects a prince, no doubt, a son of Rhaenyra, a warrior with fire in his veins. But you are no prince.

You are Y/N Velaryon, the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen. Silver-haired like your mother, with eyes the color of amethyst flames, you are the embodiment of old Valyria—a sight that would capture any man’s breath, even in the frozen heart of the North. Unlike your brothers, there is no questioning the blood that runs in your veins. You carry both the fire of your ancestors and the steel of the sea, a daughter of dragon and salt.

Thraxata descends with a mighty sweep of her wings, stirring a storm of snow and ice as her talons dig into the frozen ground. Her head swivels as she growls low, a deep rumble that vibrates through your body, her violet eyes fixed on the assembled Northerners. You dismount with practiced grace, the long cloak of thick fur billowing behind you as your boots crunch into the snow.

The men whisper, their breath misting in the cold air, eyes wide with awe and trepidation. No prince, but something more—something wilder, something that belongs in tales and legends.

Cregan Stark steps forward, his eyes fixed on you. They are grey like the winter itself, hard and sharp, yet there is a glint of something else—curiosity, perhaps, or a flicker of admiration beneath the layers of duty. He dips his head in a respectful nod, though his eyes never leave yours.

"Princess," he greets you, his voice deep and resonant, like a wolf's growl beneath the snow. "Winterfell welcomes you. I had expected a prince, but the Queen has sent a dragon nonetheless."

Your lips curve into a small smile, cold as the winter air. "My brothers may be princes, but it is I who bears the fire and ice that binds our realms, Lord Stark. I trust you will remember the oaths sworn to my mother, and the duty you hold to the true Queen."

His eyes narrow slightly, though there is no hostility, merely calculation. "The North remembers its oaths, Princess. But oaths are easily sworn and easily forgotten when the fires of war draw near. I would hear your words and judge for myself where our loyalties lie."

Thraxata’s tail lashes behind you, sending a spray of snow into the air. You can sense her restlessness, her desire to protect you, to assert her dominance in this land where dragons are more myth than reality. But you place a gloved hand on her scaled flank, a silent command, and she stills, though her eyes remain fixed on Cregan.

"You speak with wisdom, my lord," you reply, your voice firm but laced with the authority of the blood you carry. "But the North has never bent to whispers or empty promises. My mother’s cause is just, her claim undeniable. The realm needs strength, and you know as well as I that only fire can bring the long night to its knees."

There’s a flicker of something—approval, perhaps—in Cregan’s gaze. He steps closer, his boots crunching in the snow, until you are but a breath away. The North has always been a place where respect is earned through strength and resolve, not titles or finery. In that moment, you realize that your mother’s choice was not a mistake; you were sent because here, in this land of cold and iron, you are seen not as a delicate princess, but as something fiercer.

"Then perhaps the Queen chose wisely in sending you," he murmurs, his voice low, for your ears alone. "The North respects strength, and it seems that is something you possess in abundance, Y/N Velaryon."

There is a tension between you, a silent acknowledgment of the game you both play. He is the Wolf of Winterfell, and you are the Dragon sent to bind him to your mother’s cause. But there is something else too—a flicker of intrigue, of something more personal beneath the formalities.

“I shall make my case before the gathered lords,” you say, breaking the charged silence. “And I trust that Winterfell will extend the hospitality due to a dragon and her rider.”

He gives a slight incline of his head, a gesture of respect between equals. “Winterfell is yours, Princess. And I look forward to seeing just how fierce the fire of a dragon truly burns.”

With that, he steps back, signaling to his men. The banners dip in a formal show of respect as you walk forward, the Northern lords parting to make way for you. Thraxata stays behind, watchful, a dark shadow against the snow.

As you enter the gates of Winterfell, you can feel the eyes of Cregan Stark on your back, heavy with unspoken questions, and perhaps—just perhaps—the first stirrings of something that could grow amidst the frost and flame.

The warmth of Winterfell’s great hall is a great contrast to the biting cold outside. The stone walls are thick and ancient, adorned with tapestries depicting wolves in the hunt and battles long past. A roaring fire burns in the hearth, casting flickering shadows that dance across the rough-hewn beams above. The scent of woodsmoke and roasted meat fills the air, mingling with the faint tang of iron and earth, as though even the stone itself remembers the blood spilled within these walls.

You stride forward with measured grace, your fur-lined cloak trailing behind you. Eyes turn your way as you pass, curious glances that are quickly averted once they meet your violet gaze. The courtiers and bannermen of Winterfell are not accustomed to your kind—a dragonrider with Valyrian blood, a figure more suited to the tales of Old Nan than to the cold North. They murmur among themselves, voices hushed but thick with speculation, wondering if you are as fierce as the stories of your mother suggest.

Lord Cregan walks beside you, his stride steady and sure, the embodiment of Northern strength and resolve. He leads you to the head of the hall, where a carved wooden chair sits, draped in furs—a seat of honor, meant for you. As you take your place, his voice rings out, commanding the attention of everyone present.

"The Princess Y/N Velaryon graces us with her presence. Her arrival is most fortunate, for it seems the North’s business does not wait. House Glover has brought a criminal before us—a man accused of grave crimes—and they demand justice. Perhaps," he says, his grey eyes locking onto yours, "it would be fitting for a dragon to pass judgment."

There’s no mistaking the challenge in his words. This is a test, one meant to gauge your strength, your understanding of Northern customs, and how you wield your authority. He watches you closely, waiting for your reaction, as do the assembled lords. You know this moment is pivotal; how you handle this situation will determine whether they see you as just another southern princess, or as something more—someone who can command both fire and frost.

You meet his gaze evenly, a faint smile playing on your lips. "It would be an honor to dispense justice in the North, Lord Stark. Show me this criminal and let us see what manner of man he is."

Cregan gives a slight nod, and with a gesture, the doors at the end of the hall creak open. The sound echoes through the chamber as two men of House Glover drag a prisoner forward, shoving him to his knees before you. He’s a ragged, weathered man with wild eyes and a face marked by scars. His clothes are filthy and torn, his hands bound with rough cord. There’s a stink about him—of sweat, fear, and desperation.

One of the Glovers steps forward, bowing briefly before addressing you and Cregan. "This man, Wyl Gray, is accused of murdering his kin and stealing from their holdings. He fled north to escape our justice, but we tracked him down and brought him here, as is our right."

The hall falls silent, all eyes on you now. The weight of their expectation is palpable. You rise slowly from your seat, descending the steps with a regal grace. Your voice is soft but carries through the room with the authority that only a dragonrider can wield.

"Wyl Gray," you say, your tone cold as the Northern winds, "you stand accused of betraying your own blood and committing theft in the lands sworn to House Glover. What have you to say in your defense?"

The man’s eyes dart around wildly, searching for some hope, some mercy, but finding none. He looks up at you, trembling slightly. "I did what I had to," he snarls, his voice hoarse. "My kin treated me worse than a dog, taking what was mine by right. I took back what they stole from me—nothing more!"

The hall murmurs in response to his words, some in anger, others in grudging acknowledgment. You can see the flickers of approval from a few of the assembled Northerners—they value strength, even when twisted by desperation. But you know better than to be swayed by the claims of a desperate man. His actions speak louder than his words.

You step closer, your gaze piercing. "You claim they took from you, yet you took their lives. Blood demands blood, Wyl Gray. In the North, justice is harsh and swift, but it is also fair. A man who cannot protect what is his without resorting to murder is a man unfit to live among honorable men."

Cregan watches you intently, his expression unreadable, but you can feel the shift in the room. The lords are weighing your words, assessing how well you understand their ways. It’s not enough to be just, you must be decisive—and you must show that you are not ruled by softness.

"You are guilty of murder and theft," you continue, your voice unwavering. "But the North does not deal in mercy for such crimes. You shall face the punishment decreed by the Old Ways. Justice shall be meted out by the one who passes the sentence."

A heavy silence falls over the hall. This is the moment—where the test truly lies. You could ask Cregan to deal with the criminal himself, and none would question it. But you understand what is truly being asked of you. The North respects those who do not flinch from difficult decisions, those who stand by their words with action.

You turn to Cregan. "Bring me the sword," you command.

There’s a ripple of surprise among the lords, but Cregan’s expression shifts, a hint of approval crossing his stern features. He gestures, and a massive sword, long and sharp, is placed into your hands. Its weight is heavy, but you hold it with ease, feeling the cold steel beneath your fingers.

You step before the kneeling man. His eyes widen in terror, realizing that you intend to carry out the sentence yourself. You look down at him, feeling no pity, only the cold resolve needed to see justice done. "In the name of House Glover, for the blood you have spilled and the dishonor you have brought upon yourself, I sentence you to death. May the gods judge your soul as they see fit."

With a swift, clean stroke, you bring the sword down, severing his head from his body. The hall is silent, save for the soft thud of the head hitting the stone floor and the hiss of blood soaking into the rushes.

You let out a breath, handing the sword back to a waiting Stark guard. The lords nod with approval, respect in their eyes. This is not a land for those who shy away from harsh truths or difficult choices. You have shown them that you understand the North’s ways—and that you are as much dragon as you are queen’s daughter.

Cregan steps forward, a slight smile touching his lips. "Well done, Princess. The North remembers strength, and today, you have proven yours."

There’s a weight to his words, a subtle acknowledgment that you’ve passed his test. The respect between you has grown, forged not only by fire and ice, but by a mutual understanding of what it takes to rule.

As the hall begins to stir with renewed conversation, you feel Cregan’s eyes linger on you a moment longer than necessary, something unspoken passing between you. It’s not just respect now—there’s a flicker of something deeper, something that might grow, given time.

But for now, you’ve earned your place among the wolves. And in doing so, you’ve taken the first step toward binding the North to your mother’s cause.

A little more than two weeks have passed since your arrival at Winterfell, and in that time, you have come to understand the North in ways few from the south ever do. The cold no longer bites as fiercely, the rough customs of the Northerners have become familiar, and even the solemn howls of the wolves at night are a comfort rather than a cause for concern. You’ve spent your days among Cregan’s people, riding alongside his bannermen, sitting in council with his advisors, and breaking bread with his warriors in the hall. You’ve proven yourself capable in all the ways that matter to them—skilled with both words and steel, a dragon in human form.

The Northern lords have come to trust you, their respect won by your ability to speak plainly and match them in courage. They see in you a reflection of their own values—honor, strength, and loyalty. Even Thraxata, the Midnight Fury, has found her lair in the craggy wilderness nearby, roosting among the jagged rocks as if she, too, feels at home in this stark and wild land. The villagers whisper tales of the black dragon seen circling the mountains, her shadow long across the snow, a fearsome guardian from the days of old.

Today, you ride out with Lord Cregan and his men on a hunt. The sky is a bleak grey, thick with the promise of snow, and the air carries the scent of pine and earth. The forest is dense, the trees tall and ancient, their branches heavy with frost. It’s a test, of sorts—Cregan’s way of seeing how well you handle yourself in their world, not just as a rider of dragons, but as a hunter and a leader.

You ride astride a hardy Northern stallion, its breath steaming in the cold air, and you match the men stride for stride as they navigate the rough terrain. Cregan rides beside you, his expression more open than it had been when you first met. Over these past weeks, a bond has formed between you—one built on mutual respect and a growing sense of trust. He speaks more freely now, and there’s a warmth in his tone that was absent when you first arrived.

When the hunt begins, you do not hesitate to join the chase. The hounds bay as they track the scent of a massive stag, and you ride hard, your cloak snapping behind you in the wind. You’re no stranger to riding, and you handle your steed with ease, navigating the twisting paths and snow-laden ground. When the time comes to strike, you draw your bow with practiced precision, letting the arrow fly. It finds its mark true, and the stag falls. The men around you roar with approval, slapping their shields and calling your name in praise. They respect a woman who can hunt as well as any man, and here, they see you as one of their own—a warrior, not just a princess.

As the hunt winds down, Cregan approaches you, his face flushed from the cold and the thrill of the chase. "You’ve more than earned your place among us, Y/N," he says, his voice gruff but warm. "Few could keep pace with Northern men in their own forests, let alone best them. I see now why the Queen sent you instead of a prince. You’ve shown strength and wisdom—two things the North values above all else."

You incline your head in acknowledgment. "I’ve come to admire the North and its people. But admiration is not the same as allegiance. I must ask, Lord Stark—will you now stand by my mother and send your armies south to fight in her name?"

Cregan’s expression shifts, a shadow crossing his eyes as he considers your question. He’s silent for a long moment, his gaze turning toward the distant horizon, where the land stretches into a vast, icy wilderness. "The North is not like the South," he says finally, his tone measured. "Our duty is first and foremost to our own. With winter coming, my responsibility is to the Wall and to the people who must survive the cold months ahead. I cannot, in good conscience, march thousands of men south when their families might starve without them."

You frown slightly, frustration creeping in. "So you’ll abandon my mother’s cause? You gave your word, Lord Stark."

Cregan’s eyes meet yours, unwavering. "I do not break my word, Princess. I swore to uphold my oaths, and I will. But sending armies south would be folly with winter approaching. However," he continues, his tone softening as he watches your reaction, "there are those in the North who would fight, even in the harshest winters. The Greybeards—elders, warriors who have lived long and seen much. When winter comes, many of them leave their homes, believing it is better to pass in battle than to linger and be a burden on their kin. They are few in number, but each is worth a dozen younger men in skill and experience. I will send them to your mother, to fight in her name. They may not be an army, but they are a force to be reckoned with."

It’s a compromise, one that you didn’t expect but cannot wholly dismiss. You nod slowly, understanding the practicality behind his words. "Your support, even in this way, will strengthen our position. I thank you for honoring your oath, Lord Stark."

Cregan remains silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, more personal. "There is another matter I wish to discuss—a way to bind North and South even closer. You’ve proven yourself in the eyes of my people, and I have come to value your counsel and your strength. The North needs a Warden, but it also needs stability and unity. I am in need of a wife, Y/N."

His words catch you off guard. You had expected negotiations over troops and strategies, but not this. You study him closely, searching for any hint of jest, but there is none. His gaze is steady, earnest even, and the weight of his words is not lost on you.

"A marriage alliance," you murmur, more to yourself than to him. It’s a move that makes sense, politically and strategically. Your mother’s cause would be strengthened by such a bond, and Cregan’s position would be solidified, uniting the North under his leadership. But you know it’s more than just politics—there’s something personal in his offer, a recognition of the connection that has grown between you over these weeks.

Cregan inclines his head. "A marriage would do more than just bind our houses. It would be a show of unity between North and South, and it would ensure that whatever may come in this war, our strength remains undivided. You are a woman worthy of the North, and I would be honored to stand beside you as more than just allies."

You consider his words carefully, your mind weighing the implications. There’s a certain inevitability in the offer, a recognition that your paths have been converging since the moment you arrived at Winterfell. You could refuse, insist on keeping your independence, but you know that this is more than just a marriage proposal—it’s a partnership that could shape the course of the war and the future of the realm.

Finally, you meet his gaze, your voice clear and firm. "If this is the path we choose, Lord Stark, know that I will be as fierce in our union as I am in battle. The North will have a wife who is as much dragon as she is Velaryon. But I do not take such matters lightly—if we are to do this, it must be done with respect, trust, and understanding."

Cregan’s smile is genuine, his eyes gleaming with both respect and something warmer. "I would expect nothing less, Y/N. We’ll have much to discuss in the days to come, but I believe this could be the start of something greater than either of us alone."

The weight of his words lingers between you, and as you ride back toward Winterfell together, there’s an unspoken understanding—a shared resolve. You have won the respect of the North, secured their support, and now, perhaps, you are on the verge of something more—an alliance forged not just in duty, but in fire and ice, strength and trust.

#house of the dragon #rhaenyra targeryan #cregan stark #hotd cregan #cregan x reader #cregan x you #cregan x y/n #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x you

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sweetpascal · 4 months ago

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𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 — 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫

gif by: @richardgrimes

pairing: perv!stepdad!joel x fem!reader

summary: when you do the unthinkable, joel takes it upon himself to let out all of his anger and frustration onto you. the punishments that follow are ones that officially tear you apart and turn you into an unrecognizable girl.

warnings: MINORS DNI. DUB-CON. BIG AGE GAP [18/52], joel is VERY VERY VERY mean in this chapter, face slapping, hair pulling, hella manipulation, finger sucking, spanking as punishment [with his hand and belt], TW: isolation as punishment, TW: emotional abuse, joel spits on your face, oral [m receiving], TW: forced asphyxiation, joel has a very big dick ok, masochism, sadism, dacryphilia, kinda angsty ??

wc: 7.3k

notes: i felt kinda blah about this series cause i feel like i'm not making joel mean enough compared to how some writers write dark!joel (´•︵•`) so i got really sad and put all my emotions into this chapter as a coping mechanism and made joel REALLY fucking mean and just... a horrible and nasty man. trauma ?? i think so. ENJOY. ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

edit: i posted this later than expected UGH. expect two updates in one day.

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By the time you awoke, the space beside you in bed was vacant. You have no recollection of drifting off in Joel's embrace. As you rise, the fluffy blanket cascades down, gathering around your hips. Joel must have draped it over you once you had succumbed to sleep. The absence of his clothes on the floor and the chill of his side of the bed leave you questioning whether he stayed the night at all, stirring a sense of unease within you. He had done something new, something that made you feel good, and he wasn't here when you woke up. Why? Why wasn't he here? Why do you feel so cold all of a sudden? Was this something normal that men do? Embarrassed by the series of events from last night, you pull on your discarded panties and shorts.

The sunrise had not yet begun. Looking out the window, the sky displayed an almost purplish tint with the sun barely cresting the horizon. It was a cloudless sky, yet the faint chirping of morning birds could be heard from their respective trees. Unsure of the time, as Joel had confiscated your phone and you lacked an alarm clock, the day's start remained ambiguous.

As you tiptoe out of your room, you notice the house is completely quiet. Joel usually wakes up before dawn, but today, a faint snore drifts from his and your mom's bedroom. Moving down the hall, you gently push the slightly open door further. In the dim blue light filtering in from outside, you can just make out Joel's form. He's sprawled on his stomach in the center of the bed, clutching his pillow while your mom's lies abandoned on the floor. Shirtless, the sheets are drawn just below the dimples of his back. The bedside clock shows 5:22 AM.

"Daddy?" you whisper faintly into the darkness, pausing for an answer. Only his soft snores, muffled by the pillow, meet your ears. Drawing nearer, you notice Joel is lying on his good ear, the other affected by partial hearing loss. The urge to rouse him is strong, yet you hesitate, knowing these moments of peaceful rest are few for him.

The rumbling of your stomach makes you whimper. Joel usually prepares meals for you when asked. Your mother, however, rarely agrees, often reminding you that you're old enough to cook for yourself. But Joel always protests, saying, "I don't want your pretty little hands to get all cut up and burned." Perhaps he wouldn't mind if you made breakfast just this once. It would be a sweet gesture to surprise him with breakfast in bed. You wonder if your mom ever did something like that for him.

"I'm going to make breakfast for us, okay, Daddy?" you whisper, a bit louder this time, your hand hovering just above his broad back. You can feel the warmth radiating onto your palm. When he doesn't respond, only emitting another snore, you quietly tiptoe out of the room and gently close the door, cringing when it makes a loud noise at the last moment.

Descending the stairs, a sense of unease weighs heavily in your stomach. Alone, with dark blue hues filling patches of the vacant house and shadows stretching across the walls, you almost feel an invisible presence. You find yourself wishing Joel were awake to fend off the lurking shadows. Rushing to the kitchen, you flip on the light, blinking against the sudden brightness until your eyes adjust.

Opening the fridge revealed a lackluster array of dinner leftovers, several half-empty condiment bottles, an empty milk carton, and a bag of grapes beginning to rot. It was disappointing to find nothing inspiring to cook with. A glance at the stovetop clock showed it was 5:30. The local market would open at 6, and it was only a half-hour walk away. However, the prospect of walking that distance didn't appeal to you, dramatic as it might seem. Your eyes then fell upon Joel's truck keys and wallet in the bowl on the kitchen countertop. Surely, he wouldn't mind if you borrowed them for a quick shopping trip.

Right?

By the time you returned home, it was nearly 8 o'clock. The neighborhood had fully come to life. The groceries in the truck's backseat jostled with every gentle turn. A sinking feeling emerged at the thought of Joel's anger over you borrowing his truck without asking and taking some of his twenty-dollar bills. Yet, it stemmed from a desire to do something kind for him in gratitude for his good care during your mother's absence. An excitement bubbled within you, eager to burst.

You hadn't planned to be out this long, but losing track of time and procrastinating on your tasks is a frequent issue. Joel often chides you for this, playfully urging you to get your head out of the clouds and to come back down to earth. Your only hope is that Joel remains asleep, unaware of your absence. However, the missing money from his wallet, the extra miles on his truck, and the depleted gas are sure to give you away.

As you park the truck in the driveway, you notice the porch screen is wide open, though you remember closing it before sneaking out. Your heart sinks at the sight of Joel's daunting figure in the doorway, his gaze piercing through the windshield. It's a wonder the glass doesn't crack under the weight of his stare. Your pulse quickens, a flurry of nervous butterflies takes flight in your stomach, and your palms dampen with sweat as you clutch the steering wheel tightly.

Joel points at you and then to the ground at his feet, silently mouthing, "Now." He then vanishes back into the house, clearly pissed off. Fear grips you, making it daunting to leave the truck's safety. After six agonizing minutes, you gather enough bravery to step out, your breath hitching in your throat and almost making it difficult to breathe.

After hoisting the grocery bags into your arms and nudging the back passenger door closed with your foot, likely leaving a mark on the polished metal, you make your way to the porch with unsteady steps. The door stands slightly open, and you gently push it wider. As you spin around to close it, a hand reaches over your shoulder and slams it with such force that the house seems to shake. Startled, you yelp loudly as Joel grabs your arm firmly and pulls you into the kitchen, his long strides causing you to stumble over your feet.

"Sit your fuckin' ass down," he practically barks, pulling out a kitchen chair and slams it down. He pushes you toward the chair so forcefully that the grocery bags tumble down around you. As you land on the wooden chair, the impact from Joel's shove nearly expels all the air from your lungs.

He stands over you from your seated position, towering and nearly trembling with fury. Joel's hands are clenched into tight fists, his knuckles whitening under the strain. He scratches his jaw and paces, a low growl emanating from deep within his chest as the intensity in his eyes burns fiercer. You close your eyes, sitting motionless, bracing yourself.

"Are you out of your GODDAMN MIND?!" He bends down to scream in your face, his face contorted in a way that makes him look scary and so different from the usual angry Joel you normally see. This Joel was drowning in rage. His eyes were nearly black and the lines on his face deepened as he snarled in your face. "You fucking ANSWER ME!" One hand grabs the back of your hair and yanks your head back so fast that your nerve spasms, a shrieking cry escaping your lips. His other hand grabs your face and squeezes your jaw so tightly that pain blossoms throughout your gums.

"Stop, stop, stop, please, stop!" You're babbling in his face, thick tears sliding down your cheeks from the intense pain in your scalp, neck, and jaw. You could barely catch a breath from how hard you're crying. "Da-Daddy, p-please!" You're grabbing on both of his forearms, nails digging deep through his long shirt, no doubt leaving indentations.

Joel only grunts lowly, his breath heavy and fast. His hands squeeze tighter, and he roughly shakes your head, loving the way your face scrunches up at the pain he's causing. Then, he forcibly pushes your head away, releasing his hands from your knotted hair and your already bruising jaw. Tears streaming down your face, you draw your knees up to your chest for comfort and hesitantly reach for the back of your head, while your other hand softly caresses your jaw. Your eyes are wide, reflecting a state of shock and fear. Joel's gaze is fixed on you, his frown growing more pronounced as you quiver uncontrollably.

He pulls his wallet from his back pocket and flings it towards you. It strikes your knees and tumbles to the floor, unfolding just enough to reveal its barren interior.

"You take my fuckin' truck," Joel says in a low voice, trembling with anger. He steps back, his boots thudding on the floorboards. "You take my fuckin' money." At this point, you're nearly hyperventilating, silently cursing yourself for such a foolish act and expecting him to accept it. He goes on, his tone grave, "And you sneak out without telling me, huh? What, you want more freedom than what I'm giving you here?"

The anger that Joel feels is indescribable. It's coursing through his veins like heroin, poisoning his blood and gradually taking over his body. He doesn't know what to do, or even think. All that he can do is react. How stupid of you to think this was okay. How mind-numbingly idiotic it was of him to expect you to follow his rules and obey him like a good girl. As he looks down at you like smeared shit at the bottom of his shoe, there seems to be only one option left.

Before you can react, Joel has seized your arm and pulled you up from the chair, nearly dislocating your shoulder. His footsteps are long, resounding, and forceful. Tears continue to flow as he hauls you up the stairs. You stumble on each step, crying and sobbing, while you try to keep pace with him. Your knees are banging against every edge as Joel practically drags you up the steps.

"Da-Dad-dy!" Choking on your tears, you can barely see anything. Your vision is blurry, and your hearing is muffled. Every nerve in your body is on fire. "Pl-Please, Jo-el!"

"Get up, girl! C'mon. Get your fuckin' ass up!" He grunts through labored breaths, jaw clenching tightly as he drags your body by the arm up the last step. "I've had 'nough of you."

Suddenly, he kicks your bedroom door open, your heartbreaking cries falling on deaf ears. Your body is shoved into your room with enough force to make you collapse onto the ground. You're gasping for air, your fingers slick with sweat as they frantically claw at the rug, desperate to find something to hold onto.

Joel stands motionless in the doorway, his gaze fixed on you without a trace of emotion. Thoughts flood his mind, overwhelming him like a tsunami. Make her hurt. Make her cry. Make her beg for mercy. He retrieves a key from his front pocket and observes as you pathetically curl into a ball on the floor, your shoulders shaking violently while you cry into the carpet. His hand rests on the doorknob. Before leaving, he speaks in an unexpectedly gentle tone, "Until I believe you've learned your lesson, you're going to stay here, and you're going to think about what you did."

Then, he departs and forcefully closes your door. Amidst your heavy sobs, the sound of the bedroom door lock engaging is audible. Glancing over your shoulder weakly, you notice the doorknob has been altered from before. Gone is the twist lock, replaced now by a keyed lock mechanism.

The epiphany strikes with overwhelming force. Enclosed by a door that's locked and windows sealed shut, you find yourself imprisoned with no means of escape.

Unaware of how much time has passed, you stay on the ground, curled up, emotionless. The tears have stopped, leaving behind an empty stare. The night has already set in, shrouding your room in darkness from top to bottom. Joel's footsteps are audible everywhere, hardly silent. Whenever he approaches your door, there's a halt, a moment of stillness, and then the sound of his steps resumes. Undoubtedly, he was listening with his ear against the door. Each approach brought a heaviness to your heart and a sinking sensation in your stomach.

The aroma of garlic sizzling in oil drifted from the kitchen, prompting your mouth to water and your stomach to knot with hunger. You hadn't eaten since the night before. The clatter of pots and pans, either being used or stored away, brought tears to your eyes. "Stupid, stupid girl," you chide yourself. It was foolish to attempt a kind gesture for Joel, only to have it go horribly wrong. It was a rash and impetuous move. Now, he'll never forgive you for this. This realization has you weeping once more into the spit-soaked, tear-stained rug.

Engrossed in your thoughts, you fail to notice the door has come unlocked and now stands ajar, the hallway light spilling in and illuminating your huddled form. Joel pauses in the doorway, a plate of food in hand, and tuts softly at the pathetic sight before him.

"Sit up," he commands, making his way deeper into the dimly lit room. The sound of his rough voice had your entire body tensing and your quiet cries immediately halting. When you remain still, Joel becomes irritated and prods your hip forward with his muddy boot, leaving a mark on the pristine white dress you wore especially to surprise him. "I said, get your fuckin' ass up, little girl. Don't make me tell you again."

With trembling limbs, you gradually unfold yourself, grimacing as your muscles burn. Your scalp, jaw, neck, knees, and arms feel as though they are on fire. After hours of immobility and neglecting your aching body, the pain strikes you with overwhelming force.

Joel squats before you, emitting a soft grunt as his knees pop and his lower back tightens. In silence, he extends the plate of food between you both: parmesan garlic chicken, green beans, and red roasted baby potatoes. The aroma and appearance make your eyes widen, your mouth water, and your stomach rumble.

The moment your fingertips graze the plate's underside, Joel pulls it away and sets it on the ground. Your faint smile vanishes, replaced by a frown as you meet his stern gaze. He remains silent, his stare unwavering. Looking down at the plate, it dawns on you that there's not a fork, knife, or even a spoon in sight.

"Eat," he commands, his voice a quiet murmur. Joel's gaze is fixed on you, his eyes unblinking, his facial expression shifting subtly. The softness and tenderness that were once reserved for you have vanished. He never used to look at your mom the way he looked at you. But now, his gaze is identical. It leaves you feeling sorrowful and heartbroken.

Confused and very much embarrassed at not knowing what to do, you hesitantly reach out to grab the chicken with your bare hand. Joel's hand roughly clamping around your wrist and shoving it away prevents you from doing so. There was a surge of panic that shot through you like a shotgun blast.

"No," he snaps, his eyes narrowing and his scowl deepening. It's clear he's losing patience. Joel has no time for games. "Bend down… and eat," he commands.

There's a tense, heavy moment of silence as you thoroughly think about what he's telling you to do. Warmth spreads throughout your neck and rises to your cheeks before settling on the tips of your ears. Your heart plummets to your stomach. So, like an obedient little dog, you lower your head down to the plate on the ground and begin eating.

Joel smiles at your obedience, one hand gently petting your head and tenderly massaging the tendrils of hair connected to your scalp that he viscously yanked. He softly quiets you when you flinch and unintentionally whimper. He maintains the gentle, affectionate strokes of his hand through your hair, even gathering it into a ponytail to help you eat more comfortably.

"That's a good girl," he softly praises, settling onto his knees in front of you and using his other hand to gently stroke your jaw. "See how easy it is to obey Daddy? You just needed some of Daddy's tough lovin', huh?"

Is this what it was? Some tough love? You've never encountered that before, much less experienced it. Since you were never a problem child, discipline was seldom necessary. Maybe this is exactly what you needed to be a good girl for Joel. Maybe this tough love is what will help you do better and learn from your stupid mistakes.

As you continue eating, Joel finds himself slowly loving the sight of you eating like a fucking mutt in front of him. Knowing that he can push you so far as to do something like this excites him. His hand tightens in the makeshift ponytail he has your hair in, and his eyes darken. Letting out a whimper that was muffled from your food, you make sure to not complain about it to Joel. He was already upset with you from earlier and you really don't want to push it further.

"That's enough," he declares, his hand in your hair stopping your movements while his other hand takes your plate away, leaving half of the food untouched and uneaten. His hand pops you on the cheek when he hears you protesting, a pained yelp escaping your slobbered lips. He forces your head up to be eye level with his. "Listen to me, little girl. From this moment forward, Daddy will decide what you eat, when you eat it, and how much you can eat. Have I made myself clear?" His voice's tone is so authoritative that it holds no room for argument, not that you could muster one even if you wished to.

Nevertheless, you find yourself nodding within his grasp. Choosing not to protest was wise. Should this behavior be part of your punishment or his version of tough love, you certainly wouldn't want to witness him at full strength. Merely the thought was enough to make you shudder with fear once more. Joel was an incredibly strong man, often unaware of his own strength. He could break your jaw with one squeeze--he almost fucking did it this morning.

Joel mocks your nod. "Good," he hums, offering you a pleased smile as he lovingly strokes the apple of your cheeks. "Now, come to the bathroom so Daddy can brush your teeth."

Leaving your half-finished plate behind, you follow Joel into the hallway. You trail behind him aimlessly, your steps shaky and limping. He notices but chooses not to comment. It's for the best, a silent reminder that such consequences will recur if you act carelessly again.

Joel opens the door to the main bathroom and guides you inside with care. He lifts you with ease under your arms and sets you down on the countertop. A small squeak escapes from your chest, a sound that Joel finds adorable. He flashes a subtle grin and begins to wet your toothbrush, dabbing on the toothpaste. He shuffles between your thighs and thumbs your mouth open to start brushing your teeth. His actions brought you comfort, making you feel cherished and cared for. Even though you could have done it yourself, witnessing Joel display his nurturing side was touching. You longed to see more of this aspect of him, silently promising to be well-behaved with every passing minute.

"Alright, babydoll," he says as pats your thighs lovingly and rinses off your toothbrush after instructing you to lean over the sink and spit out the minty froth. "Now, get your butt back to your room and lean over the bed, panties off."

Joel notices the confusion spark in your eyes before it manifests in the furrowing of your brows. Your lips part to question him, but the words become stuck in your throat as his eyes darken and he gives a subtle shake of his head, tutting softly to himself.

"And here I thought you were goin' to start listening to me," he lets out a dark chuckle before invading your space with his strong chest pressing against yours. The force of the action causes your back to crash against the mirror, your head striking the glass while the sink spout presses into your lower back, causing discomfort and pain.

He bares his teeth just barely as he gets in your face, nostrils flaring and eyebrows furrowing, the storm brewing wildly in his eyes. Joel laughs gruffly as your eyes widen and you put your hands up in front of your body against his chest to protect yourself from his unpredictability. Oh, how cute. You were shaking under his hold like a frightened little bunny. Joel presses you harder against the mirror, no doubt forcing the sink spout deeper into your back. He grumbles pleasantly under his breath. He was causing this terrible fear clear as day on your face. The blooming bruises on your body are caused by his hands. The finger shaped bruises looked like a work of art on your delicate skin.

"Oh, babydoll," his breath fans across your face. He gives you a mocking pout, hushing you softly when the tears spill. "You're makin' it real hard not to paint that ass black and blue, you know that?"

Your bottom lip trembles and your body quivers, eyes shutting tightly as you mentally prepare yourself for Joel's next action. Tears spill and disappear underneath your aching jaw. He wipes them away at first, but when they keep sliding down, he wipes a tear-stained thumb across your lips before pushing the appendage deeper into your mouth and pressing down on your tongue.

"D'you taste that?" He asks you so quietly that you almost missed it. He's looking at his thumb between your lips and bites down on his own. Joel gazes into your wide eyes, which stare back at him as if he were the boogeyman. In a way, he is. "That's the taste of fear, sweetheart. Don't it taste fuckin' delicious?" The laugh he lets out is depraved, deranged, and delirious. With his thumb still in your mouth, he uses the other fingers to wrap under your chin before using that grip to force your head to move up and down roughly. "That's what I thought. Now, I ain't going to ask you again, babydoll. Take your ass back to your room and take off your fuckin' panties. When I get back, you better be leaning over the edge or so fuckin' help me God."

The mere threat was sufficient to send you scuttling down the hallway, pushing past Joel in a rush to get to your room. He watches you do so with a sadistic smile on his face. To see you react in such a way has him so fucking hard in his jeans. He cups a hand over the thickness and squeezes. There was a brief warmth pooling in his groin, and he let out a husky moan before his hand falls away. In due time, he silently tells himself.

Shaking, stuttering breaths were muffled in the bedding. You did exactly as you were told. The tips of your toes just barely skimming the rug, you were leant over the edge of the bed with your panties pooled at your ankles. One of your hands had blindly reached across the bed to grab onto your stuffed animal to curl an arm around it and press it against your side. The only comforting thing you can have at this moment that can hopefully ease the unsettling anxiety that won't go away.

Uncertain of how much time has passed, it might have been five minutes, ten, or perhaps even an hour. You caught a fleeting sound of Joel entering the room to retrieve your plate, then he left, securing the door with a lock behind him.

Long stretches of silence enveloped you, allowing the sound of your own heartbeat to echo mercilessly in your ears. It was a fleeting moment of tranquility before Joel determined his next move. In this stillness, sleep nearly overtook you, the exhaustion from hours of weeping creeping up silently. Then, the door unlocks, knob slowly turning. The ominous creaking of your door opening has you tensing as you hold your breath.

The steady stomp of Joel's footsteps enters your room before the door is shut behind him. The sight of you in a position that he demanded from you was driving him fucking wild. Panties at your ankles and your cute ass on display, the hem of your dress stopping just at the middle of your cheeks. He can see your pussy nearly calling out for him to play with her. But he can't, not at this moment. He needs you to understand that your actions, done behind his back, were unacceptable. They were reckless and dangerous—just the thought of it is enough to make Joel feel like punching a wall over and over.

"Now, what am I goin' to do with you, babydoll?" The question is rhetorical. He knows what he's going to do to you, but you don't. Leaving you in the dark of where his mind runs wild, keeping you pure from his deranged, perverted thoughts was for your own good. He intends to maintain a safe distance to prevent any critical harm, beyond what has already been inflicted.

The sound of Joel's voice has your hips shifting, your pussy lips just barely parted to give him a show of your exposed clit poking out from the hood that protects the exposed nerve. As he gets closer, he can see your stuffed animal in a headlock under your arm. How cute and pathetic.

"I gotta say, honey," he starts talking, his voice humorless and no longer holding that warm tone he previously had when he walked in. "It was adorable you thought I was done with you tonight. I mean, you really thought Daddy locking you up here was all that he was goin' to do?"

Unsure if the question was rhetorical or not, you still answered in a breathy voice, "Y-Yes, Daddy."

A smile makes its way onto Joel's face. "Yes, Daddy," he mocks your high pitched, breathy voice. The act of him doing so caused an embarrassed flush to warm your cheeks and ears. To be mocked made you feel so small. But that's what you are to Joel; this tiny, little thing that is so easy to crush in his big hand.

His groin rests against your ass cheeks, both of his hands lifting your dress higher until it pools around your upper back, further exposing your naked body to his eager eyes. The rough denim of his jeans and the cold metal of his zipper pressing into your backside made you hiss under your breath. Joel's hands hold onto your hips, forcing your body further onto the bed until your toes are no longer skimming above the rug, your feet now only dangling a few inches up.

"That's more like it," he grunts quietly, biting down on the plump flesh of his body limp when he sees goosebumps erupt on your soft skin. So, so fucking soft and untainted. As one hand pins you down at your lower back, his other hand gently rubs across your left ass cheek. Barely glancing at you to make sure you're prepared for what's to come, Joel mutters, "Brace yourself, sweetheart."

Then, he thwacks his palm across your skin. The force and strength of the smack made you cry out in surprise and pain. He smacks your other cheek with the same force. He does it again and again, back and forth, back and forth. Your legs kick behind you as fiery warmth blossoms along your backside. Your arm squeezes tighter around your stuffed bunny as you blindly reach a hand behind you to cover your bottom. Joel was quick to grab your wrist to pin it at your lower back.

He doesn't fucking stop spanking you. Not even when his own handprint is starting to show on your skin. He grunts with every thwack of his hand across your sensitive flesh. The cries that are forced out of you were music to his ears. Your backside feels like it's on fire underneath his wide palm; he doesn't know when to stop or ease up. The frustration and irritation from earlier were slowly making their way into Joel's mind.

"Bad." Smack. "Bad." Smack. "Fuckin'." Smack. "Girl."

Joel grunts like an animal as the smacks happen in quick succession. You're wailing into the covers, feet kicking weakly as you try so desperately to wiggle away from him. He won't stop. The pain is indescribable. It burns so badly, throbbing non-stop and feeling like a million needles are being stabbed into your skin. Your throat hurts from your pain-filled wails that are muffled into your bedding.

He's panting heavily and sweating. Wiping a forearm across his forehead, Joel removes his hands from your body, tilting one hand to the side to observe your marked ass. His handprints are on your skin, clear as day. He can feel the blazing heat radiating from your backside. But again, he's not done with you yet. And he tells you just that.

"Quit your fuckin' whinin'," he orders, both hands lowering to his thick leather belt to undo it from the hoops of his jeans. "We're not done until I say we're done." He folds the leather and snaps it together, the resounding sound causing you to cry harder in the sheets.

You learned your lesson. You know that you've been a bad girl. You know this. But the words fail to emerge, your voice and mouth unable to coordinate effectively enough to communicate with Joel. A tumult of emotions rages through your violently trembling body: fear, confusion, intense pain, and fatigue.

Folded, thick leather smacking against tender, angry skin is what forces a scream to erupt from your throat. With your bunny discarded, both hands desperately grab at your bedsheets to pull you away from Joel and his offending belt. You can faintly hear him sucking his teeth before one of his hands roughly yanks you back down by the back collar of your dress.

"Cry as much as you want to, babydoll!" he shouts through your pained wails. Then, the belt strikes across your ass repeatedly. Joel was barely giving you time to breathe through your tears and dribbling snot and drool that slides down your chin. "Kick all you want! Daddy ain't stopping!"

He lowers the position of the belt so that he can strike the back of your thighs as well. You're sure that after tonight, you won't be able to sit or speak for a very long time, for your vocal cords are nearly shattered from how hard and loud you were screaming, and Joel's hands and belt are bruising your backside. You're wishing that this torture will end. You're wishing that Joel will stop and hold you while you cry in his arms like a blubbering baby. Stop. Stop. Stop.

"Stop!" You screamed and screamed, both hands desperately reaching back to cover your backside. Everything burns. Everything feels like it's on fire. The pain only intensified when Joel tossed his belt aside and resorted to the palm of his hand again. "Please, please, stop, p-please!" Your speech now slurred and unrecognizable from thick tears, your hands claw at Joel's wrist, his hand wrapped around both of your own wrists to pin at your lower back again.

Only then does Joel snap out of it.

He's breathing so heavy that an innocent bystander would think that he was having a panic attack. Joel looks down at his creation and finally pulls his hand off of your wrists. Your arms go limp at your sides; you don't even bother trying to cover yourself. He looks at your backside, his thumb gently wiping away some blood that dotted around broken skin that was caused by his belt. He hums thoughtfully, bringing his thumb to his lips and licking your blood from the tip. In a day or two, your ass was going to be badly bruised and marked, all thanks to him.

"Such a sweet girl," he whispers, leaning down to press his nose behind your ear and inhaling deeply. Your body violently shakes underneath his chest. His groin is crushed against your horribly bruised ass, the pressure of it making you cry weakly, all the energy suddenly drained from you once he stopped abusing your ass.

Glancing down at his hard cock, now thick and pressing uncomfortably into his thigh, Joel decided now would be a good time for you to make him feel good. Though he knows you're not up for it, he doesn't fucking care. A darkness lurks within his mind, akin to an alter ego that commandeers his body, a monster in its purest form. This other facet of him is sadistic, vicious, and relentless. With you, it's so easy to fall into this second body. It's addicting. He can't stop, even if he knows this is wrong.

With a hoarse grunt, Joel grabs the back of your arms and yanks you off the bed to drop you down onto your knees. With a hand under your chin to keep your face pointed up to him, his other hand unbuttons his jeans and pulls them down, along with his underwear. He pushes both offending fabrics mid-thigh, sighing with satiated relief when his cock slaps up, nearly poking you in the eye.

You could hardly pay attention. Your eyes were unfocused and hazy, swollen lips parted to inhale and exhale shakily. You were so deep in another world that Joel had to roughly shake your head to bring you back down the earth. Unsure of why you feel so dizzy, you tried focusing on the pain in your backside that was still throbbing relentlessly, the burning fire now sizzling into a numb sensation.

"Tongue out," Joel demands roughly as he holds your hair into a makeshift ponytail with one hand as the other holds the base of his cock to tap his leaking tip against your lips.

Hearing his order, you look up at him with tear-filled eyes and do as you're told. You don't even know what exactly you're doing, but all you can hear in your mind is be a good girl and listen to him. Your eyes almost cross as you get a better look of his cock, and they widen comically. God, Joel was really long and thick. You wondered if all men were this size. It was intimidating to look at. You don't know if even less than half could fit in your mouth, let alone inside of you. Joel observes the revelation in your eyes and drops his left into a wink.

"Careful with your teeth, baby," his voice was gruff and strained, his mushroomed tip throbbing against your lips as his heavy balls tighten from the warmth pooling intensely in his groin. "Yeah, just like that."

His praise was something that you desperately needed tonight. Forgetting about the unrelenting abuse you endured on your backside, you can make it up to him by showing you that yes, you really are a good girl, and you will listen to him and do what you're told.

When you take too long to give Joel what he wants, he decides to take charge in one way that he knows how. Both hands grab either side of your head, forcing it to stay still as he shoves half of his cock into your mouth. Your eyes widened and you sputtered sloppily around his dick, your hands frantically fisting his jeans at his thighs. He grunts and groans, sweat pooling behind his neck and sliding down the line of his back.

"Goddamn," he hissed under his breath, moving his hips forward and back to start fucking your mouth with a brutal pace that has his balls slapping against your wet chin. "Born natural, ain't ya?"

Coughing and choking around his cock, you gagged and dry heaved as his thickness fills your mouth repeatedly. Spit dribbles down your chin and slides down your chest as you bite back the bile pooling in the back of your throat. Joel's breathing stutters for a split second at the sight below him. Your lips were obscenely stretched around his girth, eyes wide and glassy with thick tears just waiting to spill over. The sloppy, wet noises coming from your mouth nearly made him bust right in your mouth.

"Let me try somethin'," Joel mumbles to himself before roughly grabbing the back of your head and forcing your head all the way down until your nose and lips were crushed against his dark public hair. The contractions of your throat squeezing around his cock has him moaning gruffly at the ceiling, his head thrown back, Adam's apple bobbing in time with each moan that comes out.

Taking advantage of Joel's lax state, your nails dig into the thick meat of his thighs to push yourself off of him. His cock slips from your lips, strings of spit connecting from the enlarged tip to your puffy lips. You're coughing and dry heaving, your throat burning terribly. Joel looks down and grins wolfishly.

His hand languidly strokes his soaking cock. The sight of you struggling from his size was an image he wanted to engrave in his mind so he can watch it over and over again. He liked seeing you struggle. Hell, he fucking craves to see it again. Without giving you any time to prepare, he grabs the back of your head to force you down onto his cock once more.

The sopping wet choking sounds that are emitting from your throat are driving him insane. He wonders what would happen if he just...

Both hands roughly grab your head to yank you down until his cock goes down your throat again. This time, he keeps you there for a few, long, grueling seconds. You're sputtering wildly, eyes wide with terror as tears spill over your waterline. Your fists are weakly punching at his thighs, and you try to pull your head back, but Joel only crushes your head harder into his pelvis until your nose is pressed so deep into his pubic hair.

Joel grunts like a wild beast. "Just like that. Fuckin' choke on it." He sees your lashes flutter weakly, your eyes half-lidded and rolling into the back of your head. The lack of oxygen to your brain has your heart slowing dramatically. This is your death. Yeah, this is definitely how you're going to die: choking on Joel Miller's dick, also your mom's husband.

Suddenly, your head is pulled off and you're gasping for air like it's the last thing on earth. Your head is spinning and you're doubling over until your forehead is almost touching Joel's boots. Your throat burns and you can barely feel your tongue. This wasn't supposed to be happening. This is all your fault. You deserve this punishment. Bad girl. Bad, bad, bad girl. Slowly rocking yourself back and forth, you sniffle softly and take a weak glance up at him. A shadow almost casts over your face from where you kneeled, his long cock perfectly aligned below the ceiling light.

Joel bends down to lift you higher on your knees. His big hands gently hold your cheeks, and your eyes shut as this is the first tender touch you've felt in hours. You savor this moment, sniffling again and licking your bottom lip. Joel smiles sweetly, lowering his head to kiss your forehead, nose, and then your lips. A sweet little whimper reverberates against his lips. When he pulls away, he quietly instructs you to open your eyes, babydoll.

When you do, you're met with sweet, nice, tender Joel again. Have you really made it to the end of your punishment? Are you his good girl again? Is this really it? The moment doesn't last long. The smile on Joel's face vanishes gradually slowly. There's a sick feeling that returns back inside your stomach. This is going to be never-ending. This is your well-deserved punishment. Pain, pain, pain.

When Joel purses his lips, you flinch when a wad of spit lands on across the bridge of your nose and slides down your cheeks prettily. Your eyes open and your mouth drops. This was the most demeaning thing for him to do. Spitting on your face is a clear indication that you're nothing more than a personal toy for Joel to use. This whole entire night was of him showing you what you mean to him. The thought added a crack to your heart. All you ever wanted was to be good.

Joel's fingers filthily rub his spit all over your face, a crude smile on his face as he does so. His middle and index fingers are shoved into your mouth, the pads of his fingertips covered in his slick and are now laying against your wiggly tongue. "There we go," he breathes out, gently prodding his fingers further down your throat until they brush against your uvula, causing you to gag and sputter.

You barely have enough time to react before he's yanking his fingers from your mouth and landing a smack to your cheek. It almost sends you flying to the side if it weren't for his hand holding onto the other side of your face. Joel hushes you quietly when your eyes shut tightly, fire spreading across your face.

"This is for your own good, babydoll," he whispers against your forehead, pulling away to pop your cheek again, and then landing another smack to your other cheek. He shushes your pained cries again, giving you a messy, tongue-filled kiss. You can't stop crying against his mouth, snot, spit, and tears all over your face. The anguish won't diminish. It gets stronger and stronger the more Joel breaks you apart little by little.

His hands curl into your hair, tightening into fists and yanking your head back a few inches from his face. His eyes darken as he sees the fear in your beautifully broken eyes. He spits on your face once more, trailing his eyes over the artistic splatter across your nose and cheeks. His cock, still rock hard and soaking wet, hangs out of his jeans.

Joel is a patient man. In due time, you and he will finally become one. Whether you liked it or not, you were his--his to use, his to play with, his to destroy. You don't have a voice anymore. Joel Miller broke you apart with his bare hands and left you scrabbling to pick up the pieces.

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dantakeyoman · 2 years ago

Note

the, “his secret mate.” part in your fic where she took the bullet from neteyam had me tearing up huhuhu can we get the detail of their intimacy in relationship before that war? not always to be nsfw, but fluff with full of lovesick moments aarghhwbd

You and Neteyam Mate In Secret (Slight-NSFW / Comfort)

Prologue of "You Take The Bullet"

CW: nsfw implied ( and a little described ), right after his second birth ( he is now a tribe-observed man, and part of the People ), you and Neteyam are so in love, kinda magical ngl, reminder that Utral Aymokriyä is the place Jake and Neytiri mated, Neteyam is a consent king

"You skxawng! Where are you taking me?" you laughed, Neteyam's hand in yours as he ran through the forest with you, his trademark smile plastered on his face.

"You'll see," he teased, jumping off a large tree root and landing on the mossy ground.

You did your best to keep up, jumping as well, but you landed off balance, and were about to fall.

Neteyam noticed this and quickly turned around, yanking you toward him so you landed in his chest, instead of the mud.

You sighed, pulling your face out of his pecs, and resting on it instead.

You were tired.

This man had made the both of you sprint from Hometree, all the way to....wherever here was.

Technically, the both of you weren't even supposed to be out right now.

Neteyam had just had his Second Birth, and was supposed to be spending it with the People.

But through the commotion, he managed to sneak the both of you out.

"I must show you something. Come!" his words echoed in your head.

If Neteyam wanted to sneak out, then it must be something incredibly important.

"Irayo," you panted, breathless as you took your quick break.

A dark tint of blue rested on his cheeks as he nodded, his hands instinctively going to rest on your hips.

"Kea tìkin," he assured, averting his eyes from you so you could not see his blush.

Noticing the slight purple-ish glow that was shining from behind him, you lifted your head, peeking over his shoulder and gasping at the sight.

Utral Aymokriyä.

"Oh, Neteyam!" you gasped, quickly breaking from the hug and walking over to the large tree.

It stood tall, and proud, like the might of thousands lay hiding in it's branches.

Despite being Omaticaya, you had never been to this place. Though you had constantly told Neteyam how you dreamed of doing so one day.

Out-stretching your arms, you walked toward the base of the tree, smiling as you allowed all of it’s tendrils to rake over you, softly.

Neteyam did the same, but not without letting his gaze linger on you.

He couldn't help but smile as he watched you experience the tree in wonder.

You were adorable.

The tree bathed you in purple light, accentuating your every feature.

Your beauty was a sight to behold, that was what caught his attention first.

Your face was sculputure-like, ethereal.

Even if he were to stare at your face for hours, he wouldn’t be able to find a single thing wrong.

You laughed, dancing with a tendril of the tree as if it were another person.

And your voice. It came out so smooth and silky, like his favorite song on repeat.

Sitting down on the ground, you rested your hands on the ground, shutting your eyes and allowing yourself to feel the beautiful energy the tree was emitting.

It wasn’t just your physical features, either.

It was the way you carried yourself, the way you were strong, and tough, yet soft and kind for your people and Pandora.

You had this man weak in the knees every time you crossed paths, and it was getting to the point where it was affecting his day-to-day life.

All he thought of was you. Eat, sleep, breathe, repeat. You.

You were a distraction, but a beautiful one. One that deserved to be protected by every ounce of his being.

"My mother took me here when I was no older than a baby," Neteyam started, walking over and sitting down next to you.

"She said this was a place for prayers to be heard. ....And sometimes answered."

He took his queue, making tsaheylu with a soft sigh, before turning back to you, who was watching him in peaceful, silent awe.

It made him blush.

You did the same, a soft gasp leaving you lips as you shut your eyes, the songs and chants of past peoples dancing through your ears, as clear as day.

When you opened your eyes again, Neteyam chuckled at your child-like expression, your mouth slightly gaped in wonder.

“I can hear them,” you nodded, eyes trained on the tendril you were bonded with.

Neteyam disconnected the bond, and looked up at the mighty tree, your gaze burning holes into his face.

"My mother told me that now I am truly one of the People, I can make my bow out of the wood of Hometree.....and choose a woman," he cheesed, the thought of you being his mate bringing a smile to his face.

But you did not think the same.

Oh. He has already chosen.

You expression fell, but you did your best to keep your smile happy.

"Who are you going to choose? We have many good women for a future Olo'eyktan," you tearfully recommended, a quiet gasp leaving you lips as a atokirina floated down to you, resting in your palms.

Neteyam snapped his head over to you, confused.

What in the world are you talking about?

"Eyati is a good hunter."

"I do not want Eyati," he quickly shut down, looking at you intently.

Lovingly.

"Oh," you nodded. He didn't want a huntress, then.

"Ilyena is a good dancer."

Neteyam internally facepalmed.

You were not understanding.

He thought he was being quite obvious with his admiration.

His frequent touches, talking of finding a woman, taking you to a spot where people literally go to mate.

You were the only one he wants. The only one he could ever want.

What else would he have to do to get that through your head?

Once the atokirina flew away, you returned your hand to the earth, where Neteyam smoothly interlocked his with yours.

"I do not think you are understanding. I have already chosen," he smiled, looking down at your conjoined hands.

"Oh," you sighed, averting your eyes from him. "Who is the lucky woman?"

Oh, for Eywa's sake.

He groaned, cupping your face in his hand and turning you to face him, where he roughly landed his lips on yours, practically knocking the wind out of you.

At first, you were shocked. All this talk of women, and now he was kissing you?

But you decided to let a good thing be.

You kissed back, matching his roughness as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

His hands immediately went to your waist, resting his hands on your hips as he pulled out from the kiss, staring at you like a lovesick fool.

And his heart seemed to pick up speed when he saw that you were looking at him the exact same way, a beautiful smile on your face.

It seems you liked it better when he showed, not told.

He would remember that for the future.

"(y/n), it is you. You are the woman I have chosen. I cannot think of anyone better to be at my side," he beamed, switching his gaze to the glowing tendrils around him, along with the many atrokirina that decided to make an arrival.

"Do you not see? Eywa has chosen us for each other."

You were on the verge of happy tears.

You had loved this man for so, so, so long, and so hard. And to hear that he has loved you with the same intensity, if not more, was something that warmed you from the inside out.

"I see you, my Neteyam," you smiled, cupping his face in your hands, resting your forehead on his.

"I see you, my love," he smiled back, giving your lips a peck.

It wasn't enough.

As he pulled back, you chased him, attaching your lips once more, throwing your arms over his shoulders.

He groaned, his hands softly caressing your hips as he kissed back with just as much fervor.

"My Neteyam," you sighed, trailing your kisses from his lips, down to his jawline.

He understood your quiet plea, shifting his position so he sat on his knees, before lifting you into his lap.

With this new angle, he peppered your chest with loving, heavy kisses, making you sigh once more.

You raked your hands through his hair, one sensually trailing down his braid and carefully holding up his kuru.

Using your other hand, you found yours, and were about you connect them when Neteyam stopped you.

"My love, are you sure? We do not have to do this if you are not ready," he asked, firmly.

Don't get him wrong. He wanted do to this more than anything in the world.

Having you in his arms, kissing him like this, was his greatest dream come true.

But just because it was his, did not mean it was yours.

And he wanted you to do this of your own volition.

"I am ready, Neteyam. I have always been ready," you assured, resting your forehead on his as you landed another heavy kiss on his lips.

With that, he nodded, and you made tsaheylu.

And the moan you two set loose surely reached the stars.

The feeling that enveloped the both of you was too much.

You could feel everything the other was feeling perfectly. Their heartbeat, their longing, their love.

Oh, the feeling of Neteyam's love was flooding your senses so much it was overwhelming.

Every piece of exposed skin he touched burned with fiery heat, but it felt so, so good.

You had no idea he loved you to this extent.

And as he lay you down on the mossy ground, him placing feather-light kisses across your exposed chest, the vision of children flashed through your head.

His vision.

They were your children, the kids running around the tent as the two of you lay in the corner, curled into each other.

Even in a moment so intimate, even as he entered you, his thoughts still traveled to something so wholesome and domestic.

It made you blush uncontrollably, and he sensed this.

"I....hnngh...see you, my (y/n). And there...fuck....is no one else I can see to be the mother of my children...shit...," he said huskily, peppering kisses on your shoulder with each thrust.

As tears welled in your eyes, you tightened your grip around his neck, another moan escaping you lips.

"I see you....ohhh!....my Neteyam," you sighed, bringing your hands to rest on his chest.

But for the first time, the both of you felt like that word didn't express enough.

Your love for each other expanded farther than just I see you, it was indescribable.

There was no Na'vi word for it.

But there was an English one.

One Jake had taught both of you, respectfully.

"I love you!" the two of you exclaimed in unison as you finished together, Neteyam making his final thrust.

And as you both lay on the ground, intertwined, coming down from your high, Neteyam said something that made you feel all the happiness in the world.

"I am with you now, (y/n)," he sighed, a tired smile on his face.

"We are mated for life."

#avatar #avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #na'vi x y/n #na'vi x reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x reader #neteyam smut #atwow x reader #atwow

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fangswbenefits · 1 year ago

Text

A Series of Firsts

𓂅 𓄹 Summary: You and Miguel are ready to become parents and you must now go through a series of firsts together.

𓂅 𓄹 Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader

No warnings. Just pure fluff. Mentions of pregnancy. Dad girl Miguel. Protective dad Miguel.

First Kick

“What colour should we have on the walls?” Miguel asked one day.

“Beige?”

“Boring.”

“Red?”

“Too much.”

“Red and blue?”

“That’s too… spidey.”

You giggled at his remark. “We’ll just pick a neutral one and let her decide as she grows up.”

“That’s settled, then,” he murmured, resting the side of his head on your baby bump as both of you lay comfortably on the bed.

“Fingers crossed for a zebra pattern in purple and green,” you teased.

“She can have whatever she wants,” he said simply and you knew he meant it.

Warmth spread in your heart, realising Miguel would give her anything she’d ask for. Even the moon.

As you rolled a single strand of his hair around your finger, you gasped abruptly and halted.

Miguel shot up straight in full alert mode. “What is it? Are you okay?”

You nodded, running both hands along your belly, waiting to feel it once more.

He immediately picked up on the meaning of your sudden silence and placed a splattered hand next to yours.

It didn’t take long for a second kick to be felt and you watched his face awe. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” you whispered adoringly at his concern.

He paused briefly. “That was a strong kick.”

You placed your hand atop his. “She’ll take after you, then.”

First Time Meeting

Jessica placed the little bundle of joy into his arms as soon as the spider-nurses were done checking the vitals and dressing her.

“What is this?” Miguel asked with a light scowl, shifting to have the sleeping baby face you.

Even through your post-labour exhaustion you managed to giggle.

She was dressed in a red and blue suit-like onesie that had Peter’s face printed onto the fabric as rainbow coloured words read ‘my 1st spider suit’.

“Remind again me why we let him choose.”

“You know how Peter is,” you said softly. “It’s a very cute gift.”

“Right.”

Miguel didn’t seem all that convinced, but brought her back against his chest protectively.

You watched as Miguel’s hardened face immediately softened in adoration and, for a couple of minutes, he just stood there, rocking her lightly in his arms.

“She’s… tiny,” he concluded, fingers probing around her hand. “She’s perfect.”

He raised her slowly up to his face and he planted a soft kiss to her forehead, earning a sudden yawn.

“Welcome home,” he whispered to her, completely transfixed. “I’ll always protect you.”

Something inside you stirred. This big grumpy man with volatile moods had just been disarmed by a tiny baby.

That was definitely a sight to behold.

First Sleepless Night

“We’re not having another baby.”

“Agreed.”

“Ever.”

Miguel let out a measured sigh in agreement. “Ever.”

The two of you lay sprawled across the large bed, facing the ceiling as the first rays of sunshine began to lit up the room.

Your daughter had finally fallen asleep after hours of fighting against it, nearly driving both of you crazy in the process.

As you readied yourself to slide off the mattress, you felt Miguel’s hold on your wrist stilling you.

“Don’t move,” he whispered. “Please.”

You groaned inwardly. “I need to go pee, Miguel.”

Sleepy and bloodshot eyes met yours. “It took us hours to drain her energy… hold it in for a while,” now that was a desperate tone if you’d ever heard one from him.

You heaved a long and heavy sigh, feeling his thumb gently rubbing at your pulse point in sheer gratitude.

“Yup. No more babies, O’Hara.”

“Maybe one more?”

You shot him a death glare and he swallowed hard.

“… or not.”

First Scare

You paced around the apartment, having already lost count of the amount of baby monitors that Miguel had spread all over the place.

“This is a bit too much, no?”

Miguel was checking on the sleeping baby through the orange-tinted screen of his dimensional travel watch when he turned to glare at you like you had just said the most abominable thing ever.

“You can never be too careful,” he said in disbelief.

It was to be expected, really. Miguel was always obsessed with security no matter the context, so you couldn’t really say this surprised you.

“Even the watch?” you asked in awe.

“Of course. It’s a looped system that transmits directly to both our watches,” he said with a nod. “Any alteration in her bedroom trigers an alarm.”

Ever the scientist.

His eyes dropped to the hologram on his wrist and he let out a gasp.

“What?”

“She’s gone!”

Your heart nearly collapsed as a feral Miguel immediately set himself on all fours towards her bedroom, clawing at floor.

“Miguel!” you called after him in a hurry.

Once you reached the open door, you were presented with Peter holding your daughter as Mayday chuckled happily, seated on his shoulder.

“Peter!” Miguel growled, yanking your daughter from his hold and bringing her close to his chest defensively.

“Miguel! We were just paying a visit,” he chuckled. “Cute baby, by the way,” he turned to you with a smile and a flick of his fingers.

But Miguel was having none of that. “Out!”

Mayday stuck out her tongue at him right away, a habit she had yet to let gonof whenever Miguel was around.

“Lyla, why wasn’t the alarm triggered?”

The AI appeared by his shoulder at once, filing her nails. “You forgot to activate the security system, boss.”

First Word

“Pa~pá! Say it. Paaa~pá!”

“Cheater!” you exploded as you entered the kitchen in large steps.

Miguel turned to face you as your daughter giggled.

“We promised to let it be something spontaneous,” you lifted an accusing finger at him. “Cheater!”

He lifted both hands defensively. “I’m just giving her some help.”

In truth, you weren’t upset with him in the slightest. He had been such a constanr presence in his daughter’s life even through an exhausting amount of work around Nueva York.

You feigned indignation crossing your arms across your chest.

Miguel picked her out of the baby chair and walked towards you with a tentative smile.

“I’m sorry.”

Your front broke right away as he leaned to nudge his forehead against yours. “You’re still a cheater,” you accused, not able prevent your lips from curling into a smirk.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

Your daughter started clapping enthusiastically. “Petaah~” and then burst into laughter.

Miguel looked down at her in shock. “What?”

It was almost comedic irony that the first word your daughter said was Peter, which had Miguel sulk for a couple of days.

First Steps

You missed kissing Miguel with no interruptions. Having some alone time in between taking care of your daughter was not easy to come by.

So whenever there was an opening, you’d both make it count.

He had your back pressed against the cold surface of the bedroom wall in no time, framing your face with both hands to deepen the searing kiss.

You melted into his touch right away, yearning for more.

Miguel broke the kiss momentarily to check his watch, panting lightly. “She’s still in the living room.”

You sighed in relief as he took your lips in his once more, hungrier this time. Both of your hands were resting on his firm chest, enjoying the way his muscles rippled under your touch.

Miguel hummed into you, swallowing your gasps and moans.

Your eyes were about to flutter shut when you detected movement out of the corner of your eye.

Panic took over and you immediately pushed Miguel away with a yelp.

Standing by the door was your daughter, gripping the frame with tiny hands, barely able to keep her balance.

Miguel offered her a kind smile. “Hey, you… come here.”

Your heart was hammering hard in your chest as you struggled to even your breathing.

She broke into an amused chuckle, wobbling in Miguel’s direction as he dropped to one knee. “Come here,” he encouraged.

But she would only take a couple of steps before her legs gave out under her to have her sit on the floor.

This was evidently very amusing as she kept trying to mimic her first attempt in between laughter

Miguel exchanged a proud smile with you and, for the first time in a long, you didn’t mind being interrupted.

Masterlist

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara fluff #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x you #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel ohara imagine #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara oneshot #spider man 2099 x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #atsv miguel

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steddietogo · 2 years ago

Text

Eddie can’t sleep with all the snoring. He should’ve taken Steve’s guest room when he had the chance but Eddie apparently is an affectionate drunk. He didn’t protest when Steve and Robin lead him to Steve’s bedroom and the three had just collapsed onto the bed together.

Now Steve is snoring like a fucking chainsaw. How can he be expected to sleep in these conditions? Hey, at least Eddie’s found one thing he finds undesirable in Steve. It was beginning to be too much— the constant barrage of butterflies in his stomach whenever Steve did completely normal, swoon worthy things. But Steve snoring like a faulty boat motor? No butterflies. Problem solved.

But Eddie’s still mad that he can’t sleep. He flops around angrily to glare at Steve’s slumbering form and— the dude is on his back, wide awake and blinking up at the ceiling. Now Steve’s back to being stupid perfect and that just makes Eddie more mad.

“What the fuck,” he whisper-shouts in the dark. Steve, fucking glowing in the eerie blue-tinted light spilling in through the window, just turns to him and shrugs.

Eddie props himself up on his elbows and peers over him at Robin— who is twisted up in a blanket, dead to the world and making enough noise to scare away a wild demogorgan probably.

“Does this happen often?” He asks Steve.

“Only when she’s drunk, and you don’t need to whisper, no way you can wake her up now,”

“Oh,” Eddie flops back down on his stomach making a mournful noise. “Goodbye sleep, you will be missed,” Steve turns to Eddie, curling up onto his side until his face was so close to Eddie’s that their noses almost touch.

“I can think of other ways to pass time,” Steve practically purrs. Eddie barely hears him past the blood roaring in his ears.

“L-like what?” He tries and fails to keep his own voice steady. If Steve making eyes at him from a distance are dangerous then those eyes in this proximity are deadly. Eddie discreetly pinches himself to keep him from doing something stupid. Like closing the gap between their lips.

“Like—” Steve pulls himself up and, holyfuckingshit, plants a knee on either side of Eddie’s hips. Eddie doesn’t have an exact number for the times his dream had started exactly like this. Steve on his hands and knees, hovering over Eddie.

This is happening. Is this happening? With Robin right there beside them? Actually Eddie doesn’t care about that part but is it happening?

Then Steve moves again, gets off Eddie and slides off the bed like he didn’t nearly just send the man into cardiac arrest. “We could go watch a movie?” The fucker smirks at him like he knows exactly what he just did to Eddie. Get it together, Munson.

Eddie ends up following Steve downstairs like a love sick puppy anyways. Even lets him pick a cheesy musical to watch. When Eddie finally starts to drift off to slumberland, he feels a strong pair of arms pulling him into a warm chest. And the last thing Eddie thinks of before fully succumbing to sleep is that maybe he might have a chance with Steve after all.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #mine #Steve has on good authority that Eddie has a crush on him #and also he has eyes

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justblades · 2 years ago

Text

⌕ CRAVINGS, 18+

⟢ CHARACTER : gepard landau x afab! reader WC : 1.5k

⟢ WARNINGS : MDNI. fluff, breeding, impregnation, pussy deprived! gepard, cervix kissing.

Gepard Landau is a stronghold of resolve and kept promises; the one who truly fits the theme of what a captain is made up of. Should you hear his name spilling from the silvermane guards' lips, they were all praises and musings, hoping that their captain would acknowledge their efforts and promote their position.

To be a resolute person, showing no signs, leaving no traces of weaknesses behind for they can be used by your foe when time permits; it was indubitable when he seeks for his solace, a place he can rest and let his guard down once in a while. To let his sharp, firm edges soften— admittingly wanting to be caressed with intimacy and care no one could give him but his lover.

Even though you could pick up how his work had taken a toll on him from the endless fragmentum monsters emerging from the depths of the shadows, he still puts up a façade of being strong, facing everything head on. As much as you wanted him to drop it and just bask in the feeling of being held, Gepard wasn't that type of man. Everything he says, he sees through.

Fortunately, the Belobog's crisis wraps itself up at last. With the emergence of overworld and the underworld, he'd been cut some slack. No need for heightened patrols since the curfew was abolished, for once, he could finally rest in your arms. His luscious, smoked blonde hair falls over right below your ear, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

"I missed holding you like this." He says, voice laced with a sweet tone to it, his arms wrapped around your waist tightly. You cup his hot pink tinted cheeks and lift his face to level with yours, your eyes agleam of love and passion, you press a chaste kiss on his icy skin.

Gepard draws you a gaze, one that emits confusion. "Let loose for a while." You say and slowly glide your hands from his face down to his stomach. His breath suddenly hitches the lower your touch traveled, you whisper to his ear meticulously, "It's been so long. You sure you don't miss it?"

A sly smirk creeps on your face meanwhile the blonde male does his best attempt to hide it. Although his growing bulge that came contact with your thighs gave it away. His rover blue hues only averted away from your figure, embarrassment gushing through his system. All he needs is just a little teasing, and then, the cogs of his body's lust will soon start moving.

You press your lips onto his in lento, making sure he could feel the warmth of your breath tickling his skin, and your fingers slightly playing with his clothed erection. A soft mewl comes out of your mouth and there he felt a little too defeated, for he lost from battling his temptation and his tongue enters your mouth, twirling with yours in satisfaction.

His soft, tender side flips 180 degrees, his actions now radiate hunger and fervor. Gepard's hands land on yours, but you were only taken aback when he makes you stroke his crotch more, in a pace you knew very well he was fond of. The captain moans into your mouth, a guttural one at that.

"Since you're offering nicely, I'm just accepting generously." He says and as if the time came to a standstill, your clothes were ripped apart with Gepard's brute force alone. He uses his teeth to rid himself of the pearly white gloves he sported, carelessly throwing it away somewhere it wouldn't bother you. Your back suddenly meets with the soft, cushioned sofa, breathing becoming ragged.

One thing's for sure, you're loving how everything is unfolding. Surely the yearning for some intimacy also left him with a pent up sexual frustration, it was no wonder he suddenly bursted with a deep desire to conquer, to ruin, and to prey on. His usual navy irises transition into darker shades, unable to control himself any longer.

"No foreplay for now. Maybe later for round two—" He says as he sweeps your undergarment to the side, eyeing carefully your throbbing entrance with his watchful eyes. "Doesn't look like you need it either when you're already this sopping wet." Gepard pumps two digits into your hole, his fingers already drenched with your love juices.

You feel like your tongue betrayed you for you were at a loss for words in the heat of the moment. But nonetheless, you brace yourself from the incoming sensation. The crown of his dick was hot, rubbing against your slit naughtily at a painfully slow pace.

It has been so long hence why you were this wet already— imagine being that desperate for your lover's touches that snuggling with him makes you think of the dirtiest things. But with how the tables have turned, the man atop you is now whose minds are filled with corrupted, lewd thoughts. Fantasies in line waiting to come true now that you're here with him.

And as he bucks his hips, his rock hard cock fills you to the brim. Your walls contract from the abrupt intrusion while you could only hold onto his biceps for support. His arms propped both on your sides, the soft glow of the lights cast over to Gepard's half naked body— tracing his muscles flexing in every thrusts that he does, as well as how his golden locks tumble on his face along with his rhythm.

Your walls cling onto his dick, remembering his shape whenever he prods through. You wince from how girthy it was and as anticipated, he's purposely being slow today. His rams were gradual wherein you could feel his aching prominent veins rub on your insides. "Faster, Gepard."

He only hums in question - sarcastically. It was then a dilatory realization sinks in your mind, he wants you to plead for him. As shocking as it is, you never got to experience Gepard being like this for the record. It only reinforces the thought that he was indeed sexually frustrated. Sex encounters with him are always sweet, wholesome and carefree. If you had to describe it with one word, it'd be vanilla.

But Gepard Landau is being the complete opposite, however, he still has many sides of him to discover. You choose to indulge him more so you'd experience this kind of sex more often. Vanilla isn't bad, but changing once in a while is even better.

"Faster . . Gepard, please." Your breathy voice could only make out weak words. Meanwhile down there, it's muffled from the squelching noises reverberating inside the four beige painted walls. The male leans lower to you and crashes his lips once again, never getting tired of your warm, sticky liquids meshing with his.

With one last sluggish thrust, he hastily pounces into your fluttering hole, almost as if it was at 20 machs speed, not to mention he's digging deep. Your eyes widen into two full moons from the feeling, your cervix kissing his very dick's small slit. A moan bubbles from his throat, "You're so warm . . you're sucking me in . ." He muses and breaks the lascivious kiss.

Eyes heavy lidded with a piercing lustful gaze that bore straight through your soul, he builds momentum and doesn't let himself be swayed. He's here to accept your kindhearted offer and Gepard only makes the best of it. He huffs as he pounds faster, picking up the speed of his pistoning thrusts.

Meanwhile you were there, already a mess from how Gepard's touches turn you into a melting putty. In contrast to the city outskirts being traced with icy temperatures, your bodies were in heat - literally. The captain's eyes never once left your face, lips a little parted to make way to stabilize his breathing.

In sync, two of you sense that particular feeling, a satisfaction of release wherein you both tried so hardest to catch on. Bucking your hips along with your lover's, the sex fills your minds with sexual gratification. Your body trembles from the immense ecstasy, and suddenly, Gepard's mind starts to drift to ecstasy.

The way your walls coil around his dick, the way you begged for him for the both of your contentment; a thought crosses his mind. From that moment, he could envision a family, you holding something swaddled while your eyes twinkled of love and wonder. As if he was in another dimension, he treads closer to your figure. It was then he realizes it was his and your offspring, the baby uttering noises with a toothless, innocent smile. You'd make a great mother undeniably, Gepard thought, thus leading to his breakthrough.

"Let's . . have a family." He coos in between the strings of mewls escaping his sultry, sloppy lips. You were caught off guard, even though you were hoping for a long time he'd say that, you didn't think today would be the the day. With a snicker, you reassure his ideals. "Today seems like the perfect day." With one last open mouthed kiss, the blonde head shoots his seeds deep into your walls - with intentions of not just solely quenching his lascivious desires, but also having another life form birthed into this world.

His cum spills into your slit right until Gepard pulls out from your cunt. He buried so much in deep that you were certain he'd knock you up with one round alone, but your lover didn't share the same sentiment. "Let's do it thrice today, just to make sure."

my masterlist !

#gepard landau #gepard landau x reader #gepard x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut #gepard x reader smut #gepard landau x reader smut #hsr x reader

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thevoidstaredback · 6 months ago

Text

Every man has his breaking point. Danny's is just a bit higher than everyone else's because he's a king and has a high tolerance for absolute bull shit. No matter how strong that bar is, though, one can only bend so far before snapping.

Unfortunately for everyone around him, Danny has reached his breaking point.

"I wish I could get drunk," he stared into his drink longingly, "Or high. But mostly drunk."

"Why do ya say that?" Billy asked, tilting his head curiously to the left.

Danny sighed, "It's a long story."

"I've got time." he shrugged.

"Are ya sure?" Danny raised an eyebrow. "You don't think any emergencies are gonna crop up? Nothing you'll need to go take care of?"

Billy backed off a little, folding into his seat. "What're you talking about? I'm just some kid on the street. I ain't going anywhere."

Danny rolled his head from side to side. "Mostly, I'm talking about the JL meeting the both of us are gonna skip out on tonight."

"What-?"

"C'mon, Captain, it won't do to talk here," he stood, picking up his coffee and waiting for Billy to do the same.

Billy's eyes narrowed as he looked Danny up and down. "I don't recognise you," he whispered, "Who are you."

Danny produced another calling card from his sleeve as he sipped his drink, holding it in front of himself but not handing it over. When Billy was looking at it, he flipped it over. The white background turned matte black, all the runes in the Ouroboros turning so white that they glowed. The DP in the very middle tinted blue, pulsing with toxic green energy, slightly cold to the touch. The edges started to frost over.

Quickly, Billy pulled the card Danny had given him before from the inner pocket of his jacket. It, too, had changed to match the one Danny held, though there was no longer a DP in the middle. Instead, it said 'Phantom' in fancy calligraphy.

"No way," the kid muttered, his expression awestruck, "Phantom? That's you? No shit?"

Danny chuckled, tucking the card away again, "No shit, kid. Don't tell anyone, though. You're the only one who knows."

"Really?" he squeaked.

"Really."

***

Having someone know his whole story was refreshing, just as he's sure Billy felt good to have someone know his, too. That didn't stop him from feeling bad about dumping it all on the poor kid.

"I still wish I could get drunk," Phantom lamented."

Constantine looked up from the book he was reading. "You can't get drunk?"

"Nope."

"How'd ya figure that one out, kid?"

"Please don't call me a kid."

That's not good. The blond marked the page before setting the book to the side. Phantom had never actually asked him to stop calling him a kid. "What's wrong?" He didn't normally do the whole 'feelings' things, but the was an exception.

Phantom sighed long and sad. He didn't look up from the carpet. "I told you they were going to ask invasive questions."

"Who was it?" It was more of a demand then a question.

"Red Robin,"

"Red- I thought you would've skipped town when we were done there? I sure as hell did."

"I know you did, but I decided to stick around for a bit. Wander, y'know? Red Robin caught up to me and would leave me alone."

Oh, oh no. Those were tears. Were they? Yeah, shit, they are! John is not equipped to handle this!

Phantom sniffled. "He asked me how I died."

Fuck.

John Constantine is not easy to anger. Sure, he gets tired, and irritated, and a whole slew of emotions, but he is very slow to anger.

Phantom, he knows, is not a child. The ghost can very much take care of himself in basically every way one could think of. He saved the world on his own, several times, when he was fourteen. He became a King and Protector when he was fourteen. He died when he was fourteen.

Right now, all he could see was the child who hadn't ever been properly laid to rest. It was hard not to call Phantom a child when he seemed so small, seeking comfort from anyone. Phantom was crying. He'd retreated to the House and locked himself in Constantine's room, only talking when he was ready to, but he'd waited to cry.

Phantom didn't like crying. Every person in the JLD knew this.

No. John Constantine is not quick to anger, but he is scary when he reaches that point. Batman might be the night and vengeance and all that shit, but John Constantine was wrathful.

He sat beside Phantom and let the ghost lean into him and cry. He didn't like dealing with feelings, but this was a child in need of comfort and he was the only one around to offer it. "Do you really want me to stop calling you 'kid'?"

A sniffle and a small head shake. "No."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"...sure."

"How old are you really? As a ghost, not as a human or a halfa. How old are you?"

"Fourteen." he mumbled, "I'll never be any older than fourteen, John," he was getting a bit hysterical now, "I'll never be any older than fourteen! I-I died and-and now I have to rule and-and people keep asking and no one believes me and-!" A sob cut him off, heavy with grief and wet with tears. He cried for hours, giving up on trying to form words. Constantine let him, ignoring the wet patches on his shirt. Eventually, Phantom's sobs died down into hiccups. "I didn't...I'm- I'm sorry."

"It's alright, mate," he meant it, really and truly.

Phantom rubbed his eyes, "I'm gonna go hide somewhere."

"Not gonna share where?"

"No, I want to be alone for a while." He paused at the door, "Whatever you're gonna do, will you leave Captain Marvel out of it?"

Odd request, but, "Alright," he nodded, "I'll talk to the others." And by 'talk', he means lecture. There are boundaries that one shouldn't cross, and not asking the dead how they died should've been obvious! With his League issued communicator, John called an emergency meeting in one hour, required attendance, barring Captain Marvel. First things first, though, he needed to talk to Deadman.

Part 7 Storyboard

Tag List:

@zaiothe4th @someonebored0100 @wolfeyedwitch @angelheartgamer @nymanders @princessbelix @luminanightfall @kgne-k @bianca-hooks123 @reigning-catsanddogs @sassywombatranchhorse @dontfightmecauseillcry @soul-lime @anarinette @serasvictoria02 @the-chaos-goblin-child @confusedshades @caicie @fantasticstoryteller @randomshtickidk @itsberrydreemurstuff @blueliac @i-love-mangoes @nymanders @highimpactemotions @anarinette @sleepingdead96 @orbr @tkiesai @atomicsheepscientist @8000fangirl @shower-phantom-ideas @blep-23 @aki-bara @chasing-liberosis @weirwulf20 @mynewhyperfixation

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alanaaii · 1 year ago

Text

Hot boxin’ w connie.☆

!plug connie │ yall jus best friends

“where is my mfn’ gloss?”

you were searching through your makeup bag before you heard your phone ring. You look over and see nothing but a big red heart—it was connie— as the facetime connected you set your phone up, still looking in your makeup bag.

“what’re you doin right now ma?”

you lift your head to look at the screen. you see connie in his car, windows tinted and led lights on blue. “im looking for my lipgloss i just bought..where you going?".

“coming to pick you up. be ready.”

before you could say another word he hung up. leaving you speechless.

But you knew connie drove fast and you had to get ready quick.

you slip on some black shorts. Your undercheeks very visible. Adding a light pink tank top. you admired yourself in the mirror before sitting down and fixing your lashes and edges nothing too extra. to top it off you put on some shiny lipgloss—not the one you was looking for but this will do. As you sprayed yourself with perfume you get a text.

outside

you feel those butterflies in your tummy and tingling in your panties. connie was your best friend so why did he make you feel like this? you two shared kisses from time to time but that was it. this nigga got you in ya feels. you texted back with a simple ok.

you grabbed your small telfar bag and slid on some slides. you walk out and lock your apartment door behind you. connie was waiting outside of his car, opening the door for you. looking GOODT.

“you just get finer every time i see yo ass”

your heart was doing backflips. you gave connie a hug and smelled his strong cologne with a hint of weed. “thank you connie” you said as he led you into his car. the smell of weed literally punching you in the face. you hopped in the passenger seat and reclined the seat a little.

“thank you connie”

connie shook his head.

“naw i jus wanted to see you mama”

mann you just wanted to hop in the back seat and let this man twist your insides like a pretzel. he always knew how do make you smile.

Connie took his car off of park and began to drive. he gave you his phone to put some music on. you played a song connie only knew because of you.

playing : Leave em alone by quality control ft..

(u can replace that w any song.)

you smirk at connie knowing this song put you in your feels. you started singing acting like you was in a music video. touching connie n getting up and throwing some ass.

“fat butt sit down before you get us pulled over”

you two laughed together as you sat down.

connie soon pulled into a almost empty parking lot.

“get in the back” “what?” “you heard me”

connie got out of the car to get in the back while you just crawled to the back.

his seats in the back were comfy and warm. he pulled out a small bag and started to roll up.

“get comfy ma, you with me”

you slid your slides off as you put your legs over connie’s. you never felt scared around connie, you knew he would keep you safe no matter what. once he was done licking and wrapping, he lit it up and took the first hit, then giving it to you. you put your glossy lips on the blunt but connie didn’t care. his mind was on something else. he was focused on rubbing your thighs n feet.

you and connie talked for a while, going back and fourth with the blunt. But the car was getting hot and smokey. “con i need some air”

connie just ignored you and suddenly pressed his lips on yours. desperate whines coming from you as his tongue slithered into your mouth.

in between the kiss, you straddle him as you snake your arms around his neck. You could feel connie get hard under you. you knew where this was going. you hear connie inhale. “you smell so fucking good.”

in one quick motion connie flipped you on your back. dropping his head between your thighs. “let me taste you”

you were already soaked from the touching n kissing you didn’t want nothing more than for connie to make you cum. you slid your shorts and panties off, throwing them into the front. Legs open in front of connie. he used two fingers to spread you open, your slick lubricating his fingers as he went down on you. his pink lips kissing your pussy before he started to lick your clit. you were drowning in pleasure and ecstasy. connie was eating like it was his last meal.

“fuckkk” was the only word you could let out. as his warm wet tongue flicked your bean , your mind went blank. your legs began to shake-you knew you were coming to your breaking point. you bucked your hips on connie’s mouth as he swirled his tongue over your pussy. he held onto your thighs stopping you from moving. if the car wasn’t hot before, it was extremely hot now.

connie slid two fingers into your hole, hitting the right spot over and over again. Your orgasm building up in your core. You came all over connie’s fingers. “conniee” you cried out. he did not stop , over stimulating your cunt. you shakily pushed his head away. his chin and lips just glistening with your cum. “round 2?”

Likes, reblogs and follows are always appreciated! ♡

#connie x black reader #connie x reader #plug connie #plug x black reader #aot x black reader #connie x you #aot x reader #connie x black y/n #aot connie #connie springer #x reader #black reader #lanaworks

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physics-of-one-piece · 8 days ago

Text

I Take Care of You Now

Doflamingo x Reader

Summary: After a night of a heavy snow storm and rainfall on the North Blue Sea, Doflamingo gets woken up by the scraping of a snow shovel on deck.

A/N: A little short one-shot that I’ll implement into the main Red Suit Doffy Fic Merlot & Primroses but it can stand as a stand alone, too, so I decided to send it here. As I said in a post, Doflamingo’s core values he was raised with are something he sticks to. Also... I'm going to hell. I'm going to hell I'm going to hell I'm going to heeeeeeell...

but at least the Heavenly Demon is there 😊🤭🫡

P.S. I wanted to post this at 8pm it's 4pm, the Save Draft went into Post but it's complete so.... Enjoy? 🤣🤣 (I hate you, tumblr) (cry laughs)

Word Count: 3k

Tags: Pre-Relationship, Female!Reader, Rosinante's Wife!Reader, Doflamingo POV, North Blue Era Doflamingo, Red Suit Doflamingo, Fluff, Humor, Cuddling For Warmth, Mentions of Fratricide, Nightmares, Longing, Doflamingo is in Love, Protective Doflamingo, Post Minion Island, Girldad Doflamingo, Dadmingo, Soft Doflamingo (kind of), Donquixote Family, One Shot Fic

Doflamingo is back in the snow again. The white thick layer of it crunches under his boots as he walks. There is snow falling, wild and strong, chilly wind pushing at his face.

There is someone lying on the snow. He knows who it is. The blackened feathers give him away; Doflamingo’s clumsy little brother.

At last, Doflamingo reached him. Rosinante’s lipstick-painted mouth is moving. No sound is coming out of Rosinante’s lips. Doflamingo squats down beside his brother. Maybe if he’s closer, he’ll hear the words his younger brother is saying.

Rosinante’s mouth keeps moving, shaping the words over and over again. He keeps looking at Doflamingo, but no sound is coming out.

What is he saying?

I love you?

I hate you?

I’m sorry?

Don’t touch my wife?

I’ll kill you?

Which is it?

Doflamingo should’ve learned to read lips.

Doflamingo wakes with a gasp, sitting up in his sleeping bag. His face is wet, covered in sweat, and he barely registers a yelp from Baby 5 who’d slept atop his stomach and hugged him for additional warmth during the storm falling off him and on his lap covered by the sleeping bag’s duvet.

Doflamingo realizes he’s without his sunglasses because the world isn’t tinted red. The sudden assault of colors and sunlight illuminating through the portholes makes him blink. Continuing to pant, he reaches for the white-framed sunglasses and mounts them atop the bridge of his nose.

He pants for a little longer, then swallows down. His throat feels dry. He needs to get some wine.

“Young Master?” Baby 5’s careful, hesitating voice reaches his ear. “Are you okay?”

Doflamingo puts on a smile, if not for his sake, then for Baby 5’s. He hates seeing her distraught or hurt. A child should never worry about an adult. It's the greatest disgrace.

“Just a bad dream.” he replied, huffing. “Could you get me a merlot from the wine cabinet?”

“We aren’t allowed to open the wine cabinet.” Baby 5 said, frowning.

“I’m giving you permission,” said Doflamingo. He needs wine, right now. “So go get the merlot for me.”

“Y/N-san said you shouldn’t drink that much...” Baby 5 murmured, continuing to look at him worriedly.

“Who’s the captain here, me or my sister-in-law?” he asked, chuckling. It’s rich of you to scold him on his alcohol abuse when your own husband had been a nicotine-inhaling addict. Rosinante went through one entire pack of cigarettes in a day. How on earth you wanted to kiss his brother or even marry him, Doflamingo would never know.

“You are, Young Master!”

“I don’t know…” mused Doflamingo, making a show of doubt. “Maybe I should let my sister-in-law lead…”

“She doesn’t know how to sail! Or how to be a pirate!” said Baby 5 panically.

“Is that so? I guess I’m staying as captain, then…” He gave a dramatic sigh, fighting not to burst out laughing on the spot. “Too bad, I was looking forward to retirement…”

“You’re not even old!” Baby 5 yelled.

Doflamingo laughed.

“Young Master?”

“What is it?” asked Doflamingo.

“Do you think (Y/N)-san hates living with us?” asked Baby 5.

Doflamingo blinked. Now, he knew you would rather throw yourself in the sea than say anything negative to the kids or be hateful toward them. It was one of your weaknesses he used in his favor to endear you to living with him, after all. What made Baby 5 think that, was what he wanted to know.

"Did she ever say that?” Doflamingo asked.

“No,” said Baby 5, shaking her head. “But... she gets sad a lot... and she seems to like being alone rather than with the rest of the officers.” She cast her gaze away, looking truly sad. “It reminds me of Corazón. He didn’t like hanging around any of us, either...”

Doflamingo was rather impressed. Baby 5 started truly being aware of her environment and how people act around each other. Her observation skills were getting very good for someone as young as her — even Buffalo, who was six years older than her, wasn’t this aware of people.

Doflamingo found his chest swell with pride.

“Don’t worry. Unlike with Corazón, I’m keeping a close eye on her. You forgot she’s a civilian. Civilians are terrified of pirates on instinct. All her life, she’s heard terrible stories about pirates, so of course she won’t feel safe with the officers, or Pica, Trebol, Diamante or me right away. We’re big, we fight, we kill, we rob, we torture, and we have Devil Fruit powers. Civilians run from that, because they’re powerless.”

“I forgot about that,” said Baby 5. “That she’s a civilian.”

Doflamingo laughed. “How so?”

“Because... She’s really fierce!” insisted Baby 5.

Doflamingo chuckled. “She was a marine’s wife. Of course she’s fierce. Just because she’s powerless doesn’t mean she’ll let herself be stepped on. It’s what I like about her.”

Yes. Doflamingo liked that about you very much. It turned him on. Very much. Doflamingo licked his lips.

“Why does she seem sad with me and Dellinger, too?” asked Baby 5, pouting.

“You’re orphans. You had nowhere to go, and became pirates. She pities you, because she thinks it’s unfair toward you. She’s sad because she knows that’s how cruel the world can be.”

“She pities us,” said Doflamingo, shrugging. “It’s not coming from a bad place like others do. Her pity is genuine. She doesn’t mean anything ill with it.”

“I don’t want her to pity us.” said Baby 5. “I want her to -”

“To what?” asked Doflamingo, tilting his head down to the girl, intrigued.

“To love us.” said Baby 5.

“Fufufu! She does love us. She’s just too stubborn to admit it. After all,” Doflamingo smiled. “No civilian is supposed to love pirates. That’d be treason.”

“Really?” Baby 5 asked, eyes full of hope. “She loves us?”

“Really. So don’t worry, okay?” said Doflamingo.

“Okay,” said Baby 5, her smile blooming back onto her face.

“Good girl,” he said, patting her head. “Now, go get me my merlot. And get yourself some bottled water, too.”

“Yes, sir!” chirped Baby 5.

While Baby 5 headed to the kitchen and the wine cabinet, Doflamingo cracked his neck, then got out of his pink sleeping bag. The sleeping bag beside him — where you slept last night — was empty.

He frowned. What was taking you so long in the bathroom? Maybe it was that time of the month for you. He knew there were supplies in the women’s bathroom, so he wasn’t too worried about that.

He’d give you a few more minutes before he went looking for you.

His long legs cracked as he stretched them out, same with his arms.

Baby 5 came back, carrying his bottle of wine and bottled water for herself. Doflamingo took it, undid the clasp, and chugged it down in droves, basking in the liquid pouring down his throat and into his stomach, warming up his body.

“Did you see my sister-in-law?” Doflamingo asked when he was done, bottle half empty now.

“I don’t know,” replied Baby 5 sleepily, rubbing at the crust in her eyes, giving a little yawn. “Maybe the bathroom?”

“Go wake the cook to make us breakfast and hot chocolate,” he said to Baby 5.

“Yes, sir. Um, Young Master...”

“What?”

“I think there’s someone on deck,” whispered Baby 5.

There was scraping on the deck outside. Doflamingo’s Observation Haki didn’t pick up any threat from the person. It could be a fishman or someone stranded on the island.

“It could be a Klabautermann,” said Doflamingo, chuckling. Now wouldn’t that be interesting.

“Klabautermann?” repeated Baby 5.

“It’s a legend.” Doflamingo explained. “If a ship is very loved by the crew, it develops its own spirit in the shape of a fairy.”

“Fairy?!” asked Baby 5 in excitement.

Doflamingo chuckled in confirmation, tracing his gaze over the officers and top officers strewn on the floor of the galley, counting everyone else who was present. You were the only one missing.

“A human-shaped fairy wearing a white sailor’s coat and a pair of shoes.” he explained. “It carries a small wooden hammer, because it fixes up a damaged ship. Ours isn’t damaged, though.”

At least, Doflamingo hoped it wasn’t.

“Oh,” said Baby 5. “I thought it would be a pink flamingo wearing Young Master’s sunglasses, just like the figurehead.”

Doflamingo laughed. “It could be! That’d be fun!”

“What if it’s a ghost?” she asked with slight fright; she’d heard too many ghost stories from Law and Buffalo.

Doflamingo gave Baby 5 one of his grins, the malicious ones which he knows comfort her. To Baby 5, violence equals protection.

“You think a ghost can beat me?” he asked her. “They’re free to try, fufufufufu!”

After some more coaxing and assuring her everything would be fine, Baby 5 left for the kitchen again to wake the ship cook.

Doflamingo grabbed his feather coat where it lay spread on the couch, stepping over a sleeping Gladius and Diamante.

Now, why were they all huddled up in the galley with sleeping bags?

The simple answer was bad weather.

They’d been in a heavy snow storm last night. It was Dellinger’s first heavy snow storm. He cried and ran around in a panic the entire time. He had to be grabbed three times from launching himself overboard and into the sea. Dellinger connected the sea with safety, because it was always safe for him to go into the sea; he always fled there if he was about to get scolded — it was becoming a real problem and at this point, Doflamingo was going to listen to Trebol’s advice and tie the toddler with a rope. If Dellinger went in the sea under those stormy waves yesterday, forget about pulling him out, they wouldn’t be able to find him.

For the past three years, they rarely went this far up north on their voyages, and although most of the adults of the crew were used to responding to and traveling through overbearing hail and rain, the kids were not. They were too prone to making mistakes in the novelty of navigating the waves bigger than Sea Kings despite knowing how to navigate.

The kids had been absolutely terrified.

The storm proved impossible to navigate. Doflamingo put his family and its safety above everything, he wasn’t going to risk them all because he wanted to get to the next island on time. He decided it was best to hunker down near a mountain pass to the closest island than continue to navigate through the storm.

After setting anchor on the nearby, snow-covered coast of the island, everyone had huddled down in the galley beside the largest fire stove to keep warm, bringing in sleeping bags.

Now, after putting on his black overcoat to deal with the cold outside, Doflamingo quickly opened the doors, left the cabin, and closed them just as quickly. He made his way up the stairs and to the cabin on the quarter deck, then exited out into the open winter air.

There was a person on the deck, pushing the snow down the deck and overboard into the sea.

Doflamingo nearly had a heart attack.

After a moment, he realized it wasn’t the ship’s spiritual manifestation.

It wasn’t a Klabautermann. It was you.

Doflamingo called your name. You leapt six feet high at the sound of his voice, which made him laugh. You deserved the fright; you gave him a fright first.

You turned your face up to him. Doflamingo smiled down at you.

“Hey,” you said shakily, like you weren’t out in the cold and shoveling snow from the deck. “Good morning.”

“What are you doing?” demanded Doflamingo.

You look at him like he’s asking a strange question. “I’m shoveling the deck.”

…

What?

“Why?” asked Doflamingo.

“Cause there’s snow on it.” you said.

For a moment, Doflamingo was so confused his brain stopped working.

Because there’s… snow?

Why on… why on earth would you be the one shoveling the snow?!

Doflamingo deployed his strings, leaving the wooden, ice-laden balcony of the quarter deck, reaching you with a single leap. He stood on his strings beside you, because he wasn’t going to walk on the solidified ice undoubtedly hiding under the layer of snow.

“You don’t do that.” said Doflamingo firmly, his thoughts racing thousand miles per hour, the cogs in his mind rushing with what could only be described as Celestial Dragon confusion. “I take care of you.”

“I’ve been doing this my whole life.” you say, shrugging.

Rosi, I’ll bring you back to life and put thirty bullets in you this time. thought Doflamingo, clenching his teeth, his jaw hurting from how hard he did it.

Doflamingo took the shovel from you easily.

“Hey!” you shouted. "I need that!"

“You don’t anymore.” said Doflamingo, crossing his arms over his chest, looking at you with the sternness of a captain. He stepped down from his string onto the deck to stand in front of you — as he suspected, there was ice under the snow. “I take care of you now.”

“Doffy -” you started, but he would have none of it.

“You’re not allowed.” said Doflamingo, because what else is he supposed to say, how else is he supposed to let you know you are too precious to do grunt work? You are not to do any grunt work, ever, for as long as Doflamingo lived and breathed. His parents would roll in their graves if they ever heard he let you do any labor, and Doflamingo experienced a full-body cringe at the mere idea of allowing you to exhaust yourself. Unforgivable. Impermissible. Therefore, not allowed.

By his words, clearly you thought he thought you incapable because you are a woman, completely misunderstanding him as you said indignantly, “I am allowed -”

“You’re too cute to be out here in the cold, querida.” said Doflamingo.

Those words momentarily rendered you mute, and you stared up at him in shock, which made you even more adorable.

“I’m doing whatever I wanna do!” you protest, and it reminds Doflamingo of a bunny stomping its little foot on the ground.

“You get inside,” says Doflamingo, ignoring your words. You could think whatever you wanted, Doflamingo would rather put a sea prism bullet in his own leg than let you freeze outside and let you shovel the deck; he had Buffalo, Machvise and the others for that. Doflamingo wasn’t raised to allow you to do such things; he was raised to coddle you, provide for you, protect you, spoil you, and by his title as saint, he will. “I’ll get you some hot chocolate.”

The ship swayed under a wave, giving a small lurch.

The two of you slid on the solidified ice the deck had become overnight. It was only Doflamingo’s instincts and long arm that helped him grab onto you and pull you to his legs, keeping you from falling. You were completely unaffected, most likely used to such fumbling with Corazón — you didn’t even squawk in alarm, just took it like it was a common thing, to slide on the ice and risk falling and hurting yourself.

That was it. You weren’t listening to him. You were going to get a cold, and with your average civilian balance, break your skull. Time to change tactics.

“You made me do this,” said Doflamingo, sneering down at you.

“Do wha — AAAAH!”

Doflamingo reached down, wrapped his arm around your body, and lifted you up. Once he lifts you above his waist, and continues lifting you higher, that’s when you give an almighty, terrified shriek which startles the seagulls above the crow’s nest.

Doflamingo laughed, and put you stomach flat over his right shoulder, like he would a bag of gold, but you are a much more precious treasure he has than any gold.

There. Much easier. He should’ve done this from the start. Maybe he should carry you like this all the time. He smiled at the idea. Yes. That’s what he’ll do. You wouldn’t try to wiggle out of his grasp if he carried you this high; you’re too scared of hurting yourself by the huge height drop between his shoulder and the ground.

He straightened up, deployed his strings, and stepped onto them, walking on them rather than risk it with the ice.

“Doffy.” Your voice was shaky, terrified and breathless. Doflamingo failed to stifle his laugh. How adorable. “Doffy, put me down.”

You clutched at his spiked up, thick fluffs of hair. He sighed contently at the feeling, his chuckle rumbling through his chest as he grinned.

“Doffy! Put me down!”

“You’re not allowed!” he said firmly, but calmly all the same. He wasn’t angry, just concerned.

“Because I’m a woman?” you asked.

“No,” said Doflamingo simply. “Because I take care of you now.”

“I take care of myself!” you say indignantly as you’re being carried away on Doflamingo’s shoulder and back toward the warmth of the ship’s below deck with warm heating, comforting sweat and frosted, fogged glass.

He really needs to make sure with Diamante and Machvise the Numancia didn’t take any damage.

Doflamingo hears a giggle in his ear. He recognizes the sound, from a far-away memory long gone. He whips his head over his shoulder, and freezes solid.

“Don’t worry, Doffy.” said the little boy with blond bangs covering his eyes. He was sitting atop one of the posts of the sail, his arms tucked into the sleeves of a little purple feather coat over his light blue raincoat. He’s swinging his little feet back and forth where they dangle in the air from the sail. Something strange wells in Doflamingo’s eyes. His throat clogs up; he can’t speak.

The little boy sent him a big smile resembling the sun. “I’m okay.”

Doflamingo was hallucinating. He was definitely hallucinating. He needed to catch up on his sleep if he was seeing his eight-year-old baby brother and hearing his voice in his ear.

He headed inside, ducking as he went.

Baby 5 was tucked in his pink sleeping bag, back to sleep. The duvet wasn’t pulled all the way over her, so Doflamingo used his free right arm and lifted his finger, sending out a string to the duvet, lifting it up to cover Baby 5’s shoulders. Doflamingo hoped she at least woke up the cooks and that they started on breakfast and hot chocolate for the family. Doflamingo manoeuvred around the sleeping bodies of his family, stepping over their sleeping bodies easily.

In the end, you settled down after he put you on the couch in the galley. He noticed your chattering teeth, trembling body and red nose. He clicked his tongue in disapproval, took off his feather coat and draped the massive weight of it over your shoulders. The pink feathers completely enveloped you, tickling your cheeks as you looked up at him in surprise, the warmth the feathers suffused you in chasing away your trembles.

Doflamingo didn’t linger on the way you looked up at him, bundled in his feather coat and drowning in his scent, because he was sure he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from leaning down and kissing your lips to chase away the cold frost from them, too.

Instead, he slipped your arms into the thick, warm fluff of pink feathered sleeves, pulling the lapels over each other to keep you warm.

The sleeves were too long for you, and the end of the coat touched the ground of the cabin.

He went to get you both some hot chocolate and brought it to you to sip on in warm cups. The blissed smile you smiled and the relaxed sigh you released after your first sip of the hot beverage put him in a better mood.

He settled himself beside you on the couch with his pink mug filled with his hot chocolate. His thigh touched yours. This time, you didn’t inch away from him as you usually did when he sat down beside you during meals or in inns.

Doflamingo would much rather have your lips to keep him warm, but he’d settle for hot chocolate. For now.

He took a careful sip, and his body relaxed. He closed his eyes, basking in the bliss, his forehead smooth, free of any stress.

Feathers settled around his left shoulder, and his left sleeve fell over his arm.

When he turned to look down on you, a teasing comment on his tongue and a grin on his lips, you were looking up at him, and your eyes rendered his thoughts into a disarray.

“So you aren’t cold,” you said, lifting your arm high and stretching it all the way to adjust the left side of his coat atop his shoulder, which consequently meant you got closer to him, until your left shoulder leaned against his chest; if you leaned a bit further, you’d be nestled under his right arm.

“How do you walk with this?” you ask him, fussing over the coat. “It’s heavy.”

“It’s only nine kilograms.” he said. It was a comforting weight on his back; he was used to having it draped over his shoulders.

You deadpan at him, then, after a moment, say, “No wonder your neck’s starting to crane.”

“Drink your hot chocolate,” he said.

You snickered. “Yes, captain.”

You hugged the right part of his feather coat to yourself, draping it over you, covering your legs and entire body in the pink feathers. Doflamingo wondered if you liked the lingering scent of his cologne on the coat.

“It’s warm,” you whispered, closing your eyes, peaceful.

Doflamingo slipped his left arm into the sleeve of his feather coat, draping the front of it the same way you did. The two of you were swathed together in his pink coat.

You were right. With you nestled against him and swathed in his coat, it was warm.

Doflamingo didn’t feel cold at all.

Taglist: @fanaticsnail @queenmimi2817 @dummyduck44 @daydreamer-in-training

#one piece #donquixote doflamingo #doflamingo #doflamingo x reader #donquixote doflamingo x reader #doflamingo x you #doffy x reader #doffy x you #x reader #one piece x reader #op doflamingo #my writing #physics writes #fizzy writes

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cameronsprincess · 1 year ago

Text

— summary: being under the influence with Rafe Cameron makes for an interesting night.

— pairing: Rafe Cameron x Kook!Fem!Reader

— warnings: smut! 18+ oral (f & m receiving), fingering, slight dacryphilia, dom!rafe??, some choking and smacking, hair pulling, rafe praising reader, slight degradation, unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up!), reader and rafe under the influence of coke and alcohol, strong language. lmk if i missed anything!

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT condone the use of cocaine or other drugs! Mixing cocaine with alcohol or other drugs can be hazardous to your health, and is NOT safe. This story is fiction!

❥ under the influence- r.c

You had done a lot of fucked up things in your life. But this moment, right now, wrists cuffed to Rafe Cameron’s bed while he goes down on you while you’re under the influence of cocaine and alcohol.. Yeah, this tops it all.

“Rafe, shit, s’good, so fucking good”

You’re a whimpering mess, Rafe lapping at your soaked core like a man starved, the cuffs digging further into your wrists with every movement you make.

You moan loudly when he wraps his lips around your puffy clit, sucking on it lightly as his dark eyes meet yours, his middle and index fingers sliding through your slick folds before being buried deep inside you.

“Fuck!”

He curves his fingers slightly, hitting your g-spot over and over again, each thrust of his fingers and flick of his tongue pushing you closer and closer to your release.

“Gonna cum, Rafe! S-so fucking clo- ahhh”

Your eyes squeeze shut, legs shaking uncontrollably as your body jerks forward, your release squirting out of you, making a mess all over Rafe’s fingers and face.

Rafe slows the pace of his fingers, releasing your clit with a pop as he slowly fucks you through your high.

Your body falls limp, Rafe pulling his fingers from inside you, pulling a groan from your lips at the empty feeling.

“Holy shit. You fucking squirted, that’s fuckin’ hot, Y/N”

You turn your head to the side, cheeks tinting a shade of pink as your body heats up from his words.

“Not to boost your ego more than it already is, but.. I’ve never done that before”

Rafe lifts himself up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before leaning forward to release your wrists from the cuffs.

“Well, I am pretty good at what I do” He jokes, his lips upturned into a smirk as he watches you pull your wrists down, rubbing them softly to try and soothe the pain from being confined for so long.

You open your mouth to speak, but quickly shut it when Rafe harshly grips the back of your hair, pulling you toward him and smashing his lips to yours.

You moan into his mouth, the taste of yourself on his tongue when he slips it into your mouth making the ache between your thighs grow once more.

He pulls you from his mouth, fingers tightly gripping your hair as his dark, blue orbs scan your face erratically.

“You wanna cum again?”

You bite at your bottom lip, nodding your head quickly as you stare at him through hooded eyes.

“Use your fucking words, Y/L/N”

“Y-yes! I want to cum again, p-please let me cum again”

He chuckles darkly, moving you off the bed and onto your knees as he settles at the side of the bed, removing his boxers and tossing them haphazardly onto his bedroom floor.

“Pathetic little cock slut. You’re going to suck me off, and then maybe I’ll let you cum again, yeah?”

You nod your head, regretting it instantly when he wraps his fingers in your hair again, yanking your neck back harshly.

“What did I say about using your words?”

“S-sorry, R-rafe. I’ll do whatever y-you want”

You feel the tears welling up in your eyes, the grip he has on your hair so tight it was making your vision blurry.

“Good girl, go on. Cry. It turns me on to see you cry”

You let the tears fall down your face, Rafe releasing the grip on your hair and lightly smacking at your cheek.

“Open up”

You open your mouth wide, laying your tongue out flat as he strokes himself slowly, tapping your tongue with the head of his cock frequently.

You replace his hand with your own, slowly stroking him, leaving soft kitten licks on the head before you shove him completely down your throat.

“Oh shit”

You find a slow rhythm, bobbing your head up and down his thick, veiny cock, swirling your tongue around the head and watching him squirm underneath your touch.

He weaves his fingers into your hair, tugging on it lightly and thrusting his hips, slowly fucking himself deeper into your mouth.

You gag around him when the tip of his dick hits the back of your throat. You feel new tears forming in your eyes, letting them fall down your face as you let him take control, thrusting himself harshly into your throat.

“Just like that, such a good fucking girl, letting me fuck your face”

You take one hand and squeeze at his balls, letting your free hand fall down and play with your clit, wanting to relieve some of the pressure you were feeling between your legs.

He tightens the grip on your hair once more, keeping you still as he begins harshly fucking himself into your mouth, pulling a string of muffled moans and gags from you.

“So good, so fucking sexy with my dick shoved down your throat- Fuck- I’m gonna cum in this pretty little mouth of yours, and then, I’m gonna fill that pretty little pussy up, you want that?”

He releases the grip on your hair, his hands moving to tightly grip at your shoulders as his thrusts become sloppy. His hips stutter, dick twitching in your mouth as he spills his hot cum down your throat.

He pulls himself from your mouth, bringing his hand up to caress your jaw, stroking the skin softly before running the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip.

“Does the pathetic little slut still want to be fucked?”

“Y-yes please”

His lips upturn into a smirk, his hand running down your chest and cupping your bare breast in his large hands, fingers toying with your pebbled nipples.

“Stand up, bend over the bed”

You do as you’re told, standing from your place on the floor and laying over the side of the bed.

You cry out when you feel him smack your ass, making you jump forward slightly before he lands another smack.

“So fucking pretty, such a shame though, because I’m about to fucking ruin you”

“Ruin me, Rafe! Make me a babbling pathetic mess, p-please!”

You hear him let out a dark chuckle, a whine escaping your lips when you feel him running his swollen head through your slick folds.

You push your ass out farther, craving the feel of him stretching you out.

He smacks your ass again. “Tsk, be patient, or I won’t fuck you, got it?”

“Yes sir, I’m s-sorry”

“Such a good girl, listens so well” Rafe praises, sinking himself inside you and making you gasp loudly at the intrusion.

“Fuck! Rafe, feels so fucking good, s-so big”

He places both hands tightly on your hips, holding you steady as he begins snapping his hips into yours, fucking himself deep inside your aching cunt.

“So fucking tight, you take me so well, baby girl. This greedy little pussy is fucking swallowing me, don’t think I’ll last very long if you keep gripping me like that”

You moan loudly, fucking yourself back onto him, your hips meeting his thrusts perfectly.

“Right there, Rafe! Fuuuck, you feel so good, it’s too much”

“You can take it, doing so fucking good, my pathetic little girl”

You’re a sobbing mess, your mind hazy, a mix of pleasure and all the cocaine and alcohol you had ingested making you see stars.

“Gonna cum, Rafe! Can I p-please cum?”

Rafe runs one hand up your side, tightly gripping your throat and pulling your back against his chest.

“Wanna be my good girl?”

You moan when he hits your g-spot, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you over and over again making tears run uncontrollably down your face, making it hard to focus on anything except the fire that was running through your body.

“Wanna be your good girl”

“Then don’t cum, not yet. Can you do that f’me?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, fingers digging into the skin of his arms as you try and focus on his words, trying to keep your orgasm at bay.

“I- Fuck- I d-don’t think I can hold it, R-rafe. Feels too good”

“You can baby, just wait, I’ll let you cum soon, promise”

You throw your head back onto his shoulder, hips meeting his thrusts as he smashes his lips to yours, tongue slipping into your mouth, swallowing every moan you make.

He pulls away from your mouth, his hips beginning to stutter as his thrusts grow sloppy.

You feel his dick twitch inside you, the hot, white ropes of his release painting your inner walls.

“You can cum, princess. Make a fucking mess all over my cock”

His words mixed with his release filling you up was all it took for your release to wash over you in body shaking, earth shattering bliss.

Rafe slowly thrusts into you two more times before he pulls himself from inside you, letting your body fall onto his mattress, limp and exhausted.

You hear him disappear into the bathroom, returning a few moments later with a warm washcloth, softly cleaning your inner thighs.

Once he’s finished, you lift yourself from your place on the bed, watching Rafe intently as he gets himself dressed again.

“So thanks for that, I guess we go back to hating each other now?” You ask, moving to find your clothes that had been tossed randomly around his room.

He turns to face you, a look on his face that you can’t quite read.

“Fuck no, you’re mine now. No one else can fucking touch you, got it?”

You smirk at him, tossing your shirt back over your head and walking towards him and placing a kiss to the back of his hand.

“I was hoping you’d say that”

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