#give me some love I'm depraved

[malarkgirlypop]

MEDIC! - 6th Part (Donald Malarkey x Fem!OC)

Hello, that was mean of me wasn't it, leaving you hanging off the cliff. Well here you go the next part. This story is so long, I am so sorry if you aren't a long story fan but I cannot stop myself. I love my OC she is me I am her, she is all of us. @brassknucklespeirs has been giving me some tasty little story lines so you know it's gonna be good. I'm so excited like the last chapter it's intense. I should make a playlist for Emily but I'm busy. I might do it later if people want it. As per usual this is based on the HBO show and the actors who portray the characters, no hate to the real men in WW2.

Trigger warning: Talks of rape, violence, use of derogatory language.

I gasp for air, my eyes opening, I look up at the same scene I saw when Malarkey was carrying me through the forest, the green against the white.

“She’s breathing!” I look around worried faces come into my vision. “Em, Oh God!” someone says from behind me. Sighs of relief fill the air. 

“Emmy! Jesus, way to scare us all to death.” Lieb says to my left. I go to sit up. 

“Woah, steady there Darlin’.” Bull moves behind me resting my back on his front.

“Lieb?” I croak out, looking at the man confused at what everyone is so worried about. Gene sits on his haunches at my waist puffing. 

“Your heart stopped!” Gene pants. I take a deep breath finding that my chest aches, probably from the compressions he would’ve had to do. I look out of the foxhole to see Malarkey and Nixon both looking like they are about to pass out. Winters stands beside them watching me closely. 

“Sorry to scare you all.” I look at each of them. Lieb moves forward pulling me into his embrace, I hug him back. “Don’t do that again.” He says sternly in my ear. “Yes, Sir.” I whisper, earning a chuckle. 

“Let’s get you out of this hole.” Bull says, he easily pulls me to my feet. “How do you feel? Can you walk?” He asks. I nod moving slowly, it feels so good to move again. I am helped by the men to climb out of the foxhole. 

“Ok men back to the front, spread the good news.” The men grumble but head back to the front. Nixon stands close, putting his hand on the small of my back to ensure I am steady on my feet. 

“Let’s get you something to eat and drink. You’ll need a new top too. The buttons have been ripped off of the one you are wearing.” Winters says, I look down, finding my long sleeve shirt hanging open. I wrap the top around me. 

The next day we sit in the tent. I slowly sip tea that Winters made for me. A blanket hangs from my shoulders. Nixon sits across from me watching my every move like I will vanish if he takes his eye off me.

“Who did it Em?” Nixon questions leaning forward. I think back to the incident, the faces are blurred, the men themselves seem like they have been censored from my mind. I shake my head trying to get the picture to clear. 

“Nixon! Don’t ask her that! She will tell us when she’s ready.” Winters reprimands the intelligence officer. 

“I don’t remember. It’s all a blur. I remember finding something that scared me and then, I can’t, it’s blank.” I say disheartened. Nixon’s brows crease as he takes my hand resting on the table between us giving me a loving squeeze. 

“I’m sorry Em, I just. Ugh. I just want those men to be dealt with.” He’s angry, his jaw hard set as he looks behind me. Gunshots fire in the distance pulling my focus. 

“When can I go back?” I ask looking towards Winters. Both Winters and Nixon look at me like I have grown another head.

“Emily you just got better, you’re technically still recovering.” Winters makes his way over to me, laying his hand on my shoulder. 

“I can’t sit here and do nothing, I feel like I will go insane trying to replay whatever happened to me.” I plead my case to Winters. 

“But it was a big trauma Em.” His face softens, still trying to get me to rest. 

“I feel better, I swear I will take it easy. I will just help Gene.” I beg, giving my best puppy dog eyes to convince him. 

“Oh fine, fine!” He concedes throwing up his hands in surrender. 

“YES!” I stand shaking off the blanket, grabbing my gear. I scoot past Winters on my way past giving him a quick peek on the cheek. He chuckles and shakes his head as I make my way over to the front. 

I make my way to Gene, he looks weary and cold. “You good Gene?” I ask as I approach. 

“I should be asking you that aye Em?” He gives a small smile. “How well are you stocked?” He asks. 

“Not good, only a few bandages, no plasma and like one morphine. How about you?” I look through the stock in my bag. 

“About the same.” He says. “I was thinking we are going to have to scavenge a bit to get supplies, we are going to need it.” He is tired, he looks like he needs a good sleep.

“I will do whatever you need Gene, just tell me what you want me to do.” I say giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. 

I follow him as we try to find the other medic Doc Ryan so that we can trade items and stock take our supplies. 

“Spina.” Gene calls to the medic digging a hole in the frozen ground. 

“Doc.” Spina acknowledges the man. 

“What’s happening?” Gene asks. 

“We’re digging in, right along the line.” Spina says while shovelling. 

“So what did you get?” Spina asks Gene, throwing the shovel over his shoulder. 

“I got uh. I got this and I got myself a Kraut bandage.” Gene hands him things, as they both take a seat in the half dug foxhole. I make my way over sitting on the edge of the hole. 

“What? This is it?” Spina says when Gene doesn’t hand him anything else. 

“Yeah, that’s it.” Gene sounds defeated, god I didn’t know we were so low on everything. 

“What about you?” Spina turns his attention to me. 

“Same for me.” I say rummaging through my medic bag. I watch Gene pull his last Morphine syrette, I only have one on my person as well. 

“You know, First Battalion has pulled out of Foy. Heavy casualties.” Gene says to Spina. 

“They left?” I ask, having missed the update. 

“So, if they’re pulling back then what the hell are we doing sitting here?” Spina asks, Gene is focused on the morphine in his hand. 

“We need more morphine. This is all I got.” He put the morphine back into its box tucking it away in his bag.     

“You got extra scissors?” Gene asks the both of us. I shake my head. 

“Uh-uh just the one.” Spina says drinking from his canteen. 

“First Sergeant Lipton.” I hear being called out through the woods. A man appears at the foxhole. “What’s this? Three medics in one hole?” He asks, dramatically putting his hand on his hip, I choke back a laugh. Who is this guy?

“Yes Sir!” Spina replies. 

“And what’s going to happen to us if you take a hit? Huh?” The man stands with his hand tucked onto his hip trying to be assertive, but Spina seems to take the man for a joke.

Lip marches up behind the man, “Sir?” he asks. 

“First Sergeant, where is my foxhole?” The man demands. My mouth falls open at the rude way he speaks to Lip. 

Lip looks incredulously at the man, “this way Sir.” He motions his hand back in the direction the man appeared from. None of the other medics seem to be paying attention to this interaction, I watch intently. 

“Maybe you missed it, huh?” Lip says to the man. “I’ll walk you back Sir. You’re a bit close to the line here.” Lip seems to be annoyed at the man.     

“Goddammit.” The man mutters, marching away. 

“Who is that man?” I ask the boys sitting in front of me. 

“That’s First Lieutenant Dike, the men are calling him foxhole Norman though.” Spina says in a hushed voice. 

“Why?” I question. 

“He goes missing whenever there is action, says he is going for a walk but who knows where he goes.” Spina says. I let my mouth fall open. 

“And he’s the First Lieutenant?” I ask surprised, Spina nods. I raise my eyebrows making a judgemental face. 

“Alright here's the plan Em,” Gene says to me as we leave Spina, “you go down to Dog company, see what you can scrounge from the men and I will go to Fox.” Gene instructs pointing behind me. “Keep low Em, meet me back at Easy when you are done.” He turns and walks away from me. I follow his instructions, keeping back from the line as I make my way over to where Dog company is stationed, not far over from Easy. 

I make my way over to one of the foxholes back from the line, dropping inside next to another man.

“First Sergeant?” I ask the man huddling in the foxhole. 

“Yeah, who’s asking?” The Sergeant replied. 

“Lane, I’m one of the medics from Easy Sir.” I introduce myself to the man. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” He seemed surprised. 

“Excuse me?” I ask, shocked by his comment. 

“Ah, nothing. What do you want, Lane?” The man dismisses his previous question. 

“I came to see if you have any extra medical supplies?” I tell the man. 

“You might have to go ask the men for their own supplies, we are running low as well.” He sighs, focusing his eyes back onto the line. I go to climb out of the hole when his hand grabs my forearm. “We actually have a couple casualties, can you tend to them, I have no idea where our medic is.” His stare pins me to the ground, not giving any room to protest. I give a sharp nod. “That one over there has someone in it.” He points to a foxhole a couple of metres away. 

I leave the hole, keeping low, I drop into the foxhole that the Sergeant pointed out to me. A man lies in the bottom, I almost land on him as I enter. The other man keeps eyes on the line. I see blood soaking into the green of his jacket on his shoulder. 

“Hey!” I say tapping the man, he flinches at my touch. He turns over to look at me, “What happened?” I ask the man, who vacantly stares past me. I shake him again trying to get his attention but his stare remains distant. 

“Hey, what’s this guy's name? Do you know what happened?” I ask the other soldier crouched next to me. He slowly swivels to face me, as our eyes lock, terror washes over my features. I feel my heart stop as a cold sweat pricks at my skin. I go to stand trying to escape him but I don’t move fast enough. The man who pinned me down in the woods grabs my mouth preventing me from making any noise, slamming my head back into the side of the foxhole. My helmet only takes so much of the brunt, black spots dance over my vision.

“You’re supposed to be dead.” The man says in disbelief, coming into my face to whisper so that no one can hear what is going on. I struggle beneath his hold. “I should’ve killed you when I got the chance.” My body stills at the words, “but I don’t have a thing for fucking dead bodies.” A fire ignites in my chest, my blood coursing through my body filled with hate. I open my mouth biting down hard at the soft flesh between his thumb and index finger, I bite hard enough to draw blood. The man yelps in pain, snatching his hand back but he moves quickly striking his palm to my cheek. I tuck my knees to my chest using the wall behind me to send him flying back crashing into the other wall. I clamber out of the foxhole, but still he is quick. Grabbing my ankles he yanks me back into the hole, not before a scream rips from my throat echoing through the trees. I am soon back on the floor of the foxhole and the man clamps a hand around my mouth and his other around my throat. 

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” he hisses in my face repeatedly, thumping my body into the ground as his hand squeezes my neck, cutting off my blood and oxygen supply. My head spins from the loss of air. I claw at his face with my nails drawing blood from his cheeks. 

“What the fuck is going on?” I hear from above us, the man quickly releases me from his grasp. I crawl away from him sucking in gulps of air into my burning lungs. I haul myself out of the hole lying in the snow. Other men have gathered around to see what the commotion was. I hear the sound of feet crunching in the snow, the men from Easy arrive, I watch their eyes survey the scene, Lieb and Malarkey leading with Bull, Toye and Bill not far behind. Malarkey’s eyes find me first widening at the sight of me sprawled out on the snow.

“Should I repeat myself, Private?” The man who found us first speaks, I recognise him. Speirs, the man who everyone is afraid of due to the rumours; there is one about him giving out smokes to a bunch of POWs before shooting them all. 

The soldier has climbed out of the hole sitting on his knees in front of Speirs. I roll over, slowly getting to my feet, swaying, I shake my head steadying myself. 

“She attacked me first.” He accuses. I snort, spitting the blood from my mouth onto the snow. “She bit me!” he holds out his hand for Speirs to see.

“And tell me how, Private, that your hand got so close to her mouth that she bit it.” Speirs tilts his head as he stares down the man with his deadly glare. There is movement from behind Speirs. I flick my gaze over watching Bull hold back a raging Lieb, the other men watch with looks that could kill. 

“Yeah, tell them Private.” I taunt the man, “tell them how you couldn’t get it up.” I wipe the blood running down my cheek, giving the man a sadistic grin. 

“Tell them how you brought two other men to hold me down while you tried to rape me. What? Were you worried that you weren’t strong enough to do it by yourself?” My brows quirks as I ask the question, arms folded in front of me. I walk up to the man getting close to his face. “Should I tell everyone that you’re a coward with a tiny cock?” The man seethes, he growls in anger flinging himself forward taking me down to the ground. I laugh in his face. “God you’re so easy to wind up.” He is quickly dragged up from on top of me. I am helped to my feet by Malarkey, the rest of the men looking like they are chomping at the bit to fight. 

“Take that man to the Captain, tell them what he did. Find the other men who attacked Lane the other day and bring them in too.” Speirs commands two soldiers to drag the man away.

“Go back to your spots men, the show is over.” Speirs announces, as the men watching slowly dissipate back into the burrows. The Easy company men are by my side in seconds. Malarkey stands close, he cups my face, his eyes frantically scanning my head looking for any injuries. 

“I’m fine Malark.” I try to say but he has squished my face so it makes it harder to talk. 

“Fucking Dog company.” Lieb seethes next to me. Bull watches me concerned. Toye and Bill are on guard, glaring down any man that walks too close to the group.      

“Easy company come with me.” Commands Speirs. He marches back towards where we are camped. We follow him back, Malarkey and Lieb glued to me. Lieb looks ready for a fight. I watch his hands clench and unclench. His jaw tight, his eyes dart around. Malarkey is the same, I have never seen him angry before, I have always known him as kind and sweet but this man escorting me back to the camp is vengeful, his face is hard and stoic but his eyes are a blazing fire. 

“At least we found him.” I try to make light of the situation but the men don’t reply seemingly in their own world, I’m sure they are planning various ways to make the soldier pay for his crimes. The men in front of us are no different, their silence is deafening. We arrive, Winters and Nixon look pissed. They dismiss the other men only leaving me with the Captains and Speirs. 

We sit in the tent around the table, I look at the floor fiddling with the button on my jacket. I feel like I have been brought into the principal's office to be scolded.

“What happened?” Winters asks Speirs who sits next to me. 

“Well Sir I’m sure we all heard the scream that alerted us to the situation in the first place.” Starts Speirs leaning his arms on the table. 

“It took me a while to find where the noise actually came from, since she was, I am assuming, dragged back into the foxhole by the soldier.” He looks to me for confirmation, to which I nod. 

“When I finally found where the sound came from I looked into the hole to find the man strangling Lane here, he was also covering her mouth and whispering to her, but I didn’t hear what was said.” Speirs says. I feel their eyes land on me. 

“He was telling me to shut up.” I say looking up to meet Winters eyes, regretting my decision, the look on his face breaking my heart. I avert my gaze back to the ground. 

“Did he say anything else?” Nixon asks.  

“He said that he should’ve killed me when he had the chance, but that he…” I pause, clearing my throat. I take a breath, I don’t want to have to tell Nixon and Winters what the asshole said to me. It was bad enough to hear from him but I keep going. “He said that he didn’t have a thing for fucking dead bodies.” I bite my lip looking up at the men, disgust evident on their faces. 

“Thank you Lane, we will have this sorted.” Winters says dismissing me. He can’t even look at me, none of them can. I bite my inner lip. Standing I leave the tent letting them figure out what they want to do with the man. 

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

Chapter 7

[elflutter]

— i'll love you forever (a momma, you'll be)

kinktober 03 → ruts & breeding kink

in a rut!logan x f!reader

synopsis

You’d be lying if you said you haven’t been waiting for this day: Logan at his most fertile; you at yours. Even though you’ve talked about it, stopped your birth control for it, an an unspoken question still lingers in his gaze. You’re sure about this? You really want a baby with an old man like me?

wordcount: 2.7k | crossposted on ao3 | fic notifs

tags/warnings below the cut!

tags/warnings: explicit (18+ mdni), worst wolverine, light a/b/o dynamics (ruts), breeding kink, daddy kink, light dom/sub, age gap (reader is 25+), logan calls himself old man, pet names (incl. sweetheart, baby, momma), unprotected p i v, creampie, fingering, mention of a safeword (not used), reader is ovulating, mentions of pregnancy, pussy pronouns (she/her), logan can pick up reader (but he can lift up to 800 lbs so), logan calls reader's pussy his, no use of y/n. i'm sure i've forgotten something, please let me know if i have!

a/n: idk what came over me with this one omfg. some of this filth was definitely influenced by some other amazing fics i've read this kinktober. the way you want to by @eupheme and baby fever by @silverskyeline come to mind specifically! please go give them some love if you enjoy this one, hehe. and thank you @sceletaflores for hyping up all my depraved ideas, ily

Your boyfriend’s mutation provides certain… perks to your relationship. Firstly, he’s strong enough to pick you up like you weigh less than nothing. And with the healing factor, his refractory period is practically non-existent. But, you think your favorite part of his mutation might be the one on display right now.

Logan’s pupils are blown wide the moment he walks through the door to your shared apartment. The front of his flannel is dark with sweat, a common sight after another long day at the construction job Wade helped secure for him a couple years back. But, from the bulge is already visible through worn jeans, you think all that sweat might be from something else, too. Something that sends electricity shooting down your spine, because you’ve been waiting for this.

Logan clicks the door shut, twisting the lock behind him without looking away from you, his stare heavy and heated. He pulls off his work boots like he cant rid himself of them fast enough, and you’re surprised the well broken-in leather doesn’t rip under his ironclad grip. The thought of that grip on your body, those fingers pressed into the plush of your thighs, has warmth pooling in your core— thick and sweet, like honey in your veins. Heavy and intoxicating, like the whiskey on his breath when you first met.

His biceps bulge beneath rolled-up sleeves as he reaches down to adjust his hard-on, and he prowls to where you sit on the couch, body twisted so you can keep your eyes on him. When Logan finally reaches you in the living room, you’re certain you’ve soaked through the lace of your panties. You straighten out your torso to face forward as he kneels in front of you, spreading your legs to accommodate his broad form.

His voice is as rough and dark as the denim of his work jeans when he finally speaks. His grip hard on your ass, just how you like it. Fingers dig into the thin fabric of your leggings as he pulls your body to the edge of the couch.

“Rut’s here, sugar.” He buries his nose against your hair, breathing in deep— the warm vanilla of your shampoo mixing with the heady scent of your arousal. He speaks into your hair, like he wants to bury himself there. “And I could fuckin’ smell you from the hallway. Drippin’ for me, huh?” He nuzzles in even deeper then, indulging.

You wait for his nose to pick it up— that you’re fertile. You should be, if you’re tracking correctly. You pray that you are. You think you must be ovulating, from the throbbing ache you’ve felt all day. Aching for Logan, for his thick girth to split you open, to be full of him. For that moment, as he empties within you, of soul-deep connection.

When Logan groans against you, the sound a broken thing, your racing heart kicks up a beat. He’s scented it; you’re certain. Logan pulls back, his large hands moving to cradle your face with a gentleness that sends a pang through your chest.

“Baby, are you—” He searches your eyes for an answer, as if he can peer into them and see your desires.

Even during these ruts, when his body burns with an ache only for you, to fuck and to fill, to claim, you call the shots. You tell him to stop, that it’s too much, and he will. He’s still Logan, always in control of himself. It’s not unlike how your sex drive changes, during your own cycle. And, shit, you’re weak for it. Always have been.

You’d be lying if you said you haven’t been waiting for this day: Logan at his most fertile; you at yours. Even though you’ve talked about it, stopped your birth control for it, an an unspoken question still lingers in his gaze.

You’re sure about this? You really want a baby with an old man like me?

You nod; the sting in your chest drowning out the ache in your core for a moment. One day, you hope, he’ll see that you want everything he could possibly give you.

“Yeah, baby. It’s time, I’m ovulating.” Leaning forward, you press your forehead against his, fingers moving to rub gentle circles in his hair. “Please, Lo. Want your baby.”

His lips crash into yours, then, before he’s scooping you up. You hook your feet behind his back as he carries you to the bed, peppering you with kisses and breathy murmurs in your ear.

“Alright, sweetheart, want me to fuck a baby into that sweet little cunt?” His teeth are on your earlobe, hot breath grazing each of his love-bites. You’ve melted into putty in his hands when he finally sets you down on the plush surface of the bed, mind a haze of lust and longing. “Gonna look so good with my baby in you, my little momma.”

Your cheeks grow hot, his words nestling through your mind and finding a home in the dull throbbing between your legs. His name escapes your lips in a needy whine. Before you can say anything else, he flips you onto your stomach. His grip finds your hips, pulling up until your ass is in the air right at the edge of the bed; face buried in the covers.

Logan’s hands move to cup the swell of your bottom as he stands behind you, humming in satisfaction.

“Such a pretty little present, comin’ home to her every day.” Your face heats as you realize he’s not talking to you, but your pussy. “She’s fucking drippin’ for me, isn’t that right?”

All you can manage is a nod and a pathetic whimper, words lost somewhere in the haze of desire.

His palms brush up your back, until he reaches out to grab one of your breasts, his other hand supporting his upper body as he leans over you until you feel his hot breath against your ear.

“Already cock drunk, Momma? Haven’t even touched you yet.”

“L- Logan, please—” you keen. You don’t even have the presence of mind to be embarrassed about your desperation. You feel so achingly empty— just need his cock in your pussy; his come deep and warm inside your womb. The pet-name plays in your mind on repeat. Momma. Momma. Momma.

The image of walking around in a few months, full with his child, and everyone will know who you belong to. Who did this to you. He’ll make you face the mirror above the dresser while he stuffs you full of his come, night after night, whispering how good you look now that he put a baby in you.

He doesn’t move his lips from where they brush against your ear. “Gonna unwrap my present now. Wanna see that pretty pussy. Know she needs some attention, doesn’t she?”

You nod desperately. Suddenly, he stands up straight again, and before you can even protest at the loss of his body heat pressed up against yours, you hear his claws unsheathe with a snikt.

The claws— another favorite aspect of your boyfriend’s mutation in bed. You never knew ruined clothes would get you so damn wet. But it triggers a primal satisfaction deep within you whenever Logan rips through your leggings, your panties, anything keeping the two of you apart. You’ve invested in owning several pairs of the same cheap leggings at any given time, so Logan doesn’t have to worry about replacing the garments he destroys.

He tugs his claws through your leggings and underwear until they lie in pieces beneath you on the bed, and you whine as the cold air of the room grazes where you throb for him. Logan would usually tease you until you were a sobbing mess beneath him, making you drip through the gusset of ruined panties, grinding against your clothed slit. Then, he would make you fall apart on his mouth, then on his fingers, then make you beg, before he’d finally sheathe himself within you.

You thank whatever higher power exists in the multiverse— you think you remember Wade mention someone called Marvel Jesus?— that Logan could only taunt you with one or two lewd comments before he is ripping at your clothes and stepping out of his jeans, shirt tossed aside, to line himself up at your weeping entrance.

Logan is still standing on the floor behind the bed while your ass is swaying in the air where he’s positioned you at the edge, begging for attention. When the fat head of his cock brushes against your puffy folds, heat blooms beneath each place he teases. You can’t help how your neglected cunt clenches around nothing; desperate for something— anything to ease the throbbing ache. Logan grinds his hardness against you— the tip rubbing at your clit has you keening before he slips two fingers into your slick heat.

Every sense is overwhelmed as you feel him enveloping you in his body— his cock teasing at your clit. His breath hot in your ear. One arm between your bodies, fingers curling deep inside. The other, resting on the bed beside your head. All you can feel is Logan, Logan, Logan, all over.

“Gotta get my pussy ready,” his words brush against the shell of your ear. “Ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

Your eyes scrunch shut, the image of how you’d look with Logan’s cock buried within you playing in the darkness of your vision— hips slamming into your ass. Balls making soft plap plap plaps as they slap against your swollen nub. Thinking of Logan, his body on fire with his need to claim you— to breed you. Filling you with his come until your womb is flooded with it. Imagining how you’ll grow plump with his child. You can’t be blamed for the lewd response slips out of you in response to his question.

“Yes, Daddy—” the last word is whined out before you can stop yourself. Cheeks heat, as you realize what you’ve called him. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought of it before. His fingers speed within you, curling against the little textured spot inside that Logan knows so well it’s like he owns it.

“Fuck, baby,” Logan pants, his hips grinding to match the pace of his hand. “You’re gonna make me a daddy. You want that, baby?”

His words are rough against your ear— letting out a little hum as you sink even deeper in the haze of pleasure, tension winding tight in your gut.

“Say it.”

The command in his voice sends a shiver down your spine.

Your own voice wobbles, sounding small and pathetic, as you eek out a response that is little more than a whine, “W-wanna make you a daddy!”

“Attagirl.”

A feral smile against your ear, as his possessive praise alights sparks within you. Somehow, Logan plunges his fingers even deeper, then. His hips never slow where they grind against your folds, cockhead notching against your clit just right, and suddenly that coiling tension releases with a snap.

Your climax hits you, legs quaking as warmth spreads out from your core, until you can feel it wash through your limbs. The fingers in your cunt work you through the pleasure, slowing as you pant against the bedsheets.

Standing tall behind you again, you don’t have time to mourn the loss of Logan’s fingers before he positions himself at your slit.

His voice, gentle, when he speaks before slipping inside. “Remember your word, darlin’?”

Your cheeks heat. He always asks that, when he’s about to fuck you into the mattress until you can’t remember your own name. He’s especially careful to remind you of it when he’s in a rut. You nod, telling him the word you can always say if it gets too much. Apple, and he’ll stop.

His palms cup your ass possessively, splaying his fingers wide to hold as much as he can. “You ready to be a momma?”

You nod your assent.

Logan clicks his tongue, and you can hear the smug smile in his voice. “Use your words for Daddy.”

His words are firm, smug, and for a moment you think he might be making fun of you. But you can tell he’s desperate in the way he pushes the tip of his cock inside you before you can respond. You never thought you’d hear Logan call himself daddy, and it turns you on way more than it should.

“Ready to be a momma, Lo, fuck,” you swear as his weeping head pushes past your puffy folds and into your swollen cunt.

It seems that your words snapped the last of his restraint, finally allowing his base urges to take over. For him to claim you how you’ve both ached for since he crossed the threshold into your shared apartment.

He pushes the rest of the way into you, hissing through his teeth as his hips finally meet the plush of your ass. When he starts thrusting, it’s a rough, feral thing. His fingers dig into your hips, pulling you back to meet him with every thrust. You’re a rag doll in his arms, ass up and on display, face buried as you moan into the sheets.

Logan looks down at you from where he stands, watching his thick length disappear into your tight little hole. When he speaks, his voice comes out in a growl. He can’t help it, with the image of you— fucked out and ruined beneath him. He plans to keep you in this bed, putting his sweet little pussy to use until he can be certain it took.

“Look so fuckin’ good like this, sugar. Lettin’ your old man fill your tight little hole. Gonna keep you full all night, gonna feel my come leakin’ out for days.”

All you can do is whine into the sheets, growing damp with drool as his hips pound against you in hungry thrusts.

“Y’want that, sweetpea? Want daddy’s come?”

Your answer is torn from your throat in a desperate sob.

“Yes!”

Logan’s grip shifts until he’s got one fist full of your tits and one palm flattened against your belly, pulling your body upright against his while he drives his cock up into your weeping cunt. He palms at your breasts, fingers ghosting across your nipples until both are hard and stinging. His grip pinches and soothes, and soon the palm against your stomach moves downward. Then he’s circling your clit, his cock finding that perfect spot inside your walls before plunging deeper until you can feel it brush against your cervix.

Each sensation washes over you, waves lapping against your toes at first. But the water rises higher, higher, higher until you’re drowning in pleasure, your orgasm pulling you under as you come on his cock. You can feel Logan’s words brush against your ear, as you come undone.

“Good fuckin’ girl, coming on your old man’s cock. Lettin’ me do what I need t’ya.” His words are a low snarl when he continues, thrusting harder and harder. “Daddy’s gonna fill you up real good now, gonna put a baby in this tight little pussy.”

You feel your lips form the word yes, over and over, and you think you must be chanting it like a prayer, as his hips snap into you. Logan’s pace grows frenzied as your walls flutter around him in the aftershock of your climax. Reckless, as he pounds into your puffy cunt, your slick leaking down his shaft onto his balls until he finally falls over the edge with a growl. You feel his cock pulse, impossibly deep, filling you with thick ropes of spend. His thrusts slow, but don’t stop, as he fucks his seed further into you.

Logan gingerly lowers the both of you to the bed. You sigh contentedly, finally laying flat on your stomach. Logan cants himself on his elbows above you, still plugged full of his cock.

You can’t help but giggle— he might be into the whole daddy thing even more than you. And that is saying a lot, because you are super into it.

“Lo, that was so fucking hot.”

He chuckles darkly, pulling out before he gathers up the come leaking out of your used cunt and pushes it back inside with his fingers.

“Hope ya don’t think I’m done with you for the night.” Your cheeks heat as you realize he’s growing hard again, his length resting against your ass cheek. “Not even close, bub.”

thank you so much for reading this! id you liked it, please leave a comment or an rb! i would love to hear what you thought!

lovely dividers by @saradika-graphics

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[beardedjoel]

pretty little wife | better now

joel miller x f!reader one shot collection

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 summary: 3.9k words, a snippet of a day in the life of husband! joel and his lovely housewife | no apocalypse au, no use of y/n warnings: 18+ MDNI! pre-established relationship/dynamic, unprotected piv, rough sex, free use kink, sub/dom relationship, cum play, spit kink, exhibition kink, dirty talk, pet names for reader, brief mention of alcohol, generally extremely submissive reader so if you're into that this is for you! a/n: not pretending this is anything other than some little fantasy i had that i needed to write out. i'm really excited about this one shot series for husband!joel though, i have some really fun (and depraved) ideas planned for these two for future blurbs so stayed tuned if you like this one! reblogs + comments are always loved and appreciated! ♡

i've decided to start a kofi in case anyone wants to consider a small donation to support my work! ♡

How’s my pretty little wife today?

The words you look forward to each day, falling from your husbands lips in some form or another, whether it’s rasped tenderly in your ear, from between your legs as he smirks up at you, or from over your shoulder as he slams his cock into you, sending you to heaven and back down as soon as he can after walking in the door after work.  

Joel asks the question today after walking up behind you in the backyard, his mouth already next to your ear, warm breath tickling along your skin there as he brushes your hair over your shoulder. The wiry texture of his beard nuzzles right into your neck, sending a thrill down your spine as his arms slide around your waist and hold you tightly to him, swaying you back and forth. The motion is soothing, reminding you that you’re right where you’re meant to be.  

You can smell the workday on him - sweat and dirt and the outdoors, and the lingering scent of the cologne you’d given him this past Christmas. He’d sprayed it on this morning, as he does every morning since you bought it for him. Makes me think of you all day, he’d remind you while you’d watched from your bed with a teasing smile, sheet disheveled and draped over your naked body.

You breathe all of it in, savoring this scent unique to your husband, before touching your hand to where his rests around your belly and stroking it gently.

“Better now,” you answer. More times than not, that’s your response to his routine question, knowing it drives him wild, makes a long day of work ache a little less when he hears you say it.

“S’what I like to hear,” he says, a kiss on your neck leading up to your lips - a long, deep, ravenous kiss that already leaves you breathless. He pulls away so suddenly you nearly have whiplash, your head falling slightly into nothing, missing his lips.

“Smells good out here,” Joel comments, turning his nose up in the air slightly. “Usin’ the new pizza oven already?” 

When you’d made a passing comment about wishing you could make wood fired pizzas at home, just like the ones a restaurant in town serves, Joel seemed to take it seriously, as he did with most things involving your wishes and desires. The next weekend, he’d hauled in bricks and began his work. You’d stepped out into the yard when you heard all the commotion, giving him a quizzical stare, and he’d simply grinned and shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world that he should be building his wife a pizza oven. You’d nearly teared up, feeling grateful and giddy with excitement at your new toy to experiment with. 

Within a few weekends, Joel had finished his new project, always seeming to need one to have around the house, wiping the sweat off his forehead and gleaming with pride at it as he showed you the final product. You’d practically jumped for joy but settled on flinging yourself into his arms to show your appreciation. When that had turned into him fucking you on top of the kitchen counter moments later after he went inside to fetch a cold drink, you hadn’t minded one bit.

“I couldn’t wait,” you say with a grin. When Joel nuzzles your neck again you start to lose your train of thought. His lips press a gentle kiss right on your pulse point, and you sigh into it. “T-trying out margherita today,” you manage to squeak out.

“Hmm,” Joel says, seemingly contemplating the flavor choice in between latching his lips on your neck and sucking, marking you over and over. You’re sure the ones from mere days ago haven’t faded all the way, a smattering of them going right down to your tits, but Joel always needs a fresh mark on you as soon as they start to fade, a way for you to always remember you’re his. He grinds his hard length into your back on the next touch of his lips, and you arch into it a little, your cunt starting to ache more needily for him. 

“F-fresh basil… from the… gar-” you gasp as he pulls you completely flush against his cock, letting out a little, devious laugh.

“Sounds fuckin’ delicious, baby,” he replies. His fingers reach down and toy with the front hem of your dress, delicately sliding his calloused fingers up your thighs, bunching the fabric as he goes. The warmth of his hands on your bare skin blazes a trail up to the apex of your thighs, finally cupping a hand around your warm heat. You instinctively grind into the heel of his hand, and can practically feel Joel smirking behind you. His fingers brush the outside of your panties, starting to rub circles on the wet fabric. He lets out a low growl, deep and needy in the back of his throat feeling the evidence of how much you’d anticipated him coming home. 

“So wet for me already, huh, doll? Couldn’t wait f’me to get home ‘n take care of ya, I bet,” Joel taunts in your ear before sucking on the lobe, and you’ve gone breathless now, nodding your head. His fingers tease the edge of your panties again, finally slipping one underneath the fabric, feeling the obscenity of your wetness directly, and he lets out an impressed tut, sucking in air between his teeth. You nearly moan out at the smallest touch he’s giving you, the way his rough, worn fingers gently brush over your clit for just a split second. 

“She’s so needy, ain’t she?” Joel coos in your ear, swiping a finger to your entrance and back to your clit. You can feel how slickness quickly gathers on Joel’s digits as he teases you. You squeeze your eyes shut and lean back into him, letting your head drop to his shoulder as pleasure wracks your body already.

“Mhm… needs you,” you murmur, turning your head towards his where he meets your lips, continuing steady strokes on your aching bundle of nerves. His lips are softer than you’d think, looking at the hardened grump behind them, but like so many parts of Joel, they are only soft for you.

“Needy, needy girl… good thing I’ve been thinkin’ about gettin’ my cock in that little cunt of yours all day.”

“A-all day?” you say with a little smirk, rutting your ass back into his throbbing length, and Joel groans with the friction.

“Second I pulled out of it this mornin’,” he replies, low voice drumming against your skin, and you shudder, desperate for what you know he’s about to do.

Another routine of yours - Joel comes home from work, and more days than not, he fucks you. And you enjoy every second of it, basking in the attention and his cock filling you up in the way nobody and nothing else can. You crave him night and day, never having gotten your fill, wondering if you ever could. His hunger for you in return only fuels the fire, a vicious circle the two of you seem to have no intention of breaking.

Your weakness lies completely in the man standing behind you, burying his fingers in between your legs and making you moan out wildly before he’s even had his way with you.

“Fuck, gotta get this cock in you, baby, split you open f’me so good, fuck you stupid,” Joel grunts suddenly, interrupting your swirling thoughts, withdrawing his fingers in a flash and leaving you whimpering. It’s not fair, the way he affects you. 

Nobody should have this power over you, but the minute you’d met Joel, you couldn’t deny the way he’d made you feel. Masculine and warm, rough hands and broad shoulders that you’d clung to that same night you’d met him in a bar, fucking mere hours later in the bathroom. Even in your drunken haze you’d submitted to him fully, Joel having no problem ordering and throwing you around the bathroom like you were just a toy to play with, his little doll. You’d found that you could never look back after that night, the safety he represented to you, the adoration he showered you with, the way he fucked you like it was his last time every time. When Joel saw how willing you were to be his in the way he craved from a woman, there was no stopping the insatiable beast he became, hellbent on never letting another man feel your touch again. Joel promised you a good life, an amazing life, even, and in the last few years, he had more than delivered for you. 

“Hush now, you’ll have what you want in a second,” he says, running a quick stroke of his fingers through your hair, giving it a tug. On principle, you let out a little mewl at the sensation, too many instances of your hair being tugged and pulled with Joel involved to not recall those memories with the pain of it. You hear the jangle of his belt as he frees himself from his jeans, the familiar sound of Joel’s thick, heavy cock slapping against his hand as he fists it. You’re already cock drunk without having seen the damn thing yet, and it’s nearly laughable how pliable you are when Joel’s involved. It’s always been that way - you’ve been happy to oblige his every desire, no matter when, where, how he wanted it, or the frequency. You were his to use, to pleasure, to fuck senseless, and you got off on the way all of it steadily built his need for you just as much as it did with your need for him.

“Please…” you whine, trying to slip out of his grasp and start for the sliding glass door to the house, making the assumption that he’d be taking you inside at any moment to take what he needed from you. 

Joel immediately tightens his hold on you, a dark tut in your ear that goes straight to your clit.

“Not so fast, little doll,” he croons, hand grabbing your cunt through your dress again to hold you to him. “Right here,” he adds on, turning your body towards the outdoor dining table in the backyard. 

“J-Joel… right here?” you question, knowing you shouldn’t. It won’t matter anyways. “The… t-the neighbors…” you whimper quietly as Joel crowds you against the table, tearing your dress up over your ass, revealing your lacy little thong to him. He groans at the sight of your bare ass ready for him to claim before roughly shimmying your underwear halfway down your thighs. He places a rough hand on your back, pressing you down into the table so that you’re completely bent over, your hands splaying out into the wood to support yourself. 

“Let them see…” Joel says quietly, a heady murmur as he slips his cock between your thighs and notches himself at your weeping entrance. “Let them see how much I love fuckin’ my wife.” He pushes in on the last sentence, and you gasp at the stretch and burn of his girth. Your vision goes white for a moment with the mix of pure pain and pleasure, and your mouth hangs open, panting in delight as he fills you inch by inch. 

“Mmm… such a sweet little pussy, honey…” Joel says quietly once he’s seated fully inside of you. He’s just as lost in the bliss of it as you are. “Know I’d fuckin’ live right here if I could.”

You give him a little moan of satisfaction, wiggling your hips to give yourself any sensation of movement from his cock. He places his hands on either side of your hips, squeezing his grip tightly enough to bruise before starting to thrust himself into you. You cry out in a yelp, the noise passing though your lips before you can even control it. 

“Yeah…” you whimper, face pressed against the table, trying to peek up as Joel looms above you, like some higher being that has the power to decide your fate, to decide the pleasure or pain you’ll have to endure in this moment. And truthfully, you do worship him. The way he moves inside of you, makes you crumble underneath even the lightest of his touches. The way he spoils you in every regard - you’ve never wanted for a single thing for as long as you’ve been Joel’s, him vowing to take care of everything you ever need, and in return, you take care of everything he needs. 

To some, it might seem like there’s a lack of balance in the way you do things, but fuck do you love it, you think as you desperately cling onto the table, manicured nails digging into the wood as Joel’s cock rams back into you, pressing so deep inside of you that you see stars.

You let out a low, strangled sound, whining as Joel begins to press against your cervix, the front of your thighs bumping into the table with every new thrust from him. He grunts with the exertion, fucking into you hard, taking what he wants, leaving you both breathless with the need for more of each other. You let Joel take and take and take because of how much he gives in return - while he loves to use you, he always makes sure you get every bit of pleasure you deserve for being so good to him.

When you continuously moan louder as Joel fucks you towards your high, you glance around, the small sliver of your brain that’s still rational worried about you two getting caught by your neighbors. The thought is equally mortifying as it is thrilling, but you decide you’d rather not deal with the embarrassment today if you can help it.

“Still worried about the neighbors, hm, pretty girl? I’ve got an idea,” Joel says, responding to your sudden nervousness. Before you can even answer, his hands are wrapping around your shoulders, urging you up from the table. You follow along, breathless and dazed, letting him move you as he wishes, too deliriously starry eyed for him to care about anything else other than what Joel is gearing up to do to you next.

He accidentally slides out with the movement of your body, and immediately he’s grasping at your hips, practically clawing his way back to you as he pulls you tight to his body again. His throbbing, dripping cock slaps periodically against your ass as he shoves you forward, pushing your body towards the house. 

“Here,” he grits out, suddenly crowding your body from behind to press you against the sliding glass door. “That better?”

“I- yes,” you say, eyes wide from the way you’d been roughly handled by him the last few moments. Your cunt aches almost painfully, having been getting so close to your climax only to have it ripped away suddenly when Joel decided to move you.

“Good,” he snips quietly. “Couldn’t stand to keep this cock out of you much longer’n this.”

With his words he brings his lips to the back of your neck again, just his heavy breathing fanning across the skin there, making you wild as he repositions himself and nudges your legs apart with his knee. You feel the length of him tease between your legs, sliding up to your entrance again. He groans loudly, letting you know how badly he wants you, so you try to pop your hips up at just the right angle you know he’s looking for. 

He slides in effortlessly and with a renewed vigor, hips snapping into you, pressing you further into the sliding glass door with neither of you seeming to be worried about the way it’s suddenly shaking on the frame. It’s completely lewd, the way you imagine the two of you - your entire body against glass, tits being pressed out the top of your dress and bouncing, palms spread against the smooth surface, nails clawing and unable to grasp at anything.

Your body is shaking in his hold now, Joel’s cock hitting inside of you in all the right places. You can feel yourself tensing, almost like every cell is going taut, your core pooling heat deep inside of you with molten pleasure from Joel hitting the spongy bit inside of you. 

“Fuck, love it when you sound like that f’me, doll,” Joel punches out as he hears your moans becoming louder and more desperate the longer he continues to thrust against your g-spot. You can’t respond, only continue your lustful noises with a renewed vigor as you try to bounce your hips back into his thrusts, getting him deeper than what’s even possible, the length of him already burying up to the hilt each time he drives himself into you.

“Know you wanna come for me, baby,” he says right in your ear, voice hoarse with need, and you whimper in response as his hand snakes around your hips and in between your legs, circling a gentle pressure on your clit. 

You feel your hold on reality completely break, your eyes squeezing shut as you melt into the way your entire body is tingling with pleasure now, waves of it turning into spasms as you go practically limp with shaky knees. Joel’s hands hold you in place, his warm strength keeping you upright as you push down onto his cock, riding out your climax and screaming for him. 

When your movements start to slow and your body relaxes, Joel thrusts into you even harder, loving the way you’re so compliant and soft after climaxing, letting him move in you however he needs as you ride out the sensitive aftershocks with a few quiet yelps.

“This little pussy is all mine, y’know that, right?” Joel reminds you through clenched teeth, giving your ass a firm slap. You nod vigorously, eyes still half lidded and mind scrambled from the way he’d shattered you mere moments ago.

“Y-yes, Joel,” you say when he slaps your ass again, demanding an answer. Your breathy answer is enough to get him to his own climax, and he surprises you by pulling out suddenly, leaving your body lurching back into nothing, missing the fullness of him already. Before you can protest, say anything, Joel’s hands grip your shoulders and spin you around and push down, forcing you onto your knees in one fluid, swift motion. You watch, wide eyed, as he fists his throbbing cock, shiny and coated in your own slick arousal as he spreads it along his shaft in jerking motions.

“Be a good girl and open up,” he commands, and you submit to the words immediately, mouth hanging open, even sticking your tongue out for good measure. Joel smirks at that before giving himself another swift tug, and you watch in renewed wonder as he begins to spill himself all over your face, ropes of cum hitting your skin. You taste him on your tongue immediately, savoring it. Your eyes are glued up on Joel’s face, watching his glazed gaze taking in the scene below him as he groans in pleasure, trying not to tilt his head back and get lost in the moment so he doesn’t miss a beat of your beautiful surrender to him.

“Fuck,” he mutters as he watches the last bits of his release hit your tongue. “Don’t you dare swallow that, yet, doll,” he adds on quickly, eyes fluttering for a moment before he tucks himself back into his slacks. He continues to tower over you for a prolonged few seconds, looking down in satisfaction at the image of your glowing, angelic face coated in something so sinful, the milky substance starting to drip down your face, your tongue trembling slightly with the need to swallow.

“Hold still,” he says needlessly since as the words come out of his mouth he grabs your chin, tilting your head upwards and gathering spit, letting a long, tortuously slow drip of it fall into your open mouth. It lands on your tongue, combining with his cum and Joel smirks again, releasing your chin.

“Swallow, my little doll,” he says, voice starting to go soft, an indication that he’s feeling satisfied and finished with his enjoyment of you. You close your mouth, smile, and swallow obviously for him, licking your lips for good measure. 

Joel holds out a hand, helping you stand, your legs buckling slightly as you try to get your bearings. He carefully smooths your disheveled dress, flattening the bottom half and tugging the neckline back into place before fixing the straps to sit perfectly square on your shoulders, eyes roaming over quickly to examine his work with pride. His hands then move to your hair, brushing his fingers gently to put it back in its place, leaving every part of you like none of this had just happened besides your face, still dripping with his spill. Your smile widens, seeing him watch a particularly large spot of it sliding down your cheek. You see his composure fail for a moment before he strokes your cheek gently, avoiding any of the mess there, giving you soft, affectionate eyes.

“Good girl,” he says quietly, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. “Pizza’s probably ready,” he adds on, the casual tone taking you aback for only a moment before you blink yourself back to reality and nod dutifully.

“Of course,” you say, a genuine smile plastered on your face as you look at your handsome husband, admiring the way he’s looking at you with stars dancing across his eyes, the deepest love for you tucked away in his deep brown irises.

“After you get that, go clean yourself up, doll,” he says, and you nod again, the smile not leaving your face. You see out of the corner of your eye Joel settle onto one of the chairs at your outdoor table, leaning back casually as if he hadn’t just had you bent over that exact table, fucking you for the entire neighborhood to possibly see and hear.

You gather everything you need, serving utensils, plates, and two cold beers before bringing it to the table along with the pizza and a freshly tossed salad you’d made to accompany it. Each time you drop something off, the smirk on Joel’s face grows, watching the way you work with the evidence of his obsession with you still lingering on your flushed cheeks.

Once the table is set and your face cleaned off, you join Joel outside to enjoy the beautiful spring evening, and see he’s already served you two generous slices of the margherita pizza. 

He reaches a hand onto the table, taking yours delicately into his palm, dwarfing it with the size of his thick fingers as he absentmindedly runs his thumb along your knuckles, stopping to play with the large, gorgeous diamond on your ring finger. Another reminder to him that he has you all to himself, his pretty little wife.

“Thanks for dinner, baby” he says, eyes locked on yours as he uses a free hand to pick up the pizza and take a large bite, letting out a little noise in satisfaction at the flavor.

“Anytime.” You smile, genuine and tranquil, a fresh appreciation and love for the life you’ve found yourself so grateful to be living.

tysm to @jupiter-soups @huffle-punk @rensraptor for so much help with ideas and writing this fic! love u guys x

[r--kt]

Do you like Kakashi's dogs? Let's talk about why there are eight of them.

another example of naruto's ✨cultural code✨

contents | the eight dog warriors chronicles · legacy · eight confucian virtues. also look at the cuties love them sm

Naruto Vol. 10 CH 90

[ one dog is wonderful, I'm saying as the owner of a sweet little york terrier. two dogs are good, they won't be bored together. three dogs? yeah, cool! how are you going to walk them though? four? yes... look, maybe we have to draw the line h- wha- EIGHT? Excuse Me!? ]

surely, it's worth starting with the fact that eight is a lucky number in Japanese culture — everybody watched Hachi. of course, this is not the only cultural detail where the eight is mentioned. I want to pay special attention to a thing that I didn't know about until I googled it, and this is clearly what Kishimoto was doing homage to with Kakashi's eight ninken.

The Eight Dog Warriors Chronicles

Better known as Nansō Satomi Hakkenden. and it's not just some kind of book, it's a novel, consisting of 106 booklets written by Kyokutei Bakin in XIX century. Hakkenden is considered the largest novel in the history of Japanese Literature. this is one of the main representatives of the gesaku genre, which includes works of a frivolous, joking, silly nature. further I will emphasize a few more times how damn popular this work is and how often it is reflected in culture.

here are some illustrations for these books

now let's talk about the plot. It's weird, but it's weird at samurai-dogs-story level so stay here.

In brief, the story tells about the commander Satomi Yoshizane, whose native lands were attacked by the army of a man, whose forces surpassed those of Satomi, and the samurai in despair swore to a dog named Yatsufusa that the dog would get his beloved daughter Fuse as a wife if he chewed that man's throat. surprisingly, the dog not only understood the owner, but also fulfilled his wish! after that the commander refused to keep the promise. however, Fuse, true to her word of honor, went with Yatsufusa to the mountains and became his wife. upon learning that his daughter was pregnant, Satomi, in a rage, sent a samurai to kill Yatsufusa and bring Fuse home. she stood up for the dog anyways and died with him. at that moment, eight pearls with hieroglyphs that denoted the foundations of Confucian virtue burst out of her womb. (...cheers for mythology, I guess)

Soon, eight dog warriors who were Fuse's spiritual children were born in different parts of Awa province. after going through hardships, they got together and became vassals of the Satomi clan, then won the battle, and soon reached peace.

some more illustrations made by Utagawa Kuniyoshi. from left to right: Inukawa Sōsuke (the dog warrior), Inumura Daikaku (the dog warrior), Princess Fuse (their mother).

the novel mainly tells about each individual warrior dog and his shenanigans in a funny adventurous way. huge fame has led to excerpts from Hakkenden being staged at the Kabuki Theater and mentioned in the anime and manga, such as Inuyasha, Dragon Ball, as it turned out, Naruto and so on. there's also a lot of films and video games.

The eight virtues

these are loyalty, filial piety, benevolence, love, honesty, justice, harmony, and peace.

they relate more to Chinese culture, but basically Hakkenden was inspired by it too. since I did not read the whole novel, I would still like to mention at least the values on which it is based, and which were embedded in the symbolism of this story. It's quite interesting to apply this to Kakashi's dogs. gives them more weight and depth.

It is also interesting to note that the reason why Fuse gave birth to dogs was also that her father was cursed earlier in the story in a way that his descendants would become depraved like dogs. in Japanese culture, dogs embody the duality of character: the same mentioned filth and depravity, and devotion and bravery. so as samurai. but this is a different conversation, more related to Kakashi and his dog poetry.

Did you get here? Here's an additional discovery for you✨

Pakkun's name (パックン) is derived from the Japanese onomatopoeia “pakupaku” (パクパク) which reflects the sound of munching.

Kakashi, that's very sweet of you.

thank you for reading this to the end ♡

[neochan]

≡ 𝐍𝐂𝐓 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐕 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒! (𝟏𝟖+)

「 MEMBERS 」 ⋮ mark lee, huang renjun, lee jeno, na jaemin, lee haechan, zhong chenle, park jisung

≣ content warning ⋮ perverted, depraved, & taboo thoughts, nerd!mark, cnc / dubcon, innocence stealer!chenle, somnophilia, mentions of weed usage as a form of coercion, too strong!jeno, manhandling, rough!jeno, degradation, religious sacrilege, corrupt church boy!jaemin, slight humiliation, corruption, ra!renjun, manipulative!renjun, cocaine usage.

≣ a.note ⋮ i'm smoking weed and listening to old hiphop, what else was i supposed to do other than write these cute little perv drabbles :) give me a like, a follow, or a reblog.

⩩ mark lee ⋮ so what if he's a 'nerd'. he doesn't care if you make fun of him in class with all your friends. he shrugs it off like no big deal. it really wasn't a big deal, until you brought up his dick size. see, mark isn't one of those guys whose ego gets shot from small dick jokes. but when the joke leaves your pretty little mouth, well something shifts in the pit of his stomach. he still shrugs it off though, until you're walking home from class, skirt swishing back and forth just barely covering the swell of your ass. good little girls should know better... it was easy, really. clamping a hand over your lips puckered in a silent scream. and then to drag you back to his car. oh, it was so, so easy. in fact, you really wanted it. the way you spread your legs, revealing a patch of arousal on the seat of your lacy panties. how you willingly helped him slip them to the side. the way you moaned his name when he slid into your puffy cunt, tits pressing against his chest and eyes locked on his. you begged for him to keep going. for him to go harder. so he did. again, and again, and again. until you could barely walk when he dumped you outside the front of your dorm. but sure enough, you stayed quiet in class the next day...

⩩ huang renjun ⋮ renjun has an addiction. it's not porn - not technically. it's not cocaine, or nicotine. he's not an alcoholic, yet still, he felt the withdrawal all too much. he was addicted to you. or, your body, rather. he dreamed of it, hands reaching up to cup your tits, cock sunk deep in your pussy, spit dribbling down the side of your mouth as you lost yourself on him. and when he woke up, aching and hard, he had no choice but to pathetically jerk off to the remnants of the memory. he thought about putting cameras in your room, maybe the womens showers, to capture you. something he can have as a keepsake of this obsession. see, he had access. he was your resident advisor. he could do that. but then he found out from a little birdie that his star resident in room two oh twelve used her daddies money to buy coke off her dealer boyfriend. see that...that was the key. all he had to do was used that as bait to convince you. and he did. one night, at a stupid party he was supposed to shut down, he saw you snort a line off the living room table. next thing he knew, you were upstairs, tears welling in your eyes, pleading with him not to tell. you would do anything. anything.

⩩ lee jeno ⋮ really, his strength was his best asset. but he's never had someone put up this much of a fight. seriously, after one good hair pull and a hand around the throat, girls usually let up. but you... you were fun. you were a challenge. you push back, hands slapping against his chest to combat him. all he does is snarl and shove harder, pressing your back against the kitchen counter. his biceps flex with the exertion of grabbing your wrists and pinning them to the marble. you thrash around still, until he twists your body so sharply, you cry out. he chuckles, "god i love you." he presses his stiffening cock against you, circling his hips to gain some sort of friction, "feel that? you're driving me crazy." a few half-hearted attempts at getting free does nothing for you, instead, it spins you around so now your chest was pressed flat against the cold surface. he transfers your wrists into one giant hand, and uses his other to yank down your bottoms. "...and you're soaked. fuck, y/n. gonna give you what you need. gonna fuck this stupid attitude outta you, yeah?" your walls flutter around his uninvited fingers, "ahhh, you like that, you sick fuck. want me to fuck you into submission. make you a real good girl for me. gonna train you to take me, and only me." he doesn't even feel you resist anymore, because you give up. you let him use your body until he's spent, and even then, you let him use your mouth. anything for him. anything for jeno.

⩩ na jaemin ⋮ he wasn't a god. but at this moment, with his entire world peering up through wet lashes, on bruised knees...well, he surely felt like one. it didn't help that he stood overtop your broken figure on the edge of the alter. he caresses your jaw and gives you a smile full of pearly white teeth that gleam in the stained glass shadows, "speak." with tears welling in your eyes at the command, it takes a second, but eventually your hoarse voice echoes out, "forgive me father for i have sinned." you see, jaemin wasn't a priest, but he took your confessions as if he was one. he wanted you to bare your soul to him. your perverted, depraved, sick thoughts. he doesn't speak though, just cocks an eyebrow and crouches down so that he was eye level. you continue, "i-, this is so...embarrassing, gosh, i don't..." he gives your jaw a squeeze, making the words tumble out, "i did it again. i... i touched myself again..it's wrong, i- i know, but he, you...plague my mind." your voice quiets the longer his gaze burns into you. but nothing compares to the image that burns brighter in his mind. your innocent fingers slipping between plush thighs, jaemin being the temptation you couldn't withstand. it made him feel fucking good. "it's okay darling, god forgives you, i forgive you..." he stands up again and reaches a hand down to toy with the buckle of his belt, "but with sin comes punishment." he undoes the latch and slowly slips it from the belt loops of his dress pants. the sound makes you flinch, a whisper escaping your pouted lips, "oh god." heat surges through his veins, almost bringing him to his knees, "no angel, i'm not god. i'll be more forgiving than any god. i'll be gentle, i'll liberate you from all sin. i'll make you good. my darling, i'll make you pure again."

⩩ lee haechan ⋮ yeah, he did it on purpose, so what. technically, he didn't force you to inhale, he simply stuck the blunt between your fingers and called it a day. admittedly, you did exactly what he wanted, but he chalked that up to good luck, and the devil on his side. watching you slowly revert to a rambling, squirmy mess made his cock stir in his jeans. and when you got all cuddly, snuggling up to his chest and dragging him closer, well, what else was he supposed to do other than stick his tongue in your mouth and push you back against the arm of the couch. you came on to him, really. either way, the night led with his tongue down your throat, and his hand up your skirt. and still, when he pushes your panties to the side and slips a finger into your cunt, his suspicions are confirmed. your arousal dripped down his wrists, a testament to how much you truly wanted him. really, he was doing you a service. an act of kindness. "be still baby" he growled, forcing your legs wider apart. you whimpered and whined, body holding still but head rolling on your shoulders. "hyuckie.." you kept mewling, and with each sound of his name, he grew harder and harder. it felt like he might burst if he didn't bury his cock in you right this minute. so he does. sloppily, because he was high too, but he does. and it's slow, and messy, and sick. and he loved every fucking second. god, he can't wait to do this to you, no, with you, again.

⩩ zhong chenle ⋮ stealing innocence, robbing naivety, corrupting purity... whatever people call that, chenle calls a normal everyday thought. he hasn't really fucked you yet, only teased you. he's coerced you into letting him touch your cunt, but only the soft skin on the outside. you've let him touch your breasts, but never the sensitive bud in the center. you also let him toy with your ass one time, but the second he tried to slip a finger inside, you pushed him off and told him to wait. nothing could happen before marriage. but chenle was tired of waiting. he was bored of watching you through the camera in the shower. sick of touching himself beside your sleeping figure - the only time he could shift your legs in your sleep to poke at your clothed cunt. just rubbing you through the satin material of your pajama bottoms got him off, but he needed more. this time, he was able to wriggle your shorts down around your ankles, and what a sight it was. oh he was gonna have so much fun. one finger, two fingers, his tongue, eventually working his way up to the tip of his cock. pushing in, not too much to make you stir... just enough to tease himself. you were so tight, so untouched. it was obvious he was your first, and it took everything in him to hold back. tomorrow night...tomorrow night will be the night he fucks you full, until you're leaking his cum. until you're his. ruined for him only.

⩩ park jisung ⋮ jisung hates how you think of him. not just you, but everyone really. see, he's not just the maknae. he doesn't want the baby voice, or the coddling, or the fucking head pats. if you really knew what he was capable of, maybe you'd think twice before treating him like a kid all the time. if you could see the way he fucks his fist, fingers twisted in the sheets of his bed, or knuckles jammed between his teeth... the things he thought about; you sitting on his cock, forced to take every inch of him, even when the tears well over the brim of your eyelashes. cunt full of his fingers while he sucked and nipped at your breasts. the bruises he'd leave on every inch of your skin. how he fantasizes about pushing you to the floor and stuffing his cock down your throat until you were thrashing for just a small breath of air. he doesn't get off on hurting you, no, he could never do that. but making you see just how much stronger he was.. how he could force you onto your knees, and rough you up a bit until your swollen lips screamed his name. well, maybe then you'd stop treating him like some dumb kid.

≣ taglist ⋮ @hykwrld-main @peachjaem00 @rainyjeno @be-my-sunrise @revehae

[yandere-sins]

You know how, irl, people get fascinated and turned on by the IDEA Of a yandere? And how a yandere, ofc, stalks and learns as much as they can about their darling? I just imagine the Yandere using that to their advantage and to their Darling's horror. "Oh, but you like this don't you? You've read so many smutty tumblr stories about being taken and taken and held hostage. You reblogged so many headcanons about a character killing your bully or that co-worker you hate. I know all your questionable porn tastes. I know all your deep, dark secrets. I know your violent vent posts that I got to enact for you, Darling! I've given you everything you've ever fantasized about, so of course you'll love me. <3" And of course, the yandere fails to realize that any of those behaviors or actions in real life is absolutely, gut-wrenchingly horrifying. But they think they're giving their darling everything they could ever want, and they'll continue to do so until they stop playing hard to get.

Ngl, probably one of my worst fears for the future, but thanks for requesting because it makes good yandere content :'D

I'm imagining a really smug yandere, you know? One that thinks they are doing you such a big favor and give you all their love by expressing it this way. But in reality, they don't even realize how messed up it is.

They were just breaking into your home after you went to bed to admire their darling from afar for a little bit. They are not daring to stir you from your sleep when they can stand beside you and watch. It is enough; they won't be greedy. But they couldn't have known they'd find the holy grail of smut and depravity on your bookshelf when they started browsing as their curiosity got the better of them. They are almost appalled by their darling, if not for the fact that when they browse through the pages of a random book, the words kidnapping, stalking, love, murder, and quite a few more seem like a temptation made for them especially.

So, you actually like that kind of stuff, huh?

Someone following you on a dark street, their steps noticeable but their face masked as they are always just five steps behind you. You run, they run. There's a red rose on your windowsill the next day. It scares you, but they know now that you are just pretending. That your heart is beating faster now, elated by the chase and the promise of love it brings. The fact that you have your own mad person excites you. The yan continues to borrow one book after the other, annotates them, and takes notes for themselves before putting them back onto your shelf for you to find one day, horrified to see lots of "I'd love to do this to you," "How about I kill the coworker you hate—would that make you love me?" and "Love this, love you, always you" in them.

They thought being a silent observer, loving you from afar, was the way to be with you. But they can't help but masturbate to the sex scenes, thinking about how they'd reenact them with you. Your books will be devastatingly ruined by stains and tears in the pages as they have either ripped out a scene to save for later or bit into the book as they've hit their orgasm. Your bookshelf was a collection of dark romance before, but now it is literally the remnant of a massacre of the once neat collection.

But of course, they won't stop there.

Everyone gets sick of reading books someday, even though it's been nice doing it sitting next to you—part of the yan hoping you might wake up and they get to act out some of the scenes you read about. However, there are more things to uncover and learn from. Your public social media they've stalked so far was nice and dandy, but the favorites and posts you hide on your private computer have so much potential to learn from.

The yan can learn about all these little desires of yours. The masks you like, how you want to be taken, cared for, and loved forever. You seem to believe in soulmates—crazy! They do, too! If the yan is delusional enough, it turns out that you two are so similar to each other—a perfect match. Even the kinks they didn't share with you before can be arranged with enough dedication to you. They'll make preparations so you'll be able to ease into these depraved things that you kept hidden from them. You might have been afraid to act on your desires, but the yan is ready to let you live them out to the fullest.

Never mind that you cry after being chased home, it's what you wanted, right? It doesn't matter how you actually feel when they harass and stalk you, leave you little notes and flowers everywhere, because they are just doing what your book-partners would do (it worked for them, after all). You wanted the yan to be possessive over you; why are you sad that no one wants to be your friend when the yan went to the trouble of making sure everyone would be too scared to approach you? And really, aren't you grateful for the yan taking care of your coworker problem? Was sending you their pinky not enough proof of their love?

How come you don't love them yet? When will you love them like the protagonists of your books?

Haven't they done enough? Are you seriously saying you don't like their gifts and dedication to you? Or perhaps you are just trying to play hard to get... of course! That must be it. You are so lovely; you must know that you deserve to be desired immensely. Only they can desire you as much as to go to such lengths, but perhaps it hasn't been enough yet. You deserve more. You are waiting for the yan to prove their undying, absolute love for you. It must be something big, something extraordinary. Something that will show you just how much they care about your interests and especially you.

They will take you and give you the life you want—you deserve.

Even if you hate them for it.

[earthtooz]

x : HEART LIKE YOURS :*+ﾟ

in which: rin is drunk and incredibly infatuated with you. so much so, that he wonders what he did to deserve someone like you.

warnings: 1.1k wc fluff, minor angst, rin is a little insecure + fully drunk, he definitely has fallen harder for you btw, gn!reader, isagi cameo, deep metaphors or whatever idk i'm writing this depraved of itoshi rin.

a/n: kaneshiro bring rin to me this instant or i will go wild.

Itoshi Rin is in love. He is so in love that it makes him feel sick and woozy and dazed and he doesn’t know when the world will be able to stop spinning on itself, but somehow, his feet have taken him to your apartment. Excitement rests at the bottom of his stomach at the prospect of seeing you, yet a locked door is the only barricade that prevents him from seeing you, and Rin wonders if it was rational of him to kick it down. 

Just to see you, beautiful, enchanting, flawless you. What would you be doing at 1am on a Friday night- or is it Saturday morning? 

“Oh, hey guys.” Your voice echoes through his mind, sounding distant yet so close at the same time that it causes him to look up from the floor. Although his vision is hazy and his eyes are a minute away from drooping closed completely, he sees through the thick of it. You are clear and radiant in the centre of his attention, just as you always are. 

Before he can spout the words that his lovesick heart longs to express, a voice beside him interrupts, sounding like someone similar to Isagi. Rin thinks he should shut his mouth because how could he care about stupid, lukewarm Isagi when you’re right in front of him, though? 

“He’s drunk and asking for you,” Isagi excuses. 

“I’m not drunk,” pours from Rin’s mouth instead, grumbled and petulant. He hears a giggle slip from you and instantly, his gaze returns to you, owl-like and unwavering.

“Come on in then, thank you for bringing him here, Isagi,” you say and Rin vaguely feels himself moving into your space. Your scent floods into his senses to give him a rush of euphoria; a sensation that only intensifies when he hears the door click close and feels your hands run through his hair.

He’s on your couch, slumped over your pillows, melting into your touch, and devastatingly in love as the manifestation of all his affections and desires stands in front of him, blissfully unaware of the turbulence in his heart. Do you know? Do you know what you do to him? How you make his heart beat with enough might to light up the city? How he finds himself tripping over his own feet just to make sure that it’s him by your side and not some other lukewarm idiot?

“Rin, wake up,” your voice gently breathes and like sheep, he can’t do anything but obey. “Looks like you had a big night. Are you tired, baby?”

“Yeah,” he mutters, deceivingly apathetic as your hand settles on his cheek. Here, you push him a little to look at you, displaying his flushed face and slightly-flattened hair to you. 

“Don’t fall asleep on me just yet, gotta make sure you’re not too intoxicated.”

The athlete persists, “I’m not drunk.” I’m happy, he thinks. 

“I’m so sure,” you laugh him and his love off and a part of him lurches with the need to prove it to you. “I’ll get some water, sit tight and I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t leave me behind,” Rin demands, voice sounding out like a whine, much to his chagrin because he very much means it. But you’re laughing and you don’t think that he’s being serious. You’re laughing whilst he’s practically tearing at the seams, unable to hold back the love he feels for you lest it drowns him. 

“I’ll be gone for ten seconds top.”

“Ten seconds too long,” retaliates the sulky dark-haired. “I don’t need water, I need you.” 

When Rin is drunk, the alcohol fills him with courage to say things that he never could have otherwise. If he could see straight without needing to concentrate on doing so, he would have witnessed the dumbstruck smile on your face, completely and utterly enamoured with the cold and calculating soccer player. 

If someone had told you that the Itoshi Rin would be acting like a fool on your couch in the future, you would have laughed in their face and walked off. Yet it seems like you’re the fool now.

“Saying you don’t need water is a bit of an exaggeration. Just let me get you a cup and I’ll be right back.”

Rin’s hand latches on to your wrist, so strong and unrelenting that he doesn’t know why you don’t pull yourself away from him, to put space in between you and something so wretched, but he doesn’t complain as his thumb caresses your bone. “I’ll come with you then.”

“You won’t.”

“I will.”

“You won’t.”

He is stupid enough to stand up, determined and alive, whilst you’re panicked and worried, exclaiming at Rin to sit back down and not be so brash. You manage to placate him when you tell him that you won’t leave and instead, take the spot next to him on the couch, legs pressed together whilst his hand still encompasses yours.

Oh, to be with you til the end of time. 

“I take it that you had a good time with the boys tonight?” You ask, making small talk to kill the time. “Seems like you went quite overboard.”

“I’m better now that I’m with you,” he hiccups, blinking slowly as his gaze never falters from you. “Prefer you… over some idiots.”

You laugh, throwing your head back against the cushions and Rin wishes he had a camera to capture this moment and tuck it in the crevices of his heart. 

Truthfully, Rin had gone out tonight to soothe the heartache that your love for him made him feel, for what had he done to deserve it? He has you in his life and he finds that the most remarkable feat, above all his trophies, numerous World-Class achievements, and other accomplishments that make him the famous Itoshi Rin. Falling for you was as natural as scoring a goal, but you choosing him was not. 

Itoshi Rin is unpleasant. All bite, sneers, and crude language with no softness to mould space for anyone to come into his life- until you. But what is stopping you from finding someone else who could do that too? Not only that, but could do it better than him? 

“I love you.”

It’s a soft confession, not at all dramatic or showy as the three words diminish in the atmosphere. The fleetingness causes something restless to settle deep in Rin’s gut, thrashing and wild because the magnitude of his affection for you could never be expressed in merely three words. However, the way your eyes light up will forever be ingrained in his mind as you whisper back a soft ‘I love you, too’, taming the turmoil with overwhelming ease. 

Then, the best thing ever happens: you throw your arms around him, warming him inside out with your touch. Naturally, the athlete circles himself around you too and he fears the day that he has to let go, but until that moment comes, his heart rests peacefully with you.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[aft3rhrs]

— heaven ღ

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: romance

warnings: yandere, allusions to kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, mentions of reader getting locked up, a tiny (👌) bit of angst, possessiveness, corruption kink, rough sex, choking, praise, humiliation, dirty talk, hair pulling, implied big!dick jk 💁‍♀️, he's a simp, creampie, some aftercare & lots of kisses, still messed up tho lmao I'm sorry <3

It never seemed heaven would be so dark. A room draped in shadows, the door carefully locked. Not even a glint of moonlight broke through the drawn curtains; complete isolation from the world down below.

Even if Jungkook turned on the lights, you wouldn't have been able to see much; not with your face pressed into the mattress rocking beneath your knees. The headboard banged against the wall rhythmically, the sound mingling with each slap of his balls against you, thrusts deep and hard, stretching you out to your limits.

You could feel his chest pressing down onto your back, skin warm and sweaty. His hand remained on your head, lips glued to your ear. The sounds spilling out of them made your head spin, drool seeping into the sheets by your open mouth.

"Always such a good girl for me," he whispered, hot and low. His fingers tangled in your hair, giving it a tender pull. "Fuck me back." His free hand squeezed your hip, encouraging you to move. "Come on, baby. Fuck me back."

Your pussy clenched, muffled whines growing louder. Mindlessly, your hips moved with Jungkook's guidance, numb to anything but the searing pleasure of his cock spearing through you.

"Yeah— fuuck—" the soft groans turned deeper, your little hole soaked and so fucking desperate; just the way he liked it. Just as desperate for him as he was for you.

He grit his teeth, trying to hold a little longer, abdomen tensing against you.

"I love you," he gasped, "tell me what you want, baby. I'll give you anything you want."

A hiss escaped him when he felt you tighten again, signaling that you knew exactly what he meant, and your pretty, little head was no less depraved than his own. That only spurred him on, made his hips snap against your ass faster, sloppier, sweat shining on his temple.

He wasn't expecting you to be coherent and provide an answer to his question; it was like he just wanted to establish dominance, mark his claim, driven by the sadistic instincts that flickered to life in him in the raw dark, like stars. Equally charming and destructive.

"Gonna," he breathed, the slaps of skin against skin harsh and relentless, "gonna come on my cock, you pathetic whore? You're so good for me. You know you're mine, only mine, and this little pussy knows it too. Always so fucking wet for me."

It seemed more like taunting than a simple reminder; he was trying to get under your skin. As if he didn't already make a home within your ribcage. As if he hasn't infested your bloodstream the first time he had kissed you. The filthy words messed with your mind, made your hole pulse around him harder with each thrust.

"Mm, fuck, fuck, ah, why so quiet tonight?" He moaned into your ear, gently slipping his hand around your neck. He gave it a firm squeeze, immediately getting one back on his cock, throbbing and slippery as it pounded into you. "Come all over me, kitten, don't hold back."

You whimpered, your thighs shaking under his, teeth biting into your lower lip, hard. Didn't he fuck your brains out in the last three months? There should have been no thoughts left there at all, and yet something seemed to be wrong, like some semblance of doubt was keeping you hostage tonight. Didn't he do a good job getting rid of that? Jaw tensing, he choked you harder, snapping his hips forward faster.

"I said be a good girl and come for me," he gritted.

He was desperately close himself, his cock hot and swollen, spurting precum as it rubbed against your walls.

"Fucking come for me," Jungkook groaned. "This was supposed to be a celebration. Stop holding back. Do you want me to bring you back down to the fucking basement?"

You gasped, but he could barely hear it over his ragged breathing; how tightly his veiny hand enveloped your frail neck didn't help. However, he could still feel you, especially on his sensitive cock.

"Oh... oh, fuck, are you—"

You quivered around it, so tight his movements stuttered, white spots dancing around his vision at the sensation.

"Did you just come? You want me to keep you like a fucking pet, baby? Oh god, yeah—"

A burst of warmth spilled inside you, your skin tingling and head fuzzy with the limited oxygen his grip on you provided. You shuddered under him, moaning as he fucked his cum deep into your abused cunt. You could feel him all the way in your stomach, his groans loud as kept twitching inside you. Oh, he liked this; how much he corrupted you, how hard you came at the thought of him owning you. He liked it, because he came hard as well, hand loosening around your throat as his hips stilled, last, few spurts of hot seed shooting into you.

You tried to catch your breath, soft kisses trailed along your shoulder slowly bringing you back down from your high. You felt warm, satiated, full; you felt Jungkook's lips quirking in a satisfied smile against your skin, too, his cheek resting on your neck.

"Good girl," he whispered. "So good. I love you."

"I love you," you sighed, eyes slipping shut.

Jungkook hummed.

"Finally got your voice back?" He brushed your hair to the side, exposing more of your skin, his lips pressing into your cheek. "Should I be concerned, baby? Do you want me to stay a little longer?"

You shook your head. Any other time, Jungkook would have cleaned you up, especially before going anywhere. Tonight, though, he wanted you just like this. Naked, in his bed, with his cum dripping out of you while you drifted off. You didn't seem to mind either, heartbeat and breathing steadying as he started getting dressed.

You were almost asleep by the time he crouched down by the bed, the touch of his lips on yours making you stir.

"You know this is just for show, right?"

His question was soft, eyebrows furrowed. No matter how strong, it looked like not even Jungkook could escape some monsters — something like doubt, something like fear. Everything only felt amplified when it came to you.

"Yeah," you whispered. "Promise."

Perhaps three months ago his words would have hurt; but there was no wound anymore, only scars, and his gentle fingers ghosting over them.

Your soft reply smoothed out the frantic, worried fabrics of his soul, the image of you lying there, in his room, glowing; surrounded by his scent and his sheets, so domestic. It was everything he ever needed. His sacred place.

He sighed, contented, pressing the next kiss onto your forehead.

"Good. Mm, then rest. Just stay here and look pretty, my love. I'll collect your ransom and be right back."

He brushed his knuckles along your flushed cheek, dark, hooded eyes boring into yours.

"Can I have another kiss for good luck?"

A pleased hum left him when you leaned in, lips pouty and swollen, ready to be kissed more and more, and how could he ever not want to do just that?

He held your face with an inked hand, and a black mask in the other.

Heaven was a pricey thing to uphold; the church would know. And not that Jungkook didn't already have enough to spoil you, but all angels were painted in gold, weren't they?

"Night, baby," he murmured lovingly.

His voice never led you astray, lulling you to sleep, helping you land safely in the arms of the mellow abyss behind your eyelids. He kissed both.

"Gonna be back real soon."

You didn't get to hear that promise, but he didn't mind. In a few hours, he'll be holding you in his arms. All angels were shimmering gold, to match the golden gates; his angel deserved the same.

In the end, there was nothing wrong with a man of faith collecting donations for the purposes of worship. Right?

[dollfacefantasy]

Let Them See

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: leon teases you while you're at the bookstore. on the way home, he has to pull over to deal with it.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, oral (m receiving), daddy kink, praise/degradation, dubcon elements (reader is scared of being caught), thigh fucking, he cums inside, car sex, road head, teasing in public, crying, sub space (forgive me if i'm using that incorrectly)

word count: 4.9k

a/n: i feel absolutely depraved. thank you to @sleepyluxe for the idea. this does reference my other fic, but it's not important to the plot. just if you read that one, this is like a little sequel! if you sent me a request, i am working on it, please be patient with me. i hope everyone enjoys. special smooches to everyone who reblogs and comments and sends me asks :) you don't know how much it means to me <3

tags: @dwkfan @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @sleepyluxe @petitecolibri @death-paint @luniaxi @bizzarethirst lmk if you would like to be added to the list!

You gaze out the window of the car, looking around at the beautiful day outside the glass. You softly hum along to the song playing on the radio as Leon’s fingers rub tiny circles on your inner thigh. You occasionally look over at him to watch him drive, your eyes full of all the love in the world. Your boyfriend finally had some time off, and he was spending it with you.

The entire day so far consisted of the two of you going around and just doing whatever you wanted. Just having fun together. Now, you were on the way to the bookstore. You had no shopping agenda, it was just another stop on your series of activities.

He pulls the car into a parking space near the shop and shuts it off. He squeezes your thigh once more before leaning over to kiss your cheek.

“You ready, sweetheart?” he asks while stroking your face softly.

You nod and lean in for one more sweet kiss. 

The two of you exit the car and head towards the store. Your hand finds his immediately, interlacing your fingers together. You lean your head against his shoulder as the automatic doors glide apart to let you in. His expression softens when you display your need to be close, and he kisses the crown of your head.

You wander the aisles together, looking through different sections and pointing out different things you’d read or wanted to read. Eventually, you end up in the romance section. Leon shifts his position to stand behind you and watch from over your shoulder. His arms circle your form, encasing you against his chest while he nuzzles the side of your head and kisses your cheek a few times.

You smile and turn your head slightly to give him a small kiss as you read the synopsis of the book in your hand. You guessed he had missed you lately since he’d been working so much. He was usually pretty attached to you right after coming home, and you never minded because why would you? If he needed extra affection, you would never deny him that.

Your intuition was half-correct because your boyfriend had missed you and did want to be in physical contact with you constantly right now, but the reason behind his current touchiness was a different type of longing.

He was so pent up from being away from you. A couple of days before he left for his last mission you had let it slip that you wanted to call him Daddy, and he had been feeling wild ever since. Sure, he’d fucked you until you couldn’t walk prior to him leaving and spent nearly all of last night inside of you, but it wasn’t enough. He craved you so deeply. He could feel every cell in his body yearning for you.

In his time away, it felt as if images of you clouded his mind in every waking moment. If he wasn’t actively fighting for his life, but even in those moments too sometimes, he was thinking of you. Your blissed out, flushed face, and your soft parted lips spilling entrancing sounds of pleasure. The way he could nearly see a physical change once you heard him praise you or remind you to be good for Daddy haunted him each minute he was across the globe from you.

It was like a new part of you had been unlocked to him. A side of you that looked at him with such reverence that he almost couldn’t stand it. He loved every facet of your personality, but this piece of you that wanted nothing more than to love him and be taken care of drove him up the wall.

He takes a deep breath while peppering the side of your neck with gentle kisses, inhaling your scent. He lets out a hum next to your ear, quiet enough so only you can hear, but in a tone to let you know what he desires. 

Despite his hinting, you just smile again and give him another chaste kiss. You were still too focused on that book for his liking. He watches you flip through the pages and scan different passages. He is disinterested for the most part until a certain section of words catches his eye.

“His manhood glides into her sopping heat,” he reads with a low chuckle. He gives you another peck on your temple. “This what you read when I’m gone, honey? So dirty, but I guess I should’ve known.”

“Oh, shut up,” you say with a roll of your eyes. You gently jab your elbow back into his abdomen.

That makes him smile and hold you even tighter against his broad front. His hands slowly rub either side of your body while his warm breath is blowing over your neck.

“No, it’s ok, baby. I know you’re insatiable. You gotta take care of yourself somehow when I’m not there,” he says quietly against your skin.

“Leon,” you say in a warning tone. It wasn’t so much what he was saying that was starting to get you hot. It was the low rumble of his voice, his lips brushing your throat, and his thick biceps locked around you like boa constrictors.

“I can just see it. You in bed, book in one hand, the other down your shorts, those fingers playing with your pretty, aching pussy. Hips bucking while you bite your lip,” he breathes, “But it’s probably not enough, is it? No, I’ve got you trained so well, baby girl. I know you can’t cum without Daddy’s help. I bet you call out for me when I’m not there, wishing it was me buried between those cute legs instead of your hand.”

“Leon,” you say, trying to speak in a warning tone, but it comes out as a soft whine. Your cheeks felt hot and your head a little dizzy.

“Leon?” he mocks, “That’s not who you were crying for last night, sweetheart.”

“Daddy,” you correct yourself quietly, turning your head to look into his eyes. His lips curl further into a predatory grin.

“That’s it. Good girl,” he coos and kisses your nose, “Daddy’s girl is so smart, remembering things like that. Good to know you keep some of that mind after I fuck it dumb all night.”

The way he taunts you makes it feel like your knees are going to buckle. You try to plead with him through your eyes. The aisle you were in was empty and towards the back of the store, but your mind was running rampant with thoughts of someone else catching the words that left his mouth.

“What’s that look for, princess?” he laughs in a hushed tone, “I thought you loved when I talked like that.”

“What if someone hears?” you ask softly.

“Oh, baby,” he coos, “Are you afraid of someone seeing how pathetic you are for Daddy?”

Heat bunches in your lower abdomen making you shift a little. You nod.

“Scared of someone seeing how you rub those gorgeous thighs together? How you can’t meet anyone’s eyes? How you have to hold Daddy’s hand to feel ok?” he whispers before nipping at your earlobe, “And all just from a few words.”

Your breath hitches and you fight to keep the whimper blossoming in your throat inside. “We’ll get in trouble,” you say, your voice shaking.

“Aw, my sweet girl doesn’t want to get in trouble?” he teases, “Baby, we’re just talking. If you can just keep yourself under control, we’ll be fine. I know it’s hard for you though. You hear Daddy, and you become such a needy little slut.”

Your head hangs forward a bit. You stare at the ground trying not to let yourself lose it in public. You were slipping into that state of mind where all you wanted was to be good for him. You wanted to just drop to your knees and have him pet your head while you sucked him off.

He knows what’s going through your mind. He can read you like no other. One of his hands slides down to your stomach to gently caress you there. The book you were holding was long forgotten, and Leon smiles wide as you push it back onto the shelf.

“I mean, even if someone did hear me, it wouldn’t be that bad, would it? It’s not like they’re seeing you when we’re alone. When you’re whining and crying for my cock like a bitch in heat,” he rasps.

“Daddy, stop,” you whimper. You felt hot and achy with need. You just wanted him to hold you and fuck you until you couldn’t think, but you were stuck in the middle of this store with bright lights and people walking around and nowhere to be alone.

“Do you really want me to stop, angel?” he asks, “I know you love this. I know you love feeling all shy and needing me to make it better. I think deep down you want everyone to know what a whore you are for me. You want ‘em to know how I own you.”

You bite your lip. You were getting so turned on, you felt like you could cry. The mix of shame and arousal swirls inside your head and pushes all other thoughts out. It was just you and Leon right now, no one else mattered. Being seen like this was becoming less of a worry to you.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he says with a smirk, “I know you love it. I bet you if I put my hand down your pants right now, you’d soak my fingers. I just know you’re dripping from being reminded how pathetic you are for me.”

You turn around in his hold to hide your face against his chest. Your arms wrap around his body so that you’re as close as possible. If someone else saw you now, they might just think you were having a bad day and Leon was comforting you in earnest.

Your display of submission amuses him. His face is smug. He rubs your back and cradles your head.

“Aw, baby, are you gonna cry? Is this too much for you, sweetheart? Are you embarrassed I can get you this desperate from my voice alone?” he croons.

“Yes,” you say. Your tone is desperate, both for him and to leave the store.

“But why are you embarrassed, honey? You like being claimed, don’t you?” he coos and tilts your head up by your chin, taking in your flustered expression, “Yeah, you like when people see us, and they know that you’re mine just from one look. So what is there to be embarrassed about, babydoll?”

“I like it… but… I just… because-” you struggle to articulate yourself as you gaze into his piercing eyes and he begins rubbing his knuckles along your jawline.

“Because you don’t want anyone else knowing? No one else can see how much you like being controlled because it’s shameful, isn’t it? It’s humiliating to admit that you like me controlling everything, from the number of times you cum at night down to the clothes you wear when you wake up in the morning. No one else should know the infinite amount of vile, disgusting things you would do if I just asked you to,” he whispers and kisses your hairline.

He swipes his thumb across your lips slowly as he talks. When he’s done, he sticks the digit between your lips. You gently suck on it, maintaining eye contact with him all the while.

His eyebrows raise, indicating how pleased he is with you. “I really do have you perfectly trained. You don’t even think about it anymore. You feel any part of me in your mouth and you know to start sucking like a good little slut.” He pulls his thumb back out and smears your saliva over your lips.

“Can we just leave?” you ask softly, your eyes casting down again, “Please.”

“What? You don’t want to buy anything? You know I’ll pay,” he teases, knowing that shopping couldn’t be further from your mind right now.

“Please Daddy,” you whisper and look at him desperately. You were so soaked it would be uncomfortable if you stood there for any longer.

He presses a tender kiss to your lips, deciding to give you a break. “Yeah, beautiful. We can leave. I don’t think you could focus enough to read anything right now even if you wanted to.”

He takes you under his arm and starts to guide you out of the store. You keep your arms around him as you lean into his side.

“That’s my girl. My good girl,” he whispers and kisses the top of your head while the two of you walk through the exit, “You just need Daddy right now, don’t you baby?”

“Mhm,” you hum quietly as you make your way through the parking lot.

When you reach the car, Leon opens the door for you and helps you inside. He then quickly goes around to the other side of the car and gets in the driver's seat. He wastes no time turning it on and getting it into gear. The car whips out of the parking space and out to the road.

Your eyes continuously dart over to him. The urge to hop over the center console and into his lap was all-consuming. He briefly glances at you with a knowing look.

You take that as a signal and slowly reach across the car. Your hand lands at the top of his thigh and slides over his lap to palm him through his jeans. He was already half-hard from tormenting you in the store.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks teasingly.

You tentatively pop the button of his jeans open and tug the zipper down. Your eyes are silently begging while your fingers begin massaging the outline of his length over his boxers.

“Just need to feel it. Please,” you say as your fingertips continue their miniscule movements.

He shakes his head and lets out a laugh while adjusting in his seat to give you better access. “You need it, do you?”

You nod and maneuver your hand into his underwear for direct contact. Your fingers wrap around him, feeling the heat of it pulsing in your grasp. Your content with that for a while, but soon you want more.

“Daddy, can I please suck your cock?” you ask.

Hearing your soft and sweet voice ask for something so vulgar made his dick twitch with need for you, but he tried to keep his reaction casual.

“Look at you, asking like a good girl,” he teases, “Can’t wait until we get home? Did Daddy get you too worked up?”

“Yes,” you say timidly, “I just… I need it.”

“It’s ok, you don’t have to explain,” he says, “You can suck me off, my love. Just be good, so we don’t crash.”

You nod quickly, happy he wasn’t going to torment you on the way home too. After unbuckling your seatbelt, you shift and lean over to his seat to put your head in his lap. He splays a protective hand across your back as you get in position. Without hesitation, you get to task and pull him out of his boxers.

You lick the bulging head a few times, but then wrap your lips around it and sink down. You flatten your tongue against the shaft, feeling the veins as you lower your head. He groans and tightens his grip on the steering wheel. His other hand rubs your back in small strokes.

“There you go, angel,” he says, “Fuck, I could never say no to your mouth.”

You suck gently before bobbing your head slowly up and down. One of your hands cups his balls and kneads them carefully. The noises of the blowjob sound through the car’s enclosed space. Leon fights the instinct to buck into your throat. Your mouth was just so warm and wet and soft. Absolute heaven. It was hard for him to focus on the road in this condition.

It was easy for you to focus on giving him head though. You work your mouth over him, paying attention to all his favorite spots and taking him as deep as you can. You rest your nose against his pelvis as you hold him in your throat. His thighs tense and the car jerks a little when he accidentally pushes on the brakes too hard.

“Jesus fuck, baby. Ease up a little,” he grunts. His hand on your back coasts up to your neck and caresses the base of your skull.

Not long after he says this, you pull off to catch your breath. While you take your break, you purse your lips and spit a fat glob of saliva onto his cock. It drips onto the head and then slides the rest of the way down to where your fist is now gripping him. You start jerking him and spreading your drool around his shaft.

You press sloppy, wet kisses to his tip. Some of his precum coats your lips before you open your mouth and bring him inside again. You make muted gagging noises while you try to get him deep again.

He wants so badly to watch you, to see that adorable dedicated look on your face and your eyes tearing up as you choke yourself. It’s driving him crazy having to watch the street ahead of him. He can also feel the simmering build up of release which he doesn’t want to do so soon or while he’s driving. His hips twitch more while he white-knuckles the wheel.

“Babe, calm down,” he hisses pointlessly. You’re wrapped up in your own little world right now, “If you don’t quit it, I’m gonna cum and then you’re not gonna get to have any fun when we get home.”

You sort of register that comment, but you were absolutely fixated on getting him to blow his load down your throat so you don’t stop.

He realizes instantly that you’re not going to let up. He makes a split second decision to pull a sharp turn onto a less busy road. He steers the car off of the asphalt and off road a little bit. Once there’s substantial distance between your vehicle and the road, he throws it in park and yanks you up by your hair.

“When I tell you to do something, it’s not a request,” he states simply. 

It takes a lot in him to keep up the serious persona and not smile at your face right now. You looked fucked out even though you hadn’t even come close to the main event yet. Saliva covers your lips and chin while your eyes project a dazed mix of arousal and guilt.

“But Daddy, I just wanted to make you feel good,” you say.

“Liar. I know you just wanted some cum down your throat cause you’re a greedy little slut, baby,” he chides, “Also, is it your job to ‘try’ whatever you want?”

You shake your head and look down like a puppy who’s been caught being bad. “I’m sorry Daddy,” you say softly.

“What is your job?” he asks, ignoring your apology.

“To be a good girl and listen to Daddy.”

“Hm, so you do remember. You’re not stupid then, just deliberately disobedient,” he says.

You open your mouth to dispute that but decide against arguing and shut it again. The way you were shrinking in on yourself made him want to ruin you even more.

“Good, at least it looks like you’re learning. I’ll have to remind you of the rest though,” he says and finally lets go of your hair, “Get your ass in the backseat.”

“But Daddy-” you start, about to repeat your fears from earlier about being seen.

“Enough with this ‘but Daddy’ shit. You wanna act like a whore, that’s how I’ll treat you,” he says, “Be grateful for the privacy you get. You’re lucky I didn’t just stop the car and fuck you in the middle of the street.”

Your inner thighs were slick with your arousal by this point. You could feel it when you began crawling past your seat to the back of the car. Leon slaps your ass as you make your way there, causing you to yelp.

He simply gets out of the car and enters the backseat through the door. He sits next to you and looks at you expectantly.

“What are you waiting for?” he asks, “Do you really need me to guide your every move? I know that’s not true because you just showed me it wasn’t.”

“I’m sorry Daddy,” you say again as you begin removing your clothes. You peel your top off and shimmy out of your pants.

“I know you are, baby. But I still have to teach you your lesson. You have to learn that Daddy knows best,” he says while taking off his own clothing.

You scoot closer to try and assist him, but he manages on his own and flips you over, pinning you to the seats. One hand is locked on the flesh of your hip while the other holds your head down against the leather. He’s kneeling behind you, hunched over due to his stature in the limited space.

He teases up and down your folds with the angry red tip of his cock, still leaking precum from the close call a few minutes ago. Your body yearns to be filled, but you keep quiet and try to appear patient.

“Do you even deserve my cock?” he asks as he bumps your clit. You would nod, but his hold on your head is strong. “I mean really, maybe I should be focused on training some patience into you. Teach you take what I give you and not vie for more.”

“Daddy, I’m sorry,” you whimper.

“I know, babydoll, that’s only the tenth time you’ve said that,” he mocks as he slides up and down through your slick, “But I can really show you what sorry is. Maybe I’ve been too lenient with you. What if, right now, I fuck your thighs? You keep those pretty legs together, nice and tight for me to use like a fleshlight.”

He pushes your thighs together like he described and begins slowly thrusting himself between them. He quietly grunts and kneads your ass.

“Please Daddy, no, I’m so-”

“Ah ah, don’t interrupt,” he tuts, not stopping his hips, “You’d probably still get off on it. You’re so whipped for me you’d probably cum if I smiled at you right.”

You stay silent. You knew he was teasing, but it might have been true. He knew all your buttons and just how to push them.

“Yeah, you know I’m right. My poor baby. You can’t help it. You don’t know any better, do you?”

“No…” you say quietly before your bottom lip juts out into a pout. The idea of him not fucking you properly while you were possibly the most horny you’d been in your life was deeply upsetting.

“No, you don’t,” he agrees in a condescending tone, “You just love Daddy so much. It’s not your fault your body is addicted to me. You don’t choose for your cunt to soak through your panties just from hearing my voice, do you? It just happens. Your heart knows it belongs to me.”

He speaks as if he’s comforting you which makes it feel so much worse and so much better at the same time. Your eyes water, the mix of emotion being a lot for you to handle in this state.

“It doesn’t care how pathetic you act because of it. All it knows is that you need your Daddy,” he says, his voice husky. He pulls away from the junction of your thighs and nudges your legs apart with his knees. He positions his cock at your entrance. “That’s why I’ll give you a pass, baby. You’re not a bad girl. You just need me to keep you in line sometimes.”

His grip has weakened enough that you’re able to nod. “Thank you Daddy,” you choke out as he pushes all the way inside in one go. You were so wet that he had no problem bottoming out immediately.

“Good girl,” he praises through gritted teeth and a clenched jaw, “So fucking wet, Christ.”

Everything felt right now that he was inside of you. The relief crashed on you like a wave. A couple tears leak from your eyes and your body shudders.

He starts pushing himself in and out, his head tilts back as he does. You clutch the edge of the bench while your eyes flutter. You felt like you were up in the clouds. The feeling of him twitching against your walls as he slid in and out was total euphoria. It was a little much to feel this way from a few strokes, but like he said, you couldn’t control it.

You bounce your hips back against his and he smacks it. You can tell from the sting that there will probably be a handprint on the skin. He lets you fuck yourself on it for a little while before he takes over again. He stares down to where the two of you connect, unable to tear his eyes from how your cunt sucks in his cock, your wetness gathering around the spot where your bodies link.

You whimper and cry as he picks up speed, pistoning into you. Your cheek feels numb from being squished on the cushion. Leon notices and leans down closer to you. It wasn’t unusual for you to get emotional during sex but seeing it always made his protective urges flare up. He wraps his thick arm around your neck from behind, putting you into a loving headlock. He lays some messy kisses on the side of your temple.

“I love my needy girl so much. You know that right?” he whispers while sensually rolling his hips against your ass, “I wouldn’t want you to be any other way. My sweet girl, so sensitive. I love you baby.”

“I love you too,” you cry. You lean into his kisses and lift one of your hands to rest it on his forearm.

Knowing you’re ok, he resumes his harsher thrusts, pulling you by your neck closer to him. He growls into your ear and nuzzles the side of your head.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, babe. Can’t last in this tight pussy, squeezing me like a fucking anaconda,” he moans.

You bite your lip and grip his arm tighter as you feel your own peak rising within.

“Where do you want it, baby girl?” he grunts in your ear.

“Inside, Daddy. Please,” you whine.

He chuckles and gives you one more kiss on the head for saying please. 

“I don’t even know why I ask anymore. Course you want it in your pussy. Even though you look so cute with Daddy’s cum all over your face, no thoughts in that pretty little head. Just happy you got some attention.”

“I like it inside,” you defend before gasping.

“I know you do, angel,” he says, his voice strained as the ecstasy begins to bubble over, “I like it too. Stuffing you full of me. A little reminder of who owns you once we’re finished.”

You nod as best you can in the headlock before your body seizes and jerks. Your orgasm rips through you, making you shake and moan through tears. You claw at his arm with both hands now, brokenly whimpering for Daddy over and over.

He can’t take it anymore. The sight beneath him mixed with the bliss of your cunt fluttering around him, it breaks the resolve inside him. He snaps his hips against you roughly and tightens his arm around you. He growls and grabs the leather seats so hard you think he might rip a chunk out.

He pumps into you repeatedly, draining himself in the warm embrace of your velvety walls. You can feel the thick white ropes filling you up as the sweaty skin of his abdomen rubs against your back.

His hips spasm as he finishes. He rests on top of you for a moment afterwards, panting to catch his breath. He kisses your neck gently and then moves to your ear.

“My beautiful, perfect girl,” he whispers, “So good for me, baby, like always.”

He gets off of you so you can sit up. Once you do, he gently holds your jaw and wipes away any leftover tears and saliva on your face. He leans in and gives you a soft kiss.

“So pretty,” he mumbles against your lips.

The two of you dress in the backseat, pulling your clothes on haphazardly so you can actually go home. This time you get out of the backseat through the door and hop back in the passenger seat. You laugh when you see Leon stretching outside of the driver's door.

“You ok there, buddy?” you tease when he gets back in.

He smiles, raises his eyebrows, and starts the car up.

“I’m buddy now? Are you over Daddy?” he says, “This is the thanks I get for working hard to please you.”

“Thank you Daddy,” you say overly-sweet, leaning over to kiss his cheek as he pulls back onto the road.

“You wanna play around, but I’m not the one who was crying that ten minutes ago when she thought she wouldn’t get any dick,” he laughs.

“Oh, shut up, Leon!” you say and roll your eyes.

“It’s Leon right now, but I bet you when we’re home in five minutes, I’ll have you begging for Daddy again,” he says and smirks.

You smile and look away, knowing that he’s totally right.

[bigdorks]

holding hands | hobie brown

Warnings: smut so 18+, afab reader, not proof read either so soz 4 the grammatical errors :p WC: 0.6k

You had a small obsession with Hobie's hands. And you weren't afraid to admit it.

In fact, you felt unashamed in how much you loved when he touched you with his broad palms and long fingers, how his hands felt delightfully heavy when he rested them against your skin. Didn't even care how obvious you were when you asked him to use his deft fingers to rub down the length of your back to cure an ache that wasn't there.

Sometimes, you watched him work with his hands as though in a trance. Watched when ringed fingers carefully embellished his garms with metal spikes or handcrafted cloth patches. Or when calloused fingertips held down the worn strings of his guitar as he strummed a euphonious rhythm with his pick. Or when bulging veins and tendons flexed with the twirl of a screwdriver as he worked to reverse engineer tech far more advanced than your time. 

For that reason, as you kneeled before him from where he sat on the bed and eagerly watched him stroke himself to completion, you couldn't help but be fixated on his hands.

"Are you gonna cum?" You ask, almost desperately. 

"F-fuck, yeah, yeah." He repeats as his hand swirls around his sticky tip, cock still slick and creamy from your release. His other hand tilts your head back and up, fingers pressing into your lower face. "I'm so close."

"Yeah, you're gonna cum all over me?" You ask breathily, hands stroking his tensed thighs, to which he nods in a jerky motion, still focused on chasing his pleasure.

"Mmhm. You need it, huh? Need me to cum for you." His flushed desire is hidden by the deep brown of his skin but shown by his lustful expression and the sweat that drenches the edges of his lineup and sides of his face, sliding around metal piercings and angular planes. 

You can feel that same heat on your skin, between your thighs, growing more intense with each wet click of his sliding fist, still so insatiable despite the many times he made you come tonight.

"Yes, baby. Please, give it to me." You say pleadingly, which seems to push him over the edge.

His eyes close, his flat stomach clenches, and his face screws up as he climaxes. Groans and curses spill from his lips like a river.

Each spurt of pearly white cum from his twitching dick splattered across your breasts and neck, some even landing on your face despite his aim for your chest, causing you to close your eyes. You sit there on your knees, still and willing, as he reaches the heights of gratification, painting your face and body in his essence. 

In the aftermath, you gently wipe your eyes and open them to see Hobie already staring at you with a look so unabashedly depraved a bolt of excitement strikes right through you. 

He seemingly gives into his lecherous desires and drags a finger through the valley of your breasts to collect some of the mess he just made.

"Open." He orders even though he pulls your jaw down himself.

Obediently, you suck the cum off his finger as he feeds it to you, moaning at the taste. Despite the soreness in your limbs, you're tempted to go another round. And if the fiery look in his eyes is any indication, he feels the same as you.

"There we go," He says approvingly with a stare full of hunger as his hand rubs soothingly along where he held your jaw.

You can't help but smile brightly at his praise, nuzzling into his hand, looking up at him with adoration in your gaze.

Yeah, you loved many things about Hobie, but his hands would always be your favorite part of him.

[nxtaliaistyping]

Need Baron Zemo to fuck me with the mask on :(

Authors note: omg i'm not really into the mcu anymore, but nothing can stop me thinking about this man I need him so badddddd (and daniel bruhl in general tbh)

18+ nsfw, villain kink, mask kink, fingering, rough sex, brief mention of killing

Thinking about being his girl, his pretty thing that sits in his lap while he drinks the most expensive wine in his expensive penthouse (just because he's on the run, doesn't mean he can't be in style)

You know who he is, the things he's done, but you just don't care. Not when he caresses you so gently, cooing soft words in your ear of how beautiful and enchanting he finds you, how much you fill the empty void left within him after Sokovia fell and everyone he loved was wiped out.

And if anything, he's too gentle. Not wanting to frighten you, the poor little lamb that you were, cuddling up to such a dangerous man every night. So he attempts to shield things from you, what he's done and what he's capable of.

But that changes one day, you feel the compulsive need to find out more about your lover, or at least see what he's like when he's the ruthless and strategic criminal that you've been told about. This leads you to following him, not an easy task, but you see how readily he is able to get his hands dirty. Tracking down some old HYDRA agent that has information that is useful to him, and you watch in slight horror and slight awe how he interrogates the man.

Although you have to look away at certain parts, hearing presumably the agent's body hitting the cold ground with a soft thud. While you try and leave quietly, you underestimated how much planning had went into his operation, because on your attempted escape you feel a large hand grab your upper arm, yanking you towards him with force and the start of a threat before he stops.

"dragă? what are you doing here?" he asks, his tone still slightly deeper than usual as you stare into his brown eyes; the only facial features visible while he wears the dark purple mask.

As you stumble over your words, telling him that you wanted to see the real him, he can't help but notice the slight flush of your skin, the way your chest rises and your lips part. In that moment he finally understands.

"Oh...I think I understand now. My little girl likes that i'm so dangerous, hm?" he asks, and you can hear the smirk behind his teasing lilt, his head cocked to one side as you nod, embarassed.

Soon enough, he has you pinned to the wall, hand stuffed between your thighs as he fingers your tight cunt from under your skirt. You whimper and whine at his treatment, and he revels in the fact you're so depraved, so naughty, and all for him.

"Do you like this, hm sreco? I was going to take this mask off, but I have a feeling that isn't what you desire." he rasps against your ear, and you nod breathlessly at how right his assumption was. All you can do is look up at him, clenching and making a mess around his fingers as you whine.

When he pulls his fingers away, he doesn't give you time to recover before you find yourself bent over a wooden crate and his cock is forcing its way in your pussy. He's never treated you as roughly as this before, but something about his girl loving how ruthless he is, wanting him to keep his goddamn mask on, flipped a switch in him as he starts a rough pace. The echoes of his hips slamming into your ass make you flush with embarrassment, gripping the edges of the surface for dear life, pretty nails he paid for digging into the wood.

"So filthy for me, my little girl is nothing but a slut." he groans out, squeezing your ass before giving it a harsh spank. The rhythm of his cock railing you has your eyes nearly crossing, as you try not to think about the fact you're fucking an older man after he's literally just killed someone.

When he cums, he buries himself to the hilt inside of you, feeling the way you tighten around him and squeeze every last drop out. As his breathing returns to normal, so too does his headspace as he rips the mask off quickly, pulling out to shush you gently and hold you in his arms.

"There we are dragă i'm here, i'm right here. I'm sorry for being so rough."

Taking you home, he'd spoil his good girl with a bath and food, but in the back of his mind he's already planning out how he can fuck you like that again.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:·

[supernaturalfreakout]

"Serve you."

Sam Winchester x fem!reader

Summary: Sam brings you to orgasm with your bullet vibrator whilst you cockwarm him. Plus some emotional revelations and some ever-so-appropriately-timed philosophical musings. In other words, you're just a couple of hot, horny nerds with a soul-bending emotional connection (emphasis on the horny).

Tags: 18+ MDNI, implied BJ, sub/Dom dynamic, sub!you, dom!sam, gentle dom sam winchester, BDSM, confessions, mutual longing, cockwarming, vibrator, multiple orgasms.

Words: 2k

Notes: As with most things I write, this started off as a drabble/just some thoughts/ideas. I've hardly edited this. This may eventually may make an appearance in my longfic, History on Your Side, but I haven't got there yet, and I'm too impatient to keep this to myself. I hope you enjoy!

Sam’s eyes meet yours, the thin band of hazel ringing his pupils glazed with pleasure. The gold flecks dance in the lamplight, swimming with desire as he reclines against the headboard, chest rising and falling in a hypnotic rhythm. He looks dazed: his lips wet and parted, the sweat on his skin making him glow like a god. You’ve never seen him so... 

So...?

He is blinding, angelic, gazing down at you with... what?—adoration?—awe? He’s the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen. How can he even exist? He is beyond comprehension.

Your heart beats a little harder in your throat and you swallow around the lump that has formed, the salty tang of Sam’s release still fresh on your tongue. What is he seeing as he takes in your state: naked and disheveled, what you have just done, what you are planning to do? You can’t be sure, but the way it makes you feel when he looks at you… The way he makes you feel. Him wanting you, desiring you, basking the afterglow of your ministrations. You feel like the most powerful woman on the planet.

Chancing a smile, you shuffle your already-grazed knees in the blankets.

“I wanna be the best, and worst slut you’ve ever had,” you rasp without thinking, but stop yourself short before saying, I want to be your everything. It’s too much to ask, you know—but fuck—it doesn’t make it any less true.

You watch his eyes widen, then... soften slightly. He is all hard muscle and bone, but you know that beneath that rough exterior is a terrain he’s sheltered behind the barricades of his lifestyle for too long. Just like you have. He’d taught you that, no matter how unintended.

“Shit,” he says, his breath hitching. “You already are.”

You already are. It sounds like a confession to your unvoiced thoughts. 

“And I,” he continues, leaning forward and cupping your cheek with his palm, “want to be the one to fulfil your desires.” His thumb brushes a gentle stroke against your jaw, making your hairs stand on end, electric. “Every depraved, little thought. Every dirty fantasy. Every desire you’ve been too afraid to ask for—including the ones you deem you don’t deserve.”

He isn’t just talking about sex anymore. This is.... personal. He knows. Somehow, he knows. He’s always known—the way you view yourself—how you’ve deemed yourself unworthy of love. Because... He feels that way too, you realize, your heart breaking. This man. This perfect, selfless man, has never deemed himself worthy of love. 

At least he hadn’t, until—

Sam’s hands find your waist, calloused palms gliding over smooth skin, and he pulls you towards him, guiding you onto his lap. You let your knees fall on either side of his hips, his bare skin a warm, familiar comfort.

“I,” Sam says, your face now level with his, “want to be the one who gives that to you, Y/N. It’s my greatest honor to serve you.”

“Serve me?” Your voice is but a whisper, but the question sits heavy on your tongue. It tastes foreign, but sweet, a flavor you’ve never encountered, but now that you have, you’ll never forget the aftertaste.

“Yes,” he says, matter-of-factly. “As your Dom, it’s my duty to serve you.”

Duty. That word again. It's come up a lot in your conversations. What is it with this man and his superior sense of moral responsibility? For a seemingly non-religious man, he attached a lot of reverence to it. For him, it was an imperative. He was attracted to it like flies to honey. He did go to law school, you reflect. He's definitely read too much Kant. 

He cups your check again, his gaze flicking between your eyes and lips. “Everything I do is to serve you, Y/N. Even when I’m commanding you, I do it to serve you. Thank you for trusting me to do that.”

A sense of revelation washes over you at his words. Although you’ve never doubted him, not even for a second, trusting someone to anticipate your needs—to know when and how far to push your boundaries, and when to pull back—is not something to be taken lightly. Now, you realize, that putting your trust in him should have been harder than it was.

But he’d made it so easy—you’d never once felt pressured, put on the spot, or coerced. As counterintuitive as it may sound, being his sub—being commanded by him, at his mercy, restrained at times—actually makes you feel more free. Liberated. It all suddenly makes so much sense, like a lens snapping into focus. 

He looks you in the eye again, steady, analyzing, and you know that he is asking for permission. That look, coupled with the strained sensation against your thigh. You know that this conversation isn’t over, but yet—

You can feel him beneath you—again—hard and insistent, undeniably desirous. You’ve never known such stamina.

You nod, yes, and that is all the confirmation he needs.

His lips meet yours in a heated kiss, his tongue shortly following, as if he’s savoring every note of your taste.

Your bodies move together and you shift your weight, rising slightly to angle yourself against him.

You join together slowly, deliberately, the stretch of him a welcome pressure that makes you gasp into his mouth. You sink deeper, deeper, until you are held-fast against him. He fills you so completely, so perfectly, you can feel it in your soul. It is more than the physical—you’ve never felt so whole, so complete.

Sam smiles against your lips as he holds you there, unmoving, seemingly happy to just sit here inside you.

“You see?” he says. “We fit perfectly together, you and I.”

“You’re such a romantic,” you tease.

“Maybe. Maybe it’s just the effect you have on me.”

You roll your eyes, start to say something, then let out an embarrassingly breathy moan as Sam’s lips attach themselves to your throat. 

“You were saying?” He chuckles, continuing to explore your neck with his lips and tongue. 

“I... I can’t remember.”

He chuckles again, smugly, then moves his lips to nibble at your earlobe. The way his body presses against you angles his cock even tighter into your sweet-spot, and the desire below your belly cascades with liquid heat.

“Fuck,” he growls, his breath hot against your ear. “I can feel you baby—what this is doing to you. You’re so fucking wet. So fucking responsive. Such a good girl for me.”

You don’t even bother to hold back your moans now, it is all too much—he knows exactly what to do, knows exactly what to say to get you going. Always has.

“Yes,” you mewl. “And it’s all for you, Sir. All for you...”

You begin to grind your hips, chasing that high only he can give you, but Sam seemingly has other plans. 

“Hey,” he whispers, placing his hands on your hips to still you. “Not yet. Slow down.” 

As frustrating as it is, you comply. Sam has a way of testing your patience like no one else. It has always been worth it, though. 

You watch as he extends his arm to the side, rummages around in your bedside dresser. Immediately, you know exactly what he has planned, and you throb around him at the thought. 

His hand emerges grasping a small, silk, drawstring pouch, and you watch as he slides out your small-but-mighty bullet vibrator.

It may not look like much, but it is powerful, versatile and lands itself perfectly for situations like the one you currently find yourself in. 

You’d told him about your toys, this one especially, seeing as it had kept you company most recently whilst he was away. 

He sets the empty pouch back in your drawer.

“So this is what had you screaming my name down the phone?” he says, smirking. 

You whole body flushes at the memory: Sam’s voice in your ear as you both got yourselves off; you at home, Sam in some dingy motel room when he’d managed to steal some time alone.

“It might be small,” you say, “but it’s very effective.” 

“Hmm,” Sam says, considering. “I think it’s about time we get acquainted, then.” 

You watch open-mouthed as Sam brings your vibe to his lips, letting the tip enter his mouth. 

“Cold,” he says, then pushes it in further, coating the entirety of the metal with his saliva. 

You continue to gape as he removes it, then after three testing clicks with his thumb, sets the vibe alive. 

The sound of the buzz alone has you tingling, especially at the thought of Sam controlling it. 

“May I?” he asks, holding the device between you. 

Your nod is urgent, but Sam’s actions are anything but as he brings it to rest lightly against your mouth. The sensation is strange, but not unpleasant, and it sends a tingling sensation right through your brain. 

“Open,” he demands, and you comply, letting the vibe buzz against your tongue for a minute before he drags it down your chin and across your jaw, painting your combined saliva in a shiny, wet stripe across your flesh. 

When it meets the side of your neck, you flinch, giggling. You’ve always been ticklish there. Sam knows that, and he only looks amused. 

After that agony, he drags it over your collarbones, then over your chest, taking a moment to circle the tip around your nipples, making them pebble. 

“That good?” he asks, no doubt in response to your increasing moans, and you nod, biting your bottom lip. 

“Good,” he says, smiling. 

After another few moments, he slowly trails the vibe down your stomach, only lightly, as if the tip were a knife skimming the surface of your skin. But before it reaches it’s destination, it veers of to the side, snaking along the insides of your thighs, and you can’t hold back the groan of want that has built beneath your vocal cords. Your clit is throbbing, pulsing with need, and you can’t stop yourself from rocking into his pubic bone for a second of relief. 

At that—and in true Sam fashion—he pulls the vibe away completely, stealing a kiss before you can do so much as protest. His tongue glides against yours, and you let the taste of him flood your system. He’s throbbing too, you can feel it—aching inside you, yet his kiss is anything but urgent; it is controlled, completely deliberate, and utterly frustrating. You want to be devoured. 

When he pulls back, you are breathless, but his breath is steady. How does he do it? you wonder. You suppose that is why he is such a good Dom for you: he is the gravity keeping you in orbit in an otherwise chaotic universe. The steadying force, keeping you from spinning out of control. Without him you’d either combust, or float around aimlessly like you had done for the past several years. 

When you are least expecting it, Sam finally lets the vibe make contact, pressing it lightly against your swollen clit. The rumble is ecstatic, and you gasp as you let the sensations take over, dissolving every rational thought in your skull.

It doesn’t take long. After all that apprehension, you are a loaded gun; cocked and ready to blow.

Closing your eyes, you tilt your head back in ecstasy and release a high-pitched squeal of pleasure.

Sam cups the back of your neck, and then it's his lips on your throat again, his voice in your ear.

"That's it, moan for me, baby. Ah—fuck—you're so tight, so close already, I can feel it. Come around my cock, princess. Yeah, that's it. My beautiful girl..."

His words. His voice. His lips. His tongue on your neck. His cock inside you... It's all so... perfect. He's perfect. So—

You start to tremble, and then it hits you, all at once, like a freight-train derailing, again, and again...

“Fuck!” you scream, as your climax seizes you, grasping you by the throat and throttling you blue.

As quick as the first one leaves, another comes in it's wake, surging towards you like a lightning bolt—sharp, intense, and impossible to escape. Your nails dig into Sam’s shoulders as he turns the vibrations up to the max, and you all but wail his name, bucking against the vibe, his cock now firing to life inside you. He lets you take control now, rocking him inside you, milking him dry as you both come together in a writhing ball of orgasmic bliss.

A few, sweat-soaked minutes later, collapsed and tangled together in euphoria, he concedes with a grin, “Very effective, indeed.”

Even he is breathless now. 

[fbfh]

you know what I'm thinking about?? beck oliver. yeah the one from victorious first of all FUCK YOU dan schneider and I'm specifically thinking about this clip from the episode where they try to make a reality show about their high school 0:31

I really hate that beck is one of those characters like lucas friar and tristin dugray where we simply do not get more clarity on them as a person. one of the few times we get to see beck really open up and talk about WHY he's so passionate about acting and it's immediately cut off and overshadowed by how he looks. dare I say he has elle woods syndrome. "beck and jade are toxic" "beck should date cat" "beck and robbie fuck" yeah yeah you know what he REALLY NEEDS????? he needs someone that does not give a single fuck about how he looks. he needs someone who prioritizes HIM instead of his hair. yes he's pretty and he has nice hair but those are all sprinkles. he needs somone who cares about the rest of the cupcake, not just the decorations. I think the reason he thinks he likes angry girls who yell and fight with him all the time is because when he and jade fight she's yelling at him about anything other than his hair. he needs a break from constantly being objectified is my point. you know what would be great?? beck dating a screenwriter. someone who works on the scripts for the hollywood arts shows they put on. someone who hunts him down in the halls looking like they rolled out of a dumpster with sikowitz and reeks of coffee because they've been up for 36 hours to meet their deadline and finish their homework.

you are just that. you do other stuff at hollywood arts too, but there's really not a lot of script writers there, so you've found a way to pretty much corner the market and it looks FANTASTIC on your student transcript, plus you get extra credit for it, which is even better. you're wearing a hoodie that looks like you slept in it for two days (true if you had slept at all) and you're not aware of the two or three empty jet brew cups shoved into your hoodie pocket, plus the extra one you're carrying that you're almost done with.

"Beck!"

you manage to startle him a little which is surprising because he is totally unscareable. he doesn't think you've ever exchanged two words before now, he doesn't even know if he knows your name.

"I need to talk to you," you pant, a little delerious from caffeine and sleep depravation and excitement. "I finished the script for the next play-"

Beck didn't realize that a student was writing any of the shows they put on, he thought they were all lisenced or from local writers.

"It's a dystopian retelling of frankenstein with- with cyberpunk influences," you ramble, "and I need to know if you're okay playing the lead." you pant, still trying to catch your breath and not lose your train of thought.

"some pretty fucked up stuff happens and you'd have to quickly lose your morals and go from morally gray to kind of antagonistic pretty quickly..." you look up at him and hand him a script full of sticky flags. "I wanna make sure there's nothing that'll make you too uncomfortable... like I said it gets pretty fucked up, but I wrote it with you in mind for the doctor, so- just, let me know what you think."

before he can answer, you trudge into the janitor's closet and fall asleep on top of a pile of paper towels.

Beck takes the script home to look over, and he's genuinely surprised for a number of reasons. he expected to be typecast as the love interest yet again, but you want him as the antagonistic lead. it's a really complex role, and has absolutley nothing to do with how he looks. you even left a sticky note in there by accident, and he reads your scribbled handwriting. doc MUST be smwn who fully commits and dgaf if it makes them look bad or silly or unattractive. if they get self consious it ruins the char

underneith are two or three names scribbled out, then his, underlined several times. he is so genuinely shocked by this decision, and absolutely fascenated by your script. he's actually getting really excited to play a role that will challenge him for once.

the next day he meets you with the script tucked under one arm and a coffee in each hand. he hands one to you, and you thank him with a pleasantly surprised smile.

"You seem like you could use it."

"That's putting it mildly..." you mutter in agreement, and he bites back a chuckle when you remove the lid and down half the cup at once. You look at him anxiously after that, and your eyes flit between him and your script. "So... what did you think?"

"I... accept." relief floods through you. "I've already been thinking about my character and going over my lines. But why did you want me for Victor?"

You shrug a little.

"Well, you got the script like, 12 hours ago and you're already developing your portrayal of him, so that's a pretty good reason there," you chuckle, "and I... I hope this doesn't sound mean, but I don't think there are a lot of other people here who could pull off such a complex antagonistic main character."

you state, taking another sip of coffee.

"Everyone here is great, really-" you emphasize, hoping you don't sound like a dick. "I just feel like no one else could really bring the depth to him that you could. He's a horrible person, but I still want the audience to sympathize with him at times, and go wow he's a fucked up asshole at others without making it feel disjointed. I think you're really the only one who has the skills to pull that off."

honestly, if Beck had slightly less self control he would have started wailing and sobbing right then. Instead, he's determined to live up to your expectations and prove to you that your faith in him will pay off. You work pretty closley with production of the show, and with Beck. after closing night, you and Beck are still pretty close, to your pleasant surprise. his friends are a little curious why Beck suddenly is spending all his free time with one of those kids in their class who never talks or says anything, but he seems... happy. he did in fact fall first, and he definitely fell harder. he falls even more when months pass and he realizes you are still too adorably oblivious to realize how he feels.

[mrsackermannx]

lies | ino takuma

tags: angry (argument) sex, intruder role play, unprotected sex, sorcerer ino/non-sorcerer girlfriend, degradation kink, soft ending, not beta read.

authors note: @p00pdev1l jazz i meant to send this to you on asks and then it got super long but i swoon at the thought of being ino’s non- sorcerer gf idk there’s something about it didbdksjsksj. ive not uploaded any writing for so long bc there’s sm different ways and things i want to write and idk how to start idk…this lowkey is it i suppose. i miss writing hehe been so busy but yeh ENJOY MY DEPRAVITY.

- - -

You love your life with Ino, and he loves his life with you. No matter what a curse throws at him, he knows as soon as he sees you at the end of the day that it’ll all be worth it.

But it’s one night that he comes home especially roughed up…

You’re watching TV, but you hear him shuffling into your apartment, carefully locking up behind him, taking off his shoes. “Hello pretty girl,” he murmurs, voice almost hoarse. He leans over you to kiss your forehead. “I'm off to bed, you should too…”

You’re tired of the whispering phone calls, the leaving you to run away god knows where in the middle of dinner, you’re sick of not being able to tell your friends what Ino does exactly?

All these lies, all this mystery. You call him out on it and it leads to a fight…

It’s your sharp, “I’ve been waiting up for you,” that hits him right in the gut.

“Baby, I tell you not to.”

“Tell me?”

“i meant ask, baby,” his voice lowers, almost breaking from exhaustion. He's so close to snapping. Too close.“I mean ask—so-please, not now.”

His usually sunny demeanour is all gone. He’s working so hard for the recognition of so many people, you being one of them. He wants to be good enough, he wants to exorcise as many curses as he can. He has his own goals, his own vision of the future he wants you in. But he’s so fucking exhausted right now.

He’s not usually like this, he’s usually so reactive it’s almost unbearable. So you push and push.

“I don't even know what you do. What kind of guy are you? Who have I been dating-“

“What. What did you just say?”

You blink twice.

He’s never raised his voice at you like this before. It’s not that it scares you but it ignites something in you, stroking something dark and shameful.

He cages you against the wall, glaring at you. He smells like Ino, looks like Ino, caramel hair tousled and tucked behind each ear. As usual, so devastatingly, boyishly handsome, but his energy is sharper, his grin gone.

“Telling me you don’t know who I am? Huh? Then why the fuck do you let me inside you every night when I come home? If I’m so bad? If I’m this bad guy you don’t know? You let a stranger touch you? Huh?”

“Takuma-“

He gives you such a pointed stare your words escape you. One arm cages you below him whilst the other cups your chin. “You think I’m some kind of bad guy? Don’t you know me by now? Haven’t we been through enough?”

This is necessary communication, he knows it, you know it. But that doesn’t stop the suffocating tension crackling between you two any less bearable.

“I know you’re a good guy, in how you treat me, who you are, but I have no idea who you are sometimes and it’s— it’s, something that i-i…”

You’re getting choked up, but you’re also overheating. Ino is never like this, never so the opposite of himself, never so full of darkness and not his light.

But you guessed it was a good thing you weren’t afraid of the dark, or the man you loved so dearly in front of you.

“What?”

“-it scares me,” you blurt.

“But you like being scared.”

His voice is rough, teetering on the line between restraint and pure lust. He's neither asking nor stating.

“You like it when I come home in the dead of night.” He cups your pussy, your silk nightdress bunching against his palm, he clicks his tongue at the heat. “Sneaking in beside you, you practically baring your pussy for me to use, abuse and—fuck, until you’re begging for more, and more-“

“Takuma,” you whimper into his chest, he smells so like him, he strokes through your hair like he always does, so full of love. He’s holding your most intimate part of you like he owns you, you suppose he does. You suppose you’ve been in the palm of his hand from the moment you met him.

“Not so innocent then are you? When you’re taking my cock in your cunt in the middle of the night? Begging for it, begging for me to wreck this tight little-“

“Takuma! Please.”

He alternates pressure on your clit, over and over, feeling your drip down his fingers.

“I bet you’d like my mask too? Wouldn’t you?”

His hand wraps around your throat, contrasting the way his thumb was smoothing across your jaw. You always felt so special with Ino, like his lover, regardless of whether you were fighting.

“What mask?” Your voice was so shaky you barely recognised it. His hand mapped down his torso to his pocket. Then he slipped on a black mask with nothing but holes for his eyes. “So, this? This is who you are?”

He hated this. He hated you thinking he was some bad guy, some good for nothing criminal.

“Who do you want me to be?” he edged closer, his voice slow and dripping with something dangerous, something that made your pupils dilate, and your pulse run.

“How about tonight I be the bad guy you want me to be,” he drawled. His hands skimmed up and down your sides, admiring…staking their claim on what was beneath them.

“Take me, Takuma.”

A small smile tugged at his lips.

“Fuck you?” he shoved his knee between your thighs, “Or take you?” He squeezed your neck until you moaned, “You and your control? Your body? Your soul.”

“Both.”

It was a blur before you processed that Ino had you flipped against the wall. That he was already brushing your entrance with his cock and then teasing you against it. The head of him almost slipped in, over and over. But he had you flailing and whimpering like a desperate mess instead.

“Shush now, pretty girl. I don’t care if your boyfriend comes home. I’m using this cunt as my own anyway.”

“Oh my—fuck.”

That was it. Your control, your pain, you let it all go. You let it free, you let the wild throbbing in your core take over. You would have fallen to the floor without the wall and Ino standing firm behind you. You gave into your sinful desires.

He trailed his hands down your body, then in a movement so unexpected you cried out as he tore apart your night dress. “Let's hope your boyfriend doesn’t come home to you getting fucked like this, angel.”

He thrusts into you in one brutal slam. “Fuck I love ruining good girls like you,” he sounded so undone that it had you close to breaking, moaning with every slam into your pussy.

“Your cunts are made to be broken into like this, waiting for every drop of cum, squeezing me so tight like that. Fluttering on cock that you’ve been craving so badly, you—pretty —little—slut.”

It’s a primal fucking, and Ino seems to take everything out on you, but you submit so easily you’re succumbing to pleasure you’ve never felt. The things he says are dark and twisted, but the way he holds you is anything but, he holds you like you’re precious, even if he calls you his slut, to him you’re his angel.

When you start to match his rhythm, bucking out your hips to take in more of him, he comes so powerfully you feel his tears slide your back. Panting and groaning out your name, “I love you,” his voice shakes, and he’s breathless as he locks you in his arms.

“You’re so precious to me. More than my own life. More than any goal. I’ll tell you anything, and everything.”

You’re overcome, reeling from your orgasm, but nevertheless you accept his embrace just as tight. “I love you, Takuma.”

“I love you,” he chants, for a while. Until you’re sleeping, bodies coiled together, his hand in your hair. And it feels good. Too good to have finally told you everything.

[luveline]

what about reader being stressed and feeling really bad due the amount of blood and how wild the murder happened in a mission and hotch comforts her?? i really love your work and i hope you write but of course it's okay if you are not comfortable with it!! though i crave some hurt/comfort right now 🥹 take care, we love you 🫶🏻🫶🏻

ty for requesting, i love u! fem!reader

You're used to depravity, but the body cannot truly desensitise itself from carnage. You shouldn't know the inside of a person like that, shouldn't be able to pinpoint gore with the accuracy of a mortician. You feel sick knowing what was supposed to be where. Enough blood to kick down the door and have it flood the hallway, stain your shoes with a permanent rust. 

You turn away from the scene, sirens and shouting white noise, and leave blood footsteps like a breadcrumb trail down the paving stones, huge slabs of white grey printed by wet soles. You're just past the red flash of the ambulances when you freeze, your legs won't carry you. You've no choice but to sit down hard in the road. 

There's just blood everywhere. No metaphor to soften the blow, no explanation. There was blood everywhere in the crime scene and it took less than ten minutes inside of it to be plastered with it too. 

Blood and cold floor. The road is cold, maybe wet, seeping into your trousers. You put your hand down and feel the dirty bite of it pressing into your palm.

Considering his duties, Hotch finds you quickly. You'd know him from presence alone, but hiding hand is familiar on your back. He crouches down behind you. 

"What's wrong?" he asks, second hand curling around your shirt. "You can't sit here. Can I help you up?" 

You manage to get to your feet by yourself. Hotch walks you to a car like you're injured, leaning you against the hood. "What's wrong?" he asks. 

You shake your head. This isn't some slasher flick where the blood is sugar syrup and everyone goes home, this is your life, that was somebody's life, and to be killed in such a violent way… nobody deserves that. Your arms twist around your stomach as your stomach twists into itself, churning. 

Hotch watches you severely. Anyone might think he was pissed with your behaviour, but he isn't like that. He's probably pissed he can't immediately fix the problem, arms crossed against his chest, the font of his SWAT vest glaringly white. He's neat and official as always, but there's blood on his shoes. 

You try to talk and it's like your lips are gummed shut, a hum with nothing intelligible as you lean forward. 

Hotch gives in. He breathes out, the barest ghost of his cologne distracting you from the smell of rust as he wraps his arms around your shoulders. You curl your fingers into the strap of his vest, quick to press your face into his side, wherever you can that's softest. 

"I know," he says quietly, his arms tightening around you. The slide of his sleeves against your shirt, the sound that it makes, feels loud as a bell. 

You hadn't realised you were shaking. Hotch tries to wring it out of you one steady stroke of his hand at a time. You can imagine his viewpoint, your feeble position on the car and the white washed crime scene behind you. They'll be setting up the flood lights and taking photographs soon enough, no bodies to lay to rest, only gore to wash away. 

"I didn't think we could save them," you confess into his shirt, ashamed.

When he replies, it's measured, as though he's thought about his response carefully in little time. "That's realistic. This case has been… heavy from the beginning." 

Heavy isn't the word he would usually choose. He's talking to you, he knows exactly how you're feeling because he knows you well, and cares about you more, if his cheek pressed to your temple is anything to go off of. "I have to go coordinate," he says, his thumb rubbing with pressure into your shoulder blade, "I'm sorry. I'll get Reid to come sit with you in the SUV… Y/N, listen to me…" Hotch leans back, meeting your eyes. "There was nothing more we could do. I'm confident that you performed to the best of your ability. This outcome– this isn't what anyone wanted, and I'm sorry we couldn't fix it this time." 

"I just don't get how you can do that to another person," you say. Why you'd want to. You're a profiler, and you know a wealth of information about what makes certain people act as they do, but you still can't empathise with the killer. It's too much; it's beyond explanation.

"That's a good thing." His hands squeeze the tops of your arms. "It is." 

You look down at his shirt collar, thinking you probably don't deserve his comforting. This is your job, and tonight you couldn't do it. "Sorry I– I freaked out. I shouldn't have walked away." 

"That's a good thing, too, in a way."

He offers you a small smile. You can't smile back, but Hotch doesn't mind, his hands falling down the lengths of your arms. His fingers tangle momentarily with yours. 

Reid comes around to sit with you when Hotch leaves. He probably wouldn't have needed telling, your friend's hand curling over your shoulder protectively.

"You okay?" he asks. 

You watch Hotch lead his jurisdiction of operations. Things aren't okay, you're far from it, but you trust that it'll get better with Hotch at the helm. Still, a bitter taste lingers. 

"They won't be," you say, nodding to the crowd of people behind the rapidly erected barricade. At the very front is someone's mom. 

"Not for a while." Spencer tries to lighten the mood, throwing you a life jacket. "You're his favourite, you know?" 

You recall the subtle strength of Hotch's arms around you, the lean length of his torso and the warmth of his breath as he'd spoken in your ear. Without trying for it, your pulse calms. Your despair dulls to an ache. 

"You think so?" you ask. 

Hotch looks in your direction, checking on you. Spencer nods. "Definitely." He has a list of interrelated BAU statistics to prove it.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

@hammerhead96 I AM BITING THIS! I am so sorry it took 45 years <3

Anselm Vogelweide x gn!Reader • Rating: PG pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? • ask-travaganza masterlist •

Summary: You paint Anselm's portrait.

Warnings: Fluff, Anselm has siblings here, I'm just making stuff up, little bit of jealous!Anselm, kissing, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 2311

“Stop moving.” You glare politely at Anselm over the canvas.  

He smiles sweetly at you from his position on the chair in the middle of the room. The large floor length curtains are drawn, letting in the late morning sunshine. He’s sat at a slight three quarter angle, his scared side facing you. 

It had been his sister that had commissioned you, Adela Vogelweide, a gift for his birthday. The fact that she’d chosen you had surprised you. You knew she had enough personal wealth to hire practically anyone in the world for whatever exorbitant amount they wanted and still consider it small change. 

Adela had seen some of your pieces at a local gallery showing, the curator an old friend of yours, where she had quite loudly enquired about the price of your largest landscape. Paid three times the asking amount, and then said it was still undervalued. 

She had called you up personally after convincing your friend to let her use their phone. The first words she’d spoken to you when you picked up were, “Why are you underselling yourself?” 

Adela was brazen and kind, with a quick temper she had never directed at you. She dyed her hair black, something she delighted in telling you, except for two streaks that framed her face, those she kept in her natural grey. She had also delighted herself in telling you all about her older brother Anselm, and what a nuisance he was, a rapscallion, but a loveable one. And wouldn’t you be a dear and paint his portrait? 

This was your fourth sitting.

“You said I could move a little, my dear?” He gives you a cheeky grin. 

You poke your head around the canvas again, purposefully benign a little more dramatic than you truly need to be, because you know it amuses him. 

“Emphasis on a little.” 

His smile widens. “Am I moving too much?” He feigns innocence badly. 

You give him a look. “Yes. Stop fidgeting.” 

“My leg.” He pouts, and rubs his thigh. 

“Anselm.” 

“Yes, my dear?” 

“That leg is not the one with your brace on.” 

He chuckles and then quickly puts on a mock serious expression. “Can’t my other leg hurt? My, my, this is most uncaring of you, and here I thought you such a sweet person.” 

“Well, you thought wrong then, didn’t you?” You carry on painting, adding a little shading. Most of the sittings so far were just to get a feel for him as a subject. You’d completed several rough sketches and paintings, and taken umteenth reference photos. 

“I don’t think so, my dear, I’m a very good judge of character.” 

“Would you say that runs in the family?” You ask nonchalantly. 

“How so?” 

“Is Adela a good judge of character?” 

He pauses for a moment and then nods, “She is.” 

“She warned me about you.” You say offhandedly and Anselm cackles with glee.

“Did she?” 

“She did.” 

“How marvellous. Did she tell you I’m a wretched and depraved lust filled bloodthirsty tyrant?” 

You pause, “No.”

“What did she say?” He strokes his beard slightly.

“That you were cheeky.” 

He tuts. “Now, that is a gross misrepresentation, I will have to have words with her.” 

“Don’t get me in trouble.” You giggle. 

“Now, now, my dear. She’ll most likely tell me off for some reason, probably for my playful, but oh so charming treatment of you, wouldn’t you say?” 

You give him another look and he laughs. 

“You disagree?” 

“Stop fishing for compliments.”

“Ah, but I must. You haven’t said one kind thing to me all morning.” He folds his arms, pretending to huff. 

“First, that is untrue, second, stop moving.” 

He grins, “My apologies,” and puts his arms back down. “My dear Adela does love to scold me, despite being the younger sibling. You would think she was twelve years my senior, not junior… It is the different father I think.” He smiles fondly. 

“You have different fathers?” 

He nods, “You are enquiring about the surname yes?” 

You nod as well. 

“Well, my mother is Magdalena Vogelwiede, the only child of my grandfather who lived past infancy. She kept the family name and refused to change it when she married, not that any of her husbands would have dared to argue with her, besides all of them coveted the prestige of being part of the Vogelwiede family. All of her children were given her last name.”

“Do you have other siblings?” You ask, still holding your paintbrush but you have given up most pretences of actually working. The way he talked was almost hypnotic. Soothing. You could happily listen for hours. 

“I do, I had an older brother, Wilhelm, who died very young. When my father died, my mother remarried and had Adela and Helena. She divorced my step-father when Helena was two, shame, as I was quite fond of him. She didn’t marry the father of my youngest sister, Libeste. But that was a very good thing, he was a terrible bore.”

You smile, delighting in the fondness in his expression. “Is she still with us?” 

He nods, “She is, going very strong. She lives in Italy with her suitor, a toy boy.”

“Toy boy?” You snort. 

“He’s only sixty eight.” He chuckles. 

“Scandalous.” You grin. 

“I like him very much, his name is Alvin, like the chipmunks. Which is what he said to me the first time I met him, a very sweet man, utterly besotted with my mother, the poor fool.”

“The poor fool?”

“She bullies him so,” Anselm sighs fondly, “But he does love it. So I think they are meant to be with each other.” 

You barely manage another five minutes of painting before Anselm has to take an emergency meeting. He apologises profusely and kisses your hand when you leave. You do your best to hide your giddiness when his lips touch your skin.

The following Thursday you’re back at his house, mansion, just about to get out of your car when your phone rings. Adela. 

You press accept. “Hello, Adela.” 

“My darling, how are you? Are you well?” Her voice practically purrs on the other end of the phone.

“I’m good, you?” 

“Fine, fine, listen, I am having a small get together tomorrow night, I will send a car for you. Yes?” 

“I,” You pause, ever so slightly taken aback. “Well…”

“You are free of course?” 

“Well, I was going to work on the portrait-”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, you have plenty of time, I understand art works can take years.”

“I don’t think it’ll take me years, I mean-”

“See? You are already ahead of schedule then my darling, 8pm the car will come. It’s a small thing, barely a hundred people, casual dress. And I mean it, wear jeans and a t-shirt if you want, or nothing at all.”

You open your mouth to speak and close it again as she continues.

“I simply must introduce you to my son. Anyway, see you then, ciao!” 

She hangs up before you can even say a word. 

You’re setting up in the ground floor study when Anselm comes in. His expression is stormy, you would almost say bleak if it wasn’t for the hard look in his eyes. 

He sits on the chair without his usual exuberance, muttering a quiet “Good morning.” 

You pause, still setting up your easel. Part of you isn’t sure if you know him well enough to ask about what’s bothering him, even though he’s been nothing but forthcoming and charming with you. You swallow down your anxiety.

“Are you okay?” 

“Hmm,” he nods and doesn’t look at you.”Perfectly well.” 

You bite your thumbnail nervously, but don’t ask again. You set up the rest of your equipment in silence. 

The quiet is odd. You realise you’re so used to hearing him talk, to being swept up in his tales that now the room seems hollow and barren without them. Cold and sterile. The grandfather clock in the corner ticks loudly, echoes sickeningly. 

Nothing seems to be going quite right, your colours are wrong, the shape irregular. 

You’ve been working for around twenty minutes when Anselm finally talks. 

“Has my sister invited you yet?” He’s a little gruff, a huff in his voice.

“I’m sorry?” You look up from your work.

“Invited you… to her gathering tomorrow?” 

“Oh, erm,” You stumble over your words, the hard look he gives you is practically alien, so unlike his usual smiles. “Yes, she called me just as I got here.” 

Anselm’s expression hardens. For a moment you don’t think he’s going to speak again. “She wants you to meet David, her eldest.” 

You pause, not sure if you should reply, but you do anyway. “Yeah, erm, she mentioned it briefly… not that I really got a word in.” You laugh weakly, maybe he was annoyed at how long it was taking you to start on the painting? “Honestly, I was planning on working on your portrait, but I didn’t really get a chance to refuse the invitation.” 

He hums again, sighing and slumps down a little in his chair. “He got divorced last year, you know?” 

It takes you a full minute to realise he’s talking about David. 

“Clean break, his ex-wife was very reasonable. No children.” He sighs again, “A perfectly eligible bachelor.” He runs his hand through his hair, pushing his curls in a completely different direction. 

“Anselm,” you tut, briefly forgetting the tense atmosphere, you walk around the easel and towards him, your hand outreached to fix his hair before you catch yourself. You stop, pausing right in front of him.

He looks up at you with soft eyes. “I apologise, my love. I did not mean to disrupt your work with my bad mood.” 

“It’s alright,” you smile slightly, “We all get annoyed.” 

“I’m sure you are rapturous in anger, all dragon fire and destruction.” 

You snort. “I am not.” 

He smiles and leans forward, pressing his head towards your hand. “I am sorry I disturbed my hair.” 

“It’s fine,” you lightly run your fingers through his curls, careful not to catch or pull as you move it back into its previous style. You motion for him to sit back so that you can position the last few rogue strands. You touch his hair for a little longer than absolutely necessary, swallowing as you press your fingers deeper. 

Anselm breathes in deeply, closing his eyes for a second and presses closer to your touch. 

“Is your nephew getting engaged or something, does Adela want me to paint a portrait of him too? Is that why I’m invited?” You ask innocently as you finally adjust his hair to your liking. You drop your hand to your side, a little disappointed that you no longer have a reason to touch him.

He opens his eyes slowly, staring up at you with a small frown. “My sweet, are you being serious, or pulling my leg? Because if it is the latter, I must say it is poor form considering my injury.” He motions a little dramatically to his brace.

“What?” You shrug a little, trying to work out what the hell he’s on about.

A small smile pulls at his lips when he realises you are being sincere. “My dear Adela wants to set you up with David, tomorrow is a formal introduction of sorts.” 

You pause, a little dumbfounded and Anselm chuckles. 

“My, the look on your face, you do not seem pleased.” He, however, is the happiest you have seen him all morning. 

“Here,” Anselm stands, “I’ll get my assistant to bring you a photo of David,” the tease in his voice is undeniable. “So that you may gaze about the face of your future beloved.” 

You finally find your voice. “Anselm.” You scold.

He grins wickedly, turning to face you fully. “I do love it when you use that tone with me, my sweet. Admonishing me does suit you.” He steps a fraction closer, raising his hand to lightly brush your cheek with the tips of his fingers. “I would happily die a thousand deaths to be under your thumb.” 

You swallow. “I don’t want you to die a thousand deaths… or be under my thumb.” You say softly, trying to say that you want him safe and alive and of his own strange but endearing free will.

But Anselm’s expression falls and he lowers his hand, mistaking your words for rejection. “I apologise again-”

Panic grips your chest and you blurt out the first thing that comes into your head. “But you can be under me if you want… as in…” Heat rolls over your face and you screw up your eyes. 

He laughs happily, stepping closer again so that you are chest to chest. He lightly traces your bottom lip with his thumb. “May I kiss you, my love?” 

With a giddy rush of energy, you lean forward and press your mouth to his in a soft, sweet kiss. Anselm moans happily, wrapping one arm around you. When you break the kiss he leans his forehead against yours. 

“Please forgive my foul mood earlier, I was… distressed.” 

“Why?” You tease, a sugar rush of happiness overtaking you. 

“Because I thought you were going to spend the rest of your days riding my nephew instead of me.” 

You snort, unable to stop yourself, and quickly cover your mouth with your hand. 

“Oh no, please, let me hear you laugh.” He gently takes your wrist and litters your cheeks with kisses, until you’re giggling uncontrollably. 

“Well, I’ll have to let Adela know there’s no need for me to go tomorrow.” 

Anselm tuts and raises an eyebrow, “I don’t think so, my love, I think it will be much more exciting to turn up on my arm and then proceed to make out messily on every available surface.” 

Thank you for reading!

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