#i wonder if hes been taking it up the ass in prison

[wrioluvr]

sub yandere inmate x gn! prison warden reader

thank u all for 1000+ notes on my last post omg....<3 short fic about an idea i had as i work on part 2 of the sub yandere x himbo reader ♡♡♡ kinda wriothesley inspired coz thats bae...

cw: mentions of nsfw

"so let me get this straight." you sighed, looking at the man who was currently on the other side of the bars in disappointment. "you beat up some of the other inmates and got into a fight because.... they were talking shit about me?"

"exactly..... they were saying you were too strict! but they don't know how much you care for us.... such ungrateful bastards." his last words came out with an obvious distaste. he held the bars of his cell tightly, looking into your eyes imploringly for any sign of validation. "aren't... aren't you proud of me?"

you pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration. "no. you can't just hurt other people for my sake. i'm your warden. i can handle a few snarky comments." he had always been rather attached to you, but he had been acting overly clingy and whiny in the past few weeks. you wondered if solitary confinement was finally getting to his head.

at your words, he crumbled a little, sadness evident in the lines of his pout. your approval meant everything to him, so you being annoyed with him was the worst feeling in the world. but all of a sudden, he perked back up, seemingly coming up with a devilish idea. his voice dropped to a low whisper. "you know.... if you're that upset with me, i'm always ready for punishment." to get his point across, he pressed his ass to the bars, moaning softly as he felt the cold metal graze his hole. "a spanking would be perfect."

you immediately took a step back, glaring at him. "i don't believe in corporal punishment." you said sternly, trying to deter him from getting any more perverted ideas in his head. "you're not even really interested in getting better, are you?"

"whaaat. i am! come onnnnn. the only way you can get me to behave is if you spank me. i'll be a good boy. i promise."

"you know what would be a better punishment?"

"what?" his eyes light up at the thought of you taking the initiative to put him in his place.

"if i don't partake in your twisted scenarios and leave right now. try not to get into any more fights, okay?" you walked away, shaking your head as you wondered what on earth you would do with this pathetic man.

"seriously? no! come back...." he whined, slumping back down onto his bed, defeated. but at least he had got your attention with that stunt... you had been paying far more attention to the other inmates recently.

he giggles to himself, staring up at the ceiling of his cell. a few years meant nothing, if it meant that once he was out he could live out the rest of his days as your malewife, taking care of your every need. that was the one thing keeping him going. you wouldn't be so cruel as to deny him of his fantasy, would you?

[dragon-wolf68]

dc x Dp prompt

So Danny phantom the scrawny ghost boy. Often when he grows up he is depicted as an absolute short king. But I raise you this, Maddie is 5’9 and jack is 6’9 so with those genetics there is no way he would be short no instead he towers over everyone even Dan and everyone is surprised

It’s a normal day in Gotham the birds are cawing, the flowers are wilting, and crime is everywhere. A beautiful day in Dan Phantoms book. He moved to Gotham a few years ago so that he would have a steady source of ectoplasm, and able to fulfill his obsession, wrath. So with that in mind he works as an Arkham prison guard, he’s able to feed off of the prisoners hate and gets to fight them whenever there’s a prison break, which is quite often.

but today is special, today his family is visiting because Jazz wants to become a psychiatrist at Arkham. Both he and Danny tried to talk her out of it but she’s just a stubborn and hard headed as the rest of them. *Ring* oh that must be them

Dan: JAZZ!! Great to see you has it already been 4 years man time sure does fly by.

Jazz: It sure does, you know you could have visited anytime.

Dan: I could but then again a security guards job is never done and I’m one of the best. Now where’s the brat I hope the little twerp did make you come to Gotham all by yourself. Jazz: No he’s here, he’s just getting our bags from the car.

Dan: Ah no wonder he’s taking so long he probably buried under the bags.

Danny coming up the stairs: No need to worry about me, I’m here

Hearing his voice Dan turns and sees little Danny, only he’s not so little any more. Standing at a whopping 7 feet tall Danny towers over everyone. Dan stands agape, shocked at how tall Danny was.

Dan: HOW, WHEN DID YOU GET SO TALL!!! Last I saw you, you were struggling getting past 5’6!

Danny: Hahah, yeah nobody saw it coming, I guess it just took a while for the Fenton gens to kick in, I mean have you seen our family, short is not a word I’d us to describe them.

Dan: But how, I’m your future self and I’m only 6’9!

Danny: I hate to break it to you Dan but I don’t think absorbing Vlads ghost half did you any favors, I mean he’s plenty tall, but he’s only 6’5.

Jazz: Well while you two talk I’m going to settle in.

Jazz proceeds to walk away form the two, and once she turns the corner Danny gets a hardened look and hooks Dans head with his arm. Dan almost shouts in protest thinking Danny will give him the shovel talk about hurting Jazz when Danny surprises him by saying

Danny whispering: So what’s the plan for keeping Jazz away from Red Hood

Dan surprised: What???

Danny: Oh don’t look at me surprised, we obviously have to keep Jazz away from Red Hood. You know Red Hood the bad boy who has a rap sheet a mile long, has a motorcycle, likes kids, and loves Jane Austin. The moment jazz and Hood meet Jazz will want to jump him

Dan processing: and that’s a bad thing why???

Danny: Because Red Hood has a thing for tall redheads, and Jazz is exactly his type, and if they get together that means we’ll have the bats crawling down our backs.

Dan: oh my Ancients your right we have to keep them away from each other no matter what.

now if he gets to sabotaging Danny’s love life in the process then all the better, because he knows a silent little bat that could kick his ass that Danny would fall head over heels for.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Doing Time 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you try to keep your brother safe in jail but put yourself in danger along the way.

Characters: con/ex-con!Steve Rogers

Note: monday fucking monday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You nearly convulse as Steve curls his fingers inside your cunt. He keeps his face buried in your ass as his thumb plucks at your clit. The battle of sensation roils inside, bubbling over to an orgasmic flow. 

You clutch the pillow and moan into it. Your legs quiver and your spine arches as you lean back into him. Your head is rolling as the room tilts all around you. You're too drunk to care that you like it so much. To worry that this man is so dangerous. Is he when he does such wonderful things to you? 

He purrs as he coaxes you through your climax. You heave and turn your face out as your thighs burn. He pets your cheek as he slowly draws up, his fingers still burrowed to the knuckle. He rocks his hand before dragging it free. You collapse onto your side as he rises onto his knees. 

"Mmm, just as sweet as you look," he growls as the bed bounces with his movement. 

You steel yourself for what comes next. You tense, waiting for him to flip you over, to crush you beneath his powerful form. He stands and strides across the room. 

"Be a second, sweetheart, alright?" 

He dips out into the hall and toward the bathroom. You hear the tap running as he fiddles around in there. You shiver and hug yourself. Your thighs stick together and your walls clench at the thought of him. You whine through your teeth. 

"All cleaned up," he returns as your vision swims around his figure. "Aw, sweetheart," he nears the bed, "let's get you all tucked in." 

He gently tugs free the duvet and guides it over you. You tremble again and he strokes your cheek. He bends and kisses your temple. 

"You really think I want you all drunk for this?" He tuts. "Baby, you're gonna remember Steve Rogers."  

He gets up again and crosses the room. He shuts off the light. His footfalls approach once more. He lifts the other side of the duvet and slips in behind you. He snakes his thick arm around you and pulls you against him. He's hard and twitching. He groans but does nothing else. 

"You got me hurting, baby, but it's no good if it doesn't hurt a bit, huh?" He nuzzles the back of your head. "I waited this long. What's another night?" 

The tension eases but doesn't relent entirely. It's only the alcohol that drags you down to sleep as your inner panic continues to brew. Your subconscious distorts images of Vaugh and Steve, the prison and your apartment, day and night.

All until you're awakened by the nail lodged deep into your skull. Your hangover is hits like a train, all of you aches and your stomach is in ruins. 

A warmth brushes up your stomach and you groan. You have only your bra to hide and your tits have popped over the cups. Steve caresses your side and kisses your head.  

"How's that champagne today, sweetheart?" The question sounds anything but taunting. His tone is almost soothing. The heat of his body too. You hate that you want to stay in it. 

"You drink coffee, sweetheart?" He slowly shifts, lifting himself on one arm. 

"Please," you accept. 

"Don't you fuss," he pets your shoulder, "stay." 

He covers you again in the duvet. He gets off the bed and rounds the foot board. He grabs your fluffy robe from the back of the door. It doesn't go past his thighs and strains over his shoulders. The red and white polka dot is clownish as it's undersized on him. 

He leaves the room and you fall onto your back. You moan. Your insides are all wobbly and not just because of your overindulgence. Through the fog, there are glimmers. His mouth on you, his fingers inside... 

You're confused. You don't want to like it. You don't want it to be good. It would be so much easier if you were repulsed. 

You try to calm to pulse in your temples. It takes everything to sit up. You hang your head and raze your scalp with your nails. Ugh. 

"Sweetheart, I hope you're not thinking of going anywhere," Steve enters with a waft of medium roast. "Cause I know you heard me." 

You wince. Yes, you got his command. Even if you could go, you won't. 

"Here," he offers the coffee, "you take anything in it?" 

"Thanks, uh... Black is fine," you shift as you take the mug. 

He reaches around you and moves the pillows so you can lean against him. You thank him again and seep up the heat of the porcelain. It's your only comfort in this cold and gray world you made for yourself. 

"It can be a lazy day," he says. "You know," he sits on the edge of the bed. "I was so busy getting myself all ready for you, I didn't get a chance to catch my breath." 

You nod and stare at the cup. You taste the coffee. He rubs your leg through the blanket and looks at you. 

"When's your next visit? I think I should go along." 

You nearly choke. You lower the cup and arch a brow. He chuckles. 

"You're so gorgeous, baby," he smirks. "Look, you don't gotta do anything on your own anymore, sweetheart. Nothing. I meant everything I said. I'm here to take care of you." He taps your leg softly. "Let me start by drawing you a bath. Tub's a bit small but we'll change that soon enough." He stands and adjusts the rob as it rides up. "Gonna need a place big enough for both of us." 

He leaves again. You sit dumbfounded with your coffee. You're not sure you can blame it all on the hangover. 

A day ago, this was your apartment. You were your own person. Now you are firmly in his grasp. The prisoner has become warden. 

You taste the relief nestled in the mug. You let it sooth you, as much as it can. You hear the lapping of water in the tub. You lean into the pillows and sigh.  

'Next visit...' 

Vaughn will blow a gasket, maybe more. It's one thing that you spoke to Steve. That's a foolish mistake. It's another to tell him you're shacking up with an ex-con. The way your brother is, he'll never believe it wasn't your own fault. You're not sure you don't think the same. And he'll be sure to say as much, if says anything at all. 

"Sweetheart," Steve startles you from the doorway. How long has he been there? "How's the coffee?" 

"Good," you rasp and push the blanket down your lap. "It's...helping." 

Nothing and no one can help you now. That grim acceptance is your only shield. You sit up and balance the mug over the edge of the bed. You clasp onto the blanket, too shy to move from under it and unveil your naked body. 

"You don't lift a muscle," he insists and crosses the room. 

"Steve, I..." you clutch the duvet. "I can do it." 

"You're hiding," he stands before you and bends to meet your eyeline, "why are you doing that? You're too gorgeous to be so shy." 

"Really, I..." 

He pulls the blanket from your grasp. You gulp and cover your pelvis, squeezing your thighs together. He growls. 

"Damn, it's taking every inch of me not to put you on your back," he breathes and takes the cup from you. "Good things come to those who wait, right?" 

He scoops you up and you catch yourself against him, your palm against the fluffy robe. His chest peaks out, the firm lines of muscle bulging beneath. You quiver and he chuckles softly. 

"I know you never had a man like me," he boasts. "And baby, I don't want anyone but you." 

You put your chin down. He says such sweet things but they can’t change who he is or what he’s done. Or hasn’t done. You don’t think you’ll ever know for sure. 

He carries you into the hall and down to the bathroom. The tub steams as it fills, the smell of your vanilla soap wafts in the damp air. He lowers you onto the toilet seat and traces a finger down your bra strap. 

“I’ll get your coffee. You just take it easy.” 

He cradles your cheek before he goes. You shiver as he walks away and brush your hands together nervously. You exhale. You’ll try to do just that for as long as you can. Eventually, you’ll have to face it all. 

⛓️‍💥

The relief you find in the hot water quickly dissolves as Steve appears again. He’s switched out the borrowed robe for a pair of grey sweats. His strength, his control, is felt in how he overwhelms you. Both mentally and physically. 

He helps you from the tub but keeps the towel from you. He insists on dry you as you squirm. He gently nudges your hands away as you instinctively hide from him. He purrs as he gropes you through the cotton. 

Again, he sweeps you up. You feel helpless as he carries you back to bed. You're not sure if he thinks you truly are or if that’s only how he wants you. Defenseless, docile, completely pliable to his whims. 

He lays you on the mattress. He tuts as you reach for the duvet, “sweetheart, this is your day. Let me pamper you.” 

You recede into yourself. You cross your arms as your thighs quiver. There’s nothing keeping you from him. Your both intensely aware of that. His restraint flickers in his eyes as they devour you. 

“Stay just like this for me.” He commands. 

You don’t move as he leaves you. Those last two words echo. ‘For me’. It’s all for him. You, your life, everything. It’s there for the taking and he will take all of it. 

You stare at the ceiling as you listen to him; invading your space, your life, your everything. He returns, cap pops loudly as he nears. He rubs his large hands together, the friction drawing your attention as he sits on the edge of the bed. 

He cups your chest and smears the lotion across your skin. He kneads you shamelessly as he works the cocoa butter balm in. His thumbs trace the curve of your tits and he purrs, his eyes stuck to his hands. You swelter beneath his intensity. 

You shift as he adds more lotion and rubs it across your shoulders, massaging down your arms as a series of groans bubble from you. The way he kneads into the muscle and soft tissue has you quivering. You have to keep from shivering as an icy flow cuts through the heat coursing into you. 

The epiphany paralyses you as much as his presence. No one’s ever touched you like this. So intently, to intricately, so gently. There’s a diligence to his tending that has you melting into the bed. 

“Just relax,” he coaxes as he swirls his thumbs down your stomach. His rough fingertips are ticklish against your soft skin. You wince and grab his wrist reflexively as he drags his touch down your doughy middle. 

“Steve, not... not there.” 

“Mm, why not, baby?” He wriggles free of you. 

“It’s... please.” 

“Please what? You don’t think all of you is gorgeous?” 

“Just not there,” you brush your hand across his. 

“Baby, if you can’t love yourself, you gotta let me,” he cooes and shifts. He bends, his broad shoulder curling as you gasp. He bows down and kisses your stomach with a hum. You press your hand to his shoulder. 

“Steve,” you yelp. 

He nuzzles your soft belly, “mm, perfect. Every part of you.” He works the lotion into your belly, kissing along the path of his touch. You shudder and curl your fingers against his muscles. “Sweetheart, you got to be good to yourself.” His hand slips down your thigh, crawling in between, “that’s how you can be good to me.” 

His hot breath sends a chill through you and you tense. He nips you softly before he sits up and reaches for the lotion once more. He goes back to blending it into your flesh. Even as your nerves flurry, you can’t help how his touch soothes you. How it sinks into you and has you melding to his hands. 

[sabersandsnipers]

Drabbles: First Kisses

Featuring Astarion, Halsin, Gale, Gortash, Raphael

Inspiration courtesy of @me-writes-prompts

Gortash

He’s quick to bind your hands. Something you knew was coming considering you were taken prisoner. Gortash wasn’t about to let a skilled warrior such as you be transported with your hands unbound.

His fingers work quickly to tie a knot in the rope holding your hands together. A fluttery feeling fills your stomach at the feeling of his fingers brushing against your hands.

He lowers your hands, tipping your chin up to look at him. “Try anything, and you won’t like the punishment.”

You can’t explain why, but your eyes travel to his lips. There’s something about him that draws you in, makes you wonder what he tastes like.

Before you can comprehend your movements, you step forward and kiss him.

His body tenses for a moment and you step away quickly to gauge his reaction. You can’t read him. He simply watches you.

Your breath leaves you. A part of you unbelieving you just did that. A burn blooms in your chest as you wait for him to react in a rage.

Then he stalks over to you, his long legs moving quickly. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you roughly.

You ache to touch him, but your bound hands stop you. So you simply roll your hips into his so you can feel him as much as possible. He growls into your lips at your movements.

His hands fall to your ass. He grips you roughly as you continue to move your hips against him. Your heart is pounding. Your mind is unable to comprehend that you’re making out with Enver Gortash.

Astarion

Astarion has offered to help you practice your kissing technique. At first you were slightly offended that he even thinks you need practice, but after some contemplation, you realize it’s been a while. And you were hoping to find some company at a tavern tonight as well.

Which is how you find yourself sitting across from him. You both sit cross legged, as if you’re a couple teenagers about to play a dirty game. Tension laces your body. This isn’t exactly a comforting situation.

“Just try to focus on what I’m doing,” he instructs.

You nod, watching his lips as he tilts his head to kiss you. You nearly gasp as his skin meets yours. His lips are deliciously cold, and you have to restrain yourself from leaning into him. He’s the one taking the lead here.

His tongue runs along your bottom lip. You part your lips to grant him access. The smallest of whimpers escapes you as his practiced tongue glides against yours.

Your hands move on their own as they try to snake through his hair. His hands are quick to restrain you.

“No touching,” he says before resuming his work.

You feel lightheaded by the time he pulls away. He looks at you with a smug look on his face, clearly knowing the effect he has on you.

“Your turn,” he tells you. By the twinkle in his eyes, you can tell he can’t wait to taste you again.

Gale

The necklace Gale hands to you is gorgeous. The gem sitting on the chain glitters in such a way that it almost takes your breath away. No doubt he added some magical effect to it to make it that much more special.

“Gale, this is too much,” you tell him. You’ve had a crush on him since he joined your adventure, and things like this aren’t helping the growing affection you feel for him.

“The necklace would be going to waste if it was on anyone else,” he replies. “I want you to have it.”

You press it against your chest and grin at him. “I love it.”

The way he looks at you makes your heart flutter. “Let me put it on for you.”

He takes the necklace and you sweep your hair up so he can secure the clasp at the back of your neck. His fingers brush against your skin, causing a slight shiver to rush through you.

When he’s finished, you turn to kiss him on the cheek. But then he turns his head, and your lips meet.

A small gasp leaves you, and you step away. “Sorry about that, I just wanted to thank you for such a beautiful gift.” Your face suddenly feels unbelievably hot.

He moves closer. He tilts your chin up. You meet his gaze, butterflies dancing in your stomach.

“So thank me.”

He’s inviting you in. Your eyes fall to his lips. You admire the shape of them for a moment before leaning in to kiss him.

Lightning ignites in your belly when your lips meet his. Your body nearly jolts at the sensational feeling. His hands fall to your waist. His fingers press into you ever so slightly.

His tongue is certainly practiced. You nearly feel dizzy at the pleasure he’s able to ignite in you just from a kiss. But he holds you steady, and you’re grateful, because your knees feel like they could buckle at any moment.

Of course, Astarion is the one to ruin your moment.

“Please kill me now,” you hear his voice behind you. You both whip your head to the source, cheeks flushed.

“If I have to watch you two doing that from now on, I’m flinging myself off a cliff.”

Halsin

You never should’ve let Karlach pick for game night. But here you all are, sitting around the campfire playing truth or dare. Your mind is slightly fuzzy due to the wine you’ve been drinking, and the laughter that’s been bubbling in you for most of the night.

“Truth or dare?” Karlach asks when it’s your turn.

You're quick to pick dare. The alcohol in your system challenges you to do something dumb.

Karlach answers as if she’s been waiting all night for this. “I dare you to kiss Halsin.” She grins proudly.

A small twinge of anxiety pokes at you through your fuzzy haze. Your eyes flicker to Halsin, expecting him to look offended or hurt. But his expression is an open one, a light smile even graces his lips.

You shrug. “Alright.”

You make your way over to Halsin. Grateful for the drinks you’ve had, you sit on one of his thighs. You feel his hand slide up your back, earning tingles at the back of your neck.

You lean forward and carefully press your lips against his, as if testing if he’s okay with it. Then he leans into you, and you know you have permission to fall into him even more.

The gang hoots around the campfire, egging you on. You laugh against his lips. Part of you wishes you were in private so you could kiss other parts of him as well. Those large hands of his hold you so carefully. You want to feel them on your hips, your thighs, everywhere.

Karlach groans. “Okay enough. Before I get sick.”

Raphael

This was wrong. You knew that. Raphael is a devil. He just wants to manipulate you. Trick you into getting what he wants.

And now, as he corners you and presses himself against you, you know he’s playing your body. Using your reactions to weaken you and your state of mind. But his firm body continues to send waves of pleasure straight through you.

“What’s wrong, little mouse?” He asks, smirking. He leans down to whisper in your ear. “Cat got your tongue?”

He angles his face close to yours, eyes intense and alight with desire. A small voice in your head tells you to push him away. But it’s hard to listen when he looks so sinful.

His lips are on yours. You instinctively grind against him, cheeks flushing at how quickly your body gives in. Flames lick at your skin. His hands roam your body as if he’s memorizing every dip and curve.

When his claws trace your bare skin, you gasp. His body tightens at the noises you make. You should stop this. You should push him away.

But every roll of his hips, every caress of his fingers, and you can’t help yourself from falling deeper into his haze.

[baronessvonglitter]

Like a Good Girl Should

mom's sleazy bf!Joel Miller x f!Reader | wc: 2.7K

Summary: Your mom's sleazy new boyfriend Joel Miller is the last person you'd ever want to be alone with.. so how did you end up on his lap getting punished?

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, sleazy!Joel, dominant!Joel, using panties for masturbation, mention of dad in prison & brief prison r@pe joke, slut shaming reader's mom, mild violence, dubious consent (at first), spanking, thigh spanking, pussy spanking, rough fingering, threat of fisting, squirting, masturbation, ejaculation on body, no use of y/n, pet names ('daddy' and 'sir' for Joel; little girl, baby girl, darlin', sweetheart for reader), no specific age for Joel mentioned but there's still an age gap as reader is in college. (If I've forgotten any, please let me know!)

Author's Note: AKA I've got a hankerin' for some spankerin'!

I've had this fic on my mind for a week and now it's finally out. I tried to make Joel as sleazy as I could without being a total nightmare. Thanks to everyone who showed interest when it was a seedling of an idea. I'm honestly looking forward to writing whatever my next kink hyperfixation will be!

JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

divider by @saradika-graphics👑

You fucking hate Joel Miller.

He's the asshole who moved in a few months ago.

With your dad in prison, your mom lamented the loss of a man around the house, until one night she brought Joel home with her after meeting him at a sleazy beer joint. And he never left.

He's offensive in every way: he doesn't pick up after himself, doesn't help out with the chores, drinks milk straight from the carton, and walks around in the morning in nothing but his briefs, proudly showing off his god damn morning wood.

Not that you've looked..

And every night it's the same hectic squeaking of your mom's bedsprings, the same quick, loud shrieks followed by moans that crescendo in pitch until it all falls silent, only to start up again fifteen minutes later.

Not that you listen.

He makes no secret about ogling you, making suggestive comments on your clothing (or lack thereof). You count the days until you have enough saved up to move out while you're still attending junior college.

When your mom's working the late shift at the diner down the road, you do some cleaning up while Joel sits on his ass watching some stupid 80s action movie. You gather your clothes and put them in the washer, one by one, making sure the right things are inside out, and that pant legs aren't twisted up.

You find your favorite pair of panties, hot pink silk, the first nice pair of panties you purchased yourself at a fancy lingerie store. Horror makes your stomach sink when you look closer at the crotch of the panties, seeing a glob of what you're one hundred percent sure is cum.

Joel.

You confront him about it and he doesn't even bother to deny it. He simply kicks back on the sofa (fully clothed for once) and tells you you should take it as a compliment.

You should take him jacking off into your favorite pair of panties.. as a compliment.

Seeing red, you tell him to fuck off, to get out, that you'll tell your mom what he's been doing, but he gets up and towers over you, backing you to the wall.

"You ain't gonna do shit, little girl."

"Try me," you dare him.

The look on his face makes you wonder if he'd rather kill you or devour you on the spot.

"Get the fuck out," you whisper, eyes blazing with fury.

"Listen, little girl, and listen good: I'm here whether you like it or not, so get used to it. As long as your mama wants a piece of this," he cups his crotch as you look away in disgust. "Then I'm stayin'. And as long as I'm stayin', it's my rules that run this place, you hear?"

"You can't tell me what to do!" You shout back indignantly.

He scoffs as you say that, irritation flaring at your defiant tone. He shakes his head, continuing to glare at you. "Oh, yes I can, darlin'. As long as you're livin' under my damn roof, I can tell you to do whatever I want you to do, whenever I damn well please."

"This isn't your fucking house!"

"I'm the only man here, ain't I?"

"Then I'm moving out!"

"No you're not! Don'tcha even think about it!"

"You gonna stop me?"

He lets out a dangerous rumble as you challenge him, his eyes narrowing, practically daring you to push him. "Try it and see what happens."

In your room you grab a duffel bag and cram some clothes and necessary items in there. Already Joel is storming into the hall, his boots loud against the wooden floor.

"You gotta be kiddin' me," he shakes his head.

"Told you I'm leaving. Don't know why you won't believe me."

"Where ya goin'? To that lil' drug dealer boyfriend of yours?" he sneers.

"So what if I am?"

"The hell you will. If you let him anywhere near you, I'm breakin' his damn legs."

His eyes go wide as you storm past him and head for the front door. His hand shoots out and grabs your arm before you can get too far. "Oh, no, ya don't," he growls, grabbing and jerking you back toward him. He grips your upper arm tightly as he spins you around to face him.

"Let me go!"

He scowls, keeping you in place in front of him. "No, I'm not lettin' you go, darlin'. Not until you quit bein' a brat and calm the hell down."

"Don't call me a brat!"

He grins at this. "Then stop actin' like one. You've been runnin' your mouth ever since I came here, and now you're makin' threats ya can't follow through on and bein' an uptight little bitch."

"Go to hell!" You spit at him, a glob of your saliva lands on his cheek and he wipes it off with his fingers, putting them them in his mouth to suck it off. You watch with mild disgust even as you're a little turned on.

"Oh, I should put you over my damn knee and tan that sassy little ass of yours until you behave yourself, darlin'."

You cross your arms. "You don't have the balls!"

A smirk crosses his face. "You can see for yourself, darlin'." He cups his crotch, drawing your eyes to him even though you don't want to.

"You really think I'm not gonna put ya over my knee and paddle that cute little ass 'til it's raw?"

"You wouldn't!"

A smirk creeps over his face at the uncertainty in your voice, his hand moves down to your hip, fingers digging in the flesh. Your breath catches in your throat as you feel your panties dampen.

"Nah, you're pussy's speakin' for ya. I can see it already, you soakin' up those lil' shorts of yours."

You're too turned on to risk speaking, struggling against him because it's the only way you can fight back, prove him wrong.

"There's no escape from daddy, darlin', You're stuck. And you're gonna be punished until ya behave yourself."

You growl, "You're not my fuckin' daddy!"

He grins at you, grabs a handful of your hair, yanking it brutally to force you to look up at him. "That's right. Your daddy's in prison, probably gettin' passed around like the little bitch he is. I'm your daddy, darlin', and don'tcha forget it. I'm the one protectin' you, takin' care of you, and now daddy's gonna put you in your place."

He jerks you towards the sofa, pulling you over his lap so your ass is squarely on his thighs, your top half pressed into the sofa cushions at an awkward angle, holding yourself up on your forearms so you can breathe, watching helplessly as he pulls down your shorts and panties in one go, leaving your ass bare to him. He drops your clothes to the floor. The way your positioned he can also see your pussy lips, swollen with excitement.

One arm on your back holds you down, the other trails its fingertips across your smooth, supple skin, giving you goosebumps, causing your cunt to clench, much to your horror.

"You've been very naughty today, darlin', haven't you?" he prefaces your punishment, giving your ass a light swat to punctuate his words.

You're too stunned to move or speak.

He runs his large, rough hand over your ass, squeezing one of your cheeks as he looks down at you, his voice low and stern: "Answer me, baby girl. You know you're supposed to answer your daddy when he asks a question." He gives your ass a sharper smack, the sound of his hand on your flesh reverberating in the room, shameful to your ears.

You give a sharp gasp. "Yes! I was being naughty!"

"That's right. You were bein' a bad girl, a sassy little brat who keeps gettin' smart with daddy." He rubs his hand over your ass, then gives it a few little swats, each one harder than the last, building up a stinging heat on your flesh.

You squirm under each spanking, seeking friction for your aching clit.

"Stay. Still," he orders in a growl.

"Daddy, it aches," you whine, not talking about the spankings. There's a wetness growing between your thighs, glistening, catching Joel's attention like a raven sighting something shiny in the grass. He growls, his touch hovering over your folds, not yet ready to give in to your needs.

"I know it aches, baby girl. But it's supposed to. It's your punishment for being a naughty little brat." He doesn't allow himself to focus on it, his hand grabbing your thigh instead. "Open your legs wider," he commands when you try to squeeze them together to get some relief.

Your scent rouses him when you open your legs just a little. He forces them apart and slaps the insides of your thighs, his dick getting harder when you cry out from sensitivity.

"Does that hurt, baby girl?" his voice is mockingly gentle as he runs his calloused fingers over your inflamed skin. When you nod instead of giving a vocal answer he slaps another palm against your already-stinging skin. "Answer me," he warns.

"Y-yes.." you reply, trying like hell to close your legs, but he keeps you down, keeps them forced apart just enough. "Fuck.." you mutter, eyes closed as more of your desire drips out of you, running down your thighs to his jean-covered lap.

He feels your excitement, the warmth you give off, feels your slick dripping out of you like sap from a tree. He knows if he slides inside you right now you'd be hot, wet, accommodating his fingers, his tongue, his cock, whatever else he wants to put in your little fuckhole. But he has control. He waits you out.

"What was that?" he snaps, giving you another spank, slightly harder than before. "Did you just curse at me, baby girl? I don't think I'm gonna go easy on you if you're gonna keep usin' that filthy mouth for that kinda language."

The dark, damp spot you created on his jeans grows, as does his enjoyment. He's hard as a rock, wishing you were placed just so so that you can feel it. He imagines you rubbing your needy unclothed cunt across the crotch of his jeans, satisfying yourself on just his clothed cock.

"Are you enjoyin' your punishment?" He mocks you once again, lightly brushing his knuckles across your puffy, drooling pussy lips, smirking when you whimper and shiver, trying to lift your hips to his touch. "Shh.. you don't get to be greedy right now, sweetheart. This is daddy's time to teach you a lesson. You're gonna be a good girl and let me teach you that lesson, aren't you?"

"Yes, daddy," you whine. Your entire body is aflame with need, brimming over with desperation. You'll do anything he wants, suck his cock, take his dick in whichever hole he pleases, so long as your frustration is released, so long as you get to come.

"That's more like it," he praises, his hand moving across your sore buttocks, softly touching before landing another stinging slap. "Good girls listen to daddy, and good girls take their punishments without complainin' and cryin'. They just take it, like a good girl should."

The need for friction, your pussy left wanting and vulnerable, brings you to tears, despite his warning not to cry, "Wanna.. be good for daddy."

"I don't know if you can be good.. don't know if it's in your nature. Got a felon for a father and a whore for a mother. I think you're just plain bad.. might need to stay on my lap for a long time." He lands a slap, watching your ass jiggle with the force of it.

"Please," you whine.

"Aw, what's wrong, darlin'? You seem like somethin's botherin' you." Two more slaps, one on each ass cheek before he grabs one at a time, squeezing hard on the flesh, relishing the heat radiating from your skin, and spanking them again. "How's your ass feel, sweetheart? All warm and tender and sore?" He soothes you with his hand.

"Yes.. yes, sir."

He chuckles lowly. "Daddy likes it when you call him 'sir'. You get points for that, baby girl. Now answer my question."

Question..question.. Every time he speaks, his actions override it, but he did ask how you were feeling, if you were sore. "Yes. But I still ache.. inside."

His cock twitches in his jeans and he adjusts himself beneath you. "Still achin' inside, huh? Need some relief? Need daddy to help you out?"

"Yes, daddy." Your fingers grip the couch cushion.

He gives your hair another tug, yanking your head back, forcing you to look up at him. "What did I tell you just now about callin' me 'sir'?"

Your eyes meet his and you swallow, but your mouth refills with saliva. Your mouth is as wet as your cunt, hoping he'll fill one or the other. Preferably both. "Yes, sir, daddy.. please.. help me."

"You're so sweet when you ask so nicely, beggin' me to take care of you." He lets go of your hair, his hand caressing your lower back and ass in a gentle, soothing way.

"But I ain't gonna fuck ya. You're not my type."

What you get instead is another spanking, then another, and another, until your ass feels raw, until it's nearly numb, then Joel presses two fingers deep inside, cramming you with his thick digits. Gasping a shuddering breath, you push back on him, only for him to take them away, spreading your wetness on your backside.

"You're just like your mom.. needy as a feral cat. Can't ever get enough," he grumbles, giving you another smack before inserting his fingers again, spreading your thighs wide as he shoves them in and out, smiling when he hears your cries of pleasure, the way you squeeze around him as if to keep him there. If it was his dick in there he'd have cum already, you're so snug and wet around him.

He removes his fingers again when he feels you close to the edge and your frustrated groan brings a smile to his face.

"Please, daddy.. sir.. Joel.." Whatever he wants you to call him. "Please don't stop!"

"You're gonna have to be quiet or I'm gonna stick my whole hand in this lil' pussy, stretch it out so nothin' else will ever fit."

You're shivering, your body on edge for his touch, and the fucker knows it. And you know he'll make good on his threat. You force yourself to be quiet, only the smallest whimpers escaping your lips once his fingers slide into you again, this time adding a third finger, unable to help it when you moan, "Oh, god, daddy!"

This time he doesn't pull away, keeping his fingers in a steady thrust inside you, using his free hand to slap your ass, mixing the pleasure with the pain. He parts your thighs further, lifting your hips to smack your pussy, grinning when you jolt forward, crying out, not allowing you to close your legs when you get overstimulated, continuing to land slaps upon your sensitive flesh until you whimper another please, daddy.

He mutters something unintelligible, bringing his fingers back to your soaked cunt, your juices creating an even bigger stain on his jeans. Pumping his fingers in and out, he scratches that itch, finds that spongy tissue inside that drives every woman crazy, and he rubs against it, watching you writhe, listening to your ragged gasps and desperate pleas until you squirt, your fluid dousing his hand and his lap until you beg him to stop when you become oversensitive.

He could continue, he could give you more, go all night, but he doesn't have as much patience as he used to. Positioning himself behind your sprawled out figure on the sofa, he takes himself from his jeans and strokes his length urgently, spilling his cum on your still-quivering ass and your drenched cunt.

Satisfied, he smears his cum all over you with his dick while it's still half-hard.

"Ain't that pretty," he comments. "Now, you ain't tellin' your mama nothin', and we can come to some kind of agreement that benefits us both.. right, my good girl?"

Exhausted, empty, you nod. "Yes, daddy."

tag list 💕: @survivingandenduring @evolnoomym @mountainsandmayhem @pedroswife69 @wannab-urs @lunamothgoth @inept-the-magnificent @karaslqve

[heli-writes]

A dragon's heart, part 17.

Pairing: Barbarian!Bakugou Katsuki x female!reader

Summary: The dragonblood tribe is known for being cruel, barbarian warriors that slaughter, loot and rape all places they pass through. They are feared among the villagers and even bigger cities. Having lost most of their women to a plague, they're trying to ensure their tribe's survival by kidnapping women from other places. However, they're not the only monsters in human form out there. When y/n experiences this first hand, she has no choice but to ask for help from no other but the barbarian leader Katsuki Bakugou himself.

Disclaimer: explicit description of torture

[Please don't read if you are sensible to or triggered by the topics mentioned above.]

Note: Please applause our first translator entering the scene! Can you guess who it is? Spoiler: It's not our favourite broccoli!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17

Series Masterlist

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Alright, you boot-licking weak-ass excuse of a warrior, I ask you one more time: What orders were given to you by your king? Answer or your comrades will suffer even worse”

When the Todoroki soldier doesn't answer, Katsuki turns the knife that is already stuck in the man's leg. The man howls and fights against the restraints that bind him to the chair he's sitting on. When the pain ebbs away, the soldier spits blood at Katsuki's feet. He looks up at the chief with anger and determination behind his eyes.

“Fuck you. I not tell you everything. With honour, we die.”

Katsuki gives him a long, hard stare. Then a cruel smile spreads on his face. They've been torturing the Todoroki prisoners for a couple of hours now. They picked one by one, leaving the remaining stewing in fear for when they come for them. This one is the last one.

So far, they weren't very lucky. The four others that were brought in before this one didn't speak a word of Drakona and could only twitch in pain at the knives of their captors.

“Ah, so he can speak. Seems like it's your lucky day, bastard. Means that we two get to spend more time with each other.”, Katsuki grins at the man.

The man looks at him with exhausted eyes but the deep circles under his eyes don't hide the hatred in them.

“Do worst”, the man spits back and Katsuki only chuckles.

A good half hour later, Katsuki didn't get anything useful out of the man. Mainly because the man's hard to break. Most of the time he only spits out insults in very broken Drakona. Katsuki wonders if the information the man can give them will be of any worth considering how hard he is to understand.

Katsuki washes off the blood on his hands in front of his tent before entering his shared living space with y/n. There is no need for his mate to see that. The tent lies empty and silent upon his arrival. Katsuki frowns upon y/n's absence. He left her this morning munching on some bread before taking off to take care of the prisoners.

Did she run away again?, Katsuki ponders, I didn't give her any reason to be cross with me today, I think.

An unease settles over him, like always when y/n is up to something he doesn't know about. Of course, there is no harm in y/n wandering about the settlement and socializing with the other tribe members, but it's just... unexpected. Most of the other women don't, or at least only to a minimal degree. Furthermore, Katsuki's always on edge thinking that y/n might change her mind and take flight.

Katsuki turns on his heels and stomps through the village of tents with an air of authority. He doesn't want to ask any of his men if they've seen his mate. Probably, nobody would care but Katsuki thinks they might assume that he has no control over his own mate.

“Hey, Kats, where you off to?”, a voice calls out to him.

Katsuki was so deep in thought that he didn't notice that he was passing by Kirishima's tent. For a moment, he hesitates.

“Just lookin' for y/n.”, he tries to answer casually.

Kirishima laughs. “Always the attentive mate, eh?”, he teases and Katsuki feels the tips of his ear burning.

“I think I've seen her walking towards old woman Tomoko with a bunch of clothes. Maybe try your luck there.”, Kirishima tells him and Katsuki gives him a grateful nod.

Katsuki walks over to the old woman's tent and makes himself noticeable before walking in.

Y/n is standing in the middle of the room in one of her new dresses. Old woman Tomoko crouches next to her and cuts off the fabric at y/n's feet.

“Chief Bakugou.”, Tomoko greets her leader, “Have you come to check my progress with your mate's clothes?”

Katsuki does not know what she's talking about but doesn't want to look clueless in front of her, so he only agrees.

The woman stands up and holds up another dress. It is a thinner dress in a pink hue.

“We've already altered this one. Made is shorter and a bit firmer around the hips. Told her she might not want it firmer considering she might be with child when next summer comes, but she was very firm on this. Your mate certainly has her own head, don't you think?”, Tomoko chats away. Katsuki can only agree with her on that last part.

“Anyways, right now we're altering this one.”, Tomoko continues, “It's more suitable for the weather in the mountains, at least for her kind, I suppose. Although I've got to say I find all these dresses kind of ridiculous, don't you think? The fabric's so heavy, the skirt so long and even her arms aren't free. How can anybody move in clothes like these?”

Katsuki hums in agreement. “Don't know, but all the kingdom women wear clothes like this.”, he offers an explanation. Tomoko nods.

“Sure, sure, you're right. Then again, these women probably don't need to move much, don't they? The ones you brought at least don't seem to leave their tents very much.”, Tomoko points out.

“I guess so.”, Katsuki only answers. He doesn't feel like explaining to the old woman that that probably has different reasons.

“Well, I'm glad y/n's different. Poor thing doesn't understand a single word, but at least she's a bit more outgoing than the others, isn't she? Some may say she's a bit slow in the head, but I think she's a breath of fresh air around here.”, the old woman continues to chatter.

Katsuki's expression immediately darkens. “Who said that?”, he immediately wants to know. The old woman stops mid-movement sensing she probably shouldn't have mentioned that in front of the chief.

“Oh, you know, how people are...”, Tomoko tries to play it off, “It's just she's so slow at picking up our language so people assume she's not..., you know, so bright. But then again, it's hard to learn a language without a teacher and she's not a child anymore. Children are so much quicker at picking up these things. Anyhow, it's a pity I never learned the kingdom's language. You know, I had an aunt who was a half-blood and she spoke it fluently. Her mother came from...”

While Tomoko drifts off in a long explanation about her family's history, Katsuki's ears are still rushing with blood. Thinking about how members of his tribe say that y/n is mentally challenged does not sit right with him. Suddenly, there's a tuck at his hand. Y/n walked up to him and demands his attention. She presents him with a woven bracelet.

“Oh, yes, that. She made that out of fabric I cut off her dress. I wondered what that was about. It's quite pretty, isn't it? Your woman is quite resourceful, I have to say.”, Tomoko explains.

Carefully, y/n slips the bracelet over his right hand while Tomoko continues to explain the various things one can make with leftover fabric. Katsuki's head feels like it's about to explode. He forgot how much the old woman liked to talk. Y/n smiles up at him. Katsuki pinches her cheek in appreciation.

“Alright, old woman, I've got to get back to work. Make sure the dresses are altered the way she wants it.”, Katsuki interrupts Tomoko's torrent of words. The old woman abruptly stops her chattering and bows her head respectfully.

“Of course, chief, they'll be done by tonight.”, she tells him. Katsuki squeezes y/n's hand and turns to leave. He doesn't see the look of disappointment on y/n's face. She hoped that he would stay longer.

~*~*~*~

Katsuki lets the Todoroki soldier stew for the rest of the days. He's given a minimum of water. The knife in his leg is taken out and the wound is covered so that it doesn't get infected. After all, he shouldn't die on them that quickly.

He decides to visit the man before dinner. Maybe the prospects of food will make him talk. He enters the tent with a plate of hot stew and a slice of bread.

“Hungry?”, he asks while sitting down in front of the soldiers. The man stares right ahead.

Katsuki takes a spoonful of stew and shoves it inside his mouth.

“Ya' sure you don't want any?”, he asks challenging but the man doesn't answer him.

“How many days since you've last eaten? Two? Three? You must be starving.”, Katsuki points out.

The man grinds his teeth. “Not want the poison.”, the soldier bites out. Katsuki clicks his tongue.

“Poison? Buddy, we keepin' you alive. Be grateful, ya friends ain't gettin' any.”, he tells him. A mean grin spreads on the soldier's face.

“Sorry, mean I will not eat shit.”, he tells Katsuki. Katsuki grinds his teeth.

“Oh, sorry our food ain't good enough for the mighty soldier. Then again, maybe I should feed you like the pig you are.”, he replies and empties the hot content of the bowl into the man's crotch. The man howls in pain.

“Fuck you.”, the man grits out. “Ya, ye keep sayin' that. How's that workin' out for ya?”, Katsuki smirks.

“Now, I was nice to ya' but seems like ya' can't appreciate that. Maybe I should go back to doin' things the traditional way.”, he tells him and rams his thumb into the wound on his leg. The soldier screams out in pain.

“Katsuki!”

Katsuki whips around at the sound of the shocked voice behind him. Y/n's standing at the entrance of the tent looking white in the face. Slowly, Katsuki takes his hand off the man and turns around to her fully.

“What the hell are you doing?”, y/n demands to know. Katsuki assumes she wants an explanation, but someone else answers for him.

“What does it look like, honey? He's torturing me.”, the soldier says and lets out a croaked laugh.

Y/n stares at the soldier wide-eyed. For a moment, Katsuki is unable to move. Y/n storms past him, but Katsuki manages to catch her arm. However she twists towards the soldier on the chair.

“What do you mean? What's going on here?”, y/n asks the soldier. It's only then that Katsuki understands that they're speaking the same language. Of course they do, he curses internally.

“Well, you see honey, this lovely bastard over there...”, the soldier starts but he doesn't get to finish as the edge of Katsuki's hand makes a hard impact with his throat. The soldier makes a choking noise.

“Katsuki!”, y/n yells appalled and struggles against his hold but to no avail. He pulls her towards the exit of the tent. Y/n definitely shouldn't talk to this man. Who knows what lies the soldier will tell her.

“Bastard!”, the soldier chokes out in Drakona. Katsuki freezes for a second and turns back to him.

“You should better be careful how and to whom you talk around here.”, Katsuki says cooly but the man only grins at him.

“Scared I tell you girl the true?”, the man says and Katsuki sees red. Letting go of y/n, he storms towards the man and pushes him into the back of the chair.

“You don't talk to her. She's not yours to talk to. Don't even look at her. You understand that?”, he growls but the soldier only laughs.

“Best you knife my tongue then. But can talk no secrets then. Pity you.”, the soldier bites back. Katsuki takes a swing at him but y/n catches his wrist.

“Katsuki, don't. Are you insane?”, y/n yells. The soldier laughs in return.

“Clearly, he is.”, he points out, “But then again, he's from the dragon blood tribe. Haven't you noticed that, sweetheart?”

Y/n stares at the miserable man in front of her. His ragged clothes clearly are the remains of the kingdom's soldier uniforms. She's seen the uniform before on her brother when he said goodbye to her before joining the army. The soldier's face is covered in dirt and grime and his dark, purple hair sticks to his forehead in thick clumps.

She only wanted to look for Katsuki to tell him dinner's ready. She didn't expect to find him to torture a man who is clearly from the kingdom. She swallows hardly. What on earth is Katsuki up to?

“Cat caught your tongue, love?”, the man laughs.

Before y/n can respond, Katsuki interrupts. “You. Don't. Talk. To. Her.”, he presses. The soldier looks at him unimpressed.

“She not dragon blood tribe, right? Kingdom clothes and kingdom tongue. You steal her? Bet she prefer fuck me than you. Maybe she run away with me.”, the soldier spits into Katsuki's face in Drakona.

Katsuki doesn't want to lose control over his anger in front of y/n but the bastard makes it hard not to. “This is the last you see of her. Make sure to remember her form. It will be the last woman you ever see.”, Katsuki tells him.

Y/n's head whips back and forth between Katsuki and the soldier. Clearly, they're having a conversation she can't follow. She turns towards the soldier in front of her. Carefully, she asks: “Do you understand him?”. The soldier raises an eyebrow. “You don't?”, he returns the question. Embarrassed, y/n shakes her head.

Next to her, Katsuki yells something indecipherable and grabs onto her arm again, trying to pull her away again. Y/n struggles against him again. This time, Katsuki's grip isn't so hard since he gained some control over his emotions again. Y/n manages to free herself from him and takes a few steps back.

Y/n just stares at Katsuki. He's still red in the face from his outburst earlier. His breathing is hard and he tells her something pointing towards the exit. The soldier watches them with amusement.

“You know, he wants you to leave.”, he tells y/n. Y/n presses her lips together.

“Thank you, I figured as much.”, y/n replies and the soldier chuckles. Katsuki says something again, louder this time and tries to reach for her arm again. Quickly, y/n steps back.

“Want me to tell him something, sweetheart?”, the soldier offers.

Y/n stares hardly into Katsuki's eyes. It's one thing that the man she's stuck with is torturing somebody. That alone is a whole issue. Y/n isn't a violent person even though she knows in some situations one has no choice but to make use of it. But torturing an unarmed, tied-up man is something only people with no honor do. It's a whole other thing to hide that from her, get angry when she does find out and give her no explanation.

Y/n stands up more proudly. Shoulders pushed to the back, staring Katsuki down. He still looks angry as if it's her who is doing something wrong here.

Without looking at the soldier, she says:

“Yes, tell him that he's a dick.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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[formylovetodaryldixon]

"You are." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

To Daryl, you are different, you are special, you are everything. But when his jealousy over a "prank" from your friend leads to a misunderstanding you can't resolve, and an incident the next day that nearly costs you your life, it causes Daryl to have a huge revelation about his feelings for you.

@artsynana: heyy dear!! i was wondering if you could ever write something with some soft jealous daryl x reader at the prison era, btw i love the way you write daryl🥰

A/N: Hi love. First, sorry! I didn't know you had left a request :( but thank you so much for doing it. This is a little short and different :( and a little more dramatic, but I really hope you like it🫶🏼 And for your words, thank u again! I think I write Daryl a little bit off the character, but I guess it's because I picture him like that hehe

Daryl Dixon is not a possessive person, never, but he is not made of steel either, that’s why he’s unable to stop jealousy from creeping up on him.

The night is ending inside the prison, the heat of the day floating in the air, but the still warm weather seems to hang over Daryl almost in a suffocating way. As he continues to wait for his dinner, he has a panoramic view of you across the dining room, sitting in the long steel chair, elbows on the table, always accompanied by that pretty boy Sean, with his stupid green eyes and that stupid smile, following you ever since Daryl rescued his group from the governor.

And Daryl hates not being able to hate you for the senseless jealousy that you make him feel now, as he thought he did in the past.

Daryl hated ​​you for being fearless, like the afternoon you showed up to save his ass back in Atlanta, like a force of nature—sweeping away the little peace he managed to find at the end of the world, shaking his own with your magnetic presence. But he also hated how your strong gaze could rest, turning you into an angel when he could see the tenderness in your soft smile, and your dreamy eyes when things got a little bit better in that grey world.

The secret of his hate was because of your selfless, wild and free heart, and that fucking dimple that formed on your left cheek, so yeah, he fell hard for that, he fell hard for you. However, no one knew about your relationship, everyone blind to those little displays of affection: the casual brush of your hands, the secret smiles, the way his hand rested on the side of your neck before he kissed you.

“You're like… staring much. Don't you think?" Carol chuckles beside him, making Daryl look away from you as he takes his plate. "Damn, pookie, you are not subtle at all."

She continues with the bland jokes; the same ones she’s been making since Carol caught the way Daryl looked at you.

"Shut up." He hisses, turning his attention back to the food.

But Carol is not ready to give up.

"I once read that when a feeling is silenced, bottled up or imprisoned, the eyes, the lover’s gazes scream everything."

Daryl frowns, confused.

"What the hell are ya talkin’ ‘bout?"

She chuckles, crossing her arms.

"Oh, nothing. I'm just saying that maybe you should start making it clear to everyone that (Y/N) is with you."

He clears his throat, but the heat on his cheeks burns more than the sun on that season.

"Ya knew?"

"No. You just told me." Carol turns around towards the pot to serve herself a plate, Daryl narrowing his eyes at her, even if she isn’t looking at him.

"But, uh... like what?" He asks after a few seconds, hoping she will understand the question without him having to spell it out for her.

She shrugs.

“I don’t know. Maybe approach her not only when you two are alone.”

Carol smiles at Daryl, walking away to leave him with the weight of his thoughts.

Daryl Dixon is a strong man, to survive, to protect, but as a boy who grew tall but is still a boy on the inside, he feels lost with the feelings he keeps inside him, not knowing what to do with them. He had had casual encounters in bars, but was too drunk to even remember, to even care about them. But you are different, you are special, you are everything. That’s why, even with his heart hammering in his chest, Daryl walks over to the last table, eyes fixed on your profile, his sometimes noisy mind disappearing the rest as he sets his plate down on the table before sitting down next to you, ignoring the confused look from Sean, who was silent for a second in shock before resuming his story of a past life on his farm with the rest.

“The lake water is cold during that season…” He keeps talking, oblivious to the way you hold your breath when you feel Daryl's fingers on your lower back.

But out of nowhere, his hand begins to seek out the skin beneath, a light touch over the edge of your black t–shirt until he finds the warmth of your flesh. Your back arches slightly beneath his calloused fingers on you, but you try to control your body as your dirty thoughts begin to overflow.

The small group is so wrapped up in the funny anecdote that no one notices the way Daryl leans in close.

"Breathe, peach, ‘fore ya pass out."

His words are the jolt back to reality, and you let out a breath as you squint, your hand darting from your lap to his leg, only to pinch a little hard his skin over his pants with your fingers. As a reflex, his leg jumps slightly, but Daryl takes the attack with a smirk that is imperceptible to the rest of them, but not to you.

"Isn't that right, (Y/N)?" Sean glances in your direction, catching your gaze and a confused expression that silently prompts him to repeat his question. "You told me you dated a guy who looked like me."

Confused, you clear your throat.

“Yeah. Uh, but we separated long before all this...”

Mary smiles, a young woman who came with Sean’s group.

“Wow. He must have been really handsome. Did you love him, (Y/N)?”

Your skin feels cold again when Daryl's hand leaves your body, even if it still feels boiling hot when the attention falls on you like the midday sun in that stifling season. As if someone had put their hand on your throat until it was blocked from air, your uncomfortable laughter comes out muffled but you don’t answer before changing topics. However, it's sad that after a short while, Daryl stands up to go to his own cell, his thoughts running wild with the jealousy he feels about that guy, thinking that there was someone who made you feel something when, for him, you were his first everything.

When dinner time is over and everyone returns to their rooms, you find yourself timidly entering Daryl's cell only because his door is still open, but staying close to it. He’s lying on his back, eyes fixed on the arrow in his hands just to keep himself busy.

“Hey. Uh, can we talk?”

“’bout what?”

His voice is flat, not a single emotion in it.

“About what happened in the dining room with Sean.”

 “What ‘bout it?”

You shrug, even if he isn’t looking at you.

“Don’t know exactly, but I think I made you feel uncomfortable.”

Daryl scoffs.

“Ya didn't make me feel anythin’.”

His words form a lump in your throat, completely silencing the truth you were going to tell, just because your own anxious mind tells you that you don't make him feel anything, like never, and that is painful.

“Okay, uh, I don’t want to force you to talk so… I guess I’m gonna go. Uh, we'll leave early tomorrow for the run, by the way.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

You sigh, walking away.

But jealousy is an irrational force, like a force of nature that resembles a hurricane, or any destructive phenomenon inside a timid and fearful mind: that’s why when the early morning arrives and the first ray of sun shines on the horizon, Daryl decides to switch places with Glenn, just so he wouldn't be stuck with his thoughts of you in a car for hours.

However, the day grows tedious for him, even in the small details like the wind blowing dust into his face, or the way the walkers keep piling up against the fence, taking the place of the lifeless bodies when Daryl stabs his knife into their skulls. But before his ocean–blue eyes can see the car returning at a worrying speed, his ears can hear the horn, like a desperate call that makes his heart wake up frantically.

“Someone is hurt.” Carol tells him, a second before they start running towards the main fence.

Maggie and Rick are closer and they open the gates, the car raising tornadoes of dust until it stops inside the prison. Michonne steps out of the passenger seat as Daryl and Carol arrive to meet her with the others, Bob and Glenn following as she begins to narrate the horror story.

“… and one of those men was behind me, (Y/N) shot him but another stabbed her in the abdomen.”

The back door of the car is open when he stops there, but like a roller coaster of emotions, Daryl’s heart is so high it threatens to stop because of the fear, as if it stopped pumping blood to replace it with an infinite fear. But he refuses to listen to death whispering in his ear that you won’t make it as he carries you, arms under your shoulders and knees.

“Call Hershel!” He says, to whoever is faster as Daryl starts waking fast, because, even though he wants to run to catch the seconds that seem to slip away, your body feels as fragile as porcelain.

And it’s crazy, it’s wild the way Herself has to perform a surgery to control the bleeding on the same table where the night before your and his playful fingers had teased each other, seconds before ruining it all with your silence and his jealousy. But when it's all over and the madness has cleared like a thick fog, he finds himself sitting on the edge of your bed, taking in the way your closed eyelids make you look like you're just asleep and not unconscious.

“(Y/N) will wake up, Daryl.” Carol says softly, standing close to him. “It’s late, you should rest.”

He shakes his head.

“Nah. M’ stayin’ here with her. Don’ want her to be alone when she does.”

Carol nods, knowing perfectly nothing will change his mind.

“Okay, Pookie, I will come to check on you both in the morning.”

She kisses his forehead, but Daryl is too absent to notice as she leaves the room. The entire prison falls into a deep sleep, and Daryl can hear the almost imperceptible sound of your breathing fighting against the almost deafening silence of his world, but it tells him without words that you are there, and that you are not going anywhere. After a while, Daryl lies down on his right side, still close to the edge of the bed to give you all the space you need, but able to leave only that small space between his body and yours.

“Fuck… now I know I love ya, peach.” He whispers, shy and scared you can hear him even like that. “That seems to be the only answer to why I almost lost ma shit when I saw ya there… bleedin’ out. Jesus, ya would probably laugh if ya saw me here now scared to death like a damn child.” Daryl tries to laugh, a nervous little sound that falls to a heavy sigh. “Please, wake up, okay? I promise I’ll be better.”

But since there is no answer from the other end, his words hang in the air for the rest of the night, even after Daryl falls asleep. However, as the sun begins to peek through the prison's tall windows one more time, your eyelids open slightly, the world in front of you blurring for an instant, until your scattered senses become one and focus on the pain pounding your abdomen.

Softly, you turn your head slightly to the side when your peripheral vision catches a body beside yours, smiling weakly at the image before you. Daryl's hair covers part of his closed eyes, but his slight frown reflects his concern. You raise your arm until your hand touches the skin of his face, soft flesh under your fingers.

“Daryl?” Your voice brings him back easily, walking him up from that terrifying dream as he sits up, his hand cupping the side of your face just to feel that you're actually awake.

"Hey. Ya okay, peach, ya okay."

“Am I? Since when I’m here?”

Daryl sighs, but he decides to mask his fear with humor, just because he feels like he can spill all his feelings for you in a single second.

“Jus' a day, but ya took yer sweet time to wake up, woman.”

“Sorry.” You chuckle shyly, but his gaze turns soft.

“Nah. Don’ be, m’ jus’ so glad ya came back.” Concern allows him to smile slightly, before telling you that he's going to go find Hershel.

The examination lasts a few minutes, until you two are left alone, again.

“Daryl…” One more time, your voice pulls his eyes towards yours the moment he sits back down. “Sean was messing with you, you know? I was going to tell you about it last night before all this, but you didn’t want to listen and I didn’t want to push you to.”

Embarrassed, Daryl lowers his head a little bit, watching you through his long hair.

“M’ sorry, peach. I was so jealous of ‘em that I ended up sayin’ the wrong shit again.”

Them.

“Daryl, that’s exactly what I was going to tell you. There was never another guy. Sean made up that story to get a reaction out of you because even he can see how much you want to kick his ass every time you see him coming." You chuckle softly. "Besides, he’s gay.”

Daryl blinks, confused like never in his life.

“He is?”

You nod.

“Yep, really gay, but don’t worry, Sean has a crush on Glenn because you look too intimidating for his like.” You want to laugh, but you can see his own shame sinking his heart heavily, feeling the pain and guilt for letting you go alone.

And when things went wrong, that weight fell on his shoulders.

"M’ sorry, I think I screwed this thing between us."

And in a second and with an overwhelming strength, you can see his eyes becoming teary with all the feelings he has inside him.

"No. You didn't, unless you want this to end."

But he shakes his head.

"No. I don' want it to ever end."

You nod softly.

"Good." When your hand catches his, Daryl clings to it, but you don't force him to talk because you know better than anyone that it is difficult for him to express himself. "Now come, lie down and try to sleep. Okay?”

He nods, laying down next to you, too overwhelmed to speak his mind at that very moment, his hand still holding yours even after he falls asleep when his mind can no longer carry the full weight of his thoughts. But while he does, you can't help but smile slightly, because now, awake, you are convinced that his voice saying I love you was not just part of the dream you were having, sweet words you hope you can tell him soon.

[glitchinginthegarden]

Woke up with thoughts so here we go:

Johnny’s behavior early in the game makes 100% sense and I support it because it fits his character writing and situation.

I've been seeing a lot of newer cyberpunk players getting onto the "Johnny is an absolute piece of shit" / "why would anyone do anything for this douchebag" soapbox and they're entitled to that opinion BUT...

Coming from the perspective of having completed the game multiple times and done plenty of digging into the ttrpg stuff, it fits. We also have to keep in mind the unreliable narrator factor but that's another thing all together.

In the beginning (after the nightmare night), Johnny is playing the face of cool dude who's suddenly on V's side while actively attempting to manipulate them. This tracks for his character, yes, but also for Night City.

If their positions were swapped, I know for a fact my V would be doing the same exact thing to her unwilling host. Which, when you break it down, is simply an attempt to regain control over a situation where she has none.

I don't blame Johnny in the slightest for that at that point in the plot. It's in human nature to fight tooth and nail for survival. Why would that not extend to someone who's been trapped in soul prison for fifty years too?

He's just "escaped" Mikoshi only to wake up imprisoned (again) in the mind of a complete stranger. Can you blame him for trying to find an angle he can work there?

Because I don't.

Everything tells us yes, Johnny is an asshole who historically has generally only looked out for himself. But not that he's been actively or maliciously intent on causing harm to the people around him. He doesn't behave the way he does for the hell of it, he does it (in my opinion) because in the past, his flavor of manipulation has worked and usually gotten him what he wants.

Which brings me to another thing: I've also seen some comments about how he doesn't tell V certain things depending on how you talk to him. That he withholds more if V is nice than when they're more mean to him. And that also tracks for his character.

Now, I will say that I haven't played a lot of "be mean to Johnny" runs, but if he does drop more info for that, I'm not surprised. Case and point: the oil fields.

Johnny is a person who won't take shit seriously unless he gets a kick in the ass for his behavior. V has to call him on his bullshit to get that sweet approval boost for Don't Fear The Reaper. So, it ultimately it makes sense for him to cough up more information along the line if V isn't being nice about getting it or calls him on being a dodgy fuck. Johnny doesn't fuck with weak people unless he can use them, that's not a secret.

He's playing his cards close to his chest for the most part and it makes sense. He has sparingly few hands to play after 50 years in soul prison. Why would he show his spread to someone who, depending on where you are in the plot, ultimately wants to end him again and scrape him off their brain? He's trying to survive.

He's a disabled man with a grand total of eighty something years of untreated ptsd and people wonder why he's not forthcoming with what he knows? Of course he's not. It's unreasonable to expect that, and especially from a character like his.

The point I'm trying to get to here, I suppose, is that I support Johnny’s wrongs because they're in line with his character and that's part of what makes him so well written. Yes, he's an asshole. Yes, he manipulates and lies and cheats to serve his needs. But, c'mon, look at the whole picture. Look at the setting and the other players on the board, and tell me it doesn't make perfect sense.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Perhaps number 37 for the spotify thing? For mm Steddie or Steve?

I realize it's been, uhh over six months, but here you go!!

Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson | Domestic Fluff | Fluff | Slice of Life | ~1k

Steve’s toothbrush is starting to do that weird frizzy thing where all the bristles curl outward. It no longer leaves him feeling squeaky clean, but he’s had to keep using it for weeks anyway.

He pulls the offending thing out of his mouth, and tongue thick with toothpaste, he calls, “remind me to pick up a toothbrush next time we’re at Melvald’s.”

Eddie sticks his head out past the shower curtain, bangs plastered to his forehead and skin pink from hot water to say, “you got it, sweetheart,” before going straight back to shrieking some metal song Steve can’t quite recognize in Eddie’s out-of-tune warble.

Steve sticks the toothbrush back in his mouth and makes do. He rinses, repeats, rinses again, but his tongue still finds little bits of plaque at the edges of his gum line.

As Eddie’s off-key rendition of whatever the fuck he’d been singing transitions to Prisoner of Your Eyes without preamble, Steve can’t say he minds.

There’s a mixtape in their room with it as the third track, a little stylized drawing of a heart next to its title on the sleeve in Eddie’s messy handwriting. Steve had played, rewound, and replayed it so often that it’d worn down the tape prematurely, making the sound all staticky in his ears. Eddie had offered to make him a new one, but Steve hadn’t minded.

Steve sings along, smiling smugly when that just makes Eddie sing louder, determined to drown out what he calls Steve’s “angelic ass voice” until he’s all but screaming, “I’ve locked myself inside your heart and thrown away the key.”

Steve puts on his moisturizer, patting the lotion in as he continues singing, a soft backing to Eddie’s own vocals. His hair’s floppy in the mirror, pared down to a leave-in before bed. Eddie’s long since given up making fun of him for it and moved onto running his fingers through it as they fall asleep, cozy in their shared bed. It’s a tight squeeze, but he’s gotten used to it.

He’s had to get used to a lot of things in the past few months. He’s gotten used to waking up with Eddie’s curls in his mouth, gotten used to the way there’s always noise permeating the trailer, day or night. He’s learned to take quicker showers to conserve water, how to stretch scrambled eggs with cheap mix-ins, how to parse Uncle Wayne’s monosyllabic grunts after a long shift.

He still hasn’t gotten used to the lighting in the trailer’s bathroom. At his house, there’s a window big enough to stick his whole body through. Half the time, he hadn’t even turned on the overhead, instead getting ready by the natural light of the morning sun.

The trailer’s bathroom, their bathroom, is all bright fluorescence. 

Steve’s squinting from the pressure of it by the time Eddie steps out of the trailer’s dinky little shower, dripping all over the linoleum floor like a heathen. No wonder it’s curling up at the edges, after all these years of Eddie water-logging it.

Steve grabs the towel off the rod and throws it at him, glaring at his reflection in the mirror until Eddie dutifully begins toweling himself dry before wrapping it around his waist and coming up behind him.

“Whatcha thinking about, baby?” Eddie asks.

“Same as always,” Steve replies, smiling as Eddie’s arms wrap around him from behind and he digs his pointy chin into Steve’s shoulder. “The stupid fucking lights, man.”

“Man?” Eddie pouts, squeezing his middle tighter as he lowers his face to press a kiss into Steve’s clothed shoulder. “I’m man now? All because of the lights?”

Eddie clenches his hands on Steve’s hips and attempts to swing Steve around. But, he’s not that coordinated and the bathroom’s too small besides, so all he ends up doing is damn-near pushing Steve down.

“I’ll get you better lights, baby please,” he cries, dropping to his knees to press his face into Steve’s stomach. “I’ll buy you a mansion, and bathe you in pearls, and make sure nothing but the finest of silks ever touches that perfect skin.”

Steve snorts, and Eddie looks up at him, grinning even as he tries to bat his eyelashes coyly and puts on a snooty upper-crust voice that reminds him alarmingly of his mother. “Just don’t leave me for a wealthier woman.”

Hidden somewhere deep in the joke, behind the showmanship and the banter, Steve knows there lies a kernel of insecurity. An upbringing is hard to shake — part of him might always want to give Steve riches, just like a part of Steve would rather die than step foot in another empty house and be left there.

So, Steve brushes his wet bangs back, bends down, and presses a kiss to his forehead.

“No mansions,” he says against the skin before pulling back and smoothing his bangs down, fluffing them a bit on the ends the way Eddie always does. “No pearls, no silk, I don’t need any of that shit.”

There’s a dimple popping in his cheek now, so Steve keeps talking. “I just need you.”

Eddie grins, bouncing back up onto his feet, and kissing Steve, close-mouthed and intimate. “You too, baby,” he says, leading Steve into a swaying little dance, the only musical backing the buzzing of the fluorescent lights above them.

“And maybe some different bulbs.”

“And a toothbrush?” Eddie quips, nuzzling into his neck as they continue swaying on the spot. 

“That, too.”

Eddie’s laughter tickles his neck, but Steve knows he’ll come home from work tomorrow and find something with a softer glow plugged into the socket. He knows Wayne will tease them about it for weeks.

But none of that will matter. What matters is this: this is Steve’s home. It’s the first one he’s ever really had, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

As always, thanks to @queenie-ofthe-void for the editing!

[blarshwritezz]

Yanderr mafia boss x male reader prisoner, You are a rival of the mafia boss and your group was defeated by his group, thus becoming his prisoner.

Little did you know, he had lust for you and he decides that you will succumb to his desires whether you want to or not.

A new mafia boss coming right up! But no more new mafia bosses after this, guys. I know they're hot, but my masterlist will suffer also, changing it to leader to avoid confusion hope that's okay

Yandere Mafia Leader x Prisoner Reader

M yan x M reader

TW - general yandere behavior, NSFW, noncon

How long has it been? For how many days have you been held captive here? You couldn't keep track. There weren't any windows or other ways to tell time in your damp cell.

You had to wonder if your comrades were doing alright. You weren't too close to most of them, but you were still worried. You hoped whatever they were going through wasn't much worse than what you were.

The leader of this mafia kept a constant watch on you. There was a single camera in your cell, which really wasn't strange, but you could often hear him right outside your door. He'd often come in and watch you "sleeping".

That was one of the more difficult things to do here; fall asleep. You really didn't struggle this much usually, but between the environment and the whole being watched thing, it wasn't easy.

You hoped you might finally get some rest tonight. Or...whatever time of day it was when you closed your eyes.

Your dreams almost came true...until they were crushed by the fact that you felt something choking you. You opened your eyes, taking only a few seconds to realize what was happening.

The leader was in here again, fucking your mouth! You tried to pull away, but he only gripped your hair and forced himself deeper down your throat.

He groaned as you gagged around his dick. It was almost enough to make him cum.

Oh who was he kidding? He didn't want to hold back. Not this time. With a few more thrusts, his seed was flowing down your throat.

He took both of your wrists in his hand as he pulled out, holding them tightly above your head. His free hand mover to roughly spread your legs apart.

"You're my new fuck toy, got that?" Without warning or preparation, he plunged into your ass with a pleasured groan. "I'll stop torturing you, long as you please me."

You didn't have a choice.

He was fucking you anyway, no care for how rough he was being. In fact, he seemed to like seeing you slightly in pain.

You couldn't get away, his grip on you was too tight. He smirked as you struggled, even though it was useless.

"Stop struggling so much or I'll just have to kill you, and fucking a corpse doesn't sound nearly as appealing."

He leaned down and started biting your neck, licking the blood clean as he did. He made sure the marks would be visible. You were his, everyone should know.

Despite knowing you shouldn't enjoy this, you couldn't stop the moans you made. You couldn't stop your cock from growing hard, twitching as it came closer to climax.

Finally, he slowed down, making you whine pathetically. "You want to cum? Think you deserve it? You just have to tell me you'll be mine. That your body belongs to me." He growled in your ear.

You couldn't! You refused, shaking your head.

"If you say so." He chuckled, pounding into you harder than before. Only to stop right as you were on the edge again.

And that became a cycle. He fucked you hard and stopped over and over until you were a whimpering mess beneath him. And of course, he couldn't be fair. While he denied you the right to cum over and over, he repeatedly filled your asshole with his seed. Over and over again until your insides were painted fully white.

All until you begged him for release. Saying anything for him to let you cum. Even that you and your body belonged to him.

"There's a good boy..." His hands released your now bruised legs and wrists, one moving to your nipple as the other made its way to your ass. In one swift motion, he pulled out and replaced his cock with his fingers. They curled in you, hitting all the right spots.

As his hands worked wonders on you, he took your cock unto his mouth and sucked you off. Pathetic as it was, it didn't take very long before you came. He moaned, the sound vibrating around your cock as he swallowed your cum.

"There we go. Not so difficult, right? And you get to cum like that whenever I want for the rest of your life~"

I think that one was pretty decent! or at least, I really hope so

[enidette]

ADDICTED carl grimes x fem!reader

warnings — both are 18+, piv sex, begging, first times, subxsub, both are dumb and clueless about sex because duh, corny ass ending we all boo’d

it’s not often that you and carl get time to yourself. the two of you met at the prison, you were one of the people that had been taken in. you remember being the only person around carl’s age with so many similar interests. you both getting separated when the prison fell, and when you finally reunited you both realized the pain it caused the both of you.

the older you two got, the more the budding feelings surfaced. when you got to alexandria it’s like something snapped. the safety of it all, the familiarity, you remember confessing to carl one night. the two of you sat in his new room, in awe of this place.

it’s been at least a year since, and things have gotten rockier in alexandria, putting a slight strain on your relationship. nothing too serious, but plans to hang out together kept having to be pushed back.

but tonight finally, you get him all to yourself. the two of you are laying in his bed, practically your bed as well at this point. he’s laying on his back and you on your side, arm on his chest and legs entangled with his.

his left arm is resting on your back, chin propped on your head. your other hand is playing with his hair, your eyes closed as you listen to the repetitive rhythm of him throwing a ball at the ceiling over and over.

the silence and the comfort allows you to think, clearly and calmly for once. first it’s small things, how dates would go if the world hadn’t gone to shit. then things a little more… like making out with him, feeling his touch, his hot, calloused hands burning your skin.

your eyes travel to his hand that’s busy, the soft but scarred skin has you enamored. your mind runs even wilder, suddenly coming up with the very vivid mental image of his hands toying with your cunt. your body tenses and you feel your body get hot, a small whimper escaping your lips.

carl pauses his movements and looks at you worriedly, “are you okay?” you nod meekly, unable to look up at him. his hand drops the ball and his finger comes to your chin to tilt your head up. he smiles when your eyes meet his and pecks your lips.

“pretty girl…” he trails off, hand going from your face to your waist. his movements are agonizingly slow, leaving you wondering if he knows what you’re thinking about. he’s such a tease, could he really?

his face gets closer to yours, his eye trained on you. “what’s got you so tense?” you stay silent for a moment and then your words tumble out in an inaudible mess. your boyfriend giggles, “i didn’t quite catch that.”

you take in a deep breath, deciding to just go for something simple. “i need you.”

carl smiles happily, “i need you too, always. i’m sorry i’ve been so absent-” he stops when you move to hover over him, your legs straddling his thigh. he quirks his brow at you, ahh, how cute and naive he is. no experience, not really anyone to tell him to work these things. of course he couldn’t tell what you’re thinking about.

“i need you,” you whine, rolling your hips down as you speak to emphasize what you mean. his eye widens and his hands fly to your waist, his breathing is heavy and his gaze has already turned lustful. but not in the ravaging beast way, in the way he just looked clueless. you weren’t much better, but you found it so cute.

he leaned forward and your lips connected, slow and passionate to harsh and needy on both ends as you both groped and grabbed each other wherever you pleased. carl slid his hand up your shirt, rubbing your back before fiddling with the clamp on your bra. he laughs a little into your mouth at his struggle, unclamping it and sliding your shirt over your head to get it off.

"you're so pretty," he praises, sending heat to your face and between your legs as you kissed him again, feeling his hands guide the thin material on your chest off your arms. he then kissed down your neck, to your breasts, and back up again to meet your lips, sliding a hand down your body. you moaned into his mouth, breaking the kiss just as his fingers reach your clit.

"carl," you moan desperately, pressing your face into his neck. the tips of his fingers maintaining tight circles against your clit, occasionally asking you how it feels. you felt his heavy breaths against your ear, pretty groans leaving his lips when you grind down on his hand.

you stop his hand before you get to finish, his confused gaze following you as you lift yourself off his lap just enough to slide off your shorts and underwear. he placed his head on your shoulder, letting out small whines when you’d touch him.

you were so impatient, lining him up with your entrance, sinking down with a moan. his hands went to your hips, gripping the skin a little harsher than he intended. he leans in to kiss you again, the two of you finding a needy, messy rhythm.

carl gasps into your mouth, “feel good?” you lean back to look at him, flushed, sweaty face and blow out pupil looking at you like you were crafted by the gods. you nod with a moan, brushing his sweaty hair from his face.

he grimaces, attempting to cover his bandage again when you grab his hands and place them back on your hips. the feeling of your skin against him is enough to make his brain go haywire and forget about anything but you.

he leans into you again, letting his head fall on your shoulder again. “i’m close, baby.” he presses small kisses to your skin, pulling your body closer to him. eventually you’re left desperately grinding on him.

his hands grip your skin harsher, “i’m gonna cum,” he whines into your ear, panting and unable to speak. “with me, please.” you shiver at how breathless and spent he sounded, so desperate and whiny it sent you spiraling. you nod, telling him to let go.

he keeps chanting whispered ‘please’s in your ear, your bodies falling back on the mattress in an entangled mess. you feel carl move before he’s trailing kisses all over any bit of your skin he can reach.

“again?” he pleads, causing your eyes to widen. he slides his hand over your ass, pulling your hips into his again. “i’ve gotten a taste of you, you’ve made me addicted.”

[munsons-hellfire]

Lost Part 1 | Cassian

SUMMARY: You were the princess of the Spring Court. But you no longer wanted to follow behind your brother. When Feyre decides to leave, she takes you and Lucien. But with the discovery of your mate and a war on its way you start to feel so lost.

PAIRINGS: Cassian x Tamlin!Sister!Reader

CONTENT WARNINGS: Mentions of abuse, mfw, part 1, I might have missed something but I don't think this really has a lot of warning in this part. Enjoy!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: So I ended up turning this into a few parts. There are a few points I want to touch and I don't think it would've been a good idea to do one whole part. If you wish to be added to the tag list for this please let me know down in the comments. The sumary will most likely stay the same I'm not sure yet.

WORD COUNT: 2.0K

It felt like forever. The torture you faced under your bother’s ruleing. It wasn’t protection as he liked to call it. It was a prison, Tamlin had taken over after your father had been killed. You hadn’t been able to shed a tear when it happened, you always assumed that you weren’t meant to be in the Spring Court. When Feyre arrived as a human, you knew she was your chance for an escape.

So when she took the opportune moment to leave, you followed right behind her. Currently you didn’t understand how you had found yourself in this situation. You, Feyre, and Lucien had been on the run from the Spring Court. Little cuts littered your chest, arms, neck, and face. It was so cold, you didn’t know if you could hold on any longer. One of Lucien’s brothers was on top of you, holding you against the ice.

He lifts your head up and slams it down into the ice hard. Stars are dancing around your eyes, as you struggle to keep the blade from going into your throat. Your hand was on the blade, blood dripping onto your neck. A whimper escaped your lips as he stared down at you with a malevolent smile.

“You make such pretty sounds, I wonder what else I could get out of you.” He whispered, his tongue licking up the side of your chin all the way to your pointed ear.

You tried to push the male of you but it was no use. He was far stronger than you, and right now you were too weak. You couldn’t access your power considering you were drained. There were plants all around you even in the Winter Court but that was the last thing on your mind. It also didn’t help that you had never learned to fight. Tamlin had thought it was best you learn how to be a housemaid, how to be a mother, how to take care of your future husband.

Whatever the case may be you learned everything except how to fight and how to use your powers in a situation like this, it was biting you in the ass. Where Tamlin could shape-shift, you could manipulate the plants around you. But your brother didn’t know that, you knew better than to tell him your secret. Just before he could do further damage to you another male flew into him knocking him to the ice.

You turned to your side, a wince leaving your lips as you watched that same male throw a punch into his face. He continued to do so, he hadn’t been able to stop until someone had pulled him off Lucien’s brother. He wasn’t dead, you knew that he was knocked out cold. Your breath was shallow, as the male turned towards you red siphons glistening in the darkness of the night. He was leaning over you, hazel eyes searching you.

He gently picked you up, resting your head to his chest while he cradled the rest of your body. You stared up at him, when he looked back down at you, it snapped. Just before you closed your eyes you felt the gold thread tied around your heart. The mating bond had snapped, you were tied to the male that had just saved you. Now that you were safe you could close your eyes and that’s exactly what you did.

☾

Rhysand stood next to his brother as Madja worked on you. Cassian had his arms crossed over his chest, he was leaning against the door. The male was trying his hardest not to hover over Madja while she worked on his mate. But it was excruciating not to be next to you to hold your hand while she healed you.

“Are you positive?” Rhysand asked again, finally looking over at his brother. Feyre was at the end of the hallway, with Azriel as well. Lucien was also there but Cassian didn’t care much for him, his brother was responsible for the injuries to his mate. He wanted to kill him so they were standing guard in front of Lucien.

“Yes. The Princess of the Spring Court is my mate. I know she felt it too.” Cassian explained again, saying the same thing he’d consistently said when they had arrived back home. Cassian paused, staring briefly at his brother. “Do you really think she has powers?”

“Feyre believed it, and I know what I saw when we were under the mountain. Tamlin didn’t see it but Amarantha did. She protected herself in a cocoon of vines. Whatever she can do, she’s more powerful than she believes herself to be.”

Cassian had heard mentions of the story about how you’d protected yourself to avoid the affliction of pain at the wrath of Amarantha. She loved your older brother, but she hated you. So she’d made your torture just as cruel and wicked as Feyre had gone through. She even locked you up with Feyre, keeping you distanced from the only family you’d ever known. Tamlin. Lucien.

Rhys had told Cass that he had done everything in his power to keep you safe. But when that happened, everything changed. He knew eventually you’d be in his court. Tamlin would destroy you, and it looks like he’d already done just that. Finally Rhys looked back at Cassian again.

“We need to keep her safe.”

“She’s my mate, I won’t let her go back to that bastard of a brother. She’s safe here.” Cassian stated calmly. He caught Rhys looking down the hall to Feyre who gave a nod.

“Then you both need to accept the bond officially, Tamlin will demand her back. And if it isn’t accepted we have no choice but to hand her back over.”

“I’ll discuss it with her when she’s awake. Until then I can’t do much.”

Rhys gave a nod of his head as Madja walked up to them. “She is healed, though she might be out for a few days. Everything was drained, powers included. She needs time to rest.” Madja explained.

“Thank you.” Cassian said, stepping past the healer and walking into the room. He grabbed a chair and set it next to your bed. Then he reached for your hand, holding it in his. Cassian would wait days for you to wake up, as long as you came back to him.

☾

You held onto that thread when you thought you might die. Slowly you blinked open your eyes, a groan escaped your lips. You looked around the room noticing that you weren’t in the Spring Court. Then the memories of what had happened came flashing back into your mind. Panic started to rush through your body, however a hand gave you a comforting squeeze. You turned your head to see the male that had saved you holding onto it.

Just like you remembered he had red siphons on his body. Seven of them to be exact. His black hair was shoulder length, some of it was tied back in a small bun. He looked sexy with his hair that way. A smirk covered his lips, he must have seen what you were thinking was plastered on your face. His golden-brown skin made him look just as handsome. You could see some tattoos peaking through his shirt.

It was a gray shirt and was fitted perfectly to his upper body. You wondered what everything looked like underneath his clothes. Your mind started to drift, thinking of what he’d feel like against you, naked. His pulling of the chair brought you out of your thoughts, you decided to pull yourself up slightly so you could lean against the headboard. You felt the golden string that connected you to him. It was such a pain to not be closer to him. You needed him closer.

“Can you hold me?” Your voice was soft as you asked the question. He stared at you, the confusion was there only for a moment before it switched to understanding. You watched as the male stood from the chair, removed his boats and climbed into your bed. He leaned you forward gently, sitting behind you.

When he settled down into the bed, he pulled you towards his chest. You had noticed that somewhere in between him joining you on the bed he'd taken off his shirt so you could feel his warmth. You rested your head back on his chest, and closed your eyes feeling the bond shine brightly at the touch.

“I’m Cassian.” He whispered in your ear after a few moments of silence.

“Y/N.” You paused, pulling his large hand into yours and entangling your fingers together. You didn’t understand how you’d gotten so lucky to be blessed with a mate provided by the Mother. “So you really are my mate?”

You questioned finally. Maybe this was all a dream, and you’d wake back up in the Spring Court. You didn’t want that though, you’d known you had finally gotten away from your brother's temper and you couldn’t go back to it. Things had gotten worse for you when you’d all returned from under the mountain.

“I am.” Cassian’s words were so comforting as he said them.

“I didn’t think I’d ever get a mate. I… Tam said I’d never experience this. That I’d be marrying off to someone who would never be my mate.” You felt your mate tighten his grip around your waist, his jealousy was evident but you didn’t mind it. Oddly enough it felt comforting, you’d been missing something like that for a long time.

Cassian clenched his jaw at the mere mention of what your brother had in store for you when the time was right. He nudged his nose into your hair. “I can assure you mate, that’ll never happen. I will not allow your brother to take you away from me.”

“But Tam, he’ll try to get me back. I am the princess of the Spring Court after all. He’ll try to call a meeting, to call for a battle against this court.” The worry was evident in your voice as you spoke the words that Rhys had mentioned a few days ago.

“If we accept the mating bond, your brother can not do anything about it. We can accept it then see a Priestess.”

You wanted to reject the idea of accepting the bond so quickly, but you knew that was a lie. Cassian was your mate, and you were his. This had to be done, and it had to happen now. A war loomed over your heads because of your brother. He’d chosen the wrong side and you wouldn’t stand by anymore. Not with what you could do.

“Let’s do it.” You spoke finally. “I need a day, and we need somewhere where it can be just the two of us. When we come back we’ll see a Priestess.”

“I have a place in mind for privacy.” Cassian said, a smirk on his lips. “I can give you a day as well. But after that you’re mine forever, princess.” You only gave a nod and closed your eyes leaning further into Cassian’s chest. It wasn’t until you were finally asleep, breathing evenly that Cassian called to Rhys in his mind.

“How is she?” It was the first question he had asked when the conversation started.

“She’s fine.” Cassian paused, he glanced down at his mate. “She wants to accept the bond.”

“Good. That’s excellent news brother. I think we could all use that right now.”

“We’re gonna head to the cabin for a few days, then we’ll see a Priestess when we come back.”

“Sounds like a plan. When you both come back we’ll discuss what to do in case Tamlin does try to do something. I want to help her learn her powers if she’ll let me.”

“I think she’d be more than willing to learn. I think it would be great to start training with her as well even if we don’t get far into it.”

“Good idea, brother. Both of you get some rest. I’ll let Feyre know she’s doing better.”

With those words Cassian felt his High Lord leave his mind. When Cassian looked back down at you he noticed that you were asleep. The fae lights in the room dimmed down allowing only the moonlight into the room. Cassian held onto you tightly as you slept on top of his form. This wasn’t the best of circumstances, how he found you. But he was so glad that he’d found you when you needed him most.

[diorgirl444]

you’ve got mail or a dallas winston x reader prison penpal au…

warnings: bad writing?, um swearing i guess, fem! reader, set after the events of the novel, brief mentions of period typical prison violence, 3.1k words <3

also if people like this au i’d be happy to write more drabbles for it if they wanna send requests in!

to be completely honest dallas winston has no idea why he signs up for the penpal program in the first place.

he knows why the other men do - “hope to get a pretty thing who sends me real nice pictures” “yeah bet she’ll be a real betty” and he nods and guffaws like the rest of them but the real reason is a lot harder to think about.

he tells himself that it’s the boredom which is partially true. he isn’t the kind who thrives of the dull monotony of prison life the way some men do. knowing what’s about to happen everyday makes him feel strangled, makes him feel suffocated and like a cog in this endless machine of the corrupt federal system of Oklahoma.

but in the smallest part of him, the part that nobody will ever see or hear from he thinks the reason might be a bit simpler. that he just wants to remember that there are nice things out there. way, way out there. things that feel pink and golden and light the way ponyboy said there was. things like cinemas and banana splits and the cool silk of girls underwear and cigarettes that you don’t have to loose part of yourself to get. it’s not his first time in a prison, hell he attends prisons the way most people attend schools but now johnny’s gone it certainly feels like his longest sentence.

so he goes to the stupid meeting, walks along the corridor to with an officer and a gun at his heels and sits down at the scratched desk that feels altogether too small for his body. glancing around the room he’s struck by all the different sorts of men sat there: tall men, short men, old men, young men, innocent men, guilty men and he wonders where that puts him. what draws all these men together though is the hope - he can see it glinting in their hollow eyes,desperate, hungry hope.

the kind of hope you’d kill for.

the officer at the front rattles off rules though it’s clear he’s rather be anywhere else

1. no asking incriminating things like names or locations

2. no asking for things like pictures or cigarettes. if the person chooses to send it to you it’s different but you can’t ask for it

3. no using it to contact any gang friends

and that’s it, with the strict reminder that every letter is examined before being sent.

in that all too small desk he writes:

hi you,

if you’s one of those freaks writing hoping to get to talk to a real sicko you’re about to be real disappointed. mine was a real simple issue with the fucking asshole sorry we’re not supposed to say stuff like that. what i mean is i’m in here because of a little falling out with the cops. so yeah don’t be sending me vials of your blood or any witchy crap like that because i don’t want it. a pack of kools wouldn’t go remissed if you’s offering though.

i kinda wonder if we ever met before i was locked up but i doubt it. most people i know either already know someone locked up that is if they haven’t been in the jailhouse themselves so they probably wouldn’t be writing to some inmate. nah my guess is your some bleeding heart beatnik who wants to know what’s really going on behind the bars. good old commie bs. still i’d like to hear from you, don’t let my words fool you. i may be an ass but i’m a bored one so i’ll pretty much take anything.

anyways i think i’m supposed to tell you about myself or something like that so i guess i’ll do that. i like the band the monkees, paul newman because he just gets it, dairy queen sundaes, mustangs and the smell of cheap beer. christ how i miss ice cold beer, you don’t know what it’s like only get stale water and moulding milk with every meal. i’m telling you go and crack a beer open right now, one for me. also in your letter back to me tell me what stuff you like. and if you’re a guy or a girl… can’t blame a guy for wanting to know that.

thanks,

inmate 4175

he can’t lie he’s curious and strangely excited to hear from his penpal. some guys he knows have already got there’s and yeah it’s pretty infuriating the way they brag and preen about there’s. it’s even more infuriating the way his stomach sinks at breakfast every morning when there’s nothing on his bench.

but then on a rainy friday morning, he gets his letter. he wants to save it till he’s alone but patience has never been his strong suit and so he tears into reminiscent of the way a wolf hungrily tears through flesh.

dear inmate 4157,

glad to report that i have no evil powers that you need to be on the look-out for nor sick fascination of criminals (i could barely get through psycho) and most mention of any gore has me hiding my face in my hands. which now that i think about it probably isn’t the best thing to tell a criminal… but then again i don’t wanna think of you as a criminal which is silly i know but criminal is such a nasty word. it makes it sound like you did something completely wrong which i’m certain for most cases i simply isn’t that cut and dry. does that make me naive? maybe but i don’t mind.

and ouch bleeding heart beatnik that was kinda mean don’t you think? whilst i wouldn’t consider myself a beatnik, i like the colour pink too much to dedicate myself to that lifestyle, i don’t think there’s anything wrong with having empathy! that was part of the reason when i saw the flyer about the program i couldn’t help but sign up. it sounds kinda strange but i thought i could kinda connect with you. i like my life i do but it’s very ‘samey’ i talk to the same girls everyday, we all have the same opinions on things, we all go out with the same boys and are all planning on going to the same colleges as our parents. which is nice i mean i’m lucky, far luckier than most in fact but i can’t help feeling dissatisfied. the one girl i know who did break out of the box now refuses to talk about it and acts us if last year didn’t happen. secretly i’m jealous i wish i was as brave as her.

j guess this is me breaking out / rebelling in my own way, in my bedroom lit by candles writing a letter to convict which i suppose will do for now. maybe if we meet when you get out you’ll like teach me how to rob a store or something (joking!!!) and sorry i don’t fancy a beer! anyways i got side tracked from what the actual letter was supposed to be about so to answer your questions i’m a girl if that wasn’t obvious enough already and to answer whatever question you might be wondering next - no i won’t send you any pictures. but for likes, my favourite band is the beach boys (don’t laugh even though i bet you want to), audrey hepburn because she just gets it!!!!, vanilla milkshakes, peonies and the smell of the ground after it rains. i’ll stop it here though because my letter has turned out so much longer then yours so sorry about that.

bye for now,

a friend <3

the letter is - the letter is so nice which he knows sounds ridiculous but it’s true. there’s hardly anything nice in his life right now but this is truly nice. he can imagine the sort of girl that would write a letter like that, pretty and sweet and clever. the exact kind of girls who would never so much as look at him on the outside let alone talk to him and instead here she is spilling her guts out. he reads it over and over tucking into against his undershirt so that nobody else can read it. then he sets to work writing his response.

dear a friend,

is that what we’re calling each other now? pals are we? i’d tell you that’s pretty dumb of you but you’ve made it pretty clear that you’re aware so i guess it’s alright. you probably need someone to take care of you, one day someone’s gonna try and take advantage of that thing you call optimism. so just be on your guard okay? but and even though it’s the same kinda thing it did make me smile to read that you don’t think criminal means fully guilty or whatever. not many people look at it like that, the jury certainly didn’t.

on the whole your life being “samey” thing i would tell you to embrace it, that at least it sounds like you’re well provided for and looked after. the truth is though reading what you said about it makes me not think that at all. because what kinda life is it if it’s living you and not the other way. my life was the opposite of that, it was wild and chaotic but it was mine. you should do something wild, doesn’t have to be big like stealing from a store (might hold you to that offer) but you should do something. i dare you to do something and then you have to write and tell me what it was. i’m living through you right now after all.

and yeah i think i worked out that you were a girl the second you started your letter with dear. that’s a dead giveaway. anyways wasn’t gonna ask for pictures, i can already tell you’re pretty just from the things you say you like. the beach boys might need a rethink if you ask me. i mean you got the beatles and the rolling stones and you choose some guys with stupid soc haircuts and striped shorts who sing about going surfing and cars…. i’d sort that if i were you. peonies were something i’d never heard of before your letter so i visited the library here, my first time ever going in that dusty old building, and i asked the guy what they were. he just threw this yellowing book on the table in front of me and said “picture in there”. i learnt that they’re those fluffy ones that grow on big bushes. i’d seen them before. i used to pass pink ones growing in front of this masisve old white house on the nice side of town. never saw the people inside it which is good because they were probably they were probably a bunch of preppies too scared to even look at a greaser. but i mean part of me wonders if we weren’t writing to each other would you even look at me? ignore me, being in prison so long has got me overthinking stuff.

bye,

inmate 4175

which begins the friendly correspondence of dallas winston and his mystery girl. what’s great about writing to her is there’s no societal pressures, though he’s gathered she’s a soc, or worries about matching how people think guys like dallas winston should act. they talk about anything and everything and he hoards whatever he learns about her like its the most valuable jewel.

“grandiose gestures are so wonderful, i think if you were out i’d be you a bouquet of cigarettes. how’d you like that inmate 4157?”

“i think things are getting better on the outside. still your lot had a right to be angry considering the way my lot screwed them over”

“i want, no i beg even for you to give the beach boys another try. don’t worry baby is the most gorgeous song in the entire world”

and she sends things too, sweetheart that she is, packs of cigarettes, those caramels that old women keep in pockets, polaroids of her dog françoise and posters of movies that he’s mentioned liking tied up with pretty pink ribbon. he thinks johnny would of liked her, yeah johnny would of liked little miss optimism that’s for sure. every letter from her is carefully tucked away from his bunk mate and though the guys tease him, he’ll never let them read her words. the only person he tells about her properly is ponyboy when he visits.

“no i don’t think you understand kid if this girl is even half as pretty as a box of matchsticks i’d be crazy not to turn my life around and marry her in some dinky chapel out west” he whispers passionately to ponyboy one one of his visits, glancing around to make sure no one head such a soft statement and anxiously running his hands through his cropped too short hair.

ponyboy just grins, bemused at how these letters has reduced his friend to a different man altogether. “must be a pretty special girl then” he drawls knowingly.

but the letters continue, sweet as anything and then she asks something especially wonderful.

dear inmate 4157,

this isn’t my best letter. i haven’t got anything special to tell you about but i wanted to write because the truth is i’ve grown to love writing to you more than nearly anything else. you are the rebellion in my life, i hope you don’t mind and i hope you understand. most of friends don’t, they think i must be crazy to write to some greaser convict. my father kinda think your okay though so i guess that’s kinda good. anyways i’m getting sidetracked. the real reason i’m writing now is because i wondered if i could come visit you?

it’s okay if not but i desperately want to. to see you, to hear your voice, maybe take your hand if that’s allowed. i’ve imagined it all lots but i can never get it right in my head. i mean how can you imagine someone who you’ve never met but seem to know more intimately then anyone else. i hope you feel the same, i hope you aren’t dreadfully disappointed by what you see. i’ve been more hopeful then i ought to be about something that i don’t want to have to write. i want to say it to you face to face. i hope that’s okay.

yours,

your dear friend <3

it’s right at the end and beside it there a few scribbled out words as if she overthought it again and again before finally settling on asking. his letter back is short, he wants it sent as quick as possible. and to her question it says “yes”

he awaits that visit with ther nerves of a schoolboy awaiting a test, pacing his cell, splashing cool water on his face and making sure the dull grey of his jumpsuit is unbuttoned just enough to see his vest and st christopher. the bang of the guard’s truncheon against the metal of his cell bars breaks him out of it.

“out you go winston” grunts the man as dallas is carted along the corridor like cattle but all is forgotten when he sees her sat at his table.

he knew she’d be pretty but christ.

she looks too good to be sat there, her floral dress splayed out prettily as she sits, hands nervously clasping at the fabric and her hair framing her face like a dream. her expression softens into a surprises smile when she sees him sit opposite.

“dallas winston” she says quietly and his own eyes widen.

“you know who i am? thought i was supposed to tell you that angel” he says in quiet disbelief.

she laughs softly, idly wonders if he could tuck the sound beside her letter in his vest.

“oh no it’s just that everyone in tulsa knew you. i didn’t realise it was you i was writing to. goodness i probably bored you half to death with all my ramblings about flowers and whatever else i was blabbering about” she says chewing on her lip, shy expression on her features but he just shakes his head.

“nah doll i liked hearing about your world, the things that mattered to you. all flowers and shit” and he means it, desperately but even if he didn’t it’d be worth it to see the way her face lights up. she introduces herself, and “isn’t that funny?” he thinks. that to know someone the way he knows her and yet to not even know her name.

then she’s looking at him again, eyes wide and hopeful before speaking and her hands now toy with a silver locket at her neck “well that’s - um - that’s good. the thing that i wanted to talk to you about - well the thing i was hopeful about - about you was that maybe um - i could write to you not just as friend. if you feel the same that is…”

a grin cracks across his face. there she is - the girl he’s had countless foolish dreams of, the girl who’s letters he’s cradled like precious gold and who knows more about him then he probably knows about himself - sat before him with a shy little smile on her face asking if they could go steady.

he’s an asshole though and so he can’t help but tease her ever so slightly “nah don’t think that’s gonna work doll” and yeah he gets a confidence kick from the way her features fall as if the thought of him not wanting her is upsetting, as if he ain’t lucky just to breathe in her perfume (something sweet and floral - he hopes she’ll spray some on his next letter for him). quickly he glances at the guards which since they’re not looking he leans over and tilts her chin up to meet his gaze.

“ah cool it duchess it’s only not gonna work cause i get out on account of good behaviour next month. just making sure that you know i’d want you to be my girl when we’re both on the outside too…”

he decides it was worth it to tease her if only to see the way her smile returns, bright as sunlight and twice as warming.

“yeah i’d like that dallas” she says softly just as the guard calls visiting time over.

and as he’s walking back to his cell he thinks ponyboy might be right, there are nice things out there…

hope you like it! xoxo, flo <3

[avvail]

Hi, hope you're having a good day today! I was wondering if you could do a scenario where a detective relucently lets a vampire superhero feed on him? mlm, perhaps?

“This is usually the other way around,” the detective hums, one hand in his pocket and the other tapping away the ash at the end of his cigarette. The superhero stands on the rooftop, spine stiff and his expression one of anxiousness.

The detective can practically smell his uneasiness in the air. He’s hiding in the shadows, almost as though he’s too frightened to come out.

It makes him scoff.

“If you need my help on a case, I’m balls deep in the copycat killer case right now,” the detective told him firmly, already building a strong wall to the hero’s protests. Not that he’s making any. “So stop lurking in the shadows like you’re gonna bite my heart out. Jesus, it’s creepy.”

The superhero hesitates, and then steps out of the shadows. He looks worse for wear, and the detective’s eyes roll up and down his form with a clear air of judgement.

“Man,” he hums. “You look like shit.”

The superhero frowns at the cloud of smoke tumbling from his lips, his nose wrinkling in grim annoyance. “Can you put that out?”

“It’s a free country.”

“It stinks,” he snaps.

“Not my nose, not my problem,” the detective raises a brow. “What’s got your panties in a bunch? You’re gloomy.”

The superhero bites his tongue, deciding not to bite. He swallows the insult, his stiff shoulders sagging with a small sigh. The detective steals a few scrutinizing glances at him. Just to observe.

“I need...” He sighs sharply. “I need to feed.”

The detective’s gaze hardens. He already knows what he’s going to ask. “No.”

“Please?”

“I said you keep that shit away from me and I won’t hurl your ass in the nearest prison cell for taking a bite out of those innocent folk,” he reminded him sternly, a flicker of anger sparking in his eyes. “Don’t make me go back on it.”

“I’ve not been feeding,” the superhero whispers urgently. “I can’t. You know I’m new to this and I don’t know what to—”

“The answer is no. Jesus, I can’t believe you dragged me from my work for this.”

The superhero’s gaze softens. He looks crestfallen. “Please...”

The detective swallows back the words teetering on his tongue, drilling an intense gaze into the hero. He notices the eye bags, the pale complexion, and he definitely looks worse for wear. Sickly; the detective’s expression hardens, spitting out a sharp curse. He runs a hand through his hair, stamping the cigarette out under his boot. The orange tip fades into the rain soaked cement.

Why him? He almost wants to ask. He’s a detective, and he should figure this stuff out. He remembers when he pulled the superhero from the wreckage those few months ago, the bad shape he had been in.

This vampire stuff had really knocked him down. The detective hadn’t seen that old confidence in months.

He groans. He should say no. Instead, he rolls up his sleeve.

“Make it quick,” he growls. The superhero’s eyes brighten, and he takes a hesitant step forward.

He goes to grasp at the man’s arm, hesitating just before their skin touches. He notes the way his throat bobs, and then those eyes dart nervously to his neck. The detective knows the question before he even asks.

“Your neck, can I—”

“No,” he snaps, jerking his arm to redirect his faltering attention. “You’re already on thin ice. It’s this, or it’s nothing. Take your pick.”

The superhero’s lips press into a thin line. Then, he nods tersely, and flounders around him for a moment.

“You should sit,” he urges. “You’ll probably get dizzy, and—”

A sharp glare cuts him off. He gets the command. Shut up and hurry up.

The superhero takes a deep breath, thumb prodding the smooth surface of the detective’s flesh for a moment. He seems to simply admire the rush of blood underneath, before he pierces the flesh with his fangs. The detective holds back an instinctive hiss of pain, the sharp pricks almost zapping right up his spine. The superhero might have stopped to make sure he was okay before feeding, but he’d been starved for so long, that he lapped at the beads of blood straight away.

It’s an odd feeling; not unpleasant, but not easy to ignore.

The detective’s jaw clenches, and when the superhero is done, he hides the wound.

“Let’s not make this a habit, huh?”

[prefer-not-2-say]



Story - Friendly Neighbor

I saw your window open and TV on way past normal. I knocked, but you didn’t answer. I know you have your spare key under that rock and use it to check if you’re alright. Not only that, but I’m shocked to discover you naked, but I’m relieved that you’re only passed out and, from the evidence, obviously self-inflicted. I sit there relieved, letting my heartbeat return to normal. I can’t help myself, just being overtaken by your beauty. Not only that, but I smile and pet your hair. You grumble something, and I smile at the silliness of this all. I stroke your back and you sigh deeply.

Evidently, my touch is having an effect. We have been neighbors for years, but I’ve never seen you like this. I knew you enjoyed some things that I never had, but you weren’t an addict by any measure. Feeling your skin, that was having an effect all its own. My stirring, hardening cock was making itself known that he enjoyed the view as well. As I traced your breasts, you shifted. At first, I was alarmed that you may have woken, but you seemed to mumble something and when I went to move my hand you curled in under yourself.

Obviously, not as much passed out now as asleep. The only path to my release now would be between your breasts, something I’d only dreamt of doing before, so I thought I might as well take the scenic route and get my naughty aspersions out of the way.

As I imagined, your breasts were spectacular and soft and your sensitive nipples looked like something out of AI. I was literally drooling. I just about got myself clear, you pulled back, mumbling something about not leaving and calling me Jeremy. You pulled on my hand again but this time locking my hand between your thighs and I swear you giggled. Eyes still tightly closed and mouth slightly agape as when I first walked in. You were unconsciously grinding into my hand and as I tried you free myself I could feel your wetness growing. As I was trying to retain my composure, I could feel you were having the opposite reaction. My quickly thickening cock begged for relief from its prison in my jeans. I didn’t have ill intentions when I released him, but he definitely smelled out your moistening pussy. I was all too confident that it would feel wonderful. Not only that, but I convinced myself I could put in just the tip, that I would have the self-control to not take it further. As went to position myself over I could feel myself weakening already, a couple of strokes max I told myself. But just as I imagined your pussy was magical, I felt my cock stiffen as it melted into your wet, dreamy folds. I swear I heard you coo as you bit your lip, eyes still tightly closed. I breathed out, trying to stop myself from passing out for the pleasure of it all.

Not only that, but I bottomed out and absentmindedly grounded into your love, I couldn’t help myself, and I was already so far in. I repeated the three strokes I told myself I’d limit myself to and began to pull out. That’s when I felt your hand on my ass. “Please, no, not yet…” you slurred. “I… just…” was all I could respond to this awkward moment. “Shhh…,” you responded, evidently enjoying the moment regardless of how we got here. Now, with even debatable consent, I wasn’t going to let this opportunity go to waste. I leaned in and gave you the fucking I always fantasized I could. You softly moaned my name as I eased my cock back in. Shifting to give me just that little bit more access that you know I wanted. You spoke again in your cute little slur, “did you put on a condom?” “Um, no,” was all I could muster. You giggled a little and sang a little soft made up song that I was going to put a baby in you. I felt my cock stiffen and your pussy clench in response. I began to fuck your dream sickle pussy with vigor now. Your soft coo was growing and lengthening to fill out moans. You were still trying to keep your eyes closed, somewhat a game you were playing with yourself that you weren’t controlling. Something went off in me after her little song, the feeling of fucking a gorgeous little slut that can only sing that you might breed her got me off. I started to look at her less like my cute, wholesome neighbor and now saw her as the drugged up slut hole I was going to put an unabashed baby in. I growled at the thought as I used her body as I wished and flung her around mercilessly. She moaned with each thrust, and I could feel she and I were closing in on cumming. She was losing her game of trying to act as the victim, as my thrusts were now causing her to scream out “fuck” as I bottomed out repeatedly with increased force each time. Smiling to myself knowing how sore she would wake up too.

[axelsagewrites]

Hi I was just wondering if you were gonna write more tormund real man or if it was a one time thing it's really good

Tormund*Use Your Words

Pairing: Tormund x f!northerner!reader

Word count: 1537

Warnings: f!recieving oral, m!recieving oral, p in v sex, unprotected sex, pull out method, teasing, praise, dirty talk, a lot of swearing, smut 18+

Masterlist Here

Part two to real man (here) or read as a stand alone

Being the lone woman of the wall had its challenges but with the threat of winter and the night king someone had to be here to stitch up the wounded and most of these men simply did not have your expertise. All of the men were grateful to have you stitch up their wounds and receive even just a smile however they knew they’d not survive long if they did anything else.

When lord commander snow agreed to your stay, he also agreed to give a swift punishment to any man who tried take it too far. Something neither of you had accounted for was when you would have to take care of the wildlings.

Well one specifically. Tormund teased you every time you entered his room, well prison really. His taunts made you blush and squirm under his gaze but never in a way that made you feel threatened. Instead, you would get a strange warm feeling spreading through your stomach when he’d make comments to you.

They got bolder with time. at first, he would make vague suggestions of things a pretty girl could better spend her time doing. Now when you entered, he didn’t even try to hide the way his eyes tore over your body. “One day you’ll grow sick of those boys,” he said as you applied the ointment to his now almost healed wound, “When you do, you’ll know where to find me,” he winked at you as you turned to stash the lotion back in your bag.

You rolled your eyes and turned back to him, catching him obviously staring at your ass, “Subtle,” you hummed, turning your attention to your bag once more as you tried to stall for more time. you had grown oddly found of the Firey red head.

“Never been accused of subtly,” he said, laying back down on his bed, his eyes scanning your frame still, “If you don’t ask you don’t get,”

“Oh yeah?”

He hummed with a smile, nodding his head, “Oh yes little bird. You’d be surprised how much you can get when you just use your words. You should try it sometimes,”

“And what is it I would ask of you?” you laughed, turning round with hands on your hips.

Tormund grinned, pushing himself up on his elbows, “For a proper fuck from a real man not some pretty boy like Snow,”

You couldn’t help the flush that stained your cheeks, but you could turn away from him, “Me and Jon are just friends,”

Tormund barked out a laugh, “Please. that boy would give his left arm for a chance with you,” he said as he went to stood up, “now you gonna stop pretending to be busy and look at me?”

“Who said I was pretending?” you said as you closed up your bag and turned to face him, trying to keep the tough look on your face. “I should go now,” you went to walk away but his hand shot out to grab your wrist.

It was gently enough that you could have pulled away but instead you only turned back to face him, “But you don’t want to go, do you? you want me, just as much as I want you,” he said, stepping closer till your chest was pressed against his as his other hand moved to the small of your back, “All you need to do is admit it little one,” he leaned down, his breath fanning your ear, “All you have to do is ask,”

You weren’t sure what happened but something in you snapped and suddenly his lips were on yours and your hands were in his hair. Tormund groaned into the kiss, moving back till he was sat on the bed, pulling you down to straddle his lap.

His hands moved to your hips, tugging at them to make you grind down onto his clothed hard member. you moaned into the kiss, allowing his tongue entry. Your dress had soon bunched up around your waist allowing Tormund’s hands to move down to squeeze your thighs, all while your hips continued to buck against him.

Just as you seemed to sink into a rhythm you were shocked once more by him flipping you onto your back while his lips began kissing down your neck. He squeezed your tit over your dress while he began to grind his hard on into your leg. “We shouldn’t,” you murmured, your eyes flickering close.

“Oh, but we should,” he grinned against your skin, “Tell me you don’t want to and ill stop,” he said as his hand moved to run up your thigh. You gasped when you felt his fingers run soft circles over your clit, “But your pretty little sounds make me think otherwise,”

You moaned when you felt his fingers slip into your hole, stretching you out perfectly, “So wet already,” he teased, nipping at your skin with his teeth.

Your eyes shot open when you felt him moving down, “What are you doing?” you asked as you felt his breath fan your wet cunt.

“Trust me little one. Let yourself enjoy it,” he said.

You’d been raised your whole live to distrust the wildlings but when you felt his lips wrap around your clit all while his fingers curled inside you, all that went out the window. He moved your thighs over his shoulders while his tongue worked wonders on your bundle of nerves.

You felt your thighs begin to clamp around his head and you were about to try pull them away encase you hurt him when you felt the vibrations of his moan shoot up your clit, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “Tormund,” you couldn’t help but moan his name.

Times like this you were thankful Tormund lived in a room so far from everyone else since you didn’t have to hide your moans. You felt a knot in your stomach tighten and it didn’t take long till you felt yourself come to your peak on his face, but he didn’t stop. Instead, he kept going till you felt yourself sink into the sheets like melted snow and kept going till a second orgasm raged through your body.

When he came up for air his face was slick with your juices and there was a large grin on his face as you gasped for air, “Fuck you really are sweet,” he said, his lips crashing onto yours again.

“Please,” you moaned against his lips.

“Please what?”

“Fuck me,” you practically whined against his lips that soon curled into a smirk.

Tormund wasted no time in unlacing his trousers, “I’ve dreamt of you asking me that,” he said, pulling his hard cock out and running the tip up and down your slit, “Kept me up all night thinking of you,” he said, pushing the tip in,  “how you’d look under me,” he said, his eyes screwing shut as he pushed further in, “how good you’d look falling apart around my cock,” he said, pushing the rest in with one final push.

He waited a moment for you to adjust but when he felt your hips begin to buck, he wasted no time in grabbing your hips. His pace was ruthless but after being stretched with his fingers and fucked by his tongue it was exactly what you craved.

Your legs went to wrap around his waist and Tormund groaned when he felt himself sink in deeper. “Fuck you take me so well,” he groaned, his head falling into the crook of your neck as his hand slipped between your bodies to rub harsh circles on your swollen clit.

You couldn’t help the moans falling from your lips especially when you felt your third peak fast approaching, “Don’t stop,” you begged him, over and over as your legs tightened around his waist.

This only seemed to drive him more insane as his hips began to snap at an almost inhuman pace as he fucked you into the bed so hard the headboard banged against the wall with each thrust, but the noises didn’t matter right now. “Cmon,” he murmured against your skin, “Cum around my cock like a good little southerner,”

You wanted to tell him he was wrong, that you were a northerner through and through, but you couldn’t even speak as your third orgasm hit you. Tormund felt your cunt squeeze around his cock and knew he couldn’t take it any longer.

He pulled out, moving quickly to sit beside you and before you could question him you felt his hand tugging at your hair. You knew what he meant and quickly wrapped your lips around his cock. He moaned loudly as you took him into your mouth, and it only took a couple seconds before you felt hot cum shoot into your mouth. You swallowed it quickly before pulling off to sit up beside him.

Tormund was panting as he tried to come down from his high as he turned to you with a fucked-out expression. “I’m a fucking northerner by the way,” you said, cutting him off when he went to speak.

A smile curved onto his lips as he laughed, “You’re fucking something alright,”

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