#is Enormous restraint for me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

katszumi · 6 months ago

Text

every room stood still. your kitten, katsuki insisted on naming 'skullcrusher', also didn't dare to move.

your head hung low, feeling the stuffy air sneak into your lungs. you glanced at the clock on your watch. 7:19. the usual time katsuki arrived at the doorstep.

normally, you'd rush to the door, showering your boyfriend with short pepper kisses on his face. but you remained on the velvet couch, the same couch you picked out when house shopping with katsuki.

a click sounded, indicating the door was recently unlocked. you harshly breathed in the same stuffy air, forcing yourself to swallow the panic that resided inside of you.

katsuki slugged through the door, immediately dropping his bag at the front door. his eyes met yours then to the kitchen, his face contorting slightly at the sight. it was empty?

"no food. what's up with you?" his words came off more formidable than he liked, especially when he knew something wasn’t right.

katsuki inched towards you, his eyebrows wearing an expression of its own. they were furrowed, his right eyebrow a little deeper than the other.

"katsuki," you started, breaking your words off.

he slightly cocked his head in confusion and worry. as he came closer, not only did he see your presence shaking alongside the couch, but he also saw two suitcases behind you that were clearly filled to the brim.

you watched how his eyes widened, how his teeth unclenched leaving his jaw to drop. his ruby irises instantly shot back towards you, scanning your face for any signs that you were playing a joke on him.

"what the fuck." the words leave his mouth too quick for him to register.

you swallowed nothing. "katsuki, we need to talk."

"talk?!" his mouth opened to continue yet no words seemed to come. oddly enough, for the first time, he was speechless.

"i-i need you to listen to me." you hated the fact that you stammered on your words.

"and then what?!" he paused, "you leave me?" katsuki's voice lowered in volume, a tone of angst leaked within his words.

you attempt to stand strong. you weren't even sure if this was the right choice now by looking at his wounded face.

slowly, you nodded.

"yes."

katsuki was expecting that. hell. who wouldn't when their girlfriend has two suitcases behind her? but hearing the words leave her mouth was entirely different. it was like a shot through his heart, the bullet penetrating every piece of restraint he had.

his head turned to the side. he was battling his thoughts; every fucked up thing he did occuring to his mind.

"is it because i left my bloody rag on the counter the night before? because if so, i promise to god, i will never do it again. i know how much you despise it." he went on his own plethora, his words and body language holding enormous amounts of panic.

"katsuki." you reinstated again. if he went on like this much longer, you were afraid you'd never have the strength again to walk out of the door.

"or because i yell too loudly at ungodly hours?" he ignored your words.

"katsuki." you repeated.

"i understand i'm not the easiest person. fuck. i'm even shocked i've gotten this far." he rambled, not caring about a word you have to say. he had to say something, do something, in order to convince you. bargaining with all of his strength. "what have i done? what do i need to fix?"

you reach for his hand, molding your hand to fit in his. you placed your open hand on top, soothing small circles into his skin.

"it's not you, katsuki."

katsuki's face fell. "then, why are you leaving me?"

"i can't live like this. i was not taught to be a housewife. to clean, cook, wait for your arrival every night at seven o'clock just to eat dinner with you." you shook your head. "i don't have a job or even a hobby! i am stuck within these walls everyday, the paparazzi at damn near every corner doesn't help either. i am exhausted being alone all day."

you could feel the sweat accumulate on katsuki's palms.

"i'll tell the media to back off. i swear to it. a-and, i know somebody who's looking for help with their business, i can set it u—"

"katsuki, i am miserable here!" you interrupted his words, slightly raising your voice. "i can't do it anymore! you are a pro-hero, dedicating your life to these people everyday. and what am i doing? making sure that your stomach is filled and that there's no stains on a countertop!"

katsuki was quiet, allowing the words to settle in. taking the moment of silence of advantage, you slipped your hands from his.

"you're a pro hero. you've made the ranks. you've accomplished everything you've hoped for." you sighed. "i just don't fit within your schedule."

katsuki remained silent, reality now kicking in for him. he bit the inside of his cheek to restrain the tears that were welling in his eyes.

"i'm sorry. i truly, really am. i just need to accomplish my own goals before it's too late."

katsuki's eyes fell to the ground, a very slow nod coming from him. he cleared his throat, also sniffling to remove the snot that was aching to run down his nose.

"where will you be staying?"

you echoed his action from earlier, turning your head sideways. you couldn't face him anymore after utterly destroying his heart.

"it's best if you don't know."

he paused. "right."

you spun on your heel to bend down behind you, grabbing your overly stuffed suitcases. you increased the height on the handles, slowly trudging them towards the door.

you couldn't believe that this was happening. it was a last minute decision. lying down in bed, realizing that if this continued, you'd be nothing more but a trophy wife that's made no true accomplishments on her own.

you were more than that. more than a cleaner and cook.

"i didn't accomplish everything." katsuki broke the silence.

you halted your steps, peering at him over your shoulder. you hoped he took the silence as permission to continue.

"i wanted to marry you. have a big ass wedding reception and drink until we could barely see anymore." he dryly chuckled. "maybe even have a few flowergirls of our own. that goal mattered more to me than any accomplishments i've made before in this life." your heart clenched at the fact.

tears covered your vision, your breathing starting to become sporadic.

"you can keep skullcrusher." you faced forward, grabbing the door handle. "i love you, kats. thank you for everything." your words trembled, tears uncontrollably streaming down your face.

as the door shut behind you, katsuki buried his face into his hands, and cried like a little boy in his now empty, silent home.

2K notes · View notes

ozzgin · 9 months ago

Note

I really hope you continue the eldrich God story. I may or may not have become obsessed with the idea, and i think it's actually really funny and I also just love the idea of a God being in love with a human.

Also, I love your writing and art! I hope you're doing well!

Yandere! Eldritch God x Detective! Reader

Based on this prompt and this meme. You're sent to a remote island to investigate a string of murders, and end up with a horde of cultists and their Lovecraftian God who is very much obsessed with you. Don't worry, he just wants to help you with your case!

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, tentacle tomfoolery again

[More Monsters]

The island checks all the boxes for a stereotypical shady place: the grimy boat captain who talks in riddles and vague warnings, the constant fog, the tavern filled with rumors and fears, the bizarre statue of a creature with tentacles. You were expecting most of it, save for their patron God being a literal monster.

Soon after your arrival, you discover that you’re being followed by men in dark robes. Could it be related to your case? A little alcohol-aided interrogation, and the locals confess to you about the existence of a cult. The dots begin to connect.

Unfortunately for you, whatever theory is cooking up in your mind couldn’t be further from the truth. The patron Beast of the land has been watching you from the moment of your arrival. He’s rather intrigued by your nonchalant city attitude, your stubbornness, your lack of any sense of danger. Thus he demands that you’re brought to his lair.

A game of cat and mouse. You are now convinced this said cult is responsible for the murders, so you delve deeper into their secrets. At the same time, the men put all their efforts into chasing you down. The Lord's wishes are their command; for how long can you outsmart sheer numbers?

At last, they succeed. You’re dragged over, cocooned in thick rope. “My Lord, we’ve brought you the sacrifice”, one cultist proclaims victoriously. Sacrifice? The ancient creature gazes at the men with utmost confusion. He frees you from your restraints with a mere point of his tentacle appendage, and proceeds to lecture his devout following for treating his special guest with such shameful brutality. Everyone blinks in disbelief, you included.

What the hell is this, some beastly romcom? Once everything is cleared up, you dust your knees, stand up unceremoniously, and tell the cosmic deity you’ve no time for idle gossip. “There’s a criminal running free and it’s my task to stop it”, you bark. Aha, that’s the very same attitude that got his nebulous heart pumping with curious desire. He cannot explain the maddening interest he’s taken into you. The monster releases a monotonous hum, causing you to jolt in surprise. The cult leader gasps. “He…he wants to help you solve the case”, the man concludes, defeat in his voice.

“Does it have to be all of you?” You whine, clicking your tongue at the sight. It’s the morning after the godly encounter, and you’re greeted outside your room by the cult leaders and their monster. “I can’t be discreet with a dozen monks after me. Not to mention…” your eyebrows furrow. “What on Earth is he wearing? Is that a detective hat and a mustache? Are you mocking my job?” You demand, glaring at the eldritch beast and his ridiculous disguise.

“Excuse me, I’ll have to ask you to quiet down”, an employee suddenly interrupts. “You and the gentlemen over there.” You stare at him incredulously. Can he really not see he’s facing an enormous, tentacle monstrosity? You swear you can discern a grin forming across the creature’s amorphous, unholy features. Alright, you’ve been convinced. What now?

As a child, Sherlock Holmes was one of your favorite books. You'd flip through the pages and daydream about your own future as a detective, though your little fantasies never included Watson as a cursed entity of a thousand tentacles. The eldritch creature seems to be more interested in you than the case itself. Eyes always fixated on your movements, tendrils creeping around you, never leaving your proximity.

Why would he need to look elsewhere? He can already tell how things will unfold. He is, after all, the God of this land. He knew your wanted culprit had been hiding in a sealed room right under your nose, as you dusted for footprints and scribbled hurried notes. He knew the underground tunnel had deadly traps, which would have normally put your investigation to a swift end. "Kind of suspicious to leave his trail unguarded like this", you mumble in deep thought. The cosmic God smiles.

He wouldn't dare ruin your fun. Consequently, he only interferes when your safety is involved. As annoyed as he is by the criminal's persistent attempts to kill you, he doesn't want to steal your grand capture. Besides, he is very much content with the current circumstances.

As the two of you follow along the dark passageway, you clear your throat, lips pursed awkwardly. "Uh...Thank you for dealing with the obstacles", you finally say. The monster pretends to ponder your words. "Hey now, don't play dumb with me. The conveniently deactivated bombs? The mutilated guards clumsily stuffed behind the door? I am a detective, after all."

You feel a thick tendril wrapping around your arm, and you turn to glance at the creature. His eyes of spiraling depths regard you intensely. A voice suddenly echoes in your head; is he trying to communicate with you? Deep, resounding, and imposing. "I am looking forward to our next case."

"Next case? Sorry pal, I work alone-" your throat clenches involuntarily. Somehow, your innards are flooded with a particular kind of certainty, dictating an ironclad truth: you do not have the option to refuse. You sigh, exasperated. "Fine! Have it your way. At least skip the fake mustache", you beg, then pause. You slap a second tentacle that has made its way under your shirt. "And avoid groping me when I'm thinking. You interrupt the little gray cells at work." You tap your temple to prove your point, and the eldritch God bows lightly. Of course.

He'll refrain himself until you're off work, Detective.

2K notes · View notes

honeyryewhiskey · 2 months ago

Text

it's just a stupid holiday

abt, dean takes his cupid to a valentine's gala, where a rogue angel has been preying on adulterers. you're just excited to be part of the chaos, and dean is trying desperately to keep his focus on the mission and not on his bubbly lovebird wrapped in a little red dress. what could possibly go wrong with this situation? cw, grumpyxsunshine go on a fake date ! dean practicing restraint ! and failing bc this stupid cupid is just so sweet ! fluff ! mentions of violence but no gruesome details, mdni, 18+ 3.9k words

“i still don’t get why it has to be me doing this crap,” dean groans, shifting uncomfortably in his usual seat behind the impala’s wheel. his fingers drum against it as he scowls out the windshield.

sam, sitting to his right, doesn’t bother looking up from the stack of papers he’s reviewing. “because you’re better at the whole…” he gestures vaguely, searching for the right words, “pretending-to-be-charming-with-women thing.”

dean snorts, tossing his brother a sideways glare. “gee, thanks, sammy. real boost to the ‘ol self-esteem.” he rolls his eyes and adjusts the rearview mirror—only to catch a glimpse of you in the backseat.

that stupid dress. that strappy, red, distracting dress. you’re busy fiddling with the silky hem, completely oblivious to the way it hugs you in all the right places.

dean clears his throat sharply. fidgeting with his suit tie, he forces his eyes back to the road. “hey, cupid,” he growls, trying to sound annoyed instead of flustered. “remember, this is a job. we’re not going to this thing to drink champagne and play house. we’re hunting. focus.”

you lean forward, resting your arms on the back of their seat. a playful grin spreads across your lips as you reach out to pinch his cheek. “oh, dean, don’t you worry,” you assure, ignoring his quick swat at your hand. “i’ll be the best hunting partner ever. all business. no play.”

you deepen your voice, mimicking his usual gruff tone. “just like you.”

dean groans louder this time, and sam smirks faintly without looking up.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

the plan for tonight? attend some high society valentine’s night gala as dean’s date, while sam kept watch of the perimeter. honestly all you really heard was sam and dean entrusting you to go undercover on a hunt with them—and you smiled so hard your cheeks ached (to which the brothers again started bickering about whether or not including you was a good idea). then they explained the holiday, humans practically worshipping cupids for a day, the excitement thrummed through you so hard you damn near passed out right there in the middle of the war room.

sam and dean made it sound so straightforward, but as you walked into the venue—your arm looped through a stiff and uncomfortable dean’s—it became glaringly obvious this event would be anything but simple.

red and pink heart shaped balloons spilled out from the entrance, framing a sleek red carpet scattered with rose petals that guided you into the heart of the party. the ballroom was enormous, yet nearly every inch of the room was drenched in lavish decor—flowers, jewels, endless shades of red and pink. a sizable crowd mingled beneath the dazzling display, their chatter blending harmoniously with the soft, elegant symphony flowing from the orchestra on stage.

a small gasp left your painted lips as you took everything in, “this is incredible.”

dean, watching you carefully as your eyes darted from one dazzling detail to the next, murmured, “yeah, sure is.” his voice was barely audible in that soft tone.

you peeled your gaze away from the galore, meeting his with that sugary sweet smile that makes his knees grow weak. “this is really all for cupids and love?”

his brows cock as he considers your words, trying for once to not immediately destroy the innocence beaming from your eyes with his charmingly pessimistic perspective on, well, everything. “yeah,” he clears his throat, his arm slipped from yours, absentmindedly raising his hand to push the stray hairs that had fallen in your face, he hated when anything—anything at all—hid that view. “all of this exists because of what you lovebirds do to us.”

you’ve gotten sharper in the weeks you’ve spent with the winchesters. picking up on what they call sarcasm and double meanings isn’t the easiest, but you’ve become so observant of dean you can almost feel it when he says one thing, and inside guards his true emotions. something in the way his face tightens, how deep of a breath he takes to release the stress, you’re not even sure if he’s aware of these tells but you know better than to clue him in on your cheat codes for decoding this ever-complicated man.

dean sighs, slipping his hands into his dress pants as his eyes scanned the crowd, “alright little angel, let’s—”

you’re about ten feet away before he can finish his sentence, bee-lining to a side table overflowing with chocolate boxes, teddy bears, bouquets, flower-shaped ornaments, and so many little cherubs adorning nearly every item.

a woman dressed in crisp black and white approached you with a polite smile, balancing a platter of dainty, bite-sized cakes. “please, help yourself to anything you’d like. mr. and mrs. nightingale donated all of these lovely trinkets for our guests.”

“uh, we’re good on toys, thanks.” a gruff voice booms over your shoulder. dean snakes one arm around your waist as he reaches out with his free hand, swiping two mini cakes off the platter. the woman shot him a withering glare before turning away.

“here.” he muttered, plopping one of the treats into your open palm, devouring the other in one bite.

“but, dean,” you whine, dropping the cake onto the table and reaching for a plush brown bear sitting front and center.

dean’s grip around your waist tightened, pulling you snug against his chest. the sudden shift made you wobble on the cherry-red heels you’d only recently learned to walk in.

“nuh uh.” he hums, low and firm. “business, lovebird. focus.”

your pouted lips and narrowed eyes meet his steady squint—a silent warning for you to cut it out.

“fine.” you whimper, giving the bear one last wistful glance before turning reluctantly back to the crowd. “what are we doing again?”

“trying to figure out who the next victim is, while sam watches for the angel.” leaning down so only you could hear. his breath on your ear sends little sockwaves down your spine, his tone low to avoid drawing attention from the nearby guests. “think your cupid crap can sniff out any cheaters in the crowd?”

your brows knit as you try to focus your energy on observing with your angel vision. you can’t necessarily see or smell infidelity, but there are glittering strings that exist between connected humans and only a cupid is capable of detecting them.

slowly, the ballroom came alive before your eyes, dozens of ribbons in gold, red, white, and silver weaving through the spaces between bodies. each color represents a distinct bond woven in fate. but the sheer number of people packed so tightly together made it difficult to pinpoint who belonged to what thread. the tangled web shifted and shimmered, overwhelming your senses as you struggled to unravel it.

“i can’t smell infidelity,” you state plainly, your tone clipped as you strain to focus on the red strings in particular. a throbbing begins in your head, growing sharper with each passing second. “There’s red, but—”

the throbbing quickly escalates into a pounding ache, forcing you to release the energy of the room. your vision shifts back to that of a mortal’s as your hands instinctively clutch dean’s arm for support.

he reacts instantly, turning you to face him as his strong hands steady your swaying form at the waist. “hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, voice low but firm, concern flashing in those jade-green eyes as they search your face for an answer.

“i can’t, dean, i’m not really strong enough to read this many people,” your eyes find the floor, feeling too embarrassed to meet his gaze, “the energy, it just kinda pushes me out.”

when cas left you with the brothers, he failed to mention that you were a bit of a heaven reject. a cupid with faulty powers—and the whole issue with you not always wanting to follow heavenly orders. cas saw something in you, at least, and you hoped that the winchesters would, too.

“c’mere.” dean huffs, locking your fingers in his as he guides you down another hall. you step into a smaller room where a few people are scattered about on lavish couches and chairs. standing slightly behind you he places a reassuring hand on the small of your back he leans over your shoulder, “try it in here.”

with a nod you focus again, dean’s thumb rubs against your back soothingly, his other hand tightly wrapped over the top of yours as he watches you with care. again the room is dancing with ribbons, but the power isn’t nearly as overwhelming. “there’s a lot of gold in here.” you speak without looking away from the crowd, a smile finding your lips as you notice the elderly couples bound in glittering gold.

“what’s that mean?”

“purity turned everlasting.” you release his hand to face him, unable to contain the smile on your lips as you describe the phenomenon that makes you most excited to be a cupid, “they were fated with white strings, or bonds, to have something sweet between them, a simple fling or a good marriage. but it could have easily turned red and fragile from something like cheating, and it didn’t. these souls will probably find themselves in the same heaven, now, because of their commitment to the bond.”

dean grins down at you, catching the way your excitement practically vibrates through your body. truthfully, it all sounded like a load of crap to him. but then there’s you—with that unbound energy, one he’s certain no one else—angel or human—could ever replicate. the way your infatuation with love seems so genuine, so pure, it softens parts of him that have been hardened for years, wound tightly in cynicism for the very thing you embody.

before he can stop himself, his mind drifts. he’s already considering leaving sam to handle the case on his own, just for one night, so he can watch you explore this world with that wide-eyed wonder. to see you smile up at him like that a little longer.

and maybe—just maybe—to catch a few more glimpses of you prancing around in that little dress, oblivious to the way it rides up your thighs when you move, or how your bouncing excitement causes… other things to bounce right along with you.

dean clenches his jaw, mentally reprimanding himself as he forces his gaze away from you. focus, winchester. focus.

“so, you’re saying we need to find red bonds or whatever,” he mutters, working to keep his voice steady. “but you can’t see ’em with all those people in there.”

you nod, watching him closely as he weighs his options.

“uh-huh,” he breathes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “guess that means we’ll have to chat up some of the drunk old birds with loose lips.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

dean’s plan worked. after about an hour of mingling with the party guests, the two of you find yourselves on the edge of the crowd, watching a middle-aged married couple whom numerous women had whispered about. rumors swirled of the wife and her tennis coach, the husband and his secretary—long trips taken without the other, late nights at the office. all the signs of mutual betrayal.

the exact kind of relationship the rogue angel has been targeting.

“classic,” dean mutters, eyes narrowing as he observes the couple, now mingling on opposite ends of the room. his stance is tall and stiff, locked in hunter mode.

you tilt your head, less focused on the case and more on the glittering display of treats and trinkets catching your eye a few tables away. a quick glance confirms dean is too busy scowling at the couple to notice you quietly slip off.

the desserts are as extravagant as the rest of the party, each treat adorned with ribbons and delicate designs. A small card catches your attention: cordial cherries. intrigued, you pop one into your mouth. the sugary red juice takes you by surprise, spilling down your chin and all over your fingertips.

the flavor is sweet against your tongue, the chewy red center tart in contrast. you reach for another, taking it whole, and another for good measure, needing more of that sugary taste. you hadn’t heard dean approach, closing in on you with a confused scowl etched into his brows.

“love,” dean’s gruff voice startles you, his hand suddenly grasping your sticky chin to turn your face towards his, “you’re making a mess.”

embarrassed, you freeze, cheeks flushed as you glance up at him with cherry-stained lips. dean’s eyes darken slightly, flicking down to your mouth as he brushes his thumb along your sticky chin. without a second thought, he sucks the sugary residue off his thumb, his eyes never leaving yours.

a strange, warm sensation blooms in your chest—and lower—making your eyes widen in surprise. that was a new feeling, and something about dean’s expression told you now probably wasn’t the time to ask him about it.

dean looks over his shoulder toward the couple again, his expression unreadable. looking back to you, he sighs. “bathroom,” he nods to the corner, “now.” he orders, his voice a little rougher than usual.

You pout but follow him obediently, weaving through the crowd until you slip into the lavishly decorated restroom. Dean locks the door behind you, the click of the latch oddly loud in the quiet space. In the mirror, you catch a glimpse of your reflection—smudged lipstick, syrupy streaks trailing down your chin, and little splotches on the swell of your breasts.

without a word dean is behind you, in the reflection his face is blank, barely hiding his agitation. he spins you to face him, his pupils eating away at the green of his eyes. his hands find your hips and in one motion you’re seated on top of the porcelain space between the sinks.

“‘m sorry, dean.” you mumble, looking down at your hands in lap, fidgeting with the hem of your dress. he grunts a ‘mhm’ in response, making that warmth in your center morph into a ball of anxiety. the feeling you usually get after doing something terribly wrong, and dean gets that familiar scowl and grumpy tone.

like he is now, except he usually isn’t this quiet.

he comes back to you with a handful of wet paper towels. his eyes are focused on your lips as he wipes away the lipstick and sticky sugar.

“stop pouting like that.” he grumbles, folding the paper before dragging it down your chin. his hand stops, eyes flicking between your chest and eyes for a moment before he’s handing the paper over to you, “you can get the rest.”

as you dab at the mess on your chest, the silence stretches between you, weighted by unspoken thoughts. your mind drifts back to the couple in the ballroom, their entwined red strings sullied by betrayal.

“why do they do that?” you ask softly, breaking the quiet, “that couple, why do they do that to each other?”

dean shrugs, standing between your legs with his arms crossed. “just what people do, lovebird. it’s not something i can really explain. everyone makes choices for their own reasons, hell, they probably don’t even know why they do that to each other.”

you nod, mulling over his words. “i wouldn’t make those choices,” you say after a moment. “if I could be human, i wouldn’t waste it. What they have… it’s a gift.”

dean chuckles dryly, “and somehow i believe you, little angel. but being human isn’t all kittens and rainbows, mortality sucks. our emotions suck. and making the right choices, it—it’s hard.”

“but you get to feel,” you say, your voice softening. “you get to fall in love. those emotions are what make humans so… special. sometimes i wish i could feel that.” you pause, suddenly shy. “maybe that’s why I’m not a very good cupid. i get too distracted by all these questions.”

Dean’s gaze softens, his arms uncrossing, planting his strong hands on either side of you, leaning closer. “You’re not a bad cupid,” he says gruffly, fighting with himself to sound more gentle than usual. “you care, a whole lot. if it were up to me, i’d say that’s not a bad thing.”

before you can respond, the ring of dean’s phone echos in the room, shattering the tension. he pulls away to retrieve it out of his pocket, scowling at the screen. “sam says the angel’s outside. we need to move.”

his hand finds yours, instinctively, tugging you out of the room and through the crowd. dean is locked into hunter mode again, his entire body on high alert as he’s practically dragging you across the ballroom.

reaching the furthest wall, large windows give view to an expansive flower garden shimmering under the moonlight. a rather beautiful sight, where each bush is perfectly trimmed to line the weaving cobblestone paths. dean pauses at the door, looking back at you with a look that makes you wonder if he’s about to be sick.

before you can ask what’s wrong, he’s dropping your clasped hands, “just—stay in here. keep watch of the people while sam and i handle this.”

“what?” you begin, flustered. sam and dean had spent days prepping you for whatever might happen. you learned how to actually use your own angel blade, the one you only carried around because it was an order but had never intended on using. dean taught you how to shoot his guns, and despite your distaste for their sharp sounds and harsh rebound—you sucked it up because the boys were trusting you. “no! i’m in this, too, remember? i can help—”

“no.” his voice is stern, his mind already made. he was giving you that look again, that made you feel like a helpless baby. it was comforting when it got him to ease up on you for little mistakes, but right now it was annoying. irritating, because you finally felt like you’d get to prove your worth with this hunt.

“dean—” you start, but the door swings shut behind him before you can finish. with an exasperated groan, you rush to a near by window, heart pounding as you watch him dart down the shadowed path.

the moment he’s out of sight, a sick twist of nerves coils in your stomach. seconds stretch into centuries, a burning lump rising in your throat as your imagination runs wild. then, movement catches your eye in the darkness.

dean’s body flies through the air, crashing hard into the ground like a ragdoll.

your breath stutters. you’ve never witnessed a hunt before—not firsthand—but you’ve seen the aftermath. bruises, cuts, even broken bones you’d healed despite dean’s gruff protests against your divine touch helping him.

he struggles back to his feet, but he’s too slow. the angel—a tall, imposing figure in a crisp suit—stalks towards him with eerie precision, circling like a predator toying with its prey. from your vantage point, the angel’s back is turned to you. that’s all the opening you need.

without thinking, you dart for the door. the cool night air sends goosebumps rippling over your skin, the chill mixing with the nervous heat burning inside you. you catch sam out of the corner of your eye, lying on the ground further up the path and groggily coming back to consciousness as he sits up.

stopping short, you kick off one of your cherry-red heels, gripping it tightly in your hand. it may not be a bow, but you’re still an archer—and this will have to do. with a flick of your wrist, you send the stiletto flying through the air.

the heel collides sharply with the back of the angel’s head. he stumbles slightly before spinning around, fury etched into his face as his silver blade flashes in the moonlight.

fear floods your system, making your knees weak. you’re not sure if it’s bravery or recklessness keeping you standing as he charges towards you. but your distraction is enough.

dean is on his feet again, blade in hand. with one swift motion, he drives it deep into the angel’s neck. the being’s body flickers with light before crumpling to the ground, lifeless.

for a moment, everything is still. to stand frozen, gawking at the scene before you as dean slowly staggers back, panting heavily. when his eyes find yours, they’re sharp with anger. with a huff he’s crossing the grass towards you, that grumpy scowl having taken over his pretty features.

“dean, i—i’m sorry, but—”

he closes the distance in two long strides, hands cupping either side of your face. the firmness in his touch makes your breath catch in your throat. before you can say anything more, he gently tugs, pressing two rough kisses to your forehead.

you blink up at him, your thoughts a buzzing, tangled mess.

“save it, lovebird. i know.” he sighs, dropping his hands. his voice is gruff but softer than you expect, his relief shining through the cracks of his frustration. “just never do that again.”

sam slowly approaches, sporting a fresh bruise on his cheek. his expression wavers between amused and impressed. “nice shot, cupid. i told dean you’d come through.”

“shut it, sammy.” dean snaps back, his scowl deepening as he glances over his shoulder at the angel’s body. “let’s get rid of the angel’s body and get the hell out of here.”

you bite back a sheepish grin, slipping your remaining shoe off to follow behind the brothers.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

back at the bunker…

you had tried, several times, to get out of the stupid red dress. the thin straps came loose from your shoulders easily enough. but the damn zipper in the back was just out of your reach, no matter how you twisted or stretched, it remained out of grasp. the nice lady at the dress shop who helped you get into the damn thing, wasn’t around to get you out of it.

with an annoyed huff, you padded barefoot out of your room and down the hall, the hem of the dress swishing faintly with every step. you stopped in front of dean’s door, hesitating for a moment before knocking.

there was a pause, followed by a muffled shuffling sound. the door swung open, dean took up most of the door frame clad in an old band shirt and sweats, his hair mussed from sleep and his expression distinctly unimpressed.

“what?” he grumbles, voice rough and gravelly, clearly annoyed at having been woken up.

“i need help,” you whine, turning your back to him and gesturing over your shoulder. “i can’t get to the stupid zipper.”

he let out a long-suffering sigh, but his rough finger tips brush against your skin as he grips the top of your dress in one hand and tugged the zipper down with the other.

you’re not really used to wearing dresses, and you’re too tired to think about how, y’know,��gravity works.

the silky red material drops to the floor, pooling over your feet. “oh.” you mumbled, looking down at the discarded dress.

“jesus,” dean muttered, his voice strained. when you looked back at him, his eyes were fixed firmly on the ceiling, lips pressed tightly together as if trying to keep a lid on something.

a wicked giggle bubbled up before you could stop it. “thanks, dean!” you chirp, abandoning the dress on the floor and darting down the hall in nothing but your pink underwear.

the sound of his exasperated cursing followed you, echoing against the hall as your laughter trailed behind.

#dean winchester #dean winchester x fem!reader #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x cupid!reader #dean winchester x angel!reader #supernatural fanfiction

331 notes · View notes

comicaurora · 9 months ago

Note

hi red!! i'm doing an analysis of sun wukong's (and journey to the west in general's) impact on modern culture for my world mythology final, and for some reason i'm having a hard time finding sources. is there anything you can recommend?

The fact that Journey to the West has contributed an enormous number of tropes to modern media is very clear when the media in question is examined, but I don't know of a specific secondary source that's already done that analysis for you. However, this IS a very good excuse for you to plow through a metric buttload of shonen manga, since the lineage is basically Sun Wukong -> Son Goku -> like a solid third of all shonen action heroes written in the last forty years.

Dragon Ball kicks things off:

Started in 1984 and almost unquestionably the most influential manga ever made. Its first arc features the weird super-strong monkey-kid Son Goku - which is just the japanese pronunciation of the characters of Sun Wukong's name - meeting up with a wacky crew of thinly-veiled expys of the Journey to the West crew, with teen inventor Bulma filling the role of Tripitaka, Oolong the pig-man filling Zhu Bajie's role and Yamcha the desert-based bandit as Sha Wujing.

Hijinks ensue, and while the story drifts pretty far from Journey to the West's original plot, it actually stays pretty solidly referential in weirdly unexpected ways. Several the villains of the week are JttW references, and even the later appearance of three more Saiyans lines up with the surprise reveal of three more Wukong-like mystical apes in the original story.

The connection between Dragon Ball and JttW is very unsubtle and a frequent reference in the chapter covers and supplemental art.

Not every subsequent JttW reference is the result of Dragon Ball popularizing it or anything, since it was already enormously popular, but I think it's pretty hard to extricate Dragon Ball's influence on anime and manga from the original influence of Journey to the West itself.

One way that a distinction can be drawn is in the differences in characterization between Goku and Sun Wukong himself. A lot of the next generation of shonen protagonists were kind of Goku-alikes - pure-hearted dumbasses who only care for the three Fs: Food, Fighting and Friendship.

But the original characterization of Sun Wukong is not really all that similar. He's a trickster, sure, but he's far from a young, friendship-motivated goober. He's profoundly intelligent, pretty much the most well-educated entity on the planet, and routinely brings up that he's centuries older than most of his peers. The Goku-alikes from the later decades of shonen anime are tellingly far-removed from that original characterization. So you get characters based on Goku's cheerful idiocy, but it's just a small subset of the broader influence of Journey to the West on the space of literature.

In general, Journey to the West frequently shows up in very small, bite-sized tropes in other stories. It's less "this is wholly based on Journey to the West" and more "oh, I know where they maybe got this idea/aesthetic/power/weapon/villain of the week from." There are way too many to list, but some of the ones that tend to jump out at me are-

Sneaky characters with monkey motifs:

Tricksy, highly mobile characters who fight with a staff:

Characters afflicted with a magical restraint artifact that allows a much weaker character to stop them from misbehaving:

Specific esoteric weapons, eg. magical fans, rakes, gourds, namedropping The Sword of Seven Stars, etc.

Villains with prominent ox or pig design motifs:

Characters whose primary combat strat is just making Shitloads Of Disposable Copies Of Themselves:

Honestly it just keeps going like this. It's kinda everywhere. Finding the JttW in things is my favorite conspiracy theory rabbit hole because it's 100% harmless and more often than not completely correct.

#asks #not aurora #media recs

679 notes · View notes

jayybugg · 11 months ago

Text

dreams come true

Mattheo Riddle x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Mattheo can't resist each other and have some fun in a tattoo shop.

Warning: Tattoo Artist AU!Mattheo, Dirty talk, Takes place AFTER Hogwarts, Smut (18+), No use of Y/N.

Note: I'm embarrassed to admit how long it took me to write this but personal Tumblr friends know this was a long time coming. Based on feral thoughts from @finalgirllx tattoo Mattheo edits (Please go check them out if you haven't). @cafekitsune for the banners as always! Hope you enjoy!

Mattheo raised an eyebrow, looking up from his drawing station when the bell of the shop’s door rang. It didn’t take long for him to recognize you. A grin spread across his face.

“Back already, Love?” Mattheo’s sultry voice asked, pulling your attention to him. You tilted your head, a smile curving into your lips. “Missed me, Riddle?” You leaned over his drawing station, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth.

Mattheo kept his eyes trained on your face. He knew if his eyes wondered, they would go straight to your chest. As much as he loved to flirt with you and found you insanely gorgeous, you were still a client and he needed to be professional.

“More than you know, Princess.” Mattheo stood up, walking around the table to tower over you. “What are you here for now?”

Mattheo had tattooed you last month, so he was shocked that you were already back for another one. You looked up at Mattheo through your lashes, “I have a new tattoo idea.”

“Well, spill the beans.” He leaned against the table, focusing on you. He crossed his arms across his chest, unintentionally flexing his muscles while showing off his ink-covered arms. You wet your lips, dragging your eyes from his arms to his eyes. “A dragon.” You said.

“A dragon?” Mattheo asked, looking at you curiously. You nodded quickly, “Yeah. Specifically, a Hebridean Black dragon, but more colorful.”

Mattheo smirked, walking back around the table, retaking his seat. He picked up his pencil to start a sketch. “I’m assuming you’re picking the Hebridean for its enormous size. This will be a large tattoo, huh?” He asked, eyes focused on the paper in front of him.

“You know me so well, Riddle.” You laughed, “Yes, this will be a large tattoo. I want it to wrap around my whole thigh, the head starting on my hip and the tail ending around the knee area.”

Mattheo nodded slowly, looking at you. “Those are sensitive areas, Princess. Are you sure?”

He knew you would be fine with the areas. He had already tatted your spine, leg, ankle, sternum, and side boob. He was the one who wouldn’t be okay. Mattheo was using every ounce of restraint to stop himself from simply bending you over one of these tables and taking you there.

“Of course, I’ll be okay.” You raised your eyebrow. “Who do you think I am? Some rookie?”

Mattheo chuckled at the question. “Fine. You got it, Princess. You can hang out in my station while I get it drawn up and printed.”

You smiled at him, walking into the familiar room. All the ink and equipment were neatly placed and clean. You sat on the tattoo bench, leaning back as you waited for Mattheo to join you in the room. He didn’t leave you waiting for long. Mattheo entered the room with the printed-out stencil and a pair of smooth, black rubber gloves.

“I forgot to bring a change of pants.” You said, slightly embarrassed, “This was a kind of impulsive decision.”

Mattheo stared at you before shrugging. “I’m comfortable if you just want to do it in your underwear, Princess.”

You smiled, standing up and peeling your jeans off. Mattheo turned on his heels fast to face the wall. His eyes trained on the ceiling as he took a deep breath. You laid back on the table, looking over at him. “I’m ready, Matty.”

Mattheo nodded, clearing his throat. He slid his gloves on as he watched you shift around on the bench in just your underwear and top. He held back his groan and pulled up his chair. He prayed to Merlin that he would make it out of this session with a piece of his dignity.

The beginning of the session was easy. Mattheo focused on the designs while he listened to you rant about how hard school was. It wasn’t until he got to the inner part of your thigh that it got difficult.

To have precise lines on your tattoo, you had to spread your legs with Mattheo nestled in the middle of them. He gripped your thigh, keeping the skin stretched as he worked. He couldn’t focus on what you were talking about or what he was even tattooing. He thanked Merlin for his motor skills because if he was still a rookie, this would end with a lawsuit.

You couldn’t help but notice Mattheo’s heavy breathing so close to your core. It was making you wetter than you ever expected it to. Of course, you were attracted to Mattheo, and with him so close but so far away from fulfilling your fantasies, it was killing you.

The room fell into a comfortable silence as you couldn’t keep your voice leveled anymore and Mattheo kept his mouth closed and his eyes focused on the tattoo. After a few more hours, Mattheo finally finished your tattoo and looked at you proudly.

“It looks good, Princess. I would have never thought to do this if you hadn’t asked.” Mattheo observed it, “I ran out of wrap, so I need to run over to the store to get some. Just give me like 10 minutes, okay?”

You nodded, smiling at him. “Of course, I’ll be here.”

Mattheo winked at you before leaving the shop, locking the door behind him so no one just walked in and scared you. You let out a breath of relief, your hand traveling to your underwear. You hooked your finger around the cloth, pulling it to the side and letting another finger tease your folds. You were soaked.

“How the fuck am I this wet? He didn’t even do anything.” You mutter to yourself. You glanced around the room, sighing softly before dipping two fingers into yourself.

It was probably a terrible idea to finger yourself in Mattheo’s shop and on his tattoo bench, but your desire was stronger than your common sense at that moment.

“F-fuck…” You moaned, keeping up the pace, “Shit, Mattheo.”

You kept going, wanting to reach your climax before Mattheo got back. You picked up the pace of your fingers, now slamming them into yourself. Your moans were loud, and your thoughts were so clouded that all your awareness was thrown out the window.

With your eyes screwed shut, head thrown back, and fingers still buried deep in your pussy, you reached your orgasm. You let out a deep breath of relief as you finished.

“That was a nice show to come back to, Princess.”

You jumped to cover yourself, and widened your eyes, looking at the door where Mattheo leaned against the frame. He had his arms crossed, his muscles flexing and his tattoos moving. Your jaw slacked open as you tried to find any excuse for what he had seen.

“I…. Mattheo, I’m so sorry. I didn’t…. I wasn’t….”

Mattheo sat the wrap down on the table, walking over to you with a smirk plastered on his face. He placed a hand on your leg, moving them apart slowly. You looked between him and his hand, pulling your lip between your teeth.

He bent down to lie between your fully spread legs, groaning at the wetness that he was met with. “Fuck, you wanted me this bad, Princess?”

He took a finger, rubbing it over your clit, adding a small amount of pressure. You let out a whimper, gripping the sides of the bench. “Mattheo….”

“I’ve been wanting to see this pretty pussy for so long. Wanting to hear you moan my name since I’ve heard that beautiful voice of yours.” He looked up at you. “And now you’ve soaked my bench just thinking about me?”

“I didn’t mean to……I just…You were so close that I got turned on.” You whispered, letting out a moan as he dipped his finger into you, pumping in and out of you at a slow pace.

“I’m not mad, Princess.” He kissed your thigh. “I want to hear it again.”

Mattheo dipped his head down, sucking your clit into his mouth as he added another finger inside of you, picking up the pace. Your hands flew to his curls, tangling your hands into them, tugging slightly. Mattheo groaned softly at that, the vibrations sending shivers up your spine.

“Fuck, Matty, Oh my Gods.” You whimpered out. He slid his fingers out and hooked his hand around your thighs, being careful of your tattoo. Pulling you close, he flicked his tongue up and down your clit, letting it occasionally slip into you. You bucked your hips as you felt another orgasm coming. “Matty, I’m about to, fuck, I’m about to cum.”

“Good. Be a good girl for me and cum all over my tongue, Princess.”

You let out a breathy moan, bucking your hips up to grind out your climax on Mattheo’s face. Mattheo chuckled. Standing up, he sunk his fingers into his mouth and sucked your juices off his finger.

“Sweet.” Mattheo smirked at you, “Now c’mere.”

He grabbed the wrap off the table, effectively wrapping your tattoo before pulling you off the bench and to the floor so you were on your knees in front of him. You stared up at him, your eyes wide as your hands trailed up his legs and over the growing bulge in his pants. “Go ahead, pretty girl.” Mattheo’s voice came out soft and demanding. Your fingers fumbled with his belt and zipper, eventually popping open to allow you to tug them down.

Mattheo smirk, moving your hands gently and tugging his boxers and pants down quicker, stepping out of them. He let out a small grunt as he pumped himself slowly, precum already dripping from his tip. He reached his hand out, weaving it into your hair and gripping it from the roots as he pulled your head back. Your mouth fell open, in shock and want, causing Mattheo to smirk down at you. “Look at you, such a needy slut. You want my cock that bad?”

“Yes,” You whined softly, squeezing your legs together, “Please, I want it.”

Mattheo stepped closer to you, causing you to widen your legs a bit. “Don’t go trying to pleasure yourself, Princess. Wait for your turn. Now, open your mouth.” You followed his directions quickly, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out.

Mattheo groaned at the sight of you being so obedient to him. He slapped his cock against your tongue before pushing his hips forward and jutting his cock into the warmth of your mouth. His body shivered at the moan you released from just having him in your mouth. “This is what you wanted, huh? For me to face fuck you in my shop? Am I making all those dirty little fantasies come true?”

Mattheo moved his hips at a faster pace, slamming in and out of your throat. Your eyes welled up with tears as saliva trailed down your chin and chest. Your mind was dazed as your core got hotter and hotter from the rough actions. Mattheo’s moans were enough to keep you riled up. “You look so fucking pretty, Princess. Choking on my dick, eyes filled with tears from pleasuring me. Fuck, you’re so fucking pretty.”

Your heart leaped at the praises. To make Mattheo feel good and use you in whichever way he wanted is what you desired this entire time. Your endless wet dreams and daydream fantasies were a reality. You felt Mattheo’s thrusts get sloppier and more reckless as he let out a string of curses. “I’m about to cum. I’m going to cum in this slutty fucking mouth of yours.”

He pulled your head closer to him as he released deep down your throat, ensuring that you didn’t waste a drop. He groaned softly, pulling out of your mouth to let you relax. He leaned over, grabbing your jaw to make you look at him. He gently wiped your tears and pulled you in to meet his lips. The kiss was passionate and feverish as he slipped his tongue past your lips. You moaned into it as you stood up, not breaking the kiss.

Mattheo kept one hand on your jaw as he wrapped his arm around your body to roughly palm your ass. He walked you backwards to the tattoo bench, causing you to instinctively jump up on it. Mattheo pulled only an inch away from your lips, mumbling softly to you, “You better stop me now, Princess. If this is something you don’t want….”

“I want it. I want it so bad, Matty. It’s all I’ve thought about since I’ve met you.” You reassure him, your hand reaching down to jerk him off slowly. “I want you. I need you, Mattheo.”

“Fuck, Princess.” Mattheo groaned, kissing you deeply before pushing you on your back and positioning you on the edge of the bench. He lifted one of your legs over his shoulder and wrapped the other one around his waist. Grabbing the shaft of his dick, he teased your folds before pushing his tip into you.

Whimpers fell from your mouth as Mattheo teased you with just his tip. “Matty…. please….”

“You’re so fucking hot when you beg for me.” Mattheo said, sinking into you. He groaned at the warmth and tightness. “So, fucking warm, Princess. Tell me when to go, baby.”

“G-go…. You can go.” You moaned, gripping the side of the bench. Mattheo didn’t waste time to thrust. His slow thrusts didn’t last long because, within seconds, he was pounding into you. Your moans drowned the creaks of the tattoo bench out. “Fuck, Mattheo, feels s’good.” You babbled; your eyes screwed shut in pleasure.

“You’re taking me so fucking well, Princess. Such a good fucking slut, letting me rail you on my tattoo bench.” Mattheo groaned, his hands reaching under your shirt to grope your boobs. “My pretty little slut, aren’t you?”

The touching, the thrusting, and the dirty talk were making your mind fuzzy. Pleasure taking over your body was making it impossible for your mind to string together any type of words. “I asked you a question, Princess, answer me,” Mattheo grunted, taking his hand from under your shirt and moving it to wrap around your throat while leaning forward to plunge deeper into you. You mewled at the feeling, your hand gripping his sides and clawing up his back.

“Y-yes! I’m…. I’m your p-pretty little slut.” You finally pushed out, “Fuck, Mattheo.”

Mattheo left wet kisses down your neck to your collarbone. “I’ve been wanting this for so long. To hear your pretty voice moan my name, to hear you beg for me to fuck you. You’re a fucking dream come true.”

Mattheo moved his hand from your neck to your clit, rubbing it as he continued to fuck you. You whimpered at the overstimulation. “I want you to cum all over my dick, Princess. Make a mess all over me and my tattoo bench.”

You moaned, feeling the growing knot in your stomach as you got closer to your climax. One more thrust from Mattheo had you whining and your legs shaking. Tears pricked your eyes once more as Mattheo kept thrusting and rubbing your clit. “I can’t- I can’t take no more, Matty.” You whined, looking up at him.

“Yes, you can. You can take more until I cum, baby girl. I’m almost there, I’m going to cum in this pretty pussy.” Mattheo said, “Gonna let me breed you, Princess? Fill you up with my seed?”

“Yes, please, cum in me. I want it, I want it so bad.” You babbled.

“Good fucking girl,” Mattheo mumbled, groaning as his thrusts became more erratic. He slammed into you once more, burying himself deep into you as he came in you. He pulled out slowly, grabbing your arm and pulling you up into his chest. “That was amazing, Princess. You’re amazing.” He whispered into your ear.

“Thank you.” You felt a blush rush to your face. “Guess I should go pay now, huh?”

Mattheo chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You think you’re paying after all that?”

“It’s only right that I pay you for your work.” You said, your eyes meeting his.

“Trust me, Princess, you’ve paid me with something way more valuable than money.” Mattheo smirked. “And now that’s all I want. I’ll tattoo anything on you for it.”

You blushed, laughing at him. Your heart raced at all the future possibilities with Mattheo.

Today was truly a dream come true.

#slytherin boys #mattheo riddle #fem reader #mattheoxreader #mattheo smut #slytherin #theodore nott #draco malfoy #blaise zabini #enzo berkshire #smut #mattheo riddle smut #harry potter #jayybugg fics

599 notes · View notes

cloudsofbespin · 1 year ago

Text

It takes an enormous amount of restraint for us, the little drink. For a human, experiencing it for the first time, it was… unsettling. And not for the physical toll on my body, which was significant, but for the feelings of intimacy it awoke within me.

INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE (2022 -) S01E01: "In Throes of Increasing Wonder…"

#interview with the vampire #louis de pointe du lac #daniel molloy #jacob anderson #eric bogosian #romisedits #look who is back on her gifing bullshit lmao

253 notes · View notes

oliversrarebooks · 9 months ago

Text

corporate retreat part 1 / 4

I went into a fugue state and wrote nine thousand words about an overworked corporate drone being brainwashed for their own good.

Masterlist > Next

tw: brainwashing, conditioning, dehumanization, drugging, humiliation, hypnosis, restraints, corporate culture, weight insecurity mentioned, a little kinky

"Welcome to the Brainwashing Department! You must be today's test subject. We're happy to have you!"

Quinn stared in disbelief at the receptionist's guileless and strangely familiar smile. "You're awfully cheerful about this, aren't you?"

"Well, I love my job," he said without the slightest trace of malevolence. "As I'm sure you know, the Brainwashing Department is critically important to the organization. Without us, we wouldn't have sleeper agents, puppet politicians, memory erasure... and it's interesting work, too. No two subjects are the same." He glanced at Quinn's badge and then at their face. "Say, I recognize you. You're from IT, aren't you? You're the one who always unlocks my laptop when I forget my password!"

Oh, shit, that's where they remembered this guy. Quinn wasn't sure what they found more mortifying: the fact that they'd been recognized, or the idea of letting a guy who obviously didn't know how to work a laptop be in charge of human minds. Maybe he'd been a test subject, and it affected his brain... although considering what Quinn had signed up for, that wasn't at all comforting.

"Yeah, I'm from IT," said Quinn. "Can we get started? I'd prefer to get this over with."

The receptionist laughed. "You seem like you could use a vacation. Good thing you're here. No better vacation than a vacation from your thoughts, right?" He pushed a button on his phone. "Dr. Moon, your test subject has arrived."

Quinn played with their phone and tried not to look like an anxious wreck as they waited for the doctor. This was such an awful idea, but they didn't have much of a choice.

---

"You used to be my favorite minion. I hate to see your potential go down the drain, and I'd really, really hate to have to put you on a performance improvement plan," their boss had said. "You know, just because we're in the business of underground supervillainy doesn't mean we don't value our employees' mental health. You should take a vacation, recharge yourself."

"I'm out of PTO," said Quinn.

Their boss leaned over her desk with a frightening look in her eye. "Have you happened to see the fliers the Brainwashing Department has been posting?"

Oh, they didn't like where this was headed. "The ones looking for compliant test subjects? The ones promising a $5000 bonus and a month of PTO?"

"Exactly! Doesn't that solve your problem?"

"The month of PTO is just the month you spend as their brainwashed test subject."

"Details," she said with a handwave. "You get PTO and a chance to relax --"

"-- by being drugged and hypnotized out of my skull --"

"--and you'll come back refreshed and ready to work."

"Presumably because you'll get them to brainwash me to be a better employee."

"See, everyone wins!" she said. "I highly recommend that you volunteer."

And that was that. Quinn certainly didn't have the clout to argue, especially when they were at risk of being at the bottom of the stack ranking. You didn't want to get stack ranked in this organization. It usually involved poison in your cafeteria rations.

---

"Quinn? You're a volunteer for brainwashing testing, right?"

Quinn looked up to see a middle-aged woman wearing the aquamarine jumpsuit of the higher-status employees, along with a lab coat and a pair of enormous round glasses. Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail and she had a strangely warm smile given her profession.

"I'm Quinn, and yeah."

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Dr. Moon," she said, holding out her hand for a shake, and her hands felt warm as well. "Thank you for volunteering. It's critically important that we have adequate testing subjects for refining our process, before we have to use the techniques on important targets. So many employees are frightened of our department, even though our work is really quite pleasant. You don't have anything to worry about, though. I promise that your mind is good hands here."

"Good to know," they said. "Hopefully I can give you some good data." It really wasn't the competency of the Brainwashing Department that worried them -- they'd seen their results firsthand. If anything, they were perhaps a little too competent.

"I'm sure your data will be invaluable. Now, if you could follow me..." She turned and swiped her keycard at the double doors next to the reception desk, ushering Quinn inside.

They stood in a short, sterile, and blindingly white hallway with several doors on each side and another large set of double glass doors at the end. "Those doors lead to the primary brainwashing floor," Dr. Moon said, gesturing to the end of the hallway. "But first, I'm going to have you go into one of our prep rooms."

She slid her keycard on one of the side doors, which opened up to a small room with some lockers, a shower, and a bench. "Put your uniform and any personal effects -- except your glasses and anything medically necessary -- in the locker. Then, take a shower using the provided soap and dress in the clothes you find in the locker. Make sure you clip your identification tag to the gown, so we don't lose you."

"Wouldn't want that to happen."

"When you're done, just press the button and I'll be back to guide you to the next phase," she said. "Take your time. We're in no hurry."

Quinn shut the door behind them. They stripped off their sneakers, a pair of socks adorned with little green alien heads, and the gray jumpsuit that marked their middling status in the organization. The hot water felt great as they stepped into the shower, and the soap was pleasantly scented with lavender. It would've been relaxing if the shower hadn't given them a chance to be alone with their own thoughts.

Were they really going through with this? They could've told their boss no, but that would've just ended badly. The terms of the test subject agreement guaranteed that the process would be reversed at the end, but it wasn't like they trusted that. They knew what the Brainwashing Department was capable of. They could wipe any memories they didn't want them to have, they could implant suggestions of being more loyal and eager to work, they could humiliate them in so many ways, they could simply leave them brainwashed permanently...

Quinn sighed. This was absolutely going to suck, but there was no use worrying. It wasn't like they were going to turn back now.

The provided outfit was a soft blue cotton hospital gown and padded socks. They were quite comfortable, but made Quinn feel entirely too exposed and vulnerable without their familiar jumpsuit. The badge they clipped to the gown had their name, picture, subject number, and a series of codes designating the brainwashing procedures they were going to undergo. Quinn didn't know enough about the department's work to know what the codes meant.

They pressed the button.

A few minutes later, Dr. Moon entered the room. "I hope you had a nice shower. Let's get you into the other room to do a few necessary checks."

The next room was a bit like a doctor's office. "I'll need you to stand on that scale, please," said Quinn.

"Is that really necessary?" They fucking hated this part of the doctor's visit.

"It's not for judgement or shaming, really! We just need accurate weight to make sure the medication dosage is correct. It's for your own safety. You don't even need to look."

Somehow, even the idea of being weighed for brainwashing drugs was preferable to being shamed again. They didn't look as they stood on the scale, and Dr. Moon made no comment.

"Now, if you'll sit on the table for a minute, please," she said. "Let me just check your breathing... your eyes and ears..."

Quinn sat as still as they could as Dr. Moon pressed a stethoscope to their chest and shined a light in their eyes, but they couldn't keep their knee from bouncing.

"Any vision or hearing problems, other than your need for glasses?"

"No."

"Any disabilities we should be aware of? Here in the Brainwashing Department, we pride ourselves on our commitment to diversity. We'll adjust our procedures to accommodate any disability, mental or physical, to ensure that everyone can safely and easily fall under our control."

"Uh. Not that I know of." Quinn most certainly was not going to spill their mental health difficulties to this woman. She'd probably have access to all of Quinn's secrets soon enough... ugh, they'd rather not think about that.

"All right, then. If you're ready, I can lead you to the brainwashing floor and we can get started on your procedure."

"I'm not sure I can be any more ready than I am right now, so..."

"I know it must seem nerve-wracking, but trust me, once we get started you won't be worried at all."

"That doesn't especially ease my worries."

They followed Dr. Moon through the double doors and into the main brainwashing floor. Here, thirty of the organization's brainwashing devices were arranged in neat rows, big plush reclining chairs with restraints and screens and medical tools. They were all currently occupied by people of all ages and types undergoing procedures. Most of the people were half-asleep and watching hypnotic screens, mouthing words under their breath, hooked up to gas tanks and IV lines containing the drug cocktails that made them docile and malleable. Some were being induced, surrounded by staff monitoring their vitals as they went under. Others had a staff member drilling commands into their minds. One woman at the back was thrashing and fighting as the department staff wrangled her into restraints and into a mask.

Quinn had long been desensitized to the brainwashing floor. After all, when you worked for an organization like this one, morals flew out the window with your first paycheck. The work they did was necessary to keep the organization going, and honestly less messy and more humane than some of the other departments. Quinn had had to come here plenty of times to help troubleshoot problems with the machines, and had swiftly learned to tune out the droning hypnotic inductions and sounds of quiet struggle.

But it certainly hit differently now that Quinn knew they were destined for one of the devices. They couldn't help but imagine themselves in a chair, watching a hypnotic screen with a dazed smile and glassy eyes. The idea made their skin crawl with the fear they'd been shoving aside until now. They hated the idea of not being in control, and especially the idea of other people seeing them helpless and vulnerable. But that fate was now inevitable. They weren't kidding themselves about their ability to resist. Dr. Moon would probably turn them into a drooling, tranced-out mess by lunchtime.

At least they'd get some good sleep for a change. Chemically-induced sleep with a side of mind warping, sure, but sleep nonetheless.

Masterlist > Next

#whump #whump writing #brainwashing #drugging #hypnosis #mind control #corporate retreat

166 notes · View notes

blixabargelds · 5 months ago

Note

12. things you said when you thought I was asleep

pls pls pls

did you think i was going to be sad with this one 😈

- things you said when you thought i was asleep

They agreed upon it days ago. John drunk as all hell, a dead weight at Gale’s side and listing tiredly. He’d turned to Gale and said, wanna fuck you every waking moment. Gale had said, your waking moments are rapidly depleting. John had said, doesn’t matter to me. Gale, dropping to his knees to untie his boots for him, had said, to me neither.

The next morning, pitifully wrung out and wincing into his coffee, John had looked up at Gale open-mouthed, as Gale reiterated, “It don’t gotta be a waking moment.”

It’s not John’s fault that he’s a light sleeper.

Gale wakes groggily, the air still cool and the sky still pitch black as it leaks in through their window, John’s long fingers opening him up from behind. Gale’s breath catches. He’s face down in their bed, and inhales deep and slow the flavour of the cotton sheets, shivering as he tries to regulate the movements of his body. John had wanted this. Gale’s happy to give him the illusion. He keeps himself lax as possible, eyes shut, as John draws out two fingers, then slides three back in. He’s been half-successful; the stretch tingles in the base of Gale’s spine, but does not hurt. He notices, then, that the nape of his neck is damp against his sleep shirt’s collar, as if John’s been lapping at him. Gale is hard between his stomach and the bed. There’s a stickiness already at the tip of his cock, and the idea that John’s been at this for some time makes it suddenly more challenging to stay still.

John hooks his fingers inside him, and Gale swallows around a whine. It’s a poor method on John’s part- if he wanted Gale asleep then he shouldn’t delve like that, soft pads of his fingertips pressing and seeking, slick with Vaseline and scissoring a little. Gale breathes faster, tries to hold back the way his hips want to stutter, as John moans quietly behind him at nothing but his own fingers fucking into Gale.

“Christ, I’d have you like this every night,” he mutters. Gale bites his lip. “God, every morning, too. I just might.”

John pulls his fingers out, and it takes all Gale’s strength not to back up to keep them inside. The silence in the room feels enormous in his head, as John shuffles around in the dark. Gale’s half scared his heartbeat might give him away. His lungs ache with the effort of expanding subtly whilst pressed flat onto the mattress, and then John’s pressing him down further, his wetted cock pushing inside his hole with more restraint than Gale’s ever felt from him.

“Oh, fuck,” John hisses. “Buck, sweetheart.”

There’s drool escaping Gale’s lips from around his clamped teeth. He wonders if there’s any range of movement that won’t give him away, any small shift of his ass back onto John’s cock that won’t alert him to Gale’s wakefulness. He tests a fraction. It’s either well timed with John’s slow thrusts, or John is too gone to notice, because as Gale grinds back against him as minutely as he can John falls further forward, hitting the spot in Gale that would normally have him groaning loud.

“I love you pliant,” John whispers. Gale makes a punched-out noise that could be a dreaming grunt. “Love the way you just take me without tryin’.”

John pulls halfway out. It’s dizzyingly slow, so as not to wake Gale, who’s wide awake and fast losing his grip on pretence. He fucks himself down onto the bed, he can’t help it. The friction against his cock makes him sigh, makes him want to do it again, but he’s already jerking too much to be convincing much longer. John thrusts back into him deep, and Gale almost chokes.

“So tight even like this,” John keeps talking, filthy little whispers for nobody’s benefit but his own, every one making Gale’s eyes roll behind his eyelids.

He starts fucking him in earnest; not his usual, fast rutting, but clipped grinding thrusts, hardly any drag of his cock pulling in and out of Gale’s body, just burrowing himself further in. Gale’s mouth is open against the sheets now, and he thinks he might be wheezing. The bed begins to bounce with John’s movements, allowing Gale a touch more plausibility with which to fuck back onto John. He rolls his hips down, breath coming faster and harder as his cock twitches where it’s trapped, John splaying a big hand over Gale’s spine and pressing him down more. Gale’s aching cock rubs desperately against the sheets. He lets slip a decidedly conscious moan.

“Buck?” John says.

“Don’t stop,” Gale grits out, voice thick, “Bucky-”

“Fuck,” John says. He grabs Gale’s hips, pulls him back by them hard, and Gale finally releases a crushed, noisy breath as his chest leaves the bed. “How long-”

“John,” Gale gasps.

“Okay,” John says. “Alright,” as he reaches around to take Gale’s dripping cock in hand.

It only takes two tugs for Gale to come. He groans into the crook of his elbow, shuddering as John’s fingers slide over the head of his cock, gathering the hot rush of cum and slicking it back up his sensitive length, driving roughly into him until he shouts out his own release.

Gale collapses under their shared weight. John pulls out after a long, panting moment, and yawns.

“You tired or somethin’, Bucky?” Gale says.

“Were you leading me on that whole time?” says John. Gale says nothing, but shakes his head. There’s a small amount of light coming through the window now. In the relief of it, John laughs. “You were. You son of a bitch.”

“Says who?” Gale smiles. “Was just gonna tell you ’bout my nice dream.”

#thank u <33 #masters of the air #mota #mota fanfic #clegan #john egan #gale cleven #frankiefic

91 notes · View notes

lincolndjarin · 1 year ago

Text

Bound in Beskar

From the world of Best Kept Secret...

A down on her luck traveler finds employment with a gruff Mandalorian. He's quiet and reserved, she's resourceful and quick witted, and things are heating up in the forge... one can only imagine what happens in this tale of lust and steel.

Some of you may recall our dear princess!reader in bks reading a book in chapter 20, this is that. Vaguely in the style of those campy romance novels that you read in the bathtub with candles and wine.

warnings : armorer!mando, no use of y/n, reader is not described past the fact that she is manhandled and carried by mando, smut, unapologetic porn with a little plot, i use the phrase 'throbbing member' just once i promise it's ironic please believe me guys, spanking, pussy slapping, dom/sub undertones, sir kink, unprotected sex, creampie, praise, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, humiliation, p in v sex, inappropriate use of blacksmithing abilities, ro makes things up about blacksmithing, bondage, use of restraints, briefly mentioned ass play, inappropriate use of a hammer, size kink, sweet rough sex, power imbalance (mando is readers boss, but both parties are consenting), definitely a few things i missed my apologies, barely beta read i was in a rush sorry!!

word count : 3.8k

a/n : this is so bad but also like i love it LMAO like i promise it's supposed to be kind of bad guys you have to believe me lmaoooo. this was really fun to do omfg this is my magnum opus in the worst way possible

You don’t know his name.

There wasn’t even an interview. You’d come knocking on his door when you saw the sign in town on the news bulletin board. You’d shown up with everything you owned in the canvas bag on your hip as you knocked on the large brass door. The house didn’t look like a shop, it just looked like a house, a large house, when he finally opened the door you could see why. Just beyond his hulking figure you can see his work space, the majority of the building is devoted to just one room, high ceilings and brick walls surround the enormous forge.

“I saw your flier for a live-in housekeeper, is the position still available?” You’re so sick of sleeping in alley ways and rooftops, you’d do nearly anything for adequate lodging.

He had examined you, the cold, unfeeling steel of his visor scanning up and down your body until he nodded.

“You can clean?” The low, controlled voice drips through the modulator making your blood run hot.

“Yes, and cook.” You hold your hand out to him, he only nods in response as you tell him your name.

“You start now.” Is all you get as he motions for you to step inside.

So yeah.

You don’t know his name and he never tells you.

So you just call him sir.

The room is nicer than any you’ve ever had. A little space at the top of the stairs, a soft worn out mattress and a desk with a crooked stool. You take it with a grin, you can’t remember the last time you slept somewhere warm.

You set your things down as he instructs you to follow him back downstairs. He shows you around, although there isn’t much to see. The main room is large with an open ceiling for the smoke, an ornate forge takes up the center, the fires crackle from within as he leads you to a small kitchen.

The first thing you note is how barren it is. One skillet hangs from a hook and as you search through the drawers most of them are empty.

“I will give you extra credits this week for supplies.” He sounds almost embarrassed as he ushers you out of the room towards his own. “Once a week I’ll need you to tidy up here and do the laundry, it is of the utmost importance to me that you knock when you do.”

“Of course.” You nod slowly and he puts his hands on his hips. There’s a moment of silence before he turns and returns to his work without another word.

You are to cook his meals, buy the groceries, clean the house, and stay out of his way. In exchange he provides housing and a salary of two hundred and fifty credits a week along with any change from the grocery money he gives you.

You almost want to ask how no one else applied to such a generous job offer but the quiet foreboding presence of your employer makes it obvious enough. It wouldn’t surprise you if people feared him, you’re certainly a bit jumpy around him. He’s just so… big. He takes up so much space, stomping around the shop all day as you take care to stay out of his path, cleaning up the messes he leaves behind.

You stay extremely vigilant, opportunities like this do not often arise for you so you give him no reasons to question your performance.

You go to the markets, bundled up in your cloak once a week to keep the kitchen stocked. You wake before him to prepare his breakfast, you tidy up the forge before he opens the shop to make it presentable. You cook, you clean, you repeat. When there is no work to be done he dismisses you, telling you to make yourself busy elsewhere and you always do. Taking walks or retreating to your own quarters.

You do this for quite some time.

He doesn’t necessarily soften up towards you but he seemingly grows to tolerate you more.

You try different things, baking, knitting, painting and anything else you can get your hands on but no hobby ever seems to stick so eventually you take to watching him work. Sitting at the top of the stairs, dangling your legs over the railing as he hammers the smoldering metals. He’s an artist really, the quick precision of his strikes with the hammer, bending steel to his will to craft the custom fitted pieces. It makes you wonder why his own armor looks so worn down when he clearly has a gift. Everything but his helmet is worn down, scratched up dark metals that he often tosses aside when he works late into the night.

After long days of work when the shop is closed he’ll toss aside his chestplate and pauldrons, opting to remain only in his helmet as he rolls up his sleeves revealing the warm tan skin beneath. You always feel as though you can’t breathe right when he does this. His strong, toned arms, littered with burn scars from years of work.

You can’t deny his appeal.

Even without the armor he is huge. The wide expanse of his shoulders that smooth down into a narrow waist. You don’t even need to wonder about what’s going on under the helmet because everything else is just so much. Those hands, that neck, his chest, you’re practically drooling when you watch him work late into the night, sitting at the top of the stairs, clutching a steaming mug of caf as you squeeze your thighs together. You spend most nights with your hand between your legs thinking about your employer.

It isn’t a bad life, it’s repetitive but it’s happy and safe which is more than you’ve ever had before. The Mandalorian treats you well, sometimes he speaks to you outside of orders, sometimes over dinner he asks you how your day was. You even have enough money to start a savings box.

Nothing changes and you’re fine with that.

Until one night when he’s working late, working on something smaller and detailed. You had started to tidy up around him, already in your pajamas as you padded around the forge in your nightshirt and shorts. You were sweeping when it happened.

“Kriff-” You slip on a scrap of fabric, you grab onto the ledge of the forge, trying to catch yourself. Your breath catches in your throat as you knock a hammer off of the stone, nearly falling face first into the molten metal.

You don’t even have time to scream as the wind is knocked out of you and you’re sharply yanked backwards away from the heat.

“Do you have a death wish?” It’s the most emotion you’ve ever heard from him, anger that threatens to spill out of his helmet. “If you fall face first into that you’d be dead in an instant.” He hisses out, hands now shaking your shoulders.

“I- I’m sorry, it was an accident.” Your face gets hot with shame as the veins in his neck pulse. “Please don’t fire me.” You whisper, fear of losing everything you’ve worked for over one simple mistake.

He sighs.

“I’m not going to fire you, I’m just going to discipline you.”

“Discipli-” You start to question him but he sits down on the anvil, motioning you forward with two fingers before patting his lap. Your eyes go wide at the implication.

“Tell me to stop and you can go back upstairs, it won’t affect your job." He whispers earnestly.

You don’t want him to stop.

So you go to sit in his lap but he clicks his tongue under his helmet.

“On your stomach.” His voice is lower than before as you swallow loudly, bending yourself over his knee, hiding your face in your hands. Your ass is on display for him under the short sleep shirt you wear. “How many do you think you need to learn your lesson?”

“How many what, sir?”

“How many spanks.”

Oh.

You pray to the Maker that you aren’t soaking through your shorts right now.

“Umm… fifteen?” You aren’t exactly experienced in the subject but you don’t want to pick a number too low.

“Fifteen? Look at you my little over achiever, you must truly be sorry.” He muses with an amusement you’ve never heard from him. His large palm massages the globes of your ass, you’re so painfully turned on at this point you’re honestly a little worried you’re gonna come the second he starts. “And can you tell me why you’re being punished?”

“B-because I knocked over your hammer?” You stammer out and you feel a sharp sting as he pinches your ass.

“No, you sweet thing.” He bunches up your top a bit higher as he simultaneously yanks down your shorts pulling a yelp from you, he definitely knows you’re wet now. “It’s because you weren’t being careful, you weren’t focused on what you were doing and you almost got hurt.”

“No, I was focused I promise-”

“But you weren’t. You were sitting up there watching me, getting yourself all worked up and by the time you got down here you were so horny you got distracted and almost got yourself killed. What would I do without my pretty little housekeeper?” You’re speechless for several reasons. He knows why you watch him? He knows how much it turns you on?

He called you pretty.

And his.

“Tell me why you’re being punished?” He repeats as you clear your throat.

“Because I wasn’t paying attention.” You mumble.

“I want the exact answer.”

You’re so embarrassed you could just die but something about the shame makes your blood run hot as you rub your thighs together rather obviously, earning a chuckle from your companion.

“Because I was so worked up from watching you and I was distracted, and I almost got hurt.” You whisper, hearing a pleased hum from him.

“That’s my smart girl. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Yes…?”

“Yes, sir.” You quickly correct yourself before bracing yourself for the first smack.

One.

You’re surprised by the softness of the smack. It’s more like a pat against your rear.

“Still good?”

“Yes sir.”

Two.

You squeak a bit, this one being significantly harsher than the first, before you’re prepared he’s back on you.

Three, four, five, six.

You’re making a sound that’s a mix between a moan and a squeal as his bare palms come in contact with your ass in four consecutive sharp spanks. He rubs his hands over the flesh that you’re certain is already welted and swollen. The next spanks come long before you’re ready.

Seven, eight, nine, ten.

Tears sting your eyes as he lays into you as if you’re beskar steel that he can bend to his will.

“Look at that.” He remarks with a sense of accomplishment as you let out a soft whimper. You feel his finger gliding along your thighs and up your seam making you shudder before he holds his glistening digits in front of your face. “Are you enjoying yourself, sweet thing?” You nod with a small hum, praying he’ll just touch you already but you aren’t so lucky as you feel a slap against your pussy (Eleven.) that has you whining, loud and high pitched as you clench around nothing.

Twelve.

Another slap to your cunt, you can feel your clit twitching as a groan is punched out of you.

“Gods, are you gonna come like this?” He sounds terribly amused as your body tenses.

Thirteen.

He spreads you wide open, giving your clit a little tap that has you lurching forward in his lap.

“Come on, you can do it.” The condescending tone only makes you want to please him more, you want it so bad as he ghosts a finger across your dripping hole.

Fourteen, fifteen.

On the final slap his hand stays pressed against your mound, applying just enough pressure to throw you over that edge. You’ve never come quite like this, nearly wailing as tears now flow freely as your body turns to putty in his lap. He has melted you down and made you something new.

He lets you work through it for a while, rubbing your back until you come back to your senses. He lifts you from his lap, your legs wobble and shake as he stands you up.

“I gotcha.” He murmured as he picked you up bridal style, carrying you up the stairs before laying you down in bed. “You did so good, such a good girl for me.” He whispered as you closed your eyes, absolutely exhausted. You felt the blankets pulled up over you before you drifted off.

You swore you felt something press against your forehead.

When you wake for the first time since you started working for him, breakfast is already made. A plate of bread and meat sits on your desk along with a glass of water. Your ass is raw but other than that you feel more than fine. You aren’t sure what to expect when you go downstairs but it certainly isn’t the silence you're met with.

It’s as if nothing happened at all.

He doesn’t even acknowledge you as you frown, attending to your daily tasks.

He barely even looks at you.

You go to bed that night frustrated and upset.

So you come up with a plan to get his attention.

You mess up in every way possible.

You ‘forget’ to make his breakfast. You leave metal scraps on the floor. And you go to bed early, hoping he’ll come upstairs and punish you for your mistakes but he never does. You ignore your duties for a full week before you finally snap at him while he’s locking up.

“Do I have to throw myself into the forge again to get your attention?” You finally snap at him.

“Excuse me?” He turns to face you, holding his tongs in hand.

“I have been a terrible housekeeper for days and you haven’t so much as scolded me!” You throw your hands up in exasperation as he shakes his head.

“Is that what this is about? My forge is a mess because I haven’t been giving you enough attention?” He tilts his head to the side and you actually feel a bit guilty, when he puts it like that you seem rather petulant. You nod, feeling rather ashamed. He points at the anvil. “Lay down. Now.” You waste no time, rushing over and laying down on your stomach across the large steel surface, his large hands pin you down in place as he takes position behind you, clearly fuming and clearly hard as his hips meet your ass.

It’s a harrowing juxtaposition, how careful yet rough he is with you as his hand holds you by the back of your neck, pressing you into the cold metal of the anvil. You’re practically giddy with anticipation as you feel a faint heat on your wrists as they’re yanked behind your back. There’s a sizzling sound and you register a metal wrapped around your wrists, arousal and fear course through you as you feel a nearly painful heat that has you trying to look over your shoulder. He pushes back harder on your neck.

“Don’t move.” He grumbles as you go still. When he finally takes a step back you turn to look at what he’s done only to find your wrists shackled behind your back, they aren’t just locked in place.

He’s welded them together.

“You want my attention so badly? Then you’re gonna get it.” He yanks down everything below your waist, your tights bunching at your ankles as he pulls your skirt up to your hips. “You’re a terrible housekeeper, maybe I should find another use for you.” He kneels behind you, spreading you wide open with his hands, the cool air from the skylight chills your soaking folds. His fingers poke at you as if he’s examining you. You’re grinning as you wait for him to finally touch you in earnest but instead you feel cold steel pressing into you. You flinch away from the sensation but he holds you in place.

“Sir- please-” You whine but all that gets you is a slap on the ass as he pushes the object in deeper. You groan, it isn’t all that thick but Maker it’s long, brushing up against spots inside of you you’re certain you’ve never reached before until the base of it bumps against your clit, the heavy weight shifting inside of you as it clicks.

He put his fucking hammer inside you.

“Maybe I can use you to hold my tools.” He remarks as he stands. “Would you like that? If I kept you around to hold my things?” He walks over to kneel in front of you now, tapping your face with his fingers. “This is a lesson, you know.”

“What lesson?” Your voice is more strained than you expected.

““That if you want something, you need to ask for it.” He whispers through the modulator as you nod.

“Please.” You whimper.

“Please, what?”

“Please, I want you to touch me.” You sway your hips as best you can like this as he runs his fingers across your cheek.

“Like this?” Bastard.

“I want you to fuck me.” No point beating around the bush. “Sir.” You add on a beat later, hoping to encourage him.

“That’s all you needed to say.” He stands back up and you groan as he yanks the tool out of you, running his fingers through your wetness as you hear the rustling of fabric and zippers before something thick and soft swipes through your folds. As he sinks himself into you at last one of his hands grips the meat of your hips so hard you’re certain it’ll bruise. The other holds the metal linking your cuffs as he pulls you back onto him, impaling you on his cock at a distressingly slow pace.

Ask for it.

“Please sir- I need you- I need you to fill me up.”

“Such a polite girl.” You can hear his grin as he slams forward. Your hips are flush now as he thrusts his throbbing member into your soaking heat. “Such a- sweet cunt.” He groans as you slump forward, the size of him knocks the wind out of you as he splits you open. His cock stretches you open wider than ever before as he immediately takes on a punishing pace.

Your body is on fire, your nerves igniting as he pounds into you. The hand on your hip moves lower, circling your clit sending another jolt of fire through your veins as you barrel towards an unavoidable orgasm.

You cry out as he angles his hips to hit that spot inside of you and all too quickly you tumble over that edge, strangling his cock within you as you spasm wildly. Your eyes flutter shut as you soak him.

He doesn’t let up for a second.

“Gonna give you enough attention to keep you content for a few days.” He spits out through grit teeth, already pushing you towards another climax your body isn’t at all ready for.

“So fucking needy. Maybe I should make some toys for you to play with while I’m working.” He grumbles, you feel his thumb prodding at your other entrance as you gasp. “Could make you something real pretty to put in here.” You nod furiously as he laughs, rocking his hips forward again. It’s a good thing you’re being held up by the anvil because your legs go limp underneath you as you come again. He pinches your clit, nowhere near hard enough to hurt but enough to make you sob as your eyes go wet from the overstimulation of everything that’s happening. “Think you can give me one more?” The dominating condescending tone is gone as he leans down, his helmet knocking against your spine as if he’s kissing you there.

“I- I don’t know.” You manage to whisper out as he slows his brutal pace, an act of mercy to your puffy, sensitive cunt.

“Do you wanna try?” His voice is sweet now as he stills inside of you. Keyword there is try. Your skin tingles in a way that is nearly painful as you nod.

“Yes sir.” You turn your head to the side, resting the hot skin on the cold steel.

“That’s my girl.” He murmurs, starting a new pace, a gentler one as he pushes the blunt head of his cock against your cervix, pulling a drawn out whine from your chest. “That’s it, just a little more, such a good girl, so good for me.” He begins to ramble as his thrusts grow a little erratic and sloppy, his fingers tensing against your hips as he stumbles forward, his entire body flush with yours as he empties himself into you. You can feel the warmth leaking between the two of you as you’re hit with an entirely new sensation that makes you come one last time. Your vision goes entirely white now as tears wash down your face. He steadies you, holding you through it and whispering more praises that don’t entirely register before he carefully pulls out of you. Your eyes remain shut as he carefully takes your wrists, after a moment they’re back at your side as he puts you back together. Pulling up your panties and tights, keeping his cum inside of you in the process as he lays you on your back, eventually sitting you up. “Are you okay?”

You grin.

“Yes, sir.” He chuckles, leaning forward just enough to tap his helmet against yours for a moment. You look down at your wrists where the metal bands remain.

“I made them for you, they aren’t always shackles, they're pretty when they aren’t stuck together.” You bring them up to your face, getting a closer look at the intricate details. There’s a small mythosaur embossed on each one. A symbol, something that binds you to him.

“I love it.” You smile up at him, looking around the still dirty shop. “I should probably catch up on my work…” You start to stand but he sits you back down.

“Take the day off, worry about it tomorrow.” He walks past you, you turn to watch him throw more kindling into the forge.

“What are you gonna do with the rest of your day?” You tilt your head, watching as he takes the hammer that was inside you only moments ago and spins it in his hand.

“I believe I owe you a couple of toys.” He tosses a handful of steel into the hearth as you sit back a bit and watch him start to work.

a/n : this was ridiculous but also i did take it very seriously. this genre was what i was unapologetically born to write.

if you liked this and aren't familiar with my work this is a one off from my mandalorian series Best Kept Secret, which you can find here!!

I don't have taglists but follow @lincolndjarinnotifs for updates on any and all fics!!

#lincolndjarin #fic : best kept secret #one shot #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian smut #din djarin x you #din djarin smut #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin

305 notes · View notes

eccentricallygothic · 5 months ago

Text

|| Konnection ||

Pairing: Dragon Shifter!Ari | Drakaina Shifter!You.

Trope: You hate his guts and he loves it aka my favorite.

Description: You are a bratty little Drakaina. And do you know what happens to them? They get disciplined. By their Dragons.

Warning(s): Dubcon (just to be safe), smut with plot, chase kink, shifter couple, you straight up hate Ari, power imbalance, age gap, he's a warlord, size kink (gone wild), infantilization, humiliation, ass play (not his dick), his cock is too big, degradation, spanking, manhandling, hair pulling, unprotected p-in-v, creampie, doggy style, allusions to exhibitionist stuff, angry Ari, Daddy kink, he treats you like a kid and calls you one, cum play, brat taming, boob play, minor overstimulation, fear kink-ish. MDNI.

Note: I had so much fun writing this lmfao. Pissing off scary men so they can fuck me up hell yeah! Unedited because it's late and I am tired but I want to see something. Let me know if you liked it, thank you <3

MASTERLIST

. . .

You have always done whatever you please. Restraint and denial aren't— or rather, weren't concepts you were familiar with before you caught the eye of the tyrannical brute named Ari Levinson. It did not help that your stupid and treacherous spirit reached out to his when your eyes locked with his electric blue ones for the first time and konnected with him before you could stop it. As if Ari is not rich enough with his generational wealth and noble family, the fact that he leads the Military Legion of the Draconic Empire you belong to hence all the real power doesn't help your case.

You hear a deep growl behind you and you angrily flap your shiny crimson scaled and gold streaked wings. They are miniature when compared to his colossal black ones that are scaled a dark teal and streaked silver. The sound of them cutting through the air as he chases your tiny form through the sky is so heavy that it puts strain on your eardrums, their enormous size causing actual turbulence in the air itself.

Ari is a warlord and his Dragon form a battle hardened, much experienced arsenal full of tricks, infinite strength and agility and much training. You know you don't stand a chance against him, you didn't when you angrily transformed when he was about to put the band of his claim around your neck during your betrothal ceremony and you won't even if you by some miracle grow into his size all of a sudden. But his smug smile had been too much for you to handle, the lewd whistling and remarks of his filthy fellows only making it worse. You had confessed to him in a letter that you didn't want to marry him and you wished to revoke the konnection, you had always been clear about not mating in the Draconic way, and you did not want to marry anyone, least of all a filthy wardog covered in mane like some earthly animal.

The thought makes you sick to your stomach.

You hate your family for putting you through this. Not that you have any faith in Ari's decency to think that if your father had refused your hand to him he would have taken it as an answer, you still resent how your parents and other family members jumped upon the opportunity to serve you up on a gold platter just because a Levinson asked for your hand in marriage.

You feel the sky tremble again. He is growling a warning to you. It is a prompt for you to stop and know better. To help yourself while you still can. Save yourself before things become irreversibly complicated.

But you wouldn't be you if you weren't stupidly stubborn and childish.

And so you spin midair and wheeze out angry smoke before you burst out the most scorching fire you can muster out right at Ari. Of course, the range and intensity is inadequate. The brute is too big and hard. You huff out and dash downwards and out of his grip because he reaches you at once, his already cunning Dragon features not looking too impressed with you. You chuckle as you go fly in the other direction, thinking you have fooled the assholic mass of scale, muscle and tyranny.

But alas!

Your eyes widen and your mind doesn't comprehend it at first. It happens much too fast for both your perception and expectation to understand. And by the time you catch on, Ari's claw that easily holds you like a toy is tossing you on a mountaintop like you're nothing more serious than a doll before he deescalates himself on top of you and you gasp, your pearly beige wings darting to shield your eyes from what you suspect will be the crushing of your body under the brute's.

“Shift.” You know not how he does it but the beast crash-lands against the ground with such force that the whole mountain shakes from the weight of his anger and yet he doesn't hit you. Dust clouds erupt all around you and you cough, squinting your eyes as you peek up at him from behind your wings to find he has surrounded you in the curtains of his own to shield you from the change in environment as your body lies between his claws and he glares down at you with his electric blue.

You whimper and feel your jaw twitch as your lips tremble. Your forehead aches and you feel your eyebrows raising in an obtuse angle as a reaction to your condition. Ari— or rather, his form is titanous as he looks over you like the shadow of destruction, the air that his flared nostrils angrily exhale out fanning the entirety of your tiny form. You feel yourself beginning to break, anger giving way to regret and better sense scold your impulse. But then—

“Right now.” He emphasizes on his previous words and you hear an actual snap in your head before you feel your eyes blaze with anger.

“Nu.” There is an unreadable shift in his harsh gaze for a few moments as he just watches you, wordless. Did you, a foolish little girl from a family of humble means, tell him; Ari Levinson, who has been nothing but generous to you despite your constant displays of dimwittedness, no?

“I will not repeat myself.” To someone not belonging to your species, your conversation would seem like soundless mouthing for the pitch your kind uses in this form is inaudible to lower life forms. But you hear his threat loud and clear.

“Yur nut the boss o' mee!” You owe the lisping and baby-like voice to your tiny form. Although it's normal for Drakainas to be smaller than Dragons, their smaller size comes with speed, a feminine cunning, sharper claws, short ranged but molten breath and expendability. But it seems in your case that when the sun was granting his children, your kind, their abilities, you were knocked out somewhere with a food induced coma.

Though Ari has had enough encounters with you to know better, he still stops to stare at you; your unwavering foolishness. Are you, something so defenseless and vulnerable against him, seriously saying that to him when he is already so angry?

You stupidly gain confidence in the wake of his disbelieving silence. When you should be quiet, submissive and apologetic, you instead push yourself off the ground with the v-shaped mid joint of one of your wings and use the other one to wipe your eyes clean of their glaze. Your claws ball into tiny fists and you huff up at the mountain of a Dragon, pouting from how your nape hurts when you do.

“Ugh, I tuld yu I din wan' marry yu, yu dumby brute!” You jump up with the use of your hind legs so you can bang your miniature fists on his firm chest protestingly. “Hate yu, hate yu, hate yu! Leamme!” You give him a smash with each word, glaring up at him like you're in any position to. “Dun wanna—!”

Ari is in actual disbelief of your sheer audacity as he stops his mouth from falling open simply because he is not used to this. If anything, he is a foreigner to this attitude being directed at him. Because do you even realize just how monumentally fucked you are?

“You either shift and make it somewhat easy for yourself,” you gasp and slip back onto your ass with a gulp when he lowers his great head to put emphasis on his words. “Or I rip your petulant little kiddy ass open as is.” Your eyes widen when you feel the tip of his monstrous form graze against your small leg.

Fuck.

His Dragon cock alone is bigger than your whole Drakaina form.

There is something about the murderous glint in his electric blue eyes that finally makes you cease your race with reason and you let it infuse with you.

Your body reacts before your mind can even form the intent of obeying him and you pout softly. Your traitorous little desperate soul and the damned konnection!

“Oh, no…” Your speech returns to you as your body begins to shift and from the baby dragon form emerges a fully developed young woman.

Exactly what he likes.

“Oh, yes.” There is a deafening crack in the air before bright light hits your darkness accustomed eyes and you wince before bringing a hand to them for protection as you wince from the overflow of sensory data.

“S- Stay back!” You warn and hop backwards as though you're still on your haunches. It'll take you a bit to readjust to your human form. It's not very common except for cases like weak Drakainas like yourself.

Ari's cock is an angry red as it curves against his stomach. The sight makes you gulp and his not being bothered about it only makes it worse. Not that you mind being in your natural state too much, but right now you feel so exposed and vulnerable under his electric glare that you can't help but hug yourself.

“You're only making it harder for yourself, kid.”

“I am telling you, stay—” you quickly bend down to pick up a rock before you hurl it at him. “Stay back!” Ari turns sideways and his long hair flops along. When he turns to look at you, a crimson little cut glints in the sunlight for just a millisecond before his skin naturally comes together and closes on itself.

Of course.

“Ugh! I don't like you! Why don't you get it!” Your fists are balled at your sides as you huff and puff.

The man only sighs as he closes in on you.

“I swear— ah!” You scream as your foot slips off the edge and your body goes to tumble down, arms flailing about but before anything devastating can happen, a rough grip on your hair catches you and drags you back onto the ground. “Oh m- my—” he doesn't let you recover from your shock.

“Stupid and petulant girls like yourself never know what's good for them” you pout and whimper as your hair goes to cup over his that is holding your hair tight. “That is why they need someone to show them what's good for them�� you jump like an animated character with a cartoon-like noise when his free hand swings through the air to crack against your ass.

“Ow! Oh!” Ari doesn't stop. As he walks you back to the middle of the mountaintop with your feet barely touching the ground because of how he holds you, he cruelly warms your ass up until it's flushing a humiliating shade of red. “Stop! You brute!” You bounce on your toes as you try to dodge him by swinging yourself left and right but to no avail, Ari is too fast and his range is too great.

“You don't say that when you fuck yourself stupid on my cock and cry like a little kid who is getting handled by their Daddy” your blood runs cold as the feeling of his words calling you out like a splash of ice cold water.

Okay.

Maybe your weakness got the best of you one or two times.

Or a couple.

But that's not the point!

It's his fault, he's the manipulative tyrant!

“I— ow!” You cry again because his assault on your ass is unceasing. “I— I've no idea what you mean, meanie!” He scoffs as he places you on your soles so he can bend you over to target your sitspots.

“I am sure.” Your body rocks forward with his beastly hits. Your ass is stinging and you're sure he has blistered it with his stupid warlord hands. “Now get your tail out.” The humiliation makes you want to throw up. Cold sweat threatens to drown your body and your ears turn beet red.

“What?! No!” You cry out when your words make him target your sore spots. “I- I dunno how to in this form!” He scoffs again.

Your audacity is what keeps him going.

“Do it how I taught you” okay, yes. But he's a bossy mean tyrant who doesn't back down if you deny him! And no one helps you because he's both your Konnection made and fiancee.

As well as literally Ari fucking Levinson.

You never really have a choice with him. These kinds of tricks aren't common for someone with your strength and state of underdevelopment most because you've never really cared about the Dragon stuff but one day the depraved dictator decided that he wasn't going to let you cum if you didn't grow out your Dragon tail while still in your human form. He went so far as to even threaten you with a spanking. And your readers can judge you all they want but if they had ever been stuck balls deep on Ari Levinson's monstrous cock with their pussy sore from the frustration and their hips so desperate that they throbbed with need, they'd understand why you laid weakly against his chest and surrendered yourself to his will before carrying out his messed up wish. To be fair, not that you would ever be fair with him, he had praised, kissed and spoiled you a lot after that.

Not out of the goodness of his heart though.

No.

The pervert loved to stroke your tail and play with its base when he made you sit on his massive lap.

“Or what?!” You demand angrily.

It's a thing. You always submit -under his evil coercion, you must add- and do what he says. But then you recover and you act like you don't know him.

Ari loves it. He has seen it all and there isn't much that isn't mundane to him. But you, you keep him on his toes.

His ferocious little fireball.

Ari finally stops the spanking. You wince as you feel your cheeks seethe. He brings you closer to his hairy face by the grip he has on your head. There is a complex look on his face. He looks done and unwilling to do to you what he must if you keep this up.

“You know you don't want to find out” you watch his face for a slip, trying to sway his heart with an expression or two of your own. But as always, it doesn't work with the brutish dictatorial tyrant of a giant.

So you whimper and try to look away but his hold restricts you. Choosing to avert your eyes from him instead, you whimper as you focus on fulfilling his demand. As you go about it, you cannot help but wonder why Ari wants you to do this right now. Usually when he does this, it's when you're cuddling— you mean, when he's cuddling you, okay?! Ugh!

“Oh…” You groan as you feel the crimson and gold tail growing out just above your ass. It's not painful but it makes you uncomfortable. As well as humiliated.

“Stay still, or so the Sun help me” you don't need to be told twice. Never when you're so tightly held in his grip. It's too late.

You feel Ari grab your tail and you whimper from the sensitivity, gulping down the bile that forms in your throat when you feel his long and thick fingers grazing the soft scales -he likes to call you a kiddie Dragon because of how nonlethal you actually are- as he slowly strokes the length. His fingertips feel the hot base for a few moments and your knees nearly buckle shut. The firm hold on your head helps keep you remain in the inverted 90° angle he's made of your body.

Ari spits on your pucker and you almost jump from the sensation of his hot spit landing on your hole. Oh, yes. It becomes too exposed for comfort when he bends you over like this. And no, it does not mean that you know this because he does it often. Absolutely not. You uneasily try to shift away but he hooks one knee in the curve between your stomach and thighs to keep you upright as his fingers work the natural lubricant in and work it open a little. The next blob lands on your tail and something about the sensory overload and his attitude makes you angry but you're too caught and weak.

But still, before you can try to hold your own, the warlord is pushing the tip of your tail in your pucker and your eyes widen in shock. You begin to struggle. He has never done that before.

“W- What are you doin— ah!” Even though your Drakaina skin is soft, the sensation of the rigid dents and your own body being forced into your tiny hole causes an explosion of scorching blood in your face. “Oh—! What are you doing, you! Oh my— owie Dada!” You break and though you don't see it, a crooked smirk of satisfaction makes its way onto his face. “Pleasie!”

There.

You talk big game, but a little bit of pain and you're the most compliant little thing alive.

“You look so pretty, kid” your features scrunch in discomfort as you squint at the ground because there isn't much else you can do. “Stuffed full of your own bratty little tail” your ass is so full of yourself. The humiliating sensation makes you pout. He gives a firm pat on your plugged ass before moving on and you nearly retch from the embarrassment. “Get on your knees” he finally releases your hair and you land on your hands just in time.

“Y- You…” And your mouth is trying to run again the moment he isn't holding you. Ari snorts under his breath as he gets on his knees behind you. “Y- You're so twisted and weird! Military men—”

“It takes some nerve to act like that when I can literally see you messing yourself up like it's your job” you feel like screaming. You hate it and you hate him. He always gets what he wants and your traitorous body only aids his pompousness. “Dripping yourself silly like a soppy little bride slut” you feel the rough skin of his hands stroke against the sides of your sore thighs before he pulls you back towards him. “It looks like you pissed yourself like the stupid little baby that you are” your wrists become jelly and your upper body collapsed on your elbows when his scarred fingers dip between your legs to collect your sweetness on them before he spreads your petals to both feel your warm cunt and coat as much of his digits in your slick as he can.

“D- Daddy…” You hate it. The twisted use of the word scalds your tongue. And yet you cannot help it. Your thighs only quiver more.

Ari brings his fingers to his lips and puts them in his mouth before sucking at them. “Hmm” his bigger body rocks against your much smaller one to rub his own spilling cock on your spanked skin. “Tastes like a silly little kiddie brat slut” your sensitive and tender skin does well in pampering his stiff skin and Ari uses your ass like a plush little pillow to stroke his cock.

“D- Daddy— I mean, you brute!” Sparks go off in your mind when you feel him stroke the summit of his dick against your drenched pussy as one of his hands hold you to his while by the grip he has on the curve of your hip. “Stooop! Owie! No! It won't fit!” And true to your word, your small pussy rejects his cock with a bratty squelch. It's one part of your body that is just like you. And Ari has punished it on several occasions for his misbehavior exactly as he does you. “I- I am too small you giant! Not everyone can be a colossal like you- ouchie!”

He raises an eyebrow, amused. “Too small now, are you?” He is breathless from the strength it's taking him to be patient with your opening's constant rejection of his cock whenever he tries to push in. “You weren't acting like it when you made a spectacle of our engagement like I am some lowborn pauper that you can just humiliate like a peasant wife who doesn't have a whole generation of noble wives to represent” he bites back a harsh curse when his cock slips away again. His fingers tighten on your side and he pushes you tighter against him before realigning his cock with your bratty hole and slowly forcing it in with slow rotatory movements where he penetrates you spec by spec. “You weren't too small when you challenged your future husband and tried to burn him with your pathetic little candle fire” the insult makes you angry but his cock has intruded you and his satisfied pat to your ass coupled with your pucker clenching around your scaled tail renders you speechless.

“O- Owie!” It feels good. But the strain his girth puts on your poor band is almost too much. You fear you will rip. “D- Daddy, please!” That always softens him up. Oftentimes just a little but beggars can't be choosers.

“You will shut up and take it if you know what's good for you…” But he is far too angry today. His hairy chest drapes over your back and the coarse hairs make your tender skin tingle. “Even though we both know you're too dumb to understand that” you feel him pull out of you almost all the way out before he plunges himself back in, his length cruelly pushing your velvet walls apart and reaching your cervix already. But Ari doesn't hit it just yet.

“Oh!” You squeak out when your body rocks with another thrust and then another. He is gaining pace. You don't notice it but your ass has managed to push your tail nearly halfway out and Ari stamps it back in at the same moment he snaps his hips against yours. “Daddyyyy, hnng!” Regardless of your dislike of the name, it is the one you find yourself calling him when he has you bent over like this.

“Tell me you're sorry for what you did” he peers at the sun that is changing its colour and Ari decides he can thoroughly address this later. It is not like you are going anywhere. You are his and he will never allow it. “Tell me it's because you're a stupid little kiddie brat who hasn't had a day's discipline in her life and that is the reason you need a husband like me to keep you on a short leash” the sound of his cock moving in and out of your tight pussy is so loud that it is clear even in the heavy winds. Your pucker blinks around your tail. “Say it!” The harsh strike he gives to your ass has you crying and parroting out his words before your mind can catch on.

“I- I am sorry for… for… ah!” His stiff tip touches your cervix and the bittersweet pleasure makes you choke him out. His baritone groan grinds its way into your ear from how his colossal form is bent over yours so he can reach your neck and hear your whimpers. “I am sorry for what I did today, Daddy!”

“Keep going” he demands with a smack to one of your tits now. You jump up from the shock. Damn, you didn't even know he could reach you like this. He continues to fuck you like a hound taking his bitch.

“I, uh…” You rake your mind for what he demanded of you, sighing in relief when you remember though his assault on your sensitive spot makes you arch your back. His beard digs into the skin of your jaw and shoulder when his mouth reaches for your carotid pulse. “I—” he takes a beastly sniff of your bubbling vein and you nearly give up but a pinch to your nipple brings you back to your task. “It's— oh, yes!” You finally remember his words and get to it, your sore ass cheeks clapping from how rapidly he is fucking into you. “It's because I've never seen a- a-” your eyebrows furrow and eyes flutter shut when his lips latch onto the skin of your neck in an unfriendly way. “Ah!” His fingers find their way to your throbbing cunt and you let out the most obscene moan you have ever heard.

“Say it.” He growls before he begins to suck a mark of his ownership into your tender skin.

“It's because I've never seen a day's d- discipline in my life and— fuuuck!” The feeling of his rough finger pads is delectable against your soft folds and your head collapses between your shoulders. The vibration of Ari's hum against your skin along with the breathtaking jab he gives to your cervix makes your head spin and you give up. You are yet to build tolerance to his touch. Your high bubbles out of your loins like molten lava and your toes curl as your body tries to stretch to both react to and withstand the strong orgasm. “I am a stupid k- kiddie brat slut who needs a hubby Daddy to keep her in her place” you mumble out in one breath as you let yourself rock back and forth along to his thrusts, mind numb and pussy dumb.

Or is it the other way around?

“And who is your hubby Daddy?” Ari lets your cunt go to grip both your hips so he can go into his incubus-like trance.

“You” your words are nearly incoherent but he hears them just fine and with much satisfaction. “Only you are my hubby Daddy…” You are thankful for the temporary vertigo that has taken over your senses. It renders you deaf to the filth he makes you say.

“Here's what's going to happen now” he says once he has run his tongue over the very noticeable bruise he has made on your neck. “I am going to fuck all the funny little thoughts out of your rebellious little head until you're rightfully wearing my cum” the overstimulation makes you uncomfortable and both of your holes sensitively clench. “And then we are going to fly back to the venue and you are going to thank me and kiss my hand to show your gratitude after I put the band on you” you feel his speed increasing and you further lower yourself to hold your head; bracing yourself. “You are going to kneel as you do, so everyone can see you for the hypocritical little whore you are.”

And Ari Levinson always gets his way.

. . .

I appreciate reblogs <333

#ari levinson #ari levinson smut #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x you #ari levinson x female reader #ari levinson x y/n #ari levinson x black!reader #ari levison x reader #ari levinson imagine #ari levinson fanfiction #ari levinson fic

102 notes · View notes