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ponderingmoonlight · 3 months ago

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Kokushibo meeting another moon breather and falling hard

Pairing: Kokushibo x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,1k

Synopsis: You were supposed to be another killed demon slayer on his list, nothing but a girl he stumbled upon in the woods at night. But something about you is different. Something stops him from ending your life.

Warnings: Honestly none, a little bit of violence, a little bit of HEAT, this will get a Part 2 if you guys are interested so feel free to interact with that fic! <3

„Leaving again?“

You tilt your head to the side ever so slightly, your katana already lying heavy in your rough hands.

“I have no choice. The order comes from Ubuyashiki-sama himself”, you reply with low voice.

Out of instinct, your eyes wander to the shining orb above, the most faithful companion of your life. Countless innocent nights, you just sat on the grass and took in its beauty inch by inch. But at times like these, the moon being out also means that demons wander on free foot.

“Lucky bastard”, Sanemi mumbles under his breath.

You wouldn’t consider yourself lucky. Not when you know painfully well that all those demons where once humans with dreams, hopes and love filling their hearts. Not when your whole family drowned you with love and affection only a few years ago.

Until Muzan Kibitsuji decided to turn their heads against you by turning them into demons.

“I’ll be back before training starts.”

“You better live up to that.”

Without looking back one last time, you begin your journey to the other side of this haunted land. If Ubuyashiki-sama called for a hashira, the matter has to be serious-minded. And while his crow didn’t deliver a lot of information about details apart from the place being a small village in the south, you know all too well what that means.

A strong demon, maybe one of the upper moons, even. And you, a hashira who was chosen to kill it.

Your eyes roam around the peaceful area, take in how beautifully the full moon lights up the trees around you. A truly remarkable scenery you try to enjoy as often as possible, even though working as a pillar keeps your mind and body occupied most of the time.

But you aren’t alone. An unsettling feeling starts spreading inside of your chest, the instinct of being watched out of the darkness becoming more and more urgent in your mind.

“Are you the one who is responsible for the destruction of the village nearby?”, you question into the dusk.

Destruction? Kokushibo can’t help but shake his head ever so slightly. As if he’d waste his time with something this minor.

The real question is, who are you? The way you walk and talk tells him more than urgently that you aren’t one of those average demon slayers, that you have to be someone special. A pillar, probably. He can’t help but take in your graceful sight, the way you almost float over the wet grass, your eyes lit by the moon oh so perfectly while your hands are tightly grabbing your katana in contrast.

You are beautiful. Enigmatic, powerful, and captivating... truly mesmerizing. In his long-lasting life, Kokushibo stumbled upon countless of women.

But they never caught his attention like you.

“I came here to end your suffering”, you continue calmly, not even your hands shaking by the sensation of meeting a demon.

You must sense it, that he’s far above the average demons you’ve encountered before. You have to feel his presence by the way you tilt your head towards his direction ever so slightly. And still, you don’t waver. Not even a little bit.

“Even if your skill level proceeds mine by miles.”

His eyes widen for a brief moment.

“Why don’t you show yourself, upper moon?”

It’s an instinct, an act out of trance. Kokushibo follows your word and emerges out of the darkness he found comfort in, his gleaming eyes now meeting yours directly.

The upper moon one.

You don’t allow your heart to skip a beat, force your mind to keep its focus. This must be the head of Muzan Kibutsuji’s army, the mightiest of them all apart from himself. The upper moon Kyojuro lost his life to was number 3. Weaker than the man standing in front of you, less dangerous than the man standing in front of you.

And you? You wouldn’t consider yourself stronger than Kyojuro was.

“I am forced to end your life right here and now”, you declare with a calm demeanor.

“You are too weak to even reach me”, Kokushibo replies automatically.

“I have no other choice but to try.”

He tilts his head to the side, watches like in slow motion how the neutral expression on your face hardens ever so slightly while you lift up your sword.

“Moon breathing, third form: celestial silence.”

You release a wave of soundless crescent blades like you always do, emerge him into confusion and darkness to prepare for your next attack.

“Moon breathing. You use moon breathing?”

You are barely able to escape the grasp of his arm that shouldn’t even be able to reach you by letting yourself fall onto the ground. Not even Sanemi is able to see through that curtain of silence, how was he able to react so fast?

A faint layer of cold sweat starts forming on your forehead, your fingers now grabbing the handle of your sword tighter. What did you expect from the upper moon one?

“Fourth form: Lunar precision.”

You can’t allow your thoughts to wander, need to focus on the way your sword feels inside your hands and the series of rapid, precise slashes that crush against his blade without mercy. Each strike is executed with meticulous accuracy, searing for any weaknesses.

But the man in front of you has none.

All it takes him is one minor slash to disarm you. With his other hand, he grabs your wrist tightly. Is he about to kill you? Will this be your last moment walking on earth? You can’t rip your now glossy eyes away from him, can’t even force yourself to look at the moon one last time.

“Who taught you that breathing technique?”

Your mind starts racing, brows furrowing ever so slightly. What is he talking about? And why are you not dead already?

“What?”, you breathe out.

With a swift motion, he puts his sword back in its sheath and grabs your other arm as well, now holding you so close that you can feel his breath dance across your face.

“Who taught you how to use moon breathing?”, he continues visibly aroused.

“I taught myself.”

Confusion, anger and shock roll over his face like a wave while his hands still keep you in place.

Impossible. This means that you mastered sun breathing as well. You, nothing but an average girl with eyes that make it easy to get lost in them. You with that basic sword that doesn’t show a single hint of your abilities.

Do you know what you’re capable of, that you might be a worthy opponent?

Or a mighty demon.

“You need to come with me.”

“Coming with you?”

Your heart now almost pounds out of your chest, arms instinctively fighting for what is dear life. If you go with him, you’ll die. What is his plan? Does he want to torture you, eat you alive? Your usual so collected mind starts falling apart bit by bit with every passing second.

“Stop attacking me”, he warns you.

You fight against his grasp even harder, desperately try to free you from the prison of his arms. You promised Sanemi that you’ll be back before the next training session starts, you promised Mitsuri to braid her hair in the morning. You made so many promises.

And now you might not be able to live up to a single one of them.

“Enough”, the man in front of you grumbles.

One well-placed hit. Then everything goes black.

Kokushibo’s heavy breath hangs in the air, eyes staring at your unconscious figure lying on the floor. He lifts your body off the ground as gently as possible, allows his eyes to regard your face up-close. You look so peaceful while lying in his arms, your features not showing a single sign of your fight earlier on. Apart from a single tear at the corner of your eye, you look flawless. He wipes it away with his index finger, watches how the moonlight reflects so beautifully in your perfect little teardrop. If he’d be able to caress your cheek one time, feel the softness of your hair only once-

He shakes his head ever so slightly. No, he needs to focus on what’s in front of him, needs to find out what lend you that power. Are you just like him? Are you maybe the only person on this planet who understands his silent suffering?

The second you open your eyes again, everything is still black. What happened? Are you at home? The demon…

Your eyes widen in an instant, dart around the poor-lit area in a haste. Where is the upper moon one?

“It took you quite some time to regain consciousness.”

His cold voice cuts through your bones with ease. There he sits, only a few meters away to your opposite. You swallow hard, scan your body for any injuries.

But you aren’t injured. Not even a single scratch decorates your skin.

“Why did you allow me to stay alive?”

To be honest, he doesn’t know. Muzan Kibitsuji made it more than clear that all demons are forced to kill every single demon slayer who crosses their path. Especially pillars like you. He stares at you without saying a single word.

“Are you going to kill me now?”

It is his responsibility to do so. Not even the fact that you use moon breathing should be enough to change that fate of yours, not when you’re a hashira, a dirty demon slayer. Again, he keeps his mouth shut.

When you open your mouth again, not a single sound escapes your dry lips. The countless questions that linger through your mind make it hard to form a logical thought. What are you supposed to do? Is there any way out of this? You need to fight, need to stay strong until you die.

“What do you know about moon breathing?”

“More than you”, he gives back.

He’s beautiful. Despite the unpromising gleam in his orbs and that number one than reminds you oh so urgently that this man is the highest ranked upper moon, you can’t help but let that thought sink in. There’s no doubt in the fact that he was once a truly handsome man.

The two of you sit opposite of each other, plainly staring in your faces without saying another word. You never felt anything apart from sorrow for those creatures, never allowed yourself to get lost in their features or to ponder about what they might have become. But this man…

“Did you use this breathing technique when you were still human?”

In the blink of an eye, the upper moon one draws his sword. Sparks fly, the air around you suddenly so hot that you almost feel like choking. What is that immense power of his? Are those…moons? Out of instinct, you grab his arm. For support, to stop him? You don’t know anymore.

“Stop”, you cough out.

“Please…stop.”

He lowers his blade, his free hand now grabbing your back and pulling you towards his chest.

“I was the only user of moon breathing for countless centuries. Until you showed up”, he clarifies distantly.

“Tell me how you conquered sun breathing. Tell me how you taught yourself this technique.”

His face is only inches away from yours, forces your breath to get stuck in your throat all over again.

“It just happened.”

“You will come with me.”

He starts dragging you along with him, the unusual flaming touch of his hand almost driving you insane. Just a few hours ago, you were on a mission to free a small village from the cruel hands of a demon. What about those innocent people? What about those poor souls who might get slaughtered at this very moment? You can’t just follow him like a lost puppy.

“Only under one condition.”

Slowly, the upper moon one turns his face towards you.

“You set conditions?”

“Free the village I was assigned to from those demons or otherwise…”

With a swift motion you draw your sword and press it firmly against your very own neck.

“Or otherwise, I’ll make sure I won’t be able to answer all of your questions.”

You find yourself devoured in his arms and pressed against a cool stone wall before you finished blinking once, now staring straight into his dangerous orbs.

“I don’t negotiate with something like that”, he presses out.

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine @laurencrsnt @virtual-202 @blunderland

@strawberry784

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exhaslo · 6 months ago

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Over-Time Ch4

(CEO!Miguel x Shy/Clumsy!Reader)

Ch1, Ch2, Ch3

Warning: MINORS DNI, eventual smut, slow-burn, mentions of sex, bullying, cussing, fluff

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"This is the big bad CEO's office," Lyla said with a wide smile as she stood proudly in front of the large set of doors.

Your eyes could only widen as you thought of the man behind those doors. Such a powerful person was able to make Alchemax what it was. This was going to be your future boss. As nervous as you were, you had to make a good first impression!

"Stop scaring the new girl,"

Your ears perked up as you recognized the voice. Your breathing nearly halted as the doors began to open, revealing Miguel.

"Huh? Miguel? Y-You're...You're the C-CEO?"

Your heart stilled for a moment as you recalled everything you had done. Your clumsiness for bumping into the CEO on your interview day, chatting with him so casually in the elevator and showing every form of weakness possible.

As you heart started to gain pace, your chest swelled with regret. It was difficult, but you held back your tears. Noticing the treat on his desk, you immediately bowed your head,

"I-I'm so...so sorry! I-I-"

"There is no need to apologize. It is I who should give my apologies. I was the one who deceived you." Miguel said with a smile.

"Ew, your smiling." Lyla muttered.

As Miguel bickered lowly with Lyla, you still felt your head spinning a mile a minute.

"Anyway-" Miguel gently shoved Lyla to the side, "I was more so enjoying the presence of someone who did not know who I was, which led me to fooling you. For that, I apologize."

"Ah-" You gasped, finally letting yourself breathe, "S-So...was I hired...because of...of my skill or-"

"Duuuuuh, girl. This guy doesn't know the meaning of special treatment. He's just a big oaf." Lyla pitched in with a smug eating grin. Miguel could only grumble to her response,

"Please ignore her statements about me. I look forward to working with you from now on. As you know, Lyla will be going on vacation very soon. During this time she will guide you on everything you will have to do. That is, if you are still willing-"

"Yes! Yes I am!" You nearly shouted before covering your mouth, "S-Sorry, I am. I really want to better...myself and you have given me this um, opportunity."

Glancing up at Miguel, you felt butterflies in your stomach as he smiled towards you.

"I'm glad to hear that." His voice was still so gentle, "Well, I have a meeting I must get ready for. Why don't you take the rest of the day off and we will see you tomorrow, yes?"

"Y-Yes!"

-----------

Miguel was the CEO. Miguel was the CEO. MIGUEL WAS THE CEO OF ALCHEMAX! AND I MADE A FOOL OF MYSELF!

The thoughts raged through your mind as you quietly sat on the bus on your way home. Biting your nail, you tried to calm down, but it was no use. Despite Miguel being so kind to you, you still couldn't stop from recalling your foolishness.

You had to make it up to him.

You HAD too.

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

"Why are you being so nice?" Lyla asked once the two entered Miguel's office.

"Am I not human?" Miguel said with a snort, "Is it so wrong of me to treat another with kindness? I am surrounded by selfish fools and greedy bastards every second of the day. It is nice to have a change."

"Yeah, but I really don't want to see her bend over on your desk crying your name out when I come back."

"Lyla!" Miguel felt his cheeks burn, "You know me better than that."

"I do. Which is why I'm totally predicting a few outcomes."

"You have little faith in me,"

Miguel sat at his desk and let out a heavy sigh. As nice as he may have seemed to you, Lyla was not wrong. As a man, Miguel already had a thought, though for a mere second, of you under him. The face you might make when he shoved his dick inside those walls of yours.

"You're totally thinking about it now, gross." Lyla chuckled, "You're lucky she's a quiet one, but....that's also a problem."

Clearing his throat, Miguel rid himself of those naughty thoughts as he listened to Lyla.

"I know. (Y/n) will get eaten alive by my business partners. I'm sure you can find a way to boost her confidence in this short amount of time."

"Against those horny old bastards? Duh," Lyla hummed before plopping herself against Miguel's couch, "It's her I'm more worried about."

"She hasn't-"

"Every women who tries to enter your life has fled because of her. You're lucky I have the biggest pair of balls in his city to even stand a chance against that snake."

"I recall...I wonder if she still has your bite marks-"

"Bitch better! They were sharp and clean from my dental appointment!" Lyla huffed before fixing her hair, "But even so, not even I am capable of preparing someone against her. I fear that your new assistant will be eaten alive."

"Then I'll be the only one of us to have faith in (Y/n)."

"Hm,"

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Miguel inhaled deeply as he stood against his balcony, enjoying the quiet night. It felt strange to not be so stressed out after a long day of work. Taking a sip of his drink, Miguel couldn't help but recall your expression from earlier.

You looked like a deer caught in headlights once Miguel revealed himself. Your face turned bright red and your words fumbling with each other. It was cute. Miguel assumed that you were overthinking and panicked.

But, he still had faith in you. You hadn't made any sort of move to try and win him over yet. Most tend to try and meet with Miguel after hours. Instead, you sent another apology email for your actions and for the salty snack.

"How has such a little mouse survived this long? In this city of predators like myself?"

Humming to the thought, Miguel also recalled that 'snake' that Lyla brought up. All Miguel had to do was hide your existence for the next few months and you'll be fine.

"Hm, but will she be fine against me?"

---------

It was day two of you officially working at Alchemax. Lyla was going to show you the ropes.

However, you had to get Miguel's morning coffee.

"Miguel turns into such a grumpy beast when he doesn't have his coffee. I've already memorized his order, but I wrote it down for you along with the place we get it from. I also put my order on there, and feel free to get yourself something."

"A-Are you sure? This is the company card." You stuttered, feeling a little nervous about a simple coffee run.

"It's Miguel's card and he doesn't mind. Once we've all had our energy, I'll start showing you the first morning tasks."

"Okay,"

You tried to stop shaking as you put the card and paper in your wallet. Hurrying downstairs, you tried to calm down. This was your first unofficial task for Miguel. A simple coffee run. How bad could it really be?

------

You shuddered as you stood in front of your old job. Your hands trembling as you held the piece of paper in your hand. You hardly worked this early in the morning, so it would make sense why you never thought of Alchemax workers getting their coffee from here.

Hell, you hardly even noticed how close the two jobs were to one another.

Inhaling deeply, you made your way inside. Sweat rolled down your neck as you saw your old co-workers in the middle of a rush. Each of them yelling out orders and ingredients. As long as they stayed busy and didn't notice you, it would be fine.

"Wel-Oh! (Y/n)! Nice of you to join us."

And there was the hostility.

"What?! She's here?! After she didn't show up for my shift yesterday?!"

"....I....quit...." You whispered, trying to hide behind the line of people waiting for their order.

"Well since you're here, clock in and help us."

"I....can't," You tried to say.

Didn't your manager tell everyone that you quit? You made sure to call them last night to inform them that you weren't going to work there anymore. You quit this toxic job for Alchemax. So why, why is everyone still so harsh?

"(Y/N)! We need the help!" Another coworker yelled out.

You were shaking as everyone started to stare at you. The paper in your hand starting to crumble as you shook. They didn't need your help. You were just going to make a mess with how busy it was. They just wanted to yell at you.

"I-I can't! I'm just here for my new job!" You nearly cried out.

"Tch, what a liar."

And there it was. You lowered your head as the line kept moving. The stares you were getting were intense. Everyone probably thought that you were an asshole. As you waited, you felt your phone buzz.

"H-Hello?" You stuttered.

"Ah! (Y/N)! I hope it isn't too late, could you-"

"(Y/N)! I heard from the others that you refuse to help, especially after not showing up yesterday. We need to have a word in my office." Your morning manager hissed.

"B-But...I-I-"

"It seems busy. I'll text you the item." Lyla said before hanging up.

Oh, how you wanted to cry. What were you to do? You could never stand up to the managers. Why didn't the night manager inform everyone that you quit?

"To. My. Office."

"What seems to be the problem?"

Your breathing hitched as you turned to find Miguel. You couldn't hold back the tears as Miguel placed his hand against your shoulder. It was amazing. Everyone immediately froze as they stared at your new boss. Were you the only one who didn't know that he was the CEO?

"You're-" Your manager snapped out of his shocked state, "I was just going to handle my associate about her teamwork and customer service."

"Your associate?" Miguel scoffed, "From my understanding and resources, she quit your establishment last night. (Y/n) works for me now. If this shop doesn't wish to treat my associates fairly, then Alchemax will gladly take our business elsewhere." Miguel said firmly, motioning you to follow him out.

"I'm sorry, sir! We weren't aware that she quit. Please, allow us to make you your drink on the house-"

"We don't need your charity. Instead, apologize to her."

"S-Sir, I...I really-"

"Don't let them talk down to you as if you're nothing," Miguel whispered in your ear, "You deserve to be treated fairly."

As if something was stuck in your throat, you could only nod towards Miguel. Glancing towards your old manager, you waited for his forced apology. You still didn't like the stares. You knew that you could never come back here after this.

It took a minute, but your old manager finally apologized. Miguel just smirked before walking you out of the shop. Finally feeling like you could breathe, you turned to face Miguel once you were a good distance away.

"I-I'm sorry for causing t-trouble...B-But...How did you know I-I was there?" You asked with a stutter. Miguel removed his hand from your shoulder,

"I normally come in a little late to give Lyla her 'beauty time' as I call it. It also gives her time to get my morning coffee without having to rush. I tend to take this route every now and then and couldn't help but notice you in the café."

"I'm sorry I'm being a burden already," Frowning as you lowered your head, you stared at the crumbled paper in your hand, "I couldn't even get this right-"

"Don't cry," Miguel hushed, lifting your chin, "You can't blame yourself for the foolish acts of others."

"I'm sorry," You whimpered once more. Miguel just let out a soft sigh, wiping a tear away,

"Come. I don't have a meeting for another hour or so. Why don't we spend some time looking for a new coffee shop? I wouldn't want you going back to that hostile place."

Watching Miguel hold his arm out, you sniffed as you calmed down. Lyla said that Miguel was a beast without his coffee, but he was still ever so kind to you. Taking his arm, you gladly took Miguel's offer as you spent some time getting to know your new boss.

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Lyla pouted as she sat in her office, staring at the clock.

"Where the hell is my coffee?"

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Next Chapter

@timidquindim @decentsoupperson @ivkygirly @reader-1290 @daddyfroglegs @eepybunny0805 @ddreabea @iamperson12280 @migueloharasoulmate @tojishugetiddies @koko-1025 @hyeinwluv85s @daisy-artfield @migueloharastruelove @a-lil-whore @hcqwxrtss123 @the-pan-liquid @tojisfav @pochapo @bubblegumfanfictions @brighterthanlonelythoughts @ghstypaint @mangoslushcrush @synamonthy @scaleniusrm @moonspectorx @dorck26 @a060403 @lunablackcosplay @soraya-daydreams @lovefanfic1 @mymrsweirdnessshipperstuff-blog @pretty-pink-princesss @corpsebridenightamare @razertail18 @gachagator @droolingmuttt @miguelsfavwife @ryzguy06 @raideaters-blog @manishkaworld @keidilla @byjessicalotufo @pigeonmama @k3ythesapphic @acesangels @stealingyourturts @angel-xx-1 @amberbalcom14 @ofmenanduhhhwellmen @oscarissac2099 @keepghostly @zeyzeys-stuff @k3ythesapphic @nightingale1011 @mari0-o @uncle-eggy @safixiovi @flaps200 @dahehow @weirdothatwritess @gerblinradio @electronicchaoschaos @mafiaanomaly @pochapo

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pinejayy · 1 year ago

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Muzan, Douma and Gyokko having a human girlfriend

I’m simply writing these because I’m simping so hard for these Demon men so these are mostly for my dirty minded head uwu

Kinda went the extra mile for daddy Gyokko mm

SFW and NSFW Headcanons!!

Muzan Kibutsuji

SFW

Muzan is a harsh Demon and even towards you. Despite being his lover he’ll still treat you like hot garbage. But as time passes by he will warm up to you. But don’t expect him to be the kindest.

You should be lucky to even be looking at his direction, with him being the Demon King and you just being a weak human girl. And be grateful that he hasn’t killed you yet. Just don’t anger him, it won’t end pretty for you.

Deep down Muzan cares for you but he doesn’t know how to show it, but if you were to help him with these new emotions he’ll appreciate it.

BUT OH BOY MUZAN IS A SUGAR DADDY, AND YOU KNOW IT! You want something he already has it for you. You want money, here’s a bag sweetheart go spoil yourself. He’ll shower you with expensive gifts, but lacks in emotional love.

Always has an eye on you, he’ll protect you. He knows how fragile Humans are and if someone dare lays an eye on you they better hope he’s in a good mood and if not he’ll kill them in cold blood and he doesn’t care if they are an upper moon. He can always replace them.

NSFW

Muzan loves pinning you against his bed, he loves watching you struggle. He’s definitely into predator and prey play. He’s always top! So don’t bother asking him if you could be on top.

He loves to tie you up, and he loves tracing a long nail against you soft skin, he’ll even apply some pressure to draw blood out. AND HE LOVES BLOOD PLAY!! HE ESPECIALLY GETS EXCITED ON YOUR PERIOD.

Sometimes he’ll be cool enough to where you can give him a blow job while he’s working. Just like imagine you under the desk and you’re going down town on his dick.

His favorite sex position is missionary, he feels like he has total power against you. He loves the way you make faces when he hits a certain spot. But he just likes it when he’s in charge.

He’s rough, and you’re gonna be screaming his name. Every Demon is going to hear you moan his name out.

Douma

SFW

Douma is a huge selfish asshole, he loves getting under your skin. But this demon ‘Loves’ you. And by love you I mean you’re just a plaything for him. A pet....and a master always needs his pet.

He is a huge sucker whenever you praise him, so you better get on your knees and tell him on how great he is, how handsome he is. Douma is also gonna use you as a foot rest.

He loves making sure that you know that you’re just a pet for him. Nothing more...But you’re his favorite so you have that going for you. Yes it’s gonna hurt you but his attention makes you go crazy.

Since you’re his favorite pet he’s gonna make sure you’re always dressed so well. He is Upper Moon 2 so you have to look pretty for him.

This sick bastard loves playing with your feelings, like he loves reminding you that you mean nothing to him, that you’re useless, you’re nothing but a pet. And that you’re bound to him until you die.

NSFW

Like I said, this bastard sees you as pet and only as a pet. So you better get on your knees and suck him off. And praise him while you’re at it. He’ll just laugh and shove his cock deeper down your throat.

He loves hearing you beg, like you’re in the mood. He’ll make you beg and simple please won’t do you well. You have to get on your knees and cry to him, Cry on how bad you want him.

Douma loves the way you taste, the way his tongue moves against your clit and all the sensitive areas. And you better let him have a tasty treat when it’s that time of the month.

He loves whenever you ride him, the way your chest bounces up. It will drive him crazy!! He also loves marking you, that includes biting, scratchs and bruises.

He’s very selfish so don’t get upset when he thinks about his pleasure first rather than yours. Oof.

Gyokko

SFW

Oh boy! Gyokko is probably the one who’s gonna treat you better. I mean you are his and his only!! YOU’RE LIKE AN ART PIECE TO HIM! The way you smile and laugh he just loves it! You’re his favorite kind of Art.

He adores you, he doesn’t know how he landed on such a beautiful girl as your self. And he’s so grateful for you, I mean he knows he isn’t the best looking but with you he feels special.

Please praise him!! I’m begging you!! It will make him feel special!

My sweet boy loves gifting you his pots! And he always gives you the best ones!! The best ones for his best beautiful girlfriend!

He’ll make you carry him if he’s in his pot, but this handsome demon loves late night walks with you.

But if he’s in his final form *daddy*he’ll treat you like a toy. A delicate toy.

Whenever he comes back to you and he’s badly injured you’ll gladly give him some of your blood!

If anyone looks at you and or even tries to flirt with you he’ll shove their body into a pot. No one is deserving enough to lay eyes on your beauty!!

Despite being Upper Moon 5 he’ll hurt the other Upper Moons if they try to flirt with! And with that being said he doesn’t like Douma! That sneaky bastard is always trying to flirt with you.

NSFW

Our boy is gonna put your pleasure first!! He loves making you moan and squirm around. And the way you moan out his name it drives him crazy!!

Two he has two mouths that means twice the kisses! Twice the dirty talk! And twice the tongue of you know what I mean. Wink wink~

He loves praising your body, he loves kissing every single part of your body. He loves telling you how beautiful you are. He loves dragging his fingers against your soft and delicate skin. He loves the way you smell it, so intoxicated for him.

Imagine two tongues pleasing you orally! He’s a god at it! He’s gonna have you shaking, your knees shaking.

As for him, he loves pleasing you with his final form. He loves wrapping his body against your naked body. He could squeeze you, but he won’t.

With your permission he would like to cover you in blood (obviously not your blood) but he’ll like to cover you in someone’s blood. Imagine your naked body covered in blood and he just licks it off.

This artist would love to paint you. Like you better pose for him naked and he’ll paint you onto a pot. And of course no one is gonna see the pot. That’s his special pot and that’s only for his eyes.

Gyokko is gonna please you to the end, you’re his special little art piece. He deeply loves you.

#demon slayer #muzan smut #demon slayer muzan #muzan kibutsuji #muzan x reader #douma x reader #Douma smut #gyokko #Gyokko smut #Douma #gyokko x reader #kny #Headcanons

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silassinclair · 8 months ago

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Say My Name

Yandere Wild West Outlaw x Reader

CW// 16+ Content, Abduction, Guns, Yelling, Talk of Murder

Introduction (Optional to read)

Last night my life changed forever. My Father managed to get on the bad side of a wanted outlaw by the name of Maddox Graves. And that very same night that very same outlaw killed my Father in cold blood. I thought I’d be next but instead he bound my ankles and hands and threw me with him on the back of his horse. We’ve been riding for hours and I have no clue where this psycho is taking me. Maybe somewhere far away to do diabolical things to me. If that’s the case then I’d rather be dead.

“What’s on your mind princess? You were thrashin‘ and screamin’ a few hours ago. Where’d that fire go?” Graves turns his head slightly back to face me. But I look away. Being this close to him was the most uncomfortable I have ever been in my life. But I had to keep my arms around him as to not fall off the horse and break a bone. I need to be in top condition if I want to escape.

“Nothing…” I mutter. But that answer doesn’t seem to satisfy the greedy bastard. So he halts his horse with a gentle tug of the reins. For a psycho murderer criminal he’s nice to his horse.

“You hungry? Gotta piss or somethin'?” Even though he has a bandana covering his mouth I can tell he’s annoyed by the way his eyes wrinkle slightly.

“No! I’m fine..”

But I’m not fine. How could I be fine? This animal killed my Father and is taking me only God knows where! We've been riding through this desert for hours and it's almost sundown. I'm scared shitless of potential bandits and I'm literally starvi-

Growl~~~

"Your stomach is tellin' me otherwise sweetheart." I can practically hear the smirk on his stupid face.

Hugging myself I sigh in defeat. "I haven't eaten in over a day.. So of course I'm hungry. I just have no appetite."

Lies. I could eat a horse.

"Well you're lucky because look on ahead princess."

Moving my head up and to the side to see over his broad shoulders I see a town less than a mile ahead. I thank the lord in my heart and soul.

"Now don't go thinkin' you can run off and escape. You go to anyone for help and I'll shoot em' dead like your old man." He adds.

Well that dug deep. Scowling, I kick him in the shin causing him to hiss a low curse.

"Watch your mouth. You may be all big and bad but I'm not afraid of you. I won't let anyone disrespect my Father. Especially not the likes of you." I say. But Graves only furrows his eyebrows and crosses his arms. He hops off his horse and grabs me by the waist, pulling me down with him.

"Get off you mongrel!" "Silence that mouth of yours before I gag it!" He snaps, I immediately do as I say. This unpredictable gunslinger could kill me or worse in seconds. I shouldn't have said anything in the first place. My initial plan was too cooperate so I could escape but here I am blowing it. But it's hard because he pisses me off to kingdom come.

His hands are still on my waist as he pulls me closer and speaks, "Do you have any idea why you're alive girlie?"

I feel myself unwillingly do a full body shiver. His eyes were a dark brown but not a normal brown. Almost red due to the sun's setting light shinning down on us. He asked me a question but my throat can't conjure a reply. I only shake my head 'no' back and forth.

"It's because I think you're pretty, and I'd hate to waste a pretty lil' thing like yourself." He slurs. His rugged hands go lower, I can feel them. The fabric of my dress protects me from his direct touch but the violating feeling is all the same.

"So young and precious, you-" He pauses. "What's your name? I never got it."

What a dunce. I sigh and remove his hands from my waist, luckily he doesn't fight back.

"It's Y/n. Y/n L/n."

His eyes soften, but only barely. There's still a hunger behind them. "Y/n..." He tests the name on his tongue.

"I like that. But I like princess more. Sweetheart is a good one too. It matches that cute face o' yours. Or missy when you're bein' a bad girl." His hand goes under his chin as he lists off the stupidest pet names ever.

I deadpan and shake my head back and forth. Pinching my nose bridge I look over at the town in the distance.

"So aren't you gonna ask what my name is?" His sudden voice whispering in my ear and his fingers grazing my neck makes me physically jump and clamp my hand over my neck.

"D-Don't do that!" I shout and take in a deep breath. I'm probably a tomato right about now.

"And I already know your name." I scoff and cross my arms, turning away from him. But he walks around me to try and get me to face him, which I turn again and again after every attempt me makes.

"I wanna hear you say it though. Bet it'd sound real' sexy comin' from your lips." Grave's hands squeeze me around my biceps and lock me in place, leaving me to look no where else except for those devilish eyes of his.

Knowing him for the day I've been around him I know he won't relent. He'll keep me here until I give in.

Sighing I say his name. "Maddox Graves.."

It came out softer on accident. Maybe I'm exhausted. But looking at his concealed face I can see his wide eyes.

"Say it again." He whispers. His grip tightens. It hurts and I whimper in pain but his eyes still bore into mine.

"Maddox Graves." I say firmly. But he groans and shakes his head back and forth. A dissatisfied groan leaves him.

"No not like that! Say it how ya' said it before!" He whines, but he still sounds aggravated.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about..." I mutter and clench my teeth. He has the grip of a bear trap.

"Say it like a wife would! Say. my. name!" He snaps and jerks me forward. My eyes widen in fear at his outburst and I'm reminded that this is no normal man. He's a killer. A dangerous outlaw and the one who killed my Father.

But what he said has me confused. What does he mean by that? He must tell how confused I am because his grip loosens.

"Just... Say it like ya' don't despise me."

That's damn near impossible. But if I want to survive and get food in my stomach then I need to perform.

"Maddox." I say only his first name this time. Gently, I raise a hand and lay it over his that is on my arm. Both his hands drop and I hear his let out a long breath.

He says nothing but he turns away from me and hops onto his horse. His hand reaches for mine and I take it. He pulls me up but I nearly fall over. The control I have over my legs is lacking because of their bound state. Luckily he catches me with an arm.

"Easy now sweetheart. I don't want ya' gettin' hurt. After all, I know what I'm gonna do with ya now." He says in a low timbre that strikes fear into my core.

"Hya!" He shouts and his horse walks in the direction to the town ahead.

This unpredictable psycho... I'm at a complete loss here. What can I do? I'm hopeless! His behavior is nearly bipolar and he's a walking weapon. But now he has a plan for me? Whatever it is I don't want it...

#yandere #yandere x reader #x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #obsession #cowboy #western

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lesinquietes · 1 month ago

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Bandit!All Smite is a hulking, muscular man. His biceps are the size of a human skull, and his physical force in combat is spoken of vastly across the land — he is wanted for murder, after all. Hearsay dictates that thick blonde tresses remain slicked back on his head at all times. He bears a sly grin that seldom falters. He can be identified from miles away, yet he’s confident he’ll never be caught. Factually, there isn’t a jailhouse in the country that can secure him. He’s been running rampant for decades.

When he isn’t spending time dodging the authorities he has a favourite bar. He doesn’t go there too often, but he steps in whenever he can. It’s a rundown little shithole, offering drinks that taste like piss and girls with smeared makeup. But it has something he’s had his evil eyes on for a while, now: a woman like you. He’s been lonely; to alleviate that ache, he’s willing to sacrifice a bit of hard earned cash and dignity.

You’re a harlot. He doesn’t know what circumstances brought this sorry life upon you, though it’s evident you’ve grown used to your profession. You do your work with a simper. Your pimp — the grimy bar owner — calls you and the rest of his flock ladies of the night. There are a host of rooms upstairs that customers can rent, provided they buy one of his fallen angels for the evening. Bandit!All Smite is happy to choose you every single time. The precise moment he laid eyes on you, he knew he was going to get hooked.

It’s good to see you, my beautiful girl… come here.

You’re incredibly obedient. He asks you to take everything slow. When you open your mouth wide, to pop the shell of his cock past your glossy lips, you do so at a gradual pace. It makes him harder when he finally feels your soft tongue against his shaft, hugging him with a passion that’s rooted in financial gain. He tips extra if you cause him to bust a nut more than three times in a night. You don’t fail to earn your dollars.

For months, he keeps biweekly contact with you. Nothing much changes, save for the pining in his chest when you’re absent. It’s strange; you’re nothing more than a whore, and still, he finds himself wanting you all to himself. He denies his attachment. He denies, and denies, and denies; until finally, his possessiveness is exemplified when he enters your establishment and asks for you. Your pimp says you’re entertaining another man. Worse yet, it’s the fucking sheriff. He laughs humorlessly.

You’ll be lucky if I don’t shoot you, too.

He kicks in the door of your bedroom and catches you, about to strip for the bastard waiting on your soiled mattress. Your bra is already in a mess at your heeled feet. The villain grits his teeth, ruled by a vicious form of jealousy. He doesn’t waste a second. He draws his pistol and shoots. The bullet makes contact with the officer’s forehead, puncturing through his brain. Blood covers your face and torso. A scream rips from your throat, as he yanks you into his grasp and flings you over his shoulder. You’re kicking and crying and cursing at him to let you go. He snickers in retort. You’re adorable when you’re upset. He’ll let your tantrum run its course for the time being. He knows how uncomfortable it is to be filthy with blood. He’ll ensure he gets you back to his hideout so you can shower, pronto.

Shhh… quiet down, sweetheart.

The other girls — your former colleagues — scurry around and stumble out of his path. No one tries to stop him from leaving the bar. Your pimp cowers in horror behind the counter, peeping over the taps to get a glimpse of the villain making off with one of his money makers. You were the hidden treasure of this cesspool of dirt. Bandit!All Smite is glad he found you before someone else could taint you.

He pats your bare ass as he carries you towards his horse. All you’re wearing is a skimpy bra and thong. He mounts the steed with some effort, keeping your exhausted figure secure. With a devious smirk, he shifts your panties to the side and dips two of his meaty fingers into your damp hole. You gasp and wriggle, complaining about his intrusion. Ah, pretending you’re scared of him when you’re truly wet and aroused — that’s a silly game he won’t tolerate from a grown woman.

He keeps his digits screwed inside you as he embarks on the lengthy excursion to his hideout. Every jerk and bump of the horse causes his fingers to rub and caress parts of you that make your cunt pulse. Your eyes roll back. This probably has something to do with that aphrodisiac your pimp slipped into your water this morning, in prep for a busy day of clients. He only told you afterwards, when you had no say in the matter; now, his exploitation is coming to back bite you. Regardless of the source of your arousal, it makes Bandit!All Smite pleased with the image of slamming you down on his bed and claiming you once and for all. His grin — dark and sinister in the twisted throes of his lust — noticeably widens.

Next l

𝔉𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔲

#18+ minors dni #tw noncon #tw dark content #tw drugging #tw violence #yandere bnha #bandit all smite x harlot reader #yandere all smite #bandit all smite #bandit all smite x reader #farmer au #yagi toshinori #all smite #all smite smut #all smite x reader #harlot reader #fem reader

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bonkbobl · 3 months ago

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beautiful fool

ROOSE BOLTON X READER | PART 2

a/n: wait okay i didn't mean to fall down this rabbit hole but roose bolton can get it i dont really care. genuinely sometimes i forget that hes a bad... bad bad bad man. he has that flavor of bad thats just so alluring though i cant resist. i forget that the boltons often torture people for fucks and giggles but rewatching the scene where roose just fucks with jamies head for no reason other than thinking it might be funny made me think to what lengths would he go for something he actually wants. warning that its unedited and unplanned and this is more or less a train of thought fic.

summary: he had to have you. whatever it takes.

warning: REALLY explicit, major dubious consent, honestly headed toward straight noncon. very problematic trope of being forced to fuck but then enjoying it. forced marriage. id say dark roose but lowkey this is pretty in character for this bad bad bad man bad man. bad man.

Your heart raced out of your chest, fear even threatening to bubble and explode out of your throat. You almost got away. You nearly escaped. And here you were, tackled into the mud just by the river by men who wanted to hurt you. Hurt you and whatever was left of your family.

The men who whispered taunts in your ear as they tied your hands behind your back laughed. These were the same men who just two days ago invited the woman who you call mother and the man who was like a brother to you into their home to feast and murdered them.

You knew they'd send out a hunting party after you. But you thought swimming in the water might throw them off your scent. You weren't so lucky.

And as they dragged you back, the words of those men rang ominously through your head, "It's too bad the lord wants her untouched. I'd very much like to touch this one."

A lurking feeling told you that you'd probably have preferred to fall into the river and crack your head open on some jagged rock than find out what use the Lord of the Dreadfort had for you.

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

"What happens if I refuse," You asked, lifting your chin in defiance, as much defiance as you could manage with your arms tied behind your back.

Roose tilted his head at you almost like he was amused that you'd even think you have a say in the matter in the first place. "Then I'll put a bastard baby in you," he responded, his frankness and lack of shame sending cool shivers down your back. "And once the bastard is born I'll put another in you."

You couldn't help the frustrated tears that pooled in your eyes and you ripped your gaze away from him, fear bubbling in your chest and making you feel sick.

"Whore of Winterfell, or Lady Bolton. It's your decision, love."

Ever since that conversation you had pondered how likely it is you'd make it even a few miles before you were captured, either by Bolton hunters or the Ironborn. Either would be unpleasant. You wondered if you could find a way to just be done with it all and join your ward family in the seven heavens rather than fight. But you knew you could never bring yourself to. You were one of the living, through and through. You had to run.

And plan, you did, but no opportunity came. It was only a matter of time before you were put in a pretty white dress and brought under a Godswood to speak your vows to the man who betrayed your true king.

All you could think was why. Why cant he just let you go. You have no legitimate claim that could threaten him. You're not a stark. You're just a girl. You don't come from a large family. Not one of influence. There are no banners to raise. No substantial actions you could take against the new wardens of the north. You were more likely to die trying to run north than you were to be any kind of threat.

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

It wasn't like Roose to hold affections for any particular person. It was rare for him to even feel a vague sense of fondness towards anyone. A person is useful and competent. If they aren't then at best they are a nuisance that he could do without, at worst a threat to the Bolton name.

But you.

You were every bit as much a fool as the man who took you in as a ward, and that same mans son who grew up with you. You fretted over honor and doing the right thing when your enemies would not pay a second thought. You argued in favor of the late Queen Talisa's insistence on helping both Northern and Royal forces, allocating countless coppers toward medicating the enemy.

You aggravated Roose to no end when you first began to speak out. And yet he found that his eyes would always meet yours, rake downward against his will really. And though it only added to his aggravation, he brushed those feelings aside as the natural desires of a man.

He, in no way, found you difficult to gaze upon. It was infuriating, even more so that you seemed to understand the effect you had on men, flirting about with the son of Karstark and joking crudely with the men as if you weren't a lady to be respected.

And yet he found a stirring in him when you'd make an innuendo that was a little too risque.

He soon found it difficult to not think of you. Especially when you, the beautiful fool, revealed yourself to be of a sharper mind than even the King in moments.

"I love Talisa, truly, but think about it, Robb. You may be winning battles right now. But if you become too close to her, your closest advisors may falter. You risk losing the war."

"We have little food to sustain the rest of the camp, perhaps it'd do the Northern cause some good to do something about the overflowing kennels. As distasteful as it is to execute so many."

"Karstark will be avenged if you go through with this, please Robb. His forces make up a third of ours. Think. Think about it, I beg you."

Roose was irked by the fact that he agreed with you on more occasions than not, but he was impressed nevertheless. And it only kept you on his mind more. No, it wasn't love, Roose was sure of it, it erred more on the side of an intrigue that escalated to the point of near obsession. You were, after all, young, beautiful, thoughtful, and you held a level head. More strong than his first wife, less stiff and rigid than his second. More alluring and exciting than both.

The way Roose saw it, Robb Stark was becoming more dangerous to the interests of the North, growing increasingly reckless as the war went on. It was really his duty to usurp the so called King in the North, whod surely lead all the great Northern Houses to extinction if this masquerade continued on. You, however, would be a great loss if you were to drown alongside the wolf.

A great loss, indeed. Not to any higher purpose, you were not from any significant house. No, you just deserved to live. It baffled Roose to know he felt that way about any one person. But he reasoned it's simply because he wants you for himself. His pretty little wife — you'd fit that role so well.

He even remembered the way the old Lord Frey cackled when he stated his intentions with you.

"Marry any of my daughters and I will give you her weight in silver, My Lord. An offer of good faith and my grandson shall become Warden of the North."

"I'm honored by the offer, believe me. But I already have a prize that I've set my eyes on."

Frey's eyebrows arched in amusement.

"The Stark Ward," Bolton answered the unspoken question.

And the old man laughed, harder than a man his age should be able to, and sure enough his joy was cut short by a few uncouth coughs. "Pretty slut. I cannot say I blame you, Lord Bolton. I'm embarrassed I didn't think to take that pretty thing as my spoils before you did."

Roose offered a polite smile and hum, "I'll wed one of your children or perhaps grandchildren to whatever child I will have with my new wife."

Frey chuckled, nodding, "Hm, expect me to remember such a promise, my lord..." Then with a sardonic smirk, the lecherous old man spoke again, "Eh, I assume you aren't the type of man to like to share, are you, Lord Bolton."

And Roose's smile dropped into a hard glare. Frey laughed again, waving him off.

"A joke," he reassured, "Alright. After we kill the boy and his mum, you keep the whore. I cant wait to see how you deign to tame the bitch."

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

The very same halls you grew up in echoed terribly as your husband led you to the chambers you would share. The Lords chambers. You remember running to this very room to pester your Lord and Lady, sometimes Sansa or her older brother running alongside you.

Lord Bolton hardly spoke a word to you. All the better, for you could not bear to look at him. All those months of sitting across him as both of you counseled the proclaimed King in the North, and you thought you knew the man. You even admired him, vied for his approval. You thought him to be intelligent, more clear headed than the men that are easily driven by anger or lust and other vices of men. You'd smile to yourself on the occasions he'd agree with you or appear to approve of your advise.

To be honest, you thought Lord Bolton had no such love or affection toward you, especially in the very beginning when he wouldn't even stop to regard you, or he'd clearly speak over you, brush you aside, advise your king the opposite of the words you'd spoken. You thought he saw you as a mere child, playing at king and hand like you and Robb would as babes.

Now you think he really must have hated you. You wonder how long he hated Robb, and all the Starks, all their allies. But you, he must have hated you especially. Why he would feel the need to subject you to the greatest torture of living with him, being bred by him, carrying child after child, you wondered why why why. Why does he hold so much resentment toward a young girl. He must be a sad man.

You suddenly realized he was staring at you, watching your teary eyes, your clenched jaw, your shaky breath. You stared him in his cold eyes, defiant. Though you knew it was useless. You knew what would come next. He made it clear.

Whore of Winterfell, or Lady Bolton.

Was there any difference?

For Lady Bolton, the children you bear him would be heirs rather than bastards. For Lady Bolton, you'd have a title, your "honor" in tact. But everything that mattered would remain the same. Youd take him nightly. You could only hope for him to cease his visits once a babe has taken to your belly

"Lady Bolton," your husband commanded your attention.

You faced him, inches away from the bed. He towered over you and you did your best at a feeble attempt to not let him intimidate you. You were scared. You wanted to be strong but the thought of what was to come next was scaring you. There's no escape.

"Lord Bolton," you replied, nothing but spite in your tone.

He breathed a humorous scoff, shaking his head slightly, "Undress yourself," he said, barely above a whisper, challenging you by tilting his head to the side. His eyes were so cold, barely feeling. You'd not be surprised if he told you he wasn't human.

Swallowing, you began unlacing your dress, attempting to remain hard as steal. But a tear finally trickled down your face when his hand reached up to cup it.

Your fingers stalled to a halt when he leaned in to kiss the tear, an action that would be comforting from any other man but you knew he meant to mock you. This was meant to be humiliating. He doesn't care for you. He kisses your tears away to remind you he doesn't care. He might even like it. Stop crying.

But you couldn't. You squeaked out a small sob as his lips came down to meet yours, hungry and demanding. Your shaky breath let out a heavy sigh through your nose and the feeling of fear strangely extinguished from your chest for a moment. Instead, your chest rose and you met him in his kiss.

His lips were surprisingly soft, his tongue felt dirty in your mouth but you couldn't explain why you didn't want to bite it off and spit it out. Instead you felt helpless and you let his tongue roam your mouth with little to no fight. When he pulled away from you, a string of spit tried desperately to keep the two of you connected but smacked against your chin after a mere second.

Your breath was heavy, cheeks wet with tears, flushed and probably looking a mess. You didn't want to imagine it. The vague sense of disgust with yourself remained but it just felt slightly different. You didn't know how to place it. It stirred rather pleasantly in your lower tummy and you felt really tense down there.

"I will repeat this command. But for the future, I want it to be known that I don't enjoy repeating myself. Undress yourself."

You heard his words clearly and allowed him to kiss you again. Your fingers clumsily and hurriedly worked at your dress. You stripped yourself bare as he did as he liked, kissing, nipping at your lips. His hands explored the new inches of your body as they became more and more exposed to him.

They roamed over your back, and back in front to cup your soft tits, weighing them, toying with your nipple... roamed back down your back, squeezing your firm ass. You couldn't place the feeling, you couldn't place it. You didn't like the feeling. You wanted it to stop. And yet if he pulled away you felt as if you might lean back into his touch inexplicably. You'd hate it but you'd go back for more.

Whenever he groped you a little too hard, you'd whine without even realizing it and Roose's pleasure would grow. Once you were fully naked, you grew awkward, not knowing what to do with your hands so you backed toward the bed. But he followed.

The rough fabric of his clothes felt harsh against your soft skin. You had nothing to do but whimper again and when you turned your head away, he simply let you, instead taking the opportunity to finally look at you, his little wife. Beautiful, clever, stubborn little wife.

You ducked your head, crying, confused at the way you felt, confused as to why you weren't fighting him harder. And that spurred you to begin.

Roose realized you weren't fighting him the second he kissed you and he shared your confusion for a second until he felt your tongue caressing his in reciprocation. He's sure you hadn't even fully realized your own actions as you had rushed to comply with his orders.

He half expected you to be a shy blushing bride but this reminded him that you were a little of a tease with Robbs men, cracking nasty jokes that a lady should not have been aware of. You were no blushing bride. In fact, you were a bit of a slut. A tease.

And suddenly, it struck him that the behavior hadn't so much aggravated him in the way that he thought. In fact the memory of you flirting with those men who were now burried in the ground or thrown into the river, gave him this strong sense of accomplishment to have you here.

Roose began undoing his trousers, unsheathing himself to your horror and you pushed him away, escaping the only way you were permitted, crawling on the bed and trying to get over to the other side. Roose was too fast, grabbing your ankle and pulling you down.

You fell but you kicked him in the chest and he laughed, dropping your ankle, but only so he could grasp your hips firmly and pull you back along the edge of the bed.

"Down, girl," he commanded, as if you were a dog.

You cried, clawing at anywhere to escape to. But he was right behind you and as you looked around, you knew it was hopeless. Still the fight burned on in your chest. Then you heard a smack and a sharp pain in your buttock, jolting you under your husband.

Another one came because you refused to calm yourself, then his hand slipped between your thighs and he spanked you again as another feeble warning.

"My lady," He started, waiting for you to calm finally before chuckling. Then your torturer informed you of something, no doubt to break your spirits, "Are you aware, Lady Bolton, how wet your cunt is?"

His rough weathered fingers rubbed at your entrance, barely pushing in and sure enough the sound of your slick being rubbed and spread around, filled your ears. Your fists balled the sheets under it and your legs helplessly kicked up, though with no purpose. You couldn't get away. From him. From your shame. From your body's betrayal.

"Your womb is begging me to fill it. You feel it, don't you?" He taunted, "You're confused, aren't you. Stupid, confused, little wife."

His fingers slipped away and you fought to catch your breath, fists relaxing because he stopped. But then his fingers were replaced by something thicker and hotter and your struggle resumed. Your hips squirming but all it did was slicken his cockhead for an easier entrance.

"Let me clear your confusion, stupid little wife." Roose cooed to you, the tone of his voice unfitting of the cruel words. "You are exactly where you belong. Under your husband, serving your husband. The Warden of the North. There's no need to fight your fate or fight your pleasure as you are exactly where you belong."

Then he began pushing into you and your toes clenched, back arching inexplicably. The new angle that you provided made it easier. You knew it didn't make sense but it made perfect sense to Roose, who chuckled behind you, smacking your ass, this time not in displeasure but as a praise. Your body twitched at it, cunt squeezing and pulsing around him as if it were trying to suck it in.

Your moans grew more wanton as he pushed in torturously slow. And of course it hurt, stung, when he forced past your maidenhead but you couldn't even bring yourself to squirm away from that. You were rightfully his.

When his hips met yours, he just held himself buried inside you for a few seconds and you continued to contract and twitch around him, small squeaks of confusion escaping your throat against your will. You couldn't stop squirming. The sensation of something so big filling you stirred you uncontrollably.

A hand trailed down your thigh, nudging it upward and you followed the movement, allowing him to prop your leg up on the bed. Then he began thrusting and your face heated up when you heard just how wet you were. Each time his hips pressed flush against you, youd feel the cool sensation of your slick on his balls.

It was all so vivid. Even if you couldn't see what was going on behind you. You knew. And the most shameful noises forced past your throat as your husband fucked you deeply and slowly.

"Listen to yourself," Roose muttered, hands coming up to grab your shoulders.

It allowed him to hammer deeper and harder into you, the sharpness of his thrusts contrasting the slow strokes he started with. You cried out, shameful but you were horrified to find that you did not want him to stop. Not when he was... oh his cock was hitting something inside you. Deep inside you.

"Keep making those noises, darling wife. I cant tell if I enjoy your pleasure more or your tears."

You cried out, a small sob at the end of it. And despite your better judgement, you turned your head to look at your husband. Your naked body contrasted so much with his garments, which stayed mostly unmoved. Only his pants and breeches were pulled down to his mid thigh.

His expression hardened upon evaluating your features. There was nothing more beautiful, your lips parted in a pleasure that confused you. The tears had dried by now but your hair was a mess and your eyes swollen and pinkish. Not to mention the way you were splayed out beneath him. He landed a firm spank to your buttocks again, aiming to leave marks.

You whimpered, eyebrows coming together as your pussy clamped down around him. Roose grabbed your hip that was propped higher than the rest of your body due to your leg that was positioned on the bed. And he used that hip as leverage to pull your body into him.

The confusion within you turned to fear when an unfamiliar feeling began building within you. You cried out loudly and involuntarily clamped down even harder around him, pulsing uncontrollably as he jackhammered into you ruthlessly, intensifying when his hands abandoned your hips for your neck.

You couldn't help but feel as if you were reduced to a little object. He could grab you wherever and however he wanted and pull you against his cock and you had nowhere to run and yet you couldn't even deign to lift your legs and kick at him. You surrendered to the smallness that he made you feel, cries and distress replaced by whimpers and submission.

You came to find your body shaking and convulsing with a blinding kind of pleasure. Even your moans died into a breathy, shaky sigh, back arching as you sank further into the sheets beneath you. Your lord gave no sign of stopping, another self satisfied hum rumbling from his chest.

"Good, so good, darling. I knew you would come to enjoy your new position."

And with that you were filled again with shame, though not yet strong enough to overshadow the stubborn pleasure which muted any feelings that might incite discomfort. You especially could not feel displeased when your husband firmly snapped his hips into you, releasing a grunt. He continued to pump into you, slowly but firmly. sighing along with his thrusts. It was the only compromise in composure that he allowed you to see and you were only sure at this point that he was finished with you.

Surprisingly the spilling of his seed didn't feel like much but your cunt squeezed him, as if it was aware. And you felt satisfaction wash over you, as if your body was also aware.

To your shock and shame, your ass gyrated beneath him, rolling itself against him to fully milk him for all he had to offer you. And you hid your face, pausing once you realized.

After recovering from his release, Roose watched you closely, appreciating the way you still squirmed, restless. You moved your leg back down to the floor and pushed back, hips meeting his and your cunt convulsed again around him due to the overstimulation. He stood like a barrier, looming over you a he rested his hands on the edge of the bed where your hips were and your restless little cunt continued to twitch and pulse as you tried to compose yourself desperately.

You breathed deeply but it was hopeless. You could not walk away with your dignity, fully aware of how Lord Bolton stared upon his Lady Bolton, satisfied with how you gave into him so easily.

You shivered and your breath hitched when he landed a kiss to your shoulder blade. Then you sighed, settling down again for him. And a needy whimper confirmed your submission.

Roose loomed over you, giving you another small kiss on your temple.

"You did well, my lady."

The approval got to you. Your days on Robbs counsel trying your best to say anything intelligent that would make him accept you as an equal. It all led you to this moment. But you never did accomplish your goal of being viewed as an equal, at least it didn't feel that way in this moment. His softening cock still inside you, the only thing stopping his spend from trickling down your leg. Oh the shame of it all.

"I'm pleased to find that you enjoyed it as much as I did."

"No," You protested but in your voice you could tell you didn't even believe yourself.

Lord Bolton merely laughed. And you whimpered again, willing yourself to sink into the bed and disappear. Then your husband pulled back and spread your ass cheeks apart, giving you a lengthy thrust. Though he was not as hard as he was moments ago, the movement was enough to make you shiver.

"Then we should try again in a half mark of an hour. I shall train my lady wife to welcome me into her bed."

You bit the inside of your mouth to prevent another whimper but it was ripped from you when Lord Bolton spanked you again.

Oh yes, Roose Bolton would commit a thousand betrayals and massacre a hundred false Kings if it meant he'd end up with you, here, to warm his bed.

#roose bolton x reader

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lilacliquors · 1 year ago

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more cocky bastard johnny cage i beg 🙏 maybe jealous bf plotline 😁🤞

fuck yes i love this man sm

johnny isn't unhealthily possessive of you, but he definitely doesn't like it when a guy even looks at you, let alone tries to flirt with you. it kinda sets something off in his head

you're at the premiere for his directorial debut, his first film to help liu kang introduce the other realms to those in earthrealm, another celebrity guest had taken a liking to you, trying to chat you up by the open bar

at first, you engage in friendly conversation, but then as he gets closer and gets touchier, johnny can sense your discomfort from a mile away. you make eye contact with him, and he's by your side immediately

arm goes around your waist, his grip on you is tight, but never tight enough to hurt you, and his grin is strained, but the other man never would have guessed right away. but you can see in his eyes he's a bit disappointed he won't be taking you to his hotel room that night

johnny now makes semi-polite conversation, holding you securely while his smile becomes more and more forced until you finally drag him away from the conversation.

he gets all huffy as you walk away, muttering under his breath about the man, how he couldn't believe he thought himself even worth your time, and it took you a while (and a few kisses) to calm him down

he's mostly relaxed for the rest of the night, keeping his arm around you or his hand on you in some way, pressing kisses to your temple and essentially showing you off for the rest of the night, talking about how lucky he was to have you to anyone who would listen.

#atomwritez #johnny cage x reader #johnny cage mk1 #johnny cage

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hbyrde36 · 1 year ago

Text

STWG Drabble 9/19/23

Prompt: “We’re not family”

“We’re not family!” Dustin spit the words in Steve’s face, looming over his hospital bed with a scowl.

Steve's heart sank. Oh no, not Dustin too. “But, you said I was like a brother to you.”

“Maybe at one point you were, but then you let Eddie die. How could you possibly think things could ever be the same after that?”

Had he done that? Was Eddie dead, and was it somehow his fault? He couldn’t remember, it must have been the pain meds clouding his mind. No wonder the kid was so upset.

“I’m sorry, Dustin, I'm so sorry. You know I would have done anything to save him if I could have. Please, you have to know that.” Steve begged. He had so few people in his life that really cared about him, and his heart was breaking at the thought that he’d ruined things with his pseudo little brother. He’d already been disowned by his parents after he didn’t get into college, what more could he take?

“You know what I think?” Dustin began, with a most unpleasant smile on his face. “I think you wanted him to die. I think you were so jealous of him, so afraid that he was going to take me away from ,that you’d do anything to get him out of the picture.”

“No, NO! That’s not true. I liked Eddie! I cared about him! I swear! Why would you…why are you saying these things to me?” Steve cried.

Dustin scoffed. “You're lucky I'm even standing here right now. What good are you to me like this? To us? Bedridden and broken. You can’t even protect these kids you supposedly love now. You’re worthless, Steve. Might as well throw in the towel.”

Steve tried desperately not to fall apart, but what reason did he have to hold himself together now if even Dustin didn't want anything to do with him anymore?

That’s when he heard a familiar voice start screaming his name in the distance. Nancy. She was calling out to him but it sounded like she was a million miles away. Suddenly, he realized that nothing around him made sense. He shouldn’t be in the hospital, and what had Dustin just said about Eddie? Eddie was fine the last time Steve saw him, not ten minutes ago! The last thing he remembered was climbing the stairs to the attic in the Creel house. Robin had just tripped over a vine, he was trying to get to her to help when another one had wrapped itself around his throat.

“You know she’s only trying to save you out of guilt, Steve. She doesn’t love you, she doesn’t even like you.” Dustin-not-Dustin said, his voice dropping lower with every word spoken.

Vecna.

Steve jumped out of the bed on the opposite side and ran for the door. He threw it open and sprinted down the hall. The hospital was a ghost town, which he figured made sense considering none of this was real.

He looked around as he ran, desperate to find a way out. Max had described a portal opening up when she’d escaped Vecna’s clutches in the graveyard, but she’d had the music to guide her then. He knew neither he, Robin, or Nancy had brought a walkman with them into the Upside-Down.

He kept running anyway, desperate to get as much space between himself and Vecna as possible while he tried to think. He wondered what had happened with Max. Had he not taken the bait, or was Max… already dead?

The thought made him want to give up. To just lie down on the floor, curl up in a little ball, and let that bastard take him too, but Robin would never forgive him if he gave up now. He pushed on, rushing past empty room, after empty room, finding nothing helpful or useful.

The feeling of hopelessness became overwhelming but just when he was again considering admitting defeat, the world around him dissolved and he was plunged into darkness.

He woke with a gasp in Robin’s arms. She was rocking him, tears spilling down her face.

“Oh my god, Steve, you’re back!” She cried, squeezing him tightly.

“Where’s Nance?” He asked.

“She’s up in the attic finishing Vecna off. When we couldn’t wake you, we went up there to start the attack, hoping it would force him to let you go. Nancy thinks he was trying to get you and Max at the same time, and it left him too distracted and vulnerable. We got him Steve, it’s over.”

He sagged in relief. Vecna was dead. He was okay, it sounded like Max probably was too. That’s when he remembered what Dustin/Vecna had said about Eddie, and his blood ran cold.

Steve pushed himself out of Robin’s arms and to his feet, quickly grabbing his axe from where it had fallen. He flew down the stairs taking them two at a time and praying he wasn’t too late.

“Where are you going?” Robin shouted at his back.

He paused for only a second to explain. “I think Eddie and Dustin are in trouble, wait here for Nance and meet me back at the trailer!”

He found Eddie kneeling on the ground surrounded by dozens of dead demobats. His spear and shield had been tossed to the ground. He was breathing heavily, hands pressed tightly to a wound on his side. He was hurt, he was bleeding, but he was alive.

Steve started stripping out of his jacket as he approached. He tugged the t-shirt over his head and ripped it, trying to create bandages the same way Nancy had.

Eddie stared up at him with wide eyes. “Am I dead?”

“No.”

Steve pulled Eddie's hands away from the wound and pulled the shirt up so he could get a better look at it. It was pretty bad, but it wasn’t gushing. If they wrapped it tight, and got him to a hospital quickly, Eddie would be just fine.

“Are you sure? Because the way you just stripped out of those clothes for me is definitely making me feel like I've died and gone to heaven, big boy.”

Steve blushed hard. It was just the blood-loss, he reasoned. Eddie didn’t know what he was saying, so he ignored it.

“You’re gonna be fine, Eddie. Hold that shirt up for me so I can wrap this.”

Eddie did as he was asked, but his gaze never wavered from Steve’s chest. He was pretty sure he even caught the other boy licking his lips at one point, and it definitely didn’t cause warmth to start pooling in his stomach.

Steve fought hard to concentrate on his work, but he had a feeling that as soon as this was over he was going to need an emergency bathroom floor meeting with Robin.

#stwgdailyprompt #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanfic

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chronically-ghosted · 1 year ago

Text

the only thing we have to fuck is fear itself

rating: 18+

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

word count: 5309

summary: You get drunk at a happy hour and tell Max to his face you don’t find him scary at all. He takes that personally.

warnings/tags: drinking, like two seconds of scary vibes, smut, (secret) established relationship, work hard, play hard, have secret sex with your coworker even harder

a/n: I’m so sorry to FDR for butchering his quote for the sake of a title, but i like to think that horny bastard would have loved my smut.

🤍AO3 Link 🤍 Masterlist 🤍 Get notified when I post new works!

Despite working at a place that was quite literally soul-sucking, your coworkers could throw one hell of a happy-hour.

There wasn’t a bartender in a ten mile radius from the office who didn’t know you all by name, didn’t shout a greeting over the tightly-packed house the instant you walked in. Rarely was it just a single crew member at the bars – you often got accused of moving in a pack like a five-headed hydra that could drink double its own weight in liquor, beer, and frosés – and being only two-fifths human, the Monster Squad was an alcoholic force to be reckoned with.

Maybe because you actively promoted unity amongst the species, like poster children for positive and “non-toxic human-demon relationships” HR kept encouraging in their Monday-Funday email blasts, but your little group was something of a legend in the area. You thought any notoriety was more likely due more to your faces plastered all over the bars’ trivia night winner boards, but in the office, people tended to stare. Trish, a siren from Santa Barbara, loved the attention, said it was good for her skin – gave her a “dewy” look. Nita, the only other human in your group besides you, disagreed with Ken (a quarter leprechaun on his mother’s side) when Ken claimed the whispering came from the sheer volume of nonsense that started around 4PM in the office on Fridays and continued until you all left the office. Ken was of the belief that the notoriety was actually infamy – to which he was promptly booed and had to buy the next round.

And yet, to yourself, to the quiet conversations you had in the bathroom mirror after two long island ice teas and whatever was in what the centaur bartender at Lucky’s called an “Ass Whooping”, you suspected there might be another reason the Monster Squad even had a name at all. Within your own fields, each of you were respectable – Ken and Trish were both heads of marketing and Nita oversaw a considerable team of engineers, with you of course a department leader over in legal – one member of your group was, let’s say, more well-known.

Well-known because he was the flashiest, the loudest, and certainly the most demonic of you all: Max Phillips, VP of sales, money-maker extraordinaire, and a fan-favorite amongst your Overlords, the rest of the sales team, and anyone with working and interested sex organs in the near vicinity.

To your complete and utter annoyance.

You don’t quite remember how you all came together, who brought who into the group, and when it was unanimously decided that you’d stop snatching up office workers like limes at $5 margarita night after Trish, but it was Max who kept you together, who set up the group chat (somehow mysteriously gathering all of your phone numbers after a very late night), who bullied anyone who responded to his weekly “winner winner liquid dinner” texts every Friday morning with a tepid maybe into coming out that night. He already seemed to know half of the bartenders in the city, all of whom were happy to send over a free round of tequila shots as a “thank you to Max’s friends”. While you’d never look a gift vampire in the mouth, you were suspicious of his influence. Was that vampire hypnosis real? Did he have a pack of lesser, baby vamps to send out to tenderize the hunting grounds?

One thing’s for sure, he definitely didn’t scare them into it.

“Has Halloween, like, changed for anyone else?” Nita grouched over her second Sangria Spritzer two hours into another fantabulous happy hour at Heel Clicks. The four of you were huddled into your comically small booth up on the landing near the back bar – of course there were other seats available but this had the best view, the closest access to your favorite bartender, and at some point, the shoulder-to-shoulder proximity served as a way to counteract the tipsy swaying.

Trish leaned around Ken, her beautiful blue eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno,” Nita shrugged hopelessly. “It used to be one of my favorite holidays when I was a kid. I loved the candy, the costumes – all of it. But I really liked being scared the most.”

Ken sorted into his old-fashioned. “Well, if you’re still scared of things you were as a kid, Nit, I think you’ve got a bigger problem than seasonal preference.”

She elbows him and he knocks into Trish.

“Not like that . . . but, like, monster movies aren’t really scary anymore? I mean, I used to watch Ginger Snaps religiously around Halloween, but, uh, now that I know an actual werewolf and he’s the nicest little old man in accounting, I dunno . . . it’s just not the same.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble on monsters,” Ken shrugged. “But I personally cannot relate. As a member of the Free Folk, my people have always been welcomed, seen as bringers of good will towards man.”

“You know there’s eight movies where a leprechaun murders literally dozens of teenagers, right?” You turned to Ken over Nita, your entire right buttcheek hanging off the edge of the booth.

“Oh, yeah, baby Jennifer Aniston,” Trish mused, thinking. “If that’s what your uncle looks like, Ken, then I posit Halloween is still fucking creepy.”

“Halloween is definitely creepy and it sucks.” Your ringleader has returned with electric-green jello shots. Max Phillips carried a tray with one hand, his immaculate blue jacket gone to display firm forearms underneath his white, rolled-back sleeves. “Bunch up, kiddies, Daddy’s back with treats.”

Half the group groaned, the other squealed in delight.

Max hip-bumped you, his ravenous cologne immediately making you think unwise thoughts, as he pushed his way onto the bench absolutely not made for this many people. He looked back at you as he passed out the drinks.

“Now why are we all in agreement that Halloween is a lame holiday?”

“Nita claims that because she personally knows a werewolf – Ned, right? – she’s not scared of monster movies anymore.”

Max scoffed. “Well, there’s your problem right there. Werewolves were never scary to begin with.”

“What monster movies have you been watching?” Nita gaped at him. “Maybe it’s bad representation, but all the movie werewolves can tear you to shreds!”

Ken nodded solemnly. “This is why affirmative action is so important.”

Trish smacked him over the back of the head.

“So, what?” Max continued, crunching up the jello in its plastic cup. “Now that you know me, a vampire, you think all Dracula movies give blood-suckers a bad rap?”

“No, being a human-sized mosquito with too much hair gel is doing that all on its own.” You smirked, dead-eyed, at him. Behind you, Ken and Trish snorted so hard they almost spilled their drinks.

Max narrowed his eyes at you, in a look he only gave you when you wouldn’t let him ease around legal loopholes “for the good of the business”. Only Nita seemed to be oblivious.

“That’s a good point, Max.” She thoughtfully stirred her jello with her pinky, unsticking it from the sides of her cup. “I mean, I guess I never watched that many vampire movies to begin with.”

Max broke his heated staring contest with you to look around at Nita, elbow pressing up into your chest as he leaned forward on the table. “I can promise you, doll face, vampires have been and always will be more terrifying and lethal than werewolves.”

“Not the argument I think you want to make, mate,” Ken murmured as you shifted yourself to face Max entirely.

“Oh, yeah? Enlighten us all –,”

“Nope,” Trish called down the row, “we’re taking this shot before you two get into it again.”

“To Ned!” Ken yelled.

“To Ned!”

Plastic crunched, tongues slurped, as jello ungracefully slipped into every open mouth down the bench. You licked your lip, tip of your tongue green. Max watched the movement out of the corner of his eye.

“So, enlighten us, Max, why should we be so afraid of you?”

Max grinned out the side of his mouth. “One, I’ve seen more bite out of a pomeranian than one of those Tribbles. And two, whatever-wolves can only get it up once a month. I’m all monster, all the time, baby.”

At this, everyone groaned.

“Dollar to the Dick Jar!” Trish smacked her hand on the table.

“Here, here!”

Max pouted as he took a dollar out of his wallet and slammed it into the center of the table, payment towards tips or the bill or whoever suffered the most due to The Dick.

“Face it, buzz,” you shrugged as he put his wallet away. “You’re just not scary any more, if you ever were.”

“Is that right?”

Fuck, you were in a lot of trouble. Beneath the table, his thigh soaked yours in heat.

“That’s right.”

“You know what is really scary?” Ken muttered, digging around in his crushed up for the last remnants of jello. “Kelpies.”

“Ah – yes! They’ve got sloppy fangs covered in algae!”

“Hey – that’s my cousin you’re talking about!”

Heel Clicks was hands down one of your favorite bars in the area. Devoted to the local music scene in the area, the vibe was a mix of old 70s rock bands, modern steel, and whatever justified lots of mounted horns and hairy cow-skin stools. The drinks were great, seasonal too, and there was always live music on the patio out back. In a twist that you found particularly cool, the old rum-runners tunnels had been converted to comfortably spacious bathrooms in the basement. Behind the solid oak door, the noises from the above bar are nearly entirely muffled, making the slow descent to the bathroom something of an out-of-body experience when you’ve had a few and the sudden silence is almost an echo.

Plus, these fucking stairs are a death trap.

You embarrassingly clutched at the railing, the wooden stairs at far too sharp an angle even if you were sober as a judge, much less at a Monster Squad happy hour.

Stupid Max and his stupid drinks and his –

What was that?

You stand up right on the third to last step, listening.

In the half darkness in front of you, there are three paths available. To the left, employee storage, the lights above the door flickering, the sign reading “do not enter” pulsating in and out of visibility. To your right, another door, maybe an exit. Always unmarked and always locked every time your drunken curiosity got the better of you.

And across from the stairs were the bathrooms, left women, right for men.

God, what year is it? Shouldn’t it all just be gender-neutral? You think to yourself, a tad bit more aggressive than you’d usually oppose the gender binary – primarily to wash out the rising concern at the back of your neck.

You are alone down here. It’s obvious. It’s not like there’s that many places for some dastardly villain to hide. Four shut doors and three hallways. Unless some maniac was curled up under the stairs, you are the only person in the basement.

At least, the only person you can see.

You don’t realize how sweaty your hands are until you try to continue your way down the stairs. You take a step and nearly slip, the eyes you know are on you somehow laughing.

One blinking light. No where for anything to hide, so why are you so nervous? You are an adult woman, for god’s sakes. You make it to the floor, the most likely candidate for your demise behind you and –

The stairs creaked.

The empty stairs that you just walked down creaked and you nearly leap across the hallway to put space between you. Heart in your throat, you make the monumentally stupid decision and call out, “hello? Is anyone there?”

As if the serial killer was just going to announce himself, give up the whole element of surprise.

Blinking through the bleary haze of too many drinks, you take out your phone and flip on the light. A white beam chases back the encroaching darkness, a frantic worried ghost peering through the gloom. And yet, like you consciously know, there’s nothing there. But the darkness feels heavier, the eerie distant noise from the bar above so quiet and removed the sound is more of a memory – the idea of what comfort and community should sound like. But it’s not. It’s too far gone – if anything were to happen, it’d be hours before they found you. If they did at all.

“Oh my god,” you scold yourself, squeezing your eyes shut. “Get a fucking grip and go pee and then go back up those fucking stairs and –,”

Okay, that was definitely breathing.

Breathing, right behind you. Ragged, hungry, disembodied breathing, in your ear and your heart ricochets into your chest. Your own breath turns short, choppy, panic swelling into your ears, over your fingers. You think you might drop your phone, your fingers are so numb from fear, so you clutch tighter, the trembling throwing white light across the paneled wood in a craze.

Be rational, this is crazy, there is nothing down here!

The stairs snarl again and you squeak, all but bolting for the women’s bathroom, desperate to put at least some space between you and those fucking stairs, put some boundaries between –

The door is locked. When the fuck is this door ever locked?

Panic recedes to overwhelming rage because fuck, fuck, fuck, now you’re trapped in here – you can’t go back to the stairs – you rattle the handle, shaking the door against its lock –

“Fucking let me in!”

The light above the exit door goes out. And then the other. You throw all of your weight against the bathroom door. You claw at the handle, begging it to give way.

Fuck, fuck, fuck – you can hear the darkness breathing –

No, speaking – it’s saying something, chanting, mocking, calling out – calling out your name –

The door suddenly unlocks and you stumble forward – into something solid –

Its hands grab you and like a fucking fool, you played right into its trap.

It turns you, throws you up against the tile wall, its claws around your shoulders, cold tile against your cheek and you whimper. Whimper when you feel the soft pin-prick of fangs against the back of your neck – fuck, this is how it ends?? – and –

“Got you.”

That voice.

That condescending, snide, bratty, little –

You elbow the solid body behind you and Max lets out a puff of air, staggering back. You whip around, nearly snarling in his smirking, beautiful face. The bathroom is dark, black tiled walls and floors with a faux-wooden sink and dim lights across the top of the mirror. In the flushed orange light, his eyelashes encourage thick shadows under his eyes and in the collar of his throat. If it wasn’t for that insufferable smile, he’d look painted from thin brush strokes and heavy scarlet paint.

Caravaggio, eat your heart out.

“Max, what the fuck was that?”

He rolls his eyes, rubbing the spot on his chest where you hit him, at the top of his ribcage. “Oh, c’mon, it was just some fun. Saw you sneak off after you got Nita’s drink and thought I’d mess with you just a bit.”

You sigh, willing your heart to slow down, throwing your gaze to the ceiling and dropping your head against the tile.

“God, you asshole, I thought I was gonna die.” You swallow and move your hair out of your face. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I what?”

“You scared –,”

That smile, the crack of fangs across his mouth, widens, the bottom of his lip rolling back over the cut of his teeth, those brown eyes melting into a warm, obscene black, as he meets you hip first against the wall.

His hands climb over your waist, as though daring you to hit him again, and your thigh muscles tighten. Your hands instinctively trace the exposed skin left by his opened collar at the dip of his throat when he comes closer, chest pressing up against yours, nose against your temple.

Fuck, it shouldn’t be this easy for him. You sigh through your nose, eyes rolling shut, when he nips at your cheek.

“I think you were supposed to be mad at me.”

“I am,” you groan. “I’m livid. I’m enraged. I’m –,”

His thumb brushes your ribs – not tickling, not entirely touching, but just reminding. Reminding of the force behind his touch, behind his teeth.

“Baby girl,” he chuckles softly, the sound running down your neck like rain, “you’re melting in my arms.”

“This doesn’t mean I’m scared of you.” You focus on the softness of his hair between your fingers, the heat of the back of his neck beneath the pads of your fingertips – resolutely ignoring the radiating scent of his cologne coming from up under his collar. More than once had he come across you in his apartment bathroom, sniffing that bottle like some dopey perv looking for a quick fix. Of course, instead of admonishing you, he bent you over his sink and fucked the daylights out of you, his wrists singing with the smell of that cologne. Now he wore it to work wherever he wanted something from you, particularly to overlook some pesky lines of legalise.

In the hallowed darkness of the bar’s bathroom, he drops a single kiss just below your jaw, inches beneath your ear. He grumbles when your pulse there quickens, and again his fangs find a curve of skin to press against – a reminder.

Always reminding, always lurking, a threat without a promise.

And he knows exactly what that does to you.

You release a full body shudder when his hands drop lower, guiding you back against the wall, fingers rounding around your thighs. Like interlocking pieces, your bodies slide together, your arms curling around his neck, the heat of his chest branding yours as it forces you against the wall. You’re breathing all wrong again, but for different reasons this time. You catch a flash of the ink-well darkness of his eyes when he nuzzles out of your neck to admire the mess he has made of your skirt.

“Can I fuck you in this or is this thing too tight?” He asks, like he specifically didn’t get on his hands and knees and beg you to wear that gray pencil skirt only twelve hours earlier.

You lean up, snagging his bottom lip between your teeth, kissing him roughly and showing him he’s not the only one with a little bite. He groans softly, one hand curling into your hair at the base of your skull, and he licks you, from the front of your lips up to the valley of your mouth. He tastes like the sweetness of his whiskey n’ coke, his tongue rubbing the flexing muscle of yours, the sharpness of your molars. You could spend hours just sucking on his plush mouth.

Maybe he did scare you. Maybe he should have scared you more, the threat of anyone discovering your relationship a real danger to both of your careers. Maybe it should have scared you, how little you cared about any of that when he palmed your breast over your shirt.

You inhaled over his mouth, popping off his lips with a moan, his hand cupping you roughly as he dove in to suck marks on your neck. Every moment that passes, you feel your skin ratcheting up with heat, blood almost hot. He thumbs your perk nipple through your shirt and you arch your chest, his massive palm nearly cupping your ribs to your spine.

“Max, either you figure out how to fuck me in this skirt or you owe me a new one.”

“You want me to rip it off you?” He slurs, eyelids heavy, his thigh slides in between your knees, the fabric preventing him from going higher, to the place where you both need him. You groan in frustration and his hands squeeze your hips at the sound. “Tell me fast, baby, because I can’t–,”

“For the love of – just fucking lift it up–,” His hands fumble over yours as your fingers curl under the hem, his own want making that brilliant mind for numbers almost stupid. His warm fingers overwhelm your own as they push your skirt up your waist, and then dig around the line of your pantyhose.

“Jesus Christ, are you trying to Fort Knox me out of your pussy? Why are there so many layers?”

You hiss at him as you slide out of your heels and shove your nylons to the ground, hopping on one leg to take them off your feet. “It’s like you’ve never undressed me before.”

Freed of the chaos of your underthings, Max’s hands rush to his belt, the clinking of the metal sending shivers down your back and straight up your cunt. He doesn’t notice because he’s obsessively watching your thighs. “I’ve never undressed you with our coworkers a floor above us and probably becoming increasingly suspicious about where the fuck we are–,”

You take him by the back of the neck, hand clenching around the starch white of his shoulder. He comes to you, zipper digging into your hip bone as he pulls you up off your feet. For once that chatty mouth is quiet, open and wet with desire as he takes in your flushed face, the blood pumping under your tits. Max is nothing if not almost supernaturally consumed by the look, feel, texture, and taste of your tits.

The look on his face is one of those reasons you tend to throw caution to the wind, why your heart almost feels too big for your chest, whenever he’s around.

He hooks an arm around your low back, tilting your hips forward. You feel the heat of his cock somewhere below you and it takes all of your strength not to grind down.

“Max –,” he’s not even inside of you and you’re already begging. You bite down on his ear to stifle whatever was rising up your throat.

“Hang on, baby, I gotta make sure you . . .”

Using your shoulders as counterbalance, he holds himself up against the wet warmth of your cunt, breath stuttering as he rubs the head of his cock against your slick folds. That bratty aloofness is gone; he wants to sink so, so deep into you.

“Fuck, baby, I didn’t even get you ready – but you’re already so wet –,”

You don’t resist grinding down now and he knocks his shoulders forward, needing movement, but fighting against the urge to buck up into you, gasping from the feeling of your cunt.

“Please, Max, just –,”

“Yeah, I know, baby, okay, just, I gotta . . .”

He angles himself and you arch your back, unable to watch with the mess of your skirt around your waist, but he finds it, finds your opening, the place he loves to mark, and without any warning, thrusts his length up into you.

The stretch, the surprise, the ear-ringing split between being empty and then stuffed so full – you can’t help but moan so loudly, you sing to the ceiling. For a moment, your bodies hum with the stillness, the blood in your cunt pulsating around him, you claw at his broad shoulders, need him closer, needing that smell of him that haunts your empty bed as far inside of you as his cock is. His hips stutter and he presses one hand against the tile by your ribs, teeth clenched against the sensation.

“When I fuck you, every time feels like the first time. Every goddamn time.”

It’s not particularly the confession it could be, but you shake your head, clearing it of anything stupid like feelings for Max Phillips, your chin brushing his jaw, his nose against your ear.

“Then do it,” you whine. “Just fuck me, Max.”

With a groan that could be mistaken for a snarl, he lifts you both up right, pushing your hips down and spreading yourself over him. You lock your ankles around his back a second before he pulls out halfway, then to jerk back in with such force and precision your eyes roll to the back of your head. He sets a pace that has pleasure weaving a tight drum just under your stomach. Each sweaty thrust fires sparks up your spine. He really is so fucking good at this.

This is the release you need, you both need. Sure, it’s an after-effect of having a high-powered job, but it’s also more than that. Max fucking you is unfortunately very often the highlight of your day. He knows what you need, how you need it – how hard to drive his cock into you, it makes you tongue-tied and dizzy. The fast pump of his cock, how it feels to split you apart over and over again, the back zipper of your skirt digging into your back – it’s too fucking good.

“Don’t know where you get off giving me orders,” he grunts, the pounding of his hips into yours rapidly shoving you up your ascension. The slapping, wet noise in the empty room is obscene. “I’m a fucking VP, little girl, and I–,”

You tense your muscles around his cock and he fumbles, his knees buckling momentarily.

“Do not fucking bring up the org chart right now,” you hiss, your own edge yanked away when he stills. “I’m almost there–,”

Quicker than he’s been all night, Max lunges forward, mouth open and teeth bare. He bites your neck and then he bites you.

Fangs puncture your skin, not deep, but enough that your body is thrown into a messy coil of nerves and adrenaline. It knows you could die like this, even if you’ve only ever called the vampire a mosquito to his face, and triggering a self-preservation instinct, your body trembles from the sudden blast of sensation.

Your pupils dilate further than they were, your skin becomes overly aware of every drop of sweat, every flutter of hair, every rub of flesh – and your fucking nerve-endings feel like static, as if brushed by lightning.

Pleasure so-white hot it almost burns roars up your spine, slick coating his cock inside you, and you cry out. Wail in his ear. Begging him to make it better. To give you your release. The feel of his cock pounding up inside your now-overly ripe cunt brings tears to your eyes.

“Oh, fuck – fuck, fuck, fuck – Max, p-please –,”

“Can you handle it if I touch you?”

You shake your head. “Yes, yes, please, touch me.”

“You can’t keep screaming like that,” he scolds you breathlessly, the punch of his hips bouncing you against his cheek. For all his vampire stamina, the flush of exertion across his cheeks is truly staggering and a triumph for your ego. Flecks of blood dot his mouth. “Someone’s going to come looking.”

“I don’t care,” you groan, angling your hips to take more of him. His hand not on your back cups under your knee, tugging it higher up his torso. His pace is relentless, overwhelming – with his weight on top of you, and his cock up under you, inside you, you’re consumed by Max Phillips. “Whatever you do, d-don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

“You scared I’m gonna?”

“Yes,” you whine. You can feel your heart pounding out its shape into your ribs.

“Good girl. And good girls get to fucking come.”

Balancing your increasingly limp body, he holds you up right, his hand snaking beneath your skirt, between the sweat of your thighs and his torso, and –

He thumbs that buzzing bundle of nerves, “come for me, baby”, and you do. You come screaming, the tension snapping, vision sparkling with stars, and you are shoved over the edge. You don’t know you’re wailing his name until he comes too, all concern for getting caught seemingly gone as he begs you to continue as he fills you up with his pearly, gooey cum:

“That’s right, say my name. Say my fucking name, sweetheart.”

His hips thrust weakly, some instinct choking him until he makes sure every drop of him stays in you. You’re going to be dripping for hours.

His skin is fire-hot beneath his starched white shirt. You’ll be thinking about that for days afterward when you see him in the hallways of the office.

This is what scares you the most. When you realize it's over and neither one of you want it to be.

Shaking from exertion, Max slowly sets you down, unwinding your legs from his waist, your ankles trembling against the cold tile. You couldn’t imagine putting your nylons back on, the thought of that pressure against the curve of your lower stomach while you are so full of his cum practically unbearable.

He lifts his head from your neck, eyes intentionally avoiding you as he inspects where he bit you, breath coming in ragged, long gasps. Sweat darkens the hair at his temple and that post-fuck blush is staggeringly gorgeous on him. He pricks his thumb on the sharp edge of his fangs and with a scarlet bead balanced on his thumb, he smears his blood against the puncture wounds, like someone would wipe dirt away from a loved one’s skin.

It doesn’t really hurt, but the effects leave your neck tingling. You’d never say this out loud, but you fucking loved when he did that.

He steps away without looking at you, giving you time to adjust your skirt, your hair in the mirror. You help him straighten his collar because it’s not like he can use the mirror to check himself.

He grins, the flush fading far too rapidly from his cheeks.

“What are you going to tell them?” You nod to the stairs on the other side of the wall. “This can’t look good for us.”

“You got attacked by a werewolf on the way to the bathroom. I saved you.”

“Thought you said werewolves weren’t scary.”

He shakes his head, smirking, then presses a kiss to your temple. “Just said I was the bigger monster between the two of us.”

“My hero.” You turn your head until his lips drink in yours.

It is dangerous, your feelings for him.

He taps you on the butt, pulling away. The lines around his eyes do an excellent job of masking the hurt in the brownness of his eyes.

“Gimme five, then you come up. Can’t have you looking so completely debauched.”

He kisses you again, betraying whatever amounted to “cool and collected” he attempted for, and without another word, he slides out the door.

His smell lingers in the air long after he does. The throbbing of your cunt also serves as a fantastically bitter reminder.

You go back to the mirror because yes, you could not have been more obvious if you were wearing a sign that said, “hi, yes, I did just get my back blown out.” You try to fold your hair around your ears at least a dozen times before pulling it back in what you hope to be a casual pony-tail. You toss your nylons into the trash can, pleading that the “oh, I tore them in the bathroom” excuse might hold an ounce of water.

You think about what’s waiting for you a floor up and your stomach clenches.

Fucking Max could upset the dynamics of your little group, your little Monster Squad. Whatever the stupid office bylines were, your happy-hour social group is one of the bright spots in your life, especially while working at a place run by those bastard Overlords.

And Max knew that. He didn’t want to risk your long-term happiness for his short-term.

Max didn’t scare you because he was a monster.

He scared you precisely because he wasn’t.

You open the bathroom door and return to the world.

#max phillips #max phillips x reader #max phillips x you #max phillips fanfiction #max phillips x f!reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #bloodsucking bastards #max phillips smut #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal characters

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refigiowen · 1 month ago

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Process Of Ruin

Chapter 1: Dirty Magic

My eyes are blown wide open, the ringing of my alarm fills my ears and i feel as if i had not slept for even a minute.

I turn off the alarm and reach out to turn on my lights but immediately realize that my room is lit up as if the mid day sun was shining. It is 4:30 in the morning. The giant billboard outside my window was much like a second sun, one that never stops shining. I despise it, truly i do. I stand up and take a look around the room: Trash, empty food containers, bottles of liquor, various juices that i cannot name, the dark green walls and the filth. Yeah, that is my home. A one room apartment that those poor bastards out in the outskirts would kill for.

I grab my suit, which i used as a blanket last night because my last blanket was infested with cockroaches, and put on my shoes. I would like to mention that i am dirt poor and would never be able to buy a suit like this if it wasn't a rule for every worker to be gifted one upon joining a corporation.

Upon stepping outside my apartment i am met with the door of my neighbour being open and his corpse laying on the floor. Clean shot in the head - Briah Security Force. Poor guy must have pissed off some big corpo for BSF to actually do their job (that being fighting criminals).

I turn to my right and am met with a mixture of scents and smells. Blood, vomit, a hint of piss and the smell of trash that has been set on fire to name a few. I take in the smell and can't help but smile. Not that i like the smell, quite the opposite, but i cannot help but see it as a sort of friend. I mean, it greets me every morning whether i like it or not, it's there for me when no one else is. Is that not what a friend should do? Either way i walk down the stairs and out into the streets.

They used to describe the cities of the future as these big, beautiful metropolises in the old world - in movies at least. I wish i was living in one, but sadly, i live in a shithole of a city called Eden.

The continents were mashed into one giant landmass called Pangaea and all nations that existed before that no longer exist. Mankind lives in a mega city called Eden where Corporations rule the world and a single central government called the Pale Garden helps them, at least that's what it feels like. Eden is divided into countless districts and areas such as Erewhon District, the place i live in. The closer the district is to the center - The Pale Garden - the less depressing and disgusting they are.

Sadly, i live thousands of miles away from the garden.

All humans are linked to something called the "NeuraNet". Long story short: a tool used by big corporations to either A: keep you alive for all eternity. Or B: to kill you or your friends and family with the press of a button.

It's basically impossible to escape NeuraNet as it's implanted into babies directly after they are born. Those who manage to unlink themselves are hunted down by the Pale Garden's Claws and basically every corporation in Eden.

The NeuraNet ensures that someone lives for as long as they are useful to whatever corporation they work for. The person becomes essentially unkillable through natural causes such as organ failure or aging. Oh yeah, they can control your mind as well by the way.

But hey, NeuraNet has its good sides though! I can order food with just my mind and stuff. I think thats neat.

I take in the smell of the street and begin walking to my job. What i work as and who i work for you ask? Like i mentioned, i live in Erewhon District and was lucky enough to get a job at Erewhon Corp., a corporation that specializes in.... electric guitars. Yeah, this district sucks. But i get paid enough to have my own apartment and to buy food. No one said the work life is fair. And once you're in it, you're not getting out of it. Few are lucky to be able to climb the ladder of the corpo life, with how little you get paid some can't even afford a roof above their head. Well, the buildings blocking the sky kind of serve as roofs but you get the point.

I walk into the building and scan my ID card.

"Caiden Jiang, 25 years old. 186 centimeters tall. Erewhon Corp. employee."

My job is to just check the guitars and distribute them to buyers. Ocassionally i get to look at some real goodies, like the guitar used by Mitch Mickleson the famous guitarist from Grovestreet District. Besides that it's just the usual paper work desk job that makes you want to blow your brains out. Whenever i can i look out the window and gaze down onto the streets.

Bloodstains, murder, gunshots and the filth of the city paint an almost beautiful yet twisted picture below me. In this chair on the 10th floor i feel like im above the city, in an empty sky, not chained by the gods of the city. And yet in reality im not even off the floor yet. I sigh and avert my attention from the window and continue staring at the screen before me.

Something i have not told you yet is that i am on the brink of getting a once in a lifetime promotion. Yes sir, you heard me right, a promotion. Getting a promotion in a corporation is as rare as finding a four-leaf clover in a field of roses! It's basically a free ticket to a better life, a decent wage and so much more. I had to hold myself back quite a bit from kissing my boss on his hairy cheek when he told me that i was gonna get promoted soon.

And with that knowledge i walk home, and for once, with a smile on my face. It has been, i don't even know how long, since i last left work with excitement for the next day in my heart. Truly, it has been forever since i felt anything other than sheer melancholy.

And so i walk down the streets of Erewhon district, occasionally looking down into the depths of Eden: "The Metro". No one quite knows what is beneath the city, apparently not even the big corps know anything about that place. I don't really care myself but i would be lying if i said that it didn't intrigue me. A place so mysterious that no corporation in Eden wants to go down there? Well, i for my part am more interested in that nice, nice promotion of mine. I know i am repeating myself but it is truly something special.

I continue walking home, around me are faces of sorrow and grief, sadness and terror. Oh yes, these people suffer. Oh yes, this city is terrible. And oh yes, i am sure the devil is looking down at us and feels lucky to not be down here with us. And as such, i feel as though i should embrace this chance at living a better life as much as possible. Look at these people, living on the streets, in dumpsters and slicing each others throat over a rotten artificial fruit. I live alongside these people, almost as a brother of sorts. But i decided to join a corporation and sacrifice my freedom for a chance to live a life that is worth living. And if i fail i still have my apartment and this suit that has not been cleaned for months. Freedom is something that i can live without. It doesn't let me pay for my healthcare and doesn't protect my wellbeing by sending Briah troops to my location should i ever be in danger. So what use do i have for all that free time when i can use it to work for a better life?

I walk into my apartment and look at my bed. Then my closet and then that godforsaken billboard outside my window. I sigh and smile once again, knowing that this all will soon be behind me.

The next morning i get notified about a Representative Corporation going out of business on NeuraNet. That kind of thing doesn't happen often, not around here at least and so i take a closer look at the article.

"The Representative Corporation of Erewhon District, Erewhon Corp., has gone out of business due to poor performance and low demand of their products. The contracts of every worker will be terminated and a squad of Claws has been dispatched to announce the next Representative Corporation."

"The Fuck..!?"

I begin to run, bumping into a person here and there. "This cannot be real", i think to myself, "they never mentioned any of that shit, they fucking lied - the boss lied when he told me about my promotion!"

And so, after running for at least a mile, i stand before the building, gazing up at the logo of Erewhon Corp. I feel betrayed, fucked with, and lied to.

They promised me a promotion, a better life. No.. they did that on purpose. To give me hope, that fucking bastard wanted me to feel HOPE out of all things? That smile on his face, how i want to rip each of his teeth out one by one. He had the choice of either telling me nothing but the truth, or feeding me poison. And now i stand here, promotionless, jobless, and with nothing to look forward to. I almost took a step forward in this sorry life, but once again, no, i still am at zero.

I can't even feel angry. I am more so... disappointed that i thought that i had a chance. After all, you either work till you die and get fed crumbs, or you die on the streets and get eaten by your neighbours.

And as i stare at my former company's logo, i am pulled out of my misery by the squad of Claws that the article mentioned.

And in an almost comedic manner i feel a woman's hand on my mouth and she pulls me away into any alley before the Claws could see me.

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 11 months ago

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The Perfect Christmas Setting (Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x Reader)

Summary: It's officially your first Christmas with your boyfriend - long time coming - so you'll need an appropriately decorated house.

AN: I took part in a Secret Santa fic swap run by @bunnyreaper and my Secret Santa is @piratesfromspace! Hope you enjoy this fic that ignores MW3 to write my own canon and was kinda inspired by “Me and My Husband”.

Content warnings: 2nd person, some hurt/comfort, mostly domestic festivity

Masterlist

You had never invested so much of your paycheck into decorations. Tinsel, baubles, Santa statuettes, all in clashing colours and combinations, the Christmas paraphernalia were contained by several bags and sat now in your sitting room, brimming with as much cheer as you were with pride.

Johnny was teeming in the corner, arranging lights around the blue spruce you’d chosen as the main event in your household. Several photos of Johnny hauling it into his truck filled your phone, plus a video of him grumbling about how “the prickly bastard” kept poking him in the face, dangerously close to taking an eye out. You’d only known you were getting a tree for a few hours at that point. Johnny had woken you up early – the morning after his arrival from a lengthy excursion with work. He looked like a kid on Christmas morning as he told you about his old traditions, showing you a few old photos his sister had dug out of a family album. Then he proposed his idea for the rest of his leave: forging your own Christmas traditions for your first holiday together.

The transient nature of his job meant he’d seldom celebrated in his own home in the last decade. It wasn’t your first year as a couple either; unfortunately, your history with Christmas had been one of separation of many thousands of miles. Maybe, if you were lucky enough, you’d get a quick call with Johnny. But this year, you were your own family unit and able to celebrate Christmas on the actual date. That meant you could do whatever you wanted together, and what Johnny wanted was the full shebang.

Warm lights (the icy ones would be saved for decorating the house) displayed their varieties of settings whilst Johnny fidgeted with the dial, switching back and forth between flashing and . Meanwhile, you unpacked the tree trimmings, ranging from traditional red and golden orbs that reflected a cartoonish version of yourself in the glitter and glass, to a Colin the Caterpillar bauble that Johnny spied and subsequently adopted on your behalf.

You started hanging them up, humming along to the Christmas tunes, thankful that you’d talked Johnny out of going carolling. Meanwhile, he was squinting at the lights before he tugged at your sleeve.

“You don’t think there’s a weird gap here?” His hand waved vaguely around the torso of the tree.

“It’s grand,” You reassured him, rubbing between his shoulder blades as he bent in half to double check the spread of decorations up close. Attempting to match his focus was impossible but it was helping you ignore how he could be called away at any moment. That was the other hidden reason for going all out on the Christmas decorations: Johnny wanted this place to be as cosy and as Christmassy as it could be, like it would comfort you in the instance he wasn’t here. Part of you wished that his job could be as predictable as the so-called most wonderful time of the year. However, the rest of you accepted that it wasn’t and let you continue untangling the endless yards of tinsel to wrap around the banisters later.

Eventually, Johnny tired of peering at the lights and joined in organising where each bauble should go. You suppressed a few giggles whenever he moved a few around so that there was an even (ish) spread, no two decorations put near one another like divorced parents at a family reunion.

“D’you think we should’ve gone with the silver and blue set? Might’ve looked more together, more on theme,” Johnny placed his hands on his hips, clearly conjuring up a variety of variations of what your sitting room could’ve been.

Instead of replying, you finished hanging up the red ceramic heart near the top. Then, from your back pocket, you withdrew and fixed a slightly-too-large Santa hat on his head, adjusting it by the snow white fur trim around his furrowed brow.

“You’d make one hell of a Sexy Santa,” You said when you were pleased with the outcome.

Johnny’s absorption in the festivities broke up in a smile, “Not got the beard for it yet.” And, to prove it, he wrapped his arm around you and forced you to endure his stubbled chin rubbed against your forehead. “Now answer my question please.”

“It looks great,” You insisted, “More personal, less IKEA showroom.”

“Don’t act like you don’t pretend to live in every showroom we come across.”

“That’s all pretend though. This is real, our first real Christmas.”

He kissed you, very sweetly, which didn’t prevent you snorting against his loving lips as you realised his suggestion of silver and blue decorations might have rendered your home appearing more Scottish that him. It struck you as quickly as your next train of thought, your body leaping out of Johnny’s embrace at the eureka moment.

“Oh! We haven’t even-” You and your voice faded down the hallway, words too muffled for even Johnny’s keen ears to decipher. He waited patiently for your return and was rewarded for his patience with you carrying the rest of the bags you just remembered existed, dragging them into the sitting room to complete the claustrophobic crowd of Christmas content.

“Darling, we said we’d wait until we finished the tree first!” Johnny said with no real exasperation in his voice.

“I can’t wait! Don’t make me!” You pleaded, as if you weren’t already opening the little reindeer statues to line up on the window sill. Johnny couldn’t deny you, not with how your face lit up brighter than any collection of bulbs covering your tree – like when he suggested ordering a twerking musical Santa toy. You clapped eagerly at his assent and began humming the opening to "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" whilst placing down each respective model along the ledge.

Just as you were placing Rudolph at the helm, the music came to a halt and the sound of a ringtone took over the speakers, accompanied by Johnny’s phone buzzing on the couch arm. Balancing on one leg as he reached over, his face went stiff and he began to make his way out of the room.

“One sec,” He said, bending down to bestow a kiss on your head as he went past.

Instantly, you connected your own phone to the speaker and turned up the music, knowing Johnny would go straight to his office for the duration of the call as to not be disturbed. But the nature of the call was already disturbing your fragile peace. Your stomach was swirling and promoting a greasy queasiness. Already clumsy enough, the circumstances made it harder for your hands to wedge the batteries into the glowing sleigh.

Trying to tune in to the next song was impossible when there was a lull between the two songs. Your brewing panic took advantage of it and accelerated your noisy thoughts, hitting a crescendo with the footsteps returning to you in ominous timing with your sinking heartbeats.

At least you might have time to put the star on top of the tree together before he went.

“Everything ok?” It came out strained, and the first syllable caught in your throat.

As you looked to see Johnny nodding, you noted there was no bittersweetness hiding on his face.

“Yeah, Price just approved my annual leave. So no more work calls.” A flick of the wrist landed his phone squarely down the back of the couch cushion and retrieved from behind his back - “Ta-da!” – a vermilion and forest green elf hat that he arranged it upon your head before he took your tense body up and spun you to face the mirror over the fireplace.

“What do you think?” He spread his arms out as wide as his grin, glowing over your shoulder with his efforts (and also the ugly jumper he insisted on wearing), both of your reflections surrounded by countless bits of yuletide tat that you’d unpacked but not yet organised circling the half decorated tree. This elf hat likely wasn’t hard to hide a secret purchase amongst all of that. Bells tinkled softly by your ears as you tilted your head.

Effects of emotional whiplash took hold of you and the glowing sleigh dropped from your hands, spewing the three AAA batteries under the couch and into the tinsel pile. You locked yourself around Johnny’s middle with all the strength you could muster. Hard muscles beneath the gentle woollen caress of his jumper were solid enough to ground you back in your holiday paradise, his firm squeezes slowing your heart rate until it was at a regular pace again, his subtle cinnamon cologne (bought special for this time of year) thawing your fears in the hearth of his love for you. You only drew back to bop him on the nose with the bobble from his Santa hat and deliver your answer.

With his rosy cheeks close enough to warm your own, you whispered with teary eyes, “It’s perfect.”

#johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #soap x reader #soap fanfic #johnny mactavish fanfic #cod x reader #cod fanfic #mw2 fanfic #mw2 x reader #my writing #r: gn #r: fem #wc: >1k

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