#Barrels into the fire screaming for him

[gutsby]

Homemade

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: While your dad’s watching a movie downstairs, you and his best friend decide to make one of your own.

Warnings: 18+. Sneaky sex tape fun with dbf!Joel ;-) Unprotected p-in-v. Age gap. Daddy kink. Facefucking. Joel being the world’s worst cameraman. Shower sex. Overstimulation via adjustable shower head. Dirty talk. Screaming ‘daddy’ too loud, and your father shows up.

Translations: In Chile, pico is slang for penis. Joel’s is big.

Part of the Waiting Game series

“If this ever ends up on PornHub, I’ll kill you, Miller.”

Joel knew you meant it, too.

The only reason you’d agreed to make this dumb little ‘home video’ at all was because you were headed back to college tomorrow and wouldn’t see him again until May. Doing long distance was tough, but doing long distance while simultaneously trying to keep a risqué, torrid, and totally-not-age-appropriate love affair with your father’s best friend under wraps was infinitely more difficult. This was the safest way to keep desire alive in the meantime.

Immortalized on a Sony CCD-TR70—because neither one of you trusted iCloud to keep a sex tape secret.

It had also been the only video camera you could find in the closet before your dad had plopped down on the couch just outside your room and announced he would be watching Oppenheimer for the third time. You’d had to scurry off fast before he could invite you to join him.

“I’ll be damned—this thing’s gotta be as old as I am,” Joel mused as he stood at the foot of the bed, camcorder pointed at your semi-nude form.

“I didn’t know they had cameras back in the Stone Age.”

Your smirk didn't flinch, even when Joel flipped you off.

You were lying on your side, head propped up on one hand while the other picked at a few loose strings from the comforter. The lacy, pastel pink bustier holding your tits in place was currently making breathing feel like a chore, and your skin was on fire from the warmth of the room, but you tried not to show it. Joel twisted a dial.

“Alright, now...flash ‘em for daddy,” he grinned as soon as the lens focused in where he wanted: your cleavage.

You rolled your eyes.

“A little closer, please,” you said, patting the space in front of you.

Joel didn’t need to be told twice. With one hand still cradling the camera, he clambered over the bed so fast he nearly tripped and took a nosedive in the headboard. You had to cover your mouth to contain a shriek of laughter—and terror—as his frame barreled into yours.

“JOEL!”

Fortunately, your cameraman was quick to recollect himself, planting a knee on either side of your chest once he’d knocked you onto your back. Then, from above, he angled the grey-black hunk of metal just a foot away:

“Anything you’d like to say to the folks watching at home, ma’am?” Joel inquired, suddenly assuming all the poise and matter-of-fact elocution of a news reporter.

You stuck your tongue out at the camera and blew the wettest, fattest raspberry you could muster in response.

Joel hummed, zoomed in on your lips, and nodded.

“Fascinating,” he said, pretending to make sense of the fart noise you’d just made with your mouth, “Have you ever given thought to maybe...sucking cock on camera?”

The swiftness with which he was able to dodge your kick was remarkable. He swayed the camera just out of reach before you could shove it away and say, ‘Joel, quit being GROSS’ and he promptly replied, ‘Ain’t that the whole point of a sex tape, sweet pea? Bein’ a little bit gross?’ And you playfully tried to kick him again, only this time, he caught your foot and yanked you closer to him. He turned the camcorder back to your face and grinned.

“That’s my little pornstar,” he murmured with affection. Then, zooming in again, this time to find your panty line, “Riiiiight there.”

You knew giving Joel Miller recording privileges for an occasion as momentous as this was a bad idea. At the rate you were going now, you’d be seeing the sunrise through the window before you ever got a glimpse of his dick. You needed to take matters into your own hands.

Literally.

You crawled on all fours to get to Joel across the bed.

The man, kneeling with the camera pointed in your direction, looked up to cock a brow at you.

“Sweetheart, hey, can ya do that one more—”

“Hush,” you muttered, closing in on his crotch. 

Your head was lowered so you could undo the front of his jeans. Because of this, your back was arched, and your ass was pointed up just the slightest bit. For a second, Joel seemed torn between tilting the lens to your lower half or your face, which was inching ever closer to the bulge in his trousers. In time, he landed on the latter.

He swallowed. That sight never got old—and seeing it displayed on the camcorder’s semi-grainy screen only made it that much hotter. Joel shifted on his knees while you worked him out of his boxers, watching the nimble movements of your fingers as you wrestled the fabric.

“Wanna—” Glancing to the side of the bed, “—maybe—”

“Yup.”

Both of you liked it better on the floor: you on your knees in front of Joel, chin tilted up to see his reactions as you sucked him off. You loved to sink between his legs and then see and feel nothing but him, brain going blank the moment his cock filled your mouth. Joel slid a pillow under your knees before widening his stance some.

“Is it on?” Your hand was wrapped firmly around the base of his cock and your lips were hovering an inch from the tip. You resisted the urge to lick the precum off just yet.

“Darlin’, it’s been on ever since you stepped outta the bathroom in that— that—” Joel seemed to be searching for a word when the head of his cock was enveloped in a kiss. You dragged your tongue across the slit of him and collected the hot, salty beads with a muffled moan.

Then you pulled off.

“Teddy,” you said, reminding him of the name for that pretty little tulle and lace getup you currently had on.

“Teddy,” Joel echoed, his mind a million miles away from any lingerie jargon at the moment. He held the camera tighter as you took him back into your mouth and sank deeper on his cock. He struggled to keep it steady.

It was strange, watching Joel and the rounded glass of the lens as you did this dirty thing that was only meant to be shared between you and him. Knowing it would be recorded, saved for future viewing, displayed on some dimly lit screen in Joel’s bedroom maybe one, twice, or more likely than not, several dozen times over the next three months. You wondered how you might look from this new point of view; though, you weren’t so sure you needed to know what sight Joel was made privy to while you sucked and hollowed your cheeks around his cock.

As it turned out, that uncertainty wasn’t meant to last you very long, because Joel flipped the camera’s screen around two seconds later. Some sepia-tinted, pixelated rendition of your face, framed by the date and time and a bright red flashing dot beside the word ‘REC’ were the first to greet you. You flinched back just a little.

“Joel,” you said, almost bashful, “Flip it back.”

Joel just grinned. Then he laced his fingers through your hair and tugged you closer to him, thumb stroking over your scalp, “C’mon, darlin’, don’t ya wanna see how goddamn pretty ya look on your knees for me?”

You didn’t think you looked pretty at all. In fact, you reckoned your features looked something more like an alien utility funnel than a real, human face as you tilted your chin inward and seemed to be nothing but eyes and a hollowed-out expression, but you let Joel guide you back onto him all the same. You heard a low rumble of pleasure take shape in his chest as your lips slid over his shaft. Your gaze remained glued to the screen as you did.

Wet with saliva and a few faint traces of precum, you continued to bob your head up and down. Joel’s groans grew louder, and your drive to take him further and further surged as well. By the time his hand was tightening into a white-knuckled fist in your hair, you’d nearly taken him all the way to the back of your throat, and your nose was no more than an inch from the soft tufts of hair on his belly. Joel let out a shuttering breath.

“Fuck me,” he heaved. You might’ve smiled if your lips weren’t otherwise occupied. Then he clenched his hand even harder and murmured, “Can you— can I, please—”

Again, you didn’t need him to finish the rest of the question to know what he wanted. You moved your head back just slightly to nod, a low, ‘Mhmm’ reverberating down the length of his dick as you gave him permission. Joel swallowed and set the camera aside immediately.

He placed it on the nightstand, perfectly level with your head, to the side. Then he rotated the device just a bit, took one glance at the screen, and shortly returned to where you were watching him with wide, glossy eyes.

“Ready?” he asked. His right hand now joined the left at the back of your head, but not before thumbing a quick touch over your cheek to get a feel for your approval.

You hummed once more. You watched Joel’s hips move forward, hands secure around your scalp all the while, and you felt a gentle nudge at the back of your throat. Then another. You couldn’t help the impulse to gag, but thankfully, it was short-lived. Joel peered down at you, eyes searching yours for any plea to stop or slow down, but he found nothing. He sheathed himself deeper until your lips were brushing the base of his dick. He groaned.

“That’s a good…fuckin’ girl,” he managed, voice strained, “Takin’ my cock so deep.”

He shifted his hips to move an inch or two out, then slid his cock forward again, bumping that spot at the top of your throat. This time, you were better adjusted to take him and felt your muscles expand and contract around him without activating your gag reflex. Your eyes stayed trained on his face while he dragged his cock back again.

“My pretty girl and her—” Joel stabbed back into you, somehow tender in the way he did it, “—pretty fuckin’ mouth…Sweet thing likes gettin’ facefucked, does she?”

With the increased pace of his thrusts and the grip he had on the sides of your head, you couldn’t quite answer, but Joel could tell from the glint in your eye that you loved when he manhandled and fucked your throat like this. Watched the light sear gently behind those irises as you swallowed every inch of his cock, back and forth, and let your brain break down to little more than a happy, mindless mush. Joel was always keen to oblige you on that front—aroused to no end at the sight of all your thoughts being fucked straight out of your head—and within the next few thrusts, his gut was giving a familiar clench. He pulled halfway out of your mouth, paused, felt the pinch again, then withdrew from your lips fully.

“Get on the bed.”

You straightened back up and made it over to the mattress, quickly. Before you could assume the position you’d been hoping to take on all fours, you felt yourself flipped on your back. Joel yanked your hips to the edge of the bed and kneeled down between your legs. Hooked his fingers under the waistband of your panties and had them shuffled down your thighs and past your ankles in no time at all. Then, when he lowered his lips to your wet, aching core, you pressed a touch to the crown of his head.

“Joel, wait,” you said. All of a sudden your chest felt tight.

In spite of the fact that your airways were open and completely free from any obstruction—namely, Joel’s big ol’ pico—you still found it difficult to inhale. Some murky, amorphous sense of anxiety weighed over your chest.

When your hand didn’t move from his head and instead pushed him further, Joel furrowed his brows, perplexed.

“What’s’a matter, darlin’?”

You shook your head, more to yourself than to him.

“I haven’t…just— haven’t washed down there today…o-or shaved,” you stammered, “Don’t want you to taste it.”

That was largely a lie. You’d bathed, shaved, and prepared for this just fine, but really were more concerned about the novel optics that loomed overhead. Being filmed in such a singularly vulnerable state without knowing how to act. You were fine when the attention was focused on Joel and his pleasure, but something about having your every whimper and moan laid bare before you on film felt daunting. Unnerving, in a way.

Joel frowned while rubbing your thigh. His brow pinched inward again, as if he were considering something.

Then he moved across your body, and your muscles eased with relief at the thought that he’d just let it go and get to fucking you exactly how you wanted. You reached for him, ready to wrap your legs around his waist, when a yelp clawed out of your throat. You found that you didn’t get to touch his chest, or his cheeks, or his big, broad, beefy shoulders, as you were promptly thrown over the latter of the three body parts and lifted when Joel stood up from the bed. He started carrying you across the room, heedless of the startled, ‘What the FUCK, Miller?’ you’d cried the second he took one step.

Hardwood floors transformed to tile before your eyes, and shortly, you realized you were being brought into your bathroom.

You heard the squeak of some metal knob being turned, then a brief sputter, then a spray of water raining down on your shower floor. You were still being held hostage over Joel’s shoulder, try as you might to bite at his lower back or smack his ass in an attempt to break loose.

He set you down a second later, seemingly unfazed.

“Get in.” He nodded toward the shower.

Before you had a chance to respond, he left. You stood back in disbelief—refusing to go into the shower and let Joel have his win—but just as you opened your mouth to call out and tell him as much, his form slipped back in through the door. Naked, now, and wielding that stupid, goddamned camcorder with a devious glint in his eye.

“Will you—” You held out a defensive hand in front of you, cheeks already heating, “—stop with that?!”

Secretly, the corners of your lips were fighting a smile as Joel drew closer with the camera held up to your face.

“There she is, folks,” he announced, as though speaking to a crowd, or else reading off of a script from the world’s most cheesy porno, “My dirty, dirty girl says she needs a shower—don’t ya, sweet pea?”

It sounded so ridiculous and dumb that neither one of you could keep from laughing. Even as you lifted your middle finger in response, Joel grinned and smacked your ass. Steadied the camera out in front, nudged you closer to the shower, and watched you somewhat begrudgingly obey his orders. Once you’d stripped what little remained on your body, you stepped into the tub.

Add to ‘ridiculous and dumb’ just wildly unsexy as well—who the hell needed a soapy interlude to a sex tape?

Joel Miller, apparently. He constricted his grip on the camera and followed you in, tongue already skimming the backs of his teeth in anticipation. You turned away to step under the shower’s stream, and he wasted no time getting a shot of your derrière. You leaned forward and sighed.

The water worked wonders to get your muscles to loosen some, but still, you were nervous. You could clean up now, stall a little longer, maybe even offer to give Joel head again—but what if he really wanted to eat you out on camera? You couldn’t put off the conversation forever.

Or another minute, it seemed.

You let out a shriek when you felt Joel’s fingers sneak up between your thighs. You hardly knew what he was doing, just folding limply when he spun you around to press your back against the shower wall. Your eyes widened to see him descending your body once more.

“I lied,” Joel said, smirk painted clear across his features, “You’re not dirty—I just wanted to eat your pussy in the shower ‘s’all.”

Chivalry was evidently alive and well in Austin, Texas.

No truer words could have been spoken, and yet, you felt wildly uncomfortable the second Joel’s head dipped between your legs and that big, dumb, handsome face started licking stripes up your sensitive core. You cast a glance to the side and saw the camcorder perched on the sink—just through the open slit in the shower curtain, you could see it pointed directly at you.

You shivered and started to push Joel away.

“Can we maybe just—”

“Sweetie?!”

Joel’s lips tore out of your cunt quicker than a sneeze through a screen door. His eyes were wide.

“Y-Yeah, dad?” you squeaked, tone almost fearful.

“Everything okay in here? I heard ya scream,” your dad returned shortly.

You could only imagine the expression of confusion and distress painting his every lineament in that moment. Probably just barely sticking his head through the crack in the door and blinking anxiously through the steam.

Your dad was caring like that.

He just never knew the right times to show up.

No, there were very few times where you would’ve liked to see him less—apart from that one time you’d sucked Joel’s dick under the table at your dad’s birthday dinner. Your heart was thudding a wild, erratic beat in your chest, and you could only imagine how Joel was feeling. Probably seeing visions of a Size 11 boot being shoved up his ass if his friend happened to slide the shower curtain to the side and see him nose-deep in his daughter’s box.

That would be bad. So very, very bad and probably ten times worse than when Tommy had caught you blowing his brother at the aforementioned birthday party. You just couldn’t seem to catch a break these days.

You sucked in a breath and answered anyway.

“I thought I saw a spider.”

“Really?” You could already sense the embittered tinge to your dad’s voice, harking back to the war he’d once declared on all wolf spiders in the home, “Want me to kill it?”

The next thing you heard was two boots thud on the bathroom floor outside the shower, and you could’ve sworn you saw Joel’s whole soul leap from his body. He shot a frantic look around him, spotted a window above, and seemed to wonder for half a second if he might be able to shimmy his 188-pound frame through a space that probably wasn’t big enough to fit a fat raccoon. He slumped his weight against the shower wall and winced.

“No! I— It wasn’t even a spider. Just a…roach.”

Shortly, Joel’s eyes widened even more and met yours, as if to ask, ‘Why the FUCK would you say that?’

“A roach?!” your dad cried simultaneously.

Apparently, you’d forgotten that any derivative of the word ‘cockroach’ was like a sleeper agent activation phrase for middle-aged fathers who wanted to keep their homes free of all household pests. The look on Joel’s haggard, world-weary face communicated as much to you, and for a second, you remembered that he, too, was built the same way as any other semi-old dude you knew.

Just bigger and beefier and…harder below the belt than you would’ve expected most men around his age to be.

You quickly chided yourself for ogling Joel’s dick at a time like this and replied to your father, shrill, “No!”

Then, slightly more composed, “No, no— I already took it out with some hairspray and told it to fuck off to hell.”

An attempt at humor was the last leg you had to stand on. Fortunately, it worked.

Outside the shower, your dad chuckled, and his footsteps started to shuffle off toward the door.

“Ah. Atta girl,” he beamed, ever the advocate for brutal cockroach killings, “If you see another, just holler, okay?”

“Okay.”

You heard the sound of the bathroom door closing, and you almost fell to the floor. Joel probably would’ve been facedown just as well—fear seeping out of his body along with every last ounce of willpower to stand—had he not made a dive for you as soon as your dad had left.

The force of his push sent you straight into the wall, legs forced to wrap around his waist as he buried his face in your neck.

“Thank fuck,” he breathed.

“You’re welcome,” you murmured, swiping the water out of your eyes with a grimace.

Then, just as you were about to request that Joel lower you back down to the floor and out of the shower’s spray, you felt a nudge between your legs. Luckily not a tongue this time—just Joel, or the tip of his leaking cock. The man below you grinned, and for the first time in a long time, you felt a wash of relief. Could it be?

“I’ll still eat you out if y’want,” he started, though speaking with a little less conviction this time around, “But after all that I, uh—kinda jus’ wanna fuck ya stupid.”

Well thank fuck for fake spiders and cockroaches, too; you’d just averted a dreaded tonguefuck, thanks to that detour.

You’d worry about your pornstar moans and on-camera charisma another time—now you could just sit back and let Joel do all the work while he took you against the wall.

Really, there was no need to concern yourself with anything at all from that point forward. Once you’d given Joel the green light, he was sinking you onto his cock with a grunt and making sure you felt nothing but him. His hands found your hips and held you firmly in place as he rutted into you from below, your own fingers latching onto his shoulders for some much-needed support. Both of you knew that you needed to be extra quiet now—seeing how sound seemed to carry in that tight, tiled space—so Joel snagged your lips in his for a kiss.

He was practically panting in your mouth by the time you started meeting his thrusts. His fingertips slid some and must’ve seared ten perfect crescents into the flesh of your ass as he fucked you into the wall.

“Look so pretty like this,” he whispered in between kisses and short, shallow breaths. His cock parted your insides with an excruciating welt of pleasure, and he hardly even seemed to realize it, “Look so damn pretty takin’ cock.”

Then, lips kicking up in a smile when it seemed he’d remembered something, he added, “Can’t wait to play this tape back home and watch us fuck all over again.”

Again. Again. And again. Shit, you could just see it now.

Your eyes traversed the compact shower space once more to find the video camera—still perched, still live, still perfectly implacable and silent atop the sink as it recorded your every grunt, groan, and shuddering moan. You were nearly as curious to know what Joel’s bare ass looked like rutting into you like this as you were to hear yourself getting railed against the shower wall. Maybe you’d beat this fear of secondhand embarrassment after all.

Maybe.

Joel’s teeth snagged your bottom lip and bit it, lightly.

“Every chance I get, you can bet I’ll be thinkin’ ‘bout this…sweet pussy while you’re away,” he said, voice low and occasionally punctured by a groan, “Say one more thing f’me and I’ll…cum every time I watch this part.”

The kinks at the corners of his lips were endearing. You would’ve liked to supply them with just about anything they could’ve wanted, so when they leaned into your ear and murmured just what it was they needed to hear, you only hesitated a second.

Or maybe two or three, because, well…it was risky.

Moaning ‘daddy’ out loud at a time like this? It might get Joel off quick, but it might send your real dad running even faster. You weren’t crazy about the thought of anything that might draw the man’s attention again.

Joel seemed a little less risk-averse than you, notwithstanding the window-leaping fear he’d felt when your dad had rushed in before. Leave it to a criminally horny man to have the memory of a goldfish, though.

At present, Joel was blinking and gawking a bit like one, too, waiting for you to enunciate that one magic word.

You couldn’t deny he made a damn cute desperate sex fiend when he wanted to be. And you needed to cum.

You figured you could cut a deal with him just this once.

“Alright,” you mumbled against the top of his stubbled lip, “Make me cum and I’ll say anything you want, Miller.”

You weren’t sure if it was a chuckle or a strangled moan that jumped up in his throat when Joel squeezed your sides tighter. All you knew was that he was lowering you to the floor in the next instant, spinning you around, and walking you forward, swiftly and with purpose, toward the opposite end of the shower. Right where the crack in the curtain made you most visible to the camcorder.

Joel’s hand snaked around your front and gently eased between your legs. Then, pressing his chest to your back and nudging you to bend just slightly at the waist, he tipped your bodies closer to the camera’s line of vision and stilled. From the LED screen, you could see the ghost of a smile crossing his lips as he shifted his head beside your own. Next, they were kissing across your shoulder, your neck, that sensitive spot behind your ear, and finally the shell of it, brown eyes trained on the camera lens as he murmured to you, “Stay real still.”

You didn’t know if you could. But you tried. And you damn near cried when his fingers started working circles over your clit. Your body was raised on tip-toes, and your hand was bracing the wall as Joel fucked you from behind and made a mess of your wet, writhing body. In no more than three or four strokes, your fears of looking or sounding stupid on camera trickled away with all the rest of the silent, sizzling liquids circling the drain below. Your cheek pressed against Joel’s rougher one, and with the push of each new thrust, you came more unraveled.

When Joel’s hand closed over the front of your throat, you didn’t flinch. Didn’t move—couldn’t move, as the man was holding you still in such a taut, rigid grip.

“What do we say when we get fucked this nice, baby?” Joel whispered in your ear, words almost entirely masked by the sounds from the shower. You still heard it, though.

“T-Thank you,” you stuttered, cockdrunk and faint.

“Thank you, what?”

Your eyes were fluttering closed, but you could feel the smug expression just over your shoulder. You clenched around him and felt him snap his hips ahead even harder.

“Thank you, daddy,” you whimpered.

“Say it again.”

“Thank you, daddy!” you whined, still scared to be too loud.

Joel wasn’t scared. His hand ascended the column of your neck to pinch your chin between his fingers, jerking your head to the right.

To the crack in the curtain. To the camera.

You could’ve cried with how fast he was fucking you now. You opened your eyes and cast a pathetic look to the recorder. Joel made sure you maintained that gaze, too.

“Who’s makin’ ya feel this good?” he seethed, shaking your whole frame with the breakneck pace of his hips.

“You, daddy.”

“Who’s fuckin’ this sweet cunt like no one ever has?”

“You, daddy.”

Joel seemed sated and somehow not fully satisfied at all. Like he was pleased to see you falling apart for him like this, but needed to hear more. Feel more.

He withdrew from you, and you nearly collapsed with the absence of his arms holding you straight.

You pressed a shaky palm to the wall and almost moaned for him to get his ass back over here, you weren’t done, when Joel returned in a second. To your relief, his muscly arms found their way around your front once more, and his clock plunged back inside you, too—only this time, you sensed you were missing something else.

Water.

It wasn’t on your back anymore.

It was fanning between your legs.

Blasting the full force of its stream toward your most sensitive parts as Joel held the shower head up between your thighs. You would’ve jumped back and screamed were it not for his hand clamping tight over your mouth before you could, his lips grazing over your ear again.

“Try it one more time.”

You released a hoarse, muffled squeal into his palm when he lifted the stainless steel to your clit and started rolling his hips. The strokes themselves were relatively gentle, but paired with the ruthless spate of the water, your eyes were nearly rolling to the back of your head at the pulse.

You couldn’t breathe, much less speak. Joel hummed almost apologetically into your hair but didn’t seem sorry at all as he lowered his hand back down to your throat and squeezed. He continued rocking his hips into yours.

“You’ve said it dozens of times before—what’s’a matter?”

Joel Miller knew what the fuck was the matter. He just liked to see you desperate, fucked-out, and teetering on the brink of going feral before he let you reach your peak.

“D-D-D—”

Damn, you sounded stupid.

“D-D-Do you wanna cum? Is that it?” Joel said, mocking your struggle to articulate words as he fucked you.

In spite of your normal no-bullshit attitude toward him, you weren’t in quite the right frame of mind to be talking back to him. You just nodded and moaned, movements constricted by the grip of his fingers on your neck.

“Use those big girl words for me, honey. I know ya can.”

Again, you parted your lips and started to speak, but the oscillation of the water, the brush of his cock, the patently deprecating lilt in Joel’s string of praises, made it nearly impossible. You ended up sputtering again,

“D-D-ah-fuuuckfuckfuck.”

“That ain’t the word I’m looking for.”

But, just as you ventured to say it once more, he cut in,

“Here. Lemme help ya find it.”

Before you could blink, Joel was pistoning his hips against your ass like he had before, only this time, he held the shower head stationary between your legs as you seized and nearly fell to the floor with the force of all the pleasure coursing through you. Your body seemed to act of its own accord, head dropping to Joel’s shoulder and stomach giving an alarmingly fitful pinch as an orgasm tore through you. You couldn’t control how it came or where it went—or how your tongue jumped up and cried,

“Daddy!”

Joel nodded, fucking you through each violent spasm with all the composure and aplomb of a seasoned pro. While your eyes cycled back in the throes of delirium, he held firm and didn’t slow his hips—or the shower head.

You probably could’ve torn a hole through a cinder block if you’d happened to have one between your teeth just then. That was how fervid and merciless the aftershocks of your climax were pulsing through you, exacerbated to the nth degree by the continuity of Joel’s movements. You managed to grab the forearm that was holding the metal nozzle and plead a wild, slightly stifled, “JOEL!”

In truth, you didn’t really want him to stop. It felt too good. You could tell that Joel sensed this, too, because in the instant after that, his lips were sponging kisses to your shoulder, cock working steadily between your walls.

“One more, sweet pea.”

“Joel—”

“And say it louder this time.”

Were you in your right mind, you probably would’ve chided him for being so reckless and stupid about it all. How the fuck could he expect you to scream out loud when your dad was lounging right outside of your room? Did he really think the drone of Cillian Murphy’s smooth, American-ized tone would mask your unbridled moans? Honestly, you couldn’t be sure—and more importantly, you couldn’t be stopped to consider for much longer. With one last trembling vibration from the shower head and a thrust from Joel, you were cumming all over again.

Squeezing his arm, sinking into his sturdy frame, clenching over his cock in what felt like a hundred convulsions, and casting caution aside, you screamed:

“DADDY!”

You might’ve blacked out for a second or two.

Even a minute, as it was, because the next intelligible thing that reached your ears was the thunder of footfalls. And the thrum of Joel’s own hammering heart as he yanked you into his chest and stilled frozen inside you.

The door swung open on its hinges so hard it hit the wall.

“What is it, sweetie?!” your dad yelped.

“I—”

“Are you hurt?”

Just fucked raw by your best friend and shaking, Pops.

You sucked in a breath when Joel nudged your head with his nose and slowly pulled the shower curtain closed to move you out of view of the camera. But it was still there.

Your dad was still there.

The shower walls seemed to be closing in on you, but somehow, you managed, “No, dad, I’m fine! Just…coulda sworn I saw another spider in here, but it was nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

Your dad sounded unconvinced, pacing closer. You could’ve screamed, but Joel was likely holding you too tight to make any such sounds possible in that moment. The two of you recoiled, still stuck chest-to-back, away from the edge of the plastic shower liner when a boot thudded just outside the crack between curtain and wall.

You swallowed. Joel squeezed. Neither of you breathed.

“If it’s another roach, I gotta call the extermin—”

“No! No, it wasn’t a roach. I’m just seein’ things, I think.”

That didn’t seem to make your father feel any better, because he didn’t retreat like he had before. A tense moment fell over the compact, fog-infested room, like the man was chewing away at some thought in his head.

Then he sighed.

“Alright.”

Blissful footsteps away from the shower. You smiled.

Unfortunately, the grin was destined to be short-lived, because in the next instant, you heard boots screech to a halt on the tile. Pivoted, then paused where they stood.

Another gut-wrenching dozen seconds passed, and for one short, chilling moment, you could’ve sworn you felt your father’s gaze sear through the curtain and see you.

But he didn’t see you. Or Joel. Or anyone.

Instead, his gaze was fixed someplace else.

Suddenly, his voice rose above all the awful noises of clamor and panic in your brain, and broke out, loudly,

“What’s my camera doin’ in here?”

[muffinlance]

The feral cat gator of a 13 year old freshly scarred Zuko being forcibly adopted by the foggy swamp tribe! Bonus points if they willfully ignore the fact he's a firebender and treat him as a very strange waterbender bending-wise

It was Earth Kingdom ships that drove the metal one onto the reefs, so when the little thing came crawling up through the marsh spitting and hissing and dressed in red, they knew it weren’t no earthbender. No matter how much mud it had tripped in, trying to find where the ground stopped sucking at its feet.

“Wow-ee,” said Old Earl, “that sure is one way of keepin’ off the ‘squito-chiggers.”

And they all watched from Big Earl’s porch, sitting or rocking, as them bugs came for the all-you-can-eat and ended up on the bar-b-que.

“Sure is some weird bending,” said Little Earl, who was taller than Big Earl, but when they'd been twelve and they’d wrestled for the title it hadn't been Little Earl who’d won.

The little thing looked maybe twelve, too. And he was little little. But he had that same look like he was going to shove someone’s face in the mud until they said otherwise, as he stood there all panting and dripping and just realizing they’d been watching him this whole time.

“It’s firebending,” the one-kid mud-wrestler said, as bugs kept pop-snapping into flames around him.

Old Earl cupped a hand over his ear, like he couldn’t hear. And he kept doing it, while the kid got louder and louder about that bending of his, but quieter and quieter about looking at them like they were his next bugs.

“Oh, firebending,” Old Earl said, nodding like he’d only just got it, when the kid had stomped straight up to his chair. “Right, right, Old Jane’s got fire-water-bending, too. Why don’t you take him to her, boys.”

“It’s not-- ugh,” shouted the kid, but maybe he only had the one volume. Certainly only had the one volume for stomping, even though stomping was what got a fellow’s shoes shoved down so deep in the mud they’d be seeing them again as mole-shrimp hats. Not that the kid had shoes. Neither did Earl, Earl, or Earl. ‘Cept for Fancy Earl, but he’d gone off to Ba-Singing-Se, to be fancy.

Anyway, Old Jane was the best at turning anything and everything into fire water, which was the kind of thing a fellow called his or her liquor when they wanted fancy folk to keep right on walking. Was really good for making shouty little firebrands take their naps, too, which let Old Jane get her glowing mitts all over that fresh burn of his. And the love-bites from the shark-wrasses that had probably been half the reason the kid had come a-shore all a-shouting in the first place.

“Nope,” diagnosed Old Jane, when the kid woke back up. “That’s just how he talks. Mother was a screamer-bird, I’d say.”

“You take that back about my mother,” screamed their screamer-bird, who had pretty good hearing for someone who’s ear had lost the same fight as his eye. Anyway, Old Jane had done the best she could about both, and nothing was on fire that shouldn’t be, and she had that extra quilt she’d been working on that needed a body under it

And the waves and the shark-wrasses had all the rest of the kid’s crew

So sure enough they set their little screamer-bird up with a nest and let him cry loud as he wanted.

Anyway, if there was one thing Earl Earl Earl and Jane knew, it was how to make a joke so good the other person didn’t even know it were a joke.

“Firebending,” their little fledgling shouted, and waved his arms around, like all that fire pointed at no one was going to get them startled off.

“A-yep,” nodded Old Earl. “That there is some fire-water-bending. Just like Old Jane.”

Old Jane wasn’t the kind of gal who showed off, but she wasn’t the kind who missed no cue, either. She swirled a lick o’ liquor out of her latest barrel and twirled it ‘round and straight into her mouth, and when she spit it out, it looked so much like the little bird’s breath-o’-fire that he didn’t even notice the spark rocks she kept on her fingers as jewelry. No one did, ‘til they’d seen the trick a few times.

The kid’s mouth hung open so low and so long, a moth-tick flew in. That was some kind of life lesson, that was. The swamp was good at sending those.

The Earth Kingdom sent troops a-stompin’ through, losing boots and scaring catigators out of their sunning spots left and right, askin’ all rumbly about those fires they’d spotted, and if anyone from that shipwreck had made it on shore, and talkin’ about how there’d be money in it for them if they made that last answer a “yes,” sounding like Fancy Earl and all his talk about commerce and living standards.

“Got a few parts of them ship people in the lagoon,” Big Earl said. “Probably still floatin’ if you want ‘em. But we better bring the shrimp-minnow nets, ‘cuase they’ll just slosh on through the turtle-sturgeon ones.”

“...No thank you,” the head stomper said, like sayin’ polite words made a fellow a polite man. He’d tracked those boots of his right up onto their porch without so much as a scuff on their mud rug. Even the kid had used the mud rug. “And the fire?”

“Oh,” said Little Earl, with a grin, “that was Old Jane.”

And she did her trick again, only less tricky, so they could see the spark rocks real good. “You boys want some fire water?” she offered. “It ain’t blinded no one who wasn’t already headed that way.”

They didn’t want any, which was grand, ‘cause she hadn’t really been offering.

When the last of them had gone stomping off back to the kind of land that let people stomp it, it took them two whole hours to lure out the catigators from under the porch. And their little screamer bird, too.

“...Why didn’t you turn me in?”

“What?” asked Old Earl, cupping his ear.

“Why—”

“What?”

“—didn’t—”

“WHAT?”

“—you—”

“Speak up, boy,” Old Earl said. “I never heard such a quiet child.”

And boy, did that set their bird back to singing.

[eglerieth]

Some of y’all are not appreciating Bilbo Baggins enough. I am here to remedy that. This guy has:

• somehow managed to establish himself as a respectable, staid hobbit by the time he was fifty, despite being both a grandson of Bullroarer Took and the Shire champion of pretty much every aiming-game known to hobbitkind

• had an in-depth debate on pleasantries with a random guy passing by in the street, who turned out to be GANDALF

• collapsed in front of his own fire shaking and muttering “struck by lightning” over and over again in response to hearing about dragons and danger

• mind you, this was after he screamed loud enough to startle a roomful of Dwarves

• signed up for a dangerous quest completely outside of his league out of spite

• when told to scout out a mysterious light, saw some trolls, and instead of reporting back with the information, decided to PICK THE TROLLS POCKET

• arrived in Rivendell for the first time and said it “smelled like elves”

• upon meeting a strange creature that visibly wanted to eat him, he decided to play a riddle game with him- and guessed pretty much every one, and made up his own riddles, afraid and alone, that not only were good and full of linguistic puns, but actually stumped the other guy- AND THEN CHEATED AND WON WITH A QUESTION

• showed mercy to said strange creature who wanted to kill him, and was now standing between him and freedom

• eavesdropped on the dwarves arguing over whether to try to save him, then popped up casually smack in the middle of them just as they were debating

• somehow managed to sleep like a log at the really really high eyrie full of wild predators

• found himself in a bad situation, said eff it, and turned around and antagonized and fought off an insane amount of man eating spiders, like enough of them that fifty was a small portion, by singing at them with incredibly complex and punny insulting songs composed on the spot, while simultaneously slaying them in multitudes despite having zero combat training. Seriously, we don’t discuss enough how epic the spider scene is.

• broke a company of dwarves out of the very secure prison of the Elvenking by inventing white water rafting with barrels

• charmed his way out of being eaten by a dragon

• stole the frickin Arkenstone from the guys who employed him, one of whom was a king

• took part in an epic battle, only to be knocked out in the first ten minutes and miss the entire thing

• was named elf-friend by the guy who’s prisoners he sprung

• wrote his own autobiography, complete with all the narrative recognition of his own heroics

• spent 60 years writing said autobiography

• taught his lower class neighbor’s kid how to read

• taught his nephew Elvish- not only Sindarin, but Quenya too

• spent decades telling his cousins his own story as fairy tales, complete with character impressions accurate enough that one of them was able to fool a servant of the Enemy with a second hand impression

• used the One Ring of Power to hide from his neighbors

• planned an elaborate feast with multiple social faux pas to mess with his neighbors, complete with a purposefully bewildering speech and culminating in him vanishing into thin air in front of everyone

• left his cousins and neighbors very unsubtle passive aggressive gifts in his will

• settled into Rivendell, randomly befriended the heir to the throne of like half of Middle Earth, and apparently spent his time writing very personal poems about his hosts and reciting them to crowds of elves

• after being invited to a Council of basically every major kingdom in the continent, spent a quarter of the time reciting vague poems about his friends, a quarter of the time telling anyone who would listen about his heroic past, and half the time interrupting to ask when lunch would be

• volunteered to bring the ring to Mordor

• became one of only four or five mortals in history to live in Valinor

Seriously, Bilbo Baggins may well be the most chaotic, insane person in the entire legendarium, and that includes the likes of people like Finrod “bit a werewolf to death to save the life of guy who he just met and gave up his kingdom for” Felagund.

[ghcstao3]

ghoap first meetings but it’s the 141 on a mission. they’re (unfortunately) in a populated area as they scout out the target, and while they did everything they could to not have things turn sour, this target just happened to be overly paranoid and far too skittish, so they, along with everyone else working with the target, turn and attack.

gunshots fire and crowds of people scream and flee in every which direction. it’s disorienting, but the 141 pushes forward—being careful of civilians, they try to keep solely to hand-to-hand and short range weapons as they chase down the small group, target included.

soap, at some point, ends up pivoting into an alleyway in the hopes of a shortcut to the next street over where he’d seen one of the men disappear, but to his misfortune it’s a dead end.

it’s not until he realizes this does he notice the man smoking further back in the alley. he raises an eyebrow at soap’s breathlessness, pushing off the wall to approach. soap finds himself mesmerized by the way the stranger snubs out his cigarette on the brick wall, unable to sputter out any sort of excuse and apologies, i’ll leave you be.

he’s supposed to be a professional.

it happens too fast, the man coming close, until it feels like they’re barely a foot apart. then in a flurry of movement so fast it makes soap’s brain stutter to a halt, the man seizes the concealed gun in soap’s waistband, aims at something behind him and pulls the trigger, mindful as possible of the barrel’s proximity to soap’s head.

his ears still ring, though, as the man tucks the gun back away just as quickly as he’d retrieved it. he doesn’t hear the slump of a body dropping, nor the clatter of a weapon falling to the ground, but he can certainly sense it.

soap decides he’s in love, then and there.

[gremlingottoosilly]

reader who started out as pickpocket only to become a sugarbaby because konig thinks the groping while stealing is hot. put your hand on his ass to get his wallet.

You didn't want to grope his ass while working on getting his wallet. You honestly didn't want to do this. It's not your fault that is ass is round, fat and kinda muscular, that even his expensive pants can't really hide the whole fucking bakery he was hiding under these layers of fabric. It just got in the way - you wanted to grab the wallet or a phone or something else big and kinda squarish, pocking in the outline of his pocket while he was too busy chatting with some weird masked guy. You hoped it would be a cardholder or at least some cash for the road. It was a gun. And by the moment your grabby fingers wrapped around something that was obviously the barrel of a gun, you already felt a burning gaze and a hand going to catch you before you could dash to run. Man doesn't scream. Man doesn't even punch you. He knows that you can feel the gun in his pocket - something that is literally forbidden in a country like Austria - and that you understand that if he can carry it around so freely and fearlessly, he probably won't face the consequences if he were to use it. You're fucked. But, you're fucked not even for the obvious reasons, oh no. You're fucked because Konig likes you. It was about time someone finally noticed how well build he is, even though he left the army a while ago, and it was the first time in forever since someone grabbed his ass with such passion. A man of his resolve likes his women feisty, and with a bit of fire inside of them, so he ignores the fact you didn't even want to grope him...it's already done and he likes your hands on him too much to let go of a pretty little pickpocket like you. Hey, at least he picked you up from the rugs and troubles of a daylight petty thievery business. Being his sugar baby isn't as bad as you could imagine - you just have to make sure you like the feeling of constant threat, overly expensive gifts and his hands groping your ass at random times. A perfect life.

[emmyrosee]

Okay hear me out…

Trying to surprise Sukuna with breakfast in bed but it goes wrong and Sukuna wakes up smelling smoke and us making a mess in the kitchen. He scolds us a little ofc but it’s all soft and fluffy still. You can make up the ending I just think this is a sweet concept lol.

I’m a sucker for bfs who fix our messes 🤭

of course he could smell fire. but sukuna's mind merely brushed it off.

in his dream, the smell of smoke appeared as a campfire himself and megumi, of all people, had started. it smells strong, like he can physically taste the smoke.

then, in his dream, there's an incessant beeping, one that comes out of Megumi's mouth in place of words.

But finally, he hears you scream in the real world. And his eyes fly open to wake up, his head spinning from the sudden shift from sleep to cognizance. Without a moment to spare, he barrels from the bed into the kitchen, dark clouds of smoke dancing in the air. There’s a baking sheet of burned cinnamon rolls crashed onto the floor- you, cradling your hand not far from it- a pan with a burnt egg sizzling on the stove, and the toaster smoking from whatever contents have now been roasted inside of it.

"What the fuck!" He snarls, grabbing a dish towel and waving it around to break up the dark clouds of smoke near the fire alarm. He leans over to shut off the stove and pop the toaster up, heat coating his arm You wince at the pain on your palm, and he furrows his brows, "fuck sake, go run it under water! What’re you doing grabbing things out of the oven with no mitt, you freak!"

"I couldn't find it!" you whimper, making your way to the sink to, in fact, run your hand under the cold water, hissing at the sting before letting yourself cry softly, be it from the pain or the stimulation of everything at once, Sukuna doesn’t know yet.

Just as soon as the chaos started, it ended, the smoke alarm silencing and the only noise being your whimpers and the running sink. He pants softly and cards a hand through his messy bed head, tossing away the rag and coming up to wrap his big arms around you. You bury your face in the fabric of his nightshirt, crying quietly.

“I just wanted to do something nice for you,” you whimper, and he sighs and rests his head on yours. “I know you’ve been working a lot… I thought I would surprise you.”

“You surprised me alright,” he grumbles, gently cradling the back of your head. “I told you, the oven in my apartment is fucking weird, don’t mess with it. And you did. Now you’re hurt.”

“Breakfast is ruined,” you sniffle, and he pulls back with a scrunched face.

“Breakfast is- babe, you literally have blisters on your hand!” He snips. “Who cares about breakfast, I’m worried about your damn hand!”

You wince slightly at his words, and he groans again, “I just want to make sure you’re okay. We can always remake breakfast. Your third degree burns are my concern right now. Since your goofy ass grabbed a damned cookie sheet square out of the oven.”

You wipe your nose with the back of your hand, “‘m not goofy,” you pout. He tucks in his lips to try and fight back the smirk that wants to spread on his face, not wanting to make you feel worse.

“How’s your hand?” He asks after a few beats of silence, pulling back to gently grab your hand and inspect the blistering burn, which you whine at clench your palm at. “I know, I know,” he soothes. Then, he presses a kiss to each of your fingers, playfully biting your pinky to make you giggle and giving you back your hand. “How about we load into the truck and get you some bandaids and a breakfast sandwich, huh? Save what bit of breakfast we can?”

“Okay, kuna.”

“Good,” he says, pulling away. “Go get on shoes. I’ll take care of ya.” When you leave to go get some shoes on, he’s quick to call after you, “I do appreciate you trying to do something nice for me. I knew you always had a soft spot for me.”

You titter and shake your head as you smile at him. “More than you could know, sukuna.”

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP Fanfic Idea: Petal to the Metal.

It's starts off simple enough.

Tucker realizes that, with the map from the Far Frozen, there was a chance they could find an earth similar to their own within the Infinite Realms. The only difference? It would be a few years ahead of their timeline.

If they happen to pop over there and gather "helpful" tips, like "What were the lottery winning numbers in 2008?" or "What companies were the best to invest in the early 2000s?" then who would be the wiser? It's not like they were stealing anything.

They just put one foot in front of the others at the starting line. Some may say cheating (Sam) but Tucker prefered to be prepared. It didn't take too long for Danny to agree.

A way to guarantee wealth? Sucess? Heck, they may even be able to "discover" cures for deadly illnesses. It would be rather selfish of them not to use the map for the greater good.

Sam chose to stay behind, stating she was already rich and didn't need to cheat into more gold. Tucker personally thought she didn't understand the common folk like the two boys.

The plan was simple. They had already located the suitable earth; they would go in, spend a weekend sightseeing (and gathering info), and then return home. As far as their parents knew, they were going to a concert in another state, having bought fake tickets and hotel rooms to sell them. It took a lot of begging on both sixteen year olds part but eventually neither parent had denied them the trp and off they went.

Danny had even attacked a miniature portal ray to their beat-up car, having taken inspiration from the time Jonny 13 had modified his bike back in the day. He had blown it up after helping the biker win back Kitty, but he hadn't forgotten about it.

They hoped that a car like their own wouldn't stand out too badly in 2020, praying that people would just assume them to bepoor. How different could cars be in such a short time anyway?

The bags were packed, the car was filled, Danny had set the miniature portal, and the two drove out of the city limits to fire it up. It required a lot of speed, since Tucker's plain toyota wasn't a space ship design to travel the death diminsion.

Danny had offered to drive, seeing as Tucker hated being behind the wheel on long road trips, and once his parents could see them- Mr. Foley didn't like his son lending his car to his friends. One never knows what could happen with teenagers- he had switch seat with Danny.

Danny, who has Fenton blood, had him put the petals to the metal and had no problems raising their speed to the one hundred needed for the miniature portal to work. The plan was perfect.

The plan fell apart when the portal opened in front of a clown about to put on a show for a large crowd. They ran him over with their car.

"Omg! You hit a clown!" Tucker screams watching the body roll off the windsheild.

Danny's grip on the stirring wheel was knuckle white but his eyes were narrowed in satisfication. "Good"

"No not good! This isn't Freakshow! That was a random clown doing a show and we killed him!" Tucker screams as Danny puts the car in reverse and runs him over again.

"Danny!"

Outside the vechile people were screaming, lots of them pointing and one clear voice ran above the rest.

"They killed Joker!"

Danny reached down and flickered on his favoritedriving song as various people started to climb on the stage. Poeple dressed in strange clothing.

Was that a Bat?

"Hold on Tuck!" is his own warning before Tokyo Drift started blaring through the speakers as he slammed his foot on the petal again. They blew through some barrels of green liquid and drifted off the stage onto the road with Danny sining at the top of his lungs.

Tucker could barely hear himself scream as people jumped out fo the way unprepare for a Driving Fenton like Amity Park was.

Maybe Sam was right. This was a terrible idea.

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　EMERGENCY CONTACT

spencer reid x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N is between life and death during a case, and the team needs to call her emergency contact, but she doesn't have one. Not until now.

WARNING: Use of gun, blood, getting shot, pain, usual CM violence (but not too violent).

REQUESTED?: No.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The evening was heavy with anticipation as Y/N and Morgan made their way through the dilapidated house. The floorboards creaked under their weight, and the air was thick with dust and tension. They moved cautiously, guns drawn, every sense on high alert.

The house, an old Victorian relic on the outskirts of town, was supposed to be abandoned, but they knew better. The unsub they were hunting had been using it as his hideout, his lair.

It was dark. Only the faint glow from a few broken windows offered any light. Shadows clung to the corners, making the already narrow hallways feel like tunnels into oblivion.

Morgan's eyes flicked over to Y/N as they moved silently down the hall. Her jaw was set in a hard line, her eyes scanning every inch of the space before them. They’d been partners long enough that he could read the tension in her posture, the way her fingers gripped her gun just a little tighter than usual. He gave her a slight nod, a silent assurance that they were in this together. Y/N returned the nod, her lips pressed into a thin line. They both knew what was at stake.

As they approached the doorway, leading to what looked like a kitchen, Morgan gestured for Y/N to take the lead, deciding to look into the hallway. She nodded and moved forward, peeking around the corner. Her heart pounded in her chest, the adrenaline coursing through her veins. Everything was eerily quiet. The kind of quiet that screamed trouble. She took a cautious step into the room, her gun leading the way, eyes darting to every possible hiding spot.

The silence was broken by the faintest creak behind her. Before she could react, a figure lunged from the shadows, catching her off guard. Y/N whipped around, finger already on the trigger. In her haste, she fired a shot into the darkness, the bullet embedding itself harmlessly into a corner.

The sound of the gunshot was deafening in the enclosed space, and in that split second of chaos, the unsub took advantage. He moved like a snake, slithering out of the shadows, his hand shooting out to grab Y/N’s gun. His grip was iron-clad, and he twisted her arm, forcing her to drop her weapon.

"Y/N!" Morgan's voice came loudly from a closer room, the sound of his steps heavy and quick approached where the one from her gun came.

Y/N barely had time to register what was happening before she felt the cold, unforgiving metal of her own gun pressed against her temple. Her breath hitched, her heart racing as she looked into the eyes of the unsub. They were wild, manic, and pupils dilated with a dangerous mix of adrenaline and rage. His face was contorted into a sneer, lips pulled back to reveal yellowing teeth.

"Morgan!" Y/N called out, her voice steady but with a layer of fear and frustration. She knew he was right behind her, and sure enough, within seconds, Morgan burst into the room, his gun trained on the unsub. His dark eyes were fierce, anger simmering just beneath the surface as he took in the scene before him.

"Put the gun down and let her go. Now." Morgan commanded, his voice a low, dangerous growl. He took a step forward, his gun unwavering, trained directly on the unsub’s head.

The unsub’s grip on Y/N tightened, his fingers digging into her skin. He pressed the barrel of the gun harder against her temple, causing her to wince.

"Back off, or I’ll blow her brains out!" He screamed, his voice cracking with desperation. His eyes darted around the room, wild and erratic, as if searching for an escape. But there was none. He was cornered, and he knew it. "You petty agents have destroyed all my plans, and now one of you will have to pay for it."

Morgan’s heart pounded, his mind racing. He could see Y/N’s fear, her eyes wide, her breathing shallow. He needed to calm the unsub down to de-escalate the situation.

"Hey, hey." He said, his tone softening just a fraction, trying to project calm. "You don’t want to do this. Just let her go, and we can talk about this. We’ll figure it out. You don’t have to hurt anyone else."

The unsub laughed, a harsh, bitter sound.

"You think I’m stupid?" He spat, his voice dripping with venom. "I let her go, you’ll just shoot me! I’m not going to jail! I’m not going back there!" His hand trembled, and Y/N felt the gun shake against her temple, pressing her lips in a thin line.

Morgan clenched his jaw, his eyes flicking between the unsub and Y/N. He could see the terror in her eyes, the way she was trying to stay calm, to not make any sudden movements.

"Nobody has to go to jail." Morgan said, trying to keep his voice steady, soothing. "We can figure something out. Just let her go, okay? Let’s talk about this."

The unsub was breathing hard, his chest heaving. His eyes were darting around the room, looking for something that he could do or use. Morgan could see the panic setting in, the way his grip on Y/N tightened. This was a man on the edge, teetering on the brink of madness.

"Don’t come any closer!" The unsub yelled, his voice cracking. "I swear to God, I’ll shoot her!" His hand twitched, his finger hovering over the trigger.

"Okay, okay." Morgan said quickly, taking a small step back, raising his hands slightly to show he wasn’t a threat. "I’m not moving. Just... take it easy, alright? We don’t want anyone to get hurt."

Y/N’s heart was pounding so hard she thought it might burst from her chest. She could feel the unsub’s breath on her neck, hot and fast. She knew she had to do something, anything, to distract him, to give Morgan a chance.

"You don’t have to do this." She said softly, trying to keep her voice calm. "Please. Just let me go. We can help you. Whatever it is, I can help."

The unsub’s eyes snapped to hers, his face twisting into a snarl.

"Shut up!" He screamed, his voice breaking. "Just shut up, you bitch!" His hand shook, and Y/N could feel the gun pressing harder against her skin, her eyes closing tightly with the feeling.

Morgan saw the movement, saw the unsub’s finger twitching on the trigger, and his heart lurched.

"Don’t!" He shouted, taking a step forward. "Don’t do it!"

The unsub’s eyes were wild, his grip on Y/N tightening as he shouted back.

"Stay back! I’ll do it! I’ll shoot her!"

It all happened so fast. One moment, they were yelling, voices overlapping in a desperate cacophony, and the next, there was a deafening bang. Y/N felt a searing pain in her right shoulder, too close to her neck, the force of the bullet knocking her off balance.

A scream tore from her throat as she crumpled to the ground, her vision blurring with tears. The pain was excruciating, a white-hot agony that radiated through her entire body.

She had forgotten how much a gunshot hurt.

In that split second, Morgan’s instincts kicked in. He raised his gun and fired three times. The bullets hit its marks, striking the unsub in the head. The force of the shot sent him reeling backward, his grip on the gun slackening. He hit the ground with a dull thud, blood pooling beneath his head, his eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling.

The unsub’s lower body fell against Y/N, pressing her more to the ground. She let out a choked sob, her hands clutching at her bleeding shoulder. Morgan was at her side in an instant, shoving the unsub’s body away and pressing his hands to her wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

"Y/N, stay with me." Morgan said, his voice shaking, his hands slick with her blood. “Come on, mama, stay with me. You’re going to be okay. We’re going to get you out of here." His heart was pounding, fear clawing at his chest as he looked down at her pale face, her eyes fluttering closed.

His hands were slick with Y/N's blood, his mind racing as he tried to maintain pressure on her wound. Her skin was pale, her breaths coming in ragged, uneven gasps. Each second felt like an eternity, stretching out in a nightmarish haze. He could feel her slipping away, and the thought clawed at his heart, sending a chill of dread through him. He needed help, and he needed it now.

He reached up with one hand, pressing the button on his earpiece, his voice urgent and strained.

"This is Agent Derek Morgan! We have an agent down! Y/N’s been shot, I repeat, Y/N’s been shot! I need paramedics at our location, now!" His voice cracked, the fear breaking through his usually calm, composed demeanor.

There was a crackle of static in his ear, then Hotch’s voice came through, sharp and controlled.

"Morgan, what’s her status?"

Morgan looked down at Y/N, her eyes fluttering as she fought to stay conscious.

"It’s bad, Hotch. She’s been shot in the shoulder, too close to her neck, and she’s losing a lot of blood. We need those paramedics." His voice broke on the last word, the helplessness clawing at him. "The unsub is dead..."

"Hold on, Morgan, they’re on their way." Hotch said, his voice a calming presence even over the comms. "Keep her conscious if you can."

Morgan nodded, even though Hotch couldn’t see him.

"You hear that, Y/N? You stay with me, okay? Don’t you close your eyes. Help is coming." He squeezed her hand, willing her to hold on.

Y/N’s eyes flickered open, pain clouding her vision.

"Morgan... it hurts... like a bitch." She whispered, her voice weak, barely more than a breath.

"I know, sweetheart, I know." Morgan said, his heart breaking at the pain in her voice. "Just hang on a little longer. You’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna get you out of here." He kept his hands pressed against her wound, feeling the warmth of her blood seeping through his fingers, his own heart beating wildly in his chest.

Minutes stretched on like hours, but finally, the distant wail of sirens reached Morgan’s ears. He breathed a sigh of relief as the sound grew louder, closer.

The paramedics burst into the room before the cops - who ran directly to the unsub's dead body -, their faces a mix of professionalism and urgency. They moved quickly, efficiently, setting up a gurney and pushing Morgan aside to assess Y/N’s condition.

"She’s been shot in the shoulder." Morgan said, his voice tight with anxiety. "She’s lost a lot of blood."

One of the paramedics nodded, already working to stem the bleeding.

"We’ll take it from here, Agent. You did good."

Morgan stepped back, his hands stained red, watching as they worked. His heart pounded in his chest, a drumbeat of fear. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Hotch, his expression grim but steady.

"The rest of the team is on their way." Hotch said quietly. "You did everything you could, Morgan."

Morgan nodded, his throat tight. He wanted to believe Hotch, but the sight of Y/N lying on the floor, her life seeping out of her with every passing second, was almost too much to bear.

The sound of hurried footsteps filled the air as the rest of the team arrived. Emily, Rossi, and Reid rushed into the room, their faces masks of shock and concern. Reid’s eyes locked onto Y/N, and in an instant, his expression changed from one of worry to one of anger.

"What the hell happened?" Reid demanded, his voice a harsh, angry whisper. His eyes were blazing, fists clenched at his sides. He looked from Y/N to Morgan, fury and fear mingling in his gaze. "How could you let this happen?"

Morgan’s jaw tightened, guilt and frustration simmering beneath the surface.

"Reid, it was-"

"You were supposed to protect her!" Reid shouted, taking a step toward Morgan, his face a mask of barely contained rage. "How could you let her get hurt?"

Morgan’s eyes flashed with his own anger, his voice rising to meet Reid’s.

"You think I wanted this? You think I’m not tearing myself apart over what happened? I was right here, Reid! I did everything I could!"

"Enough!" Emily’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and commanding. She stepped between them, her eyes darting between Reid and Morgan. "This isn’t helping anyone. We need to focus on Y/N right now. Fighting like teenagers isn’t going to change what happened."

Reid’s chest heaved, his fists still clenched. He looked from Morgan to Y/N, his anger melting into something softer, more vulnerable. The pain in his eyes was palpable, his hands shaking as he fought to control his emotions.

"Hotch, we need to call her emergency contact. They need to know and be here for whatever they will have to do to keep her alive." Rossi's voice echoed for the first time, his eyes focused entirely on Y/N's form.

Hotch’s brows furrowed, a distant look crossing his face as he tried to recall the information. He shook his head slowly, his voice heavy.

"Y/N doesn’t have an emergency contact listed in her files."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging in the air. Reid’s face fell, the anger replaced by a deep, aching sadness. He knew what it was like to not have an emergency contact, to not have anyone close enough that you could count on when, well, an emergency happens.

"No..." He whispered, almost to himself. "No, that can’t be..."

He looked at Y/N, her face pale and still, and something inside him snapped. Without thinking, he spoke again, his voice firm, resolute.

"I’ll be her emergency contact." He turned to Hotch, his eyes burning with determination. "Isn’t that possible? I can do that, right?"

Hotch hesitated, knowing the protocols, the paperwork, and the formalities that were required. But as he looked into Reid’s eyes, he knew there was no question. The team was family, and in moments like this, family came first. He nodded slowly, his voice quiet but firm.

"Yes, Reid. You can be her emergency contact. For now."

Relief washed over Reid, his shoulders sagging. He turned back to Y/N, moving to her side as the paramedics lifted her onto the gurney. He reached out, taking her hand, squeezing it gently.

"I’m right here, Y/N." He whispered, his voice trembling. "I’m not going anywhere."

The paramedics nodded to Reid, indicating he could ride with them. Reid climbed into the back of the ambulance, never letting go of Y/N’s hand, his heart breaking at the sight of her so fragile, so still. The ambulance doors closed, and within seconds, they were speeding toward the hospital, sirens blaring.

As the ambulance sped away, Morgan stood in the doorway, his eyes fixed on the disappearing vehicle, his hands still stained with Y/N’s blood. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Hotch, his expression somber.

"We’ll meet them at the hospital." Hotch said quietly. "She’s going to need all of us."

Morgan nodded, his heart heavy with guilt and fear.

"I should have made more." He said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Hotch squeezed his shoulder, a rare show of comfort.

"You did everything you could, Morgan. Now we have to hope she pulls through."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound that filled the room, a constant reminder that Y/N was alive, stable, and recovering. The sterile scent of the hospital lingered in the air, mingling with the soft hum of the fluorescent lights overhead.

Spencer sat on the small couch beside Y/N’s bed, his lanky form folded into the uncomfortable seat, eyes fixed on her pale face. He hadn’t moved in hours, not since they’d brought her out of surgery and told him she would be okay.

His heart had been in his throat then, relief flooding his system, washing over him in waves so strong he’d almost collapsed. But now, the adrenaline had worn off, leaving him exhausted, drained, his mind a whirl of thoughts and emotions. He hadn’t eaten, hadn’t slept, hadn’t even gotten up to go to the bathroom. He couldn’t bring himself to leave her side, not even for a second. His hands rested on his knees, fingers interlaced, his knuckles white with the tension he held.

He watched her, every shallow breath she took a lifeline for him. The rise and fall of her chest, the flutter of her eyelids; each small movement was a sign that she was still there, still fighting. He’d replayed the events of the day over and over in his mind, guilt gnawing at him for not being there, for not protecting her, even though he knew, logically, that there was nothing he could have done. But logic didn’t soothe the ache in his heart, the fear that had wrapped itself around his soul, squeezing tight.

A soft murmur broke through his thoughts, a faint sound that made his heart leap into his throat. His eyes snapped to Y/N’s face, and he saw her eyelids fluttering, her fingers twitching against the white sheets. He was on his feet in an instant, moving to her side, his hand reaching out to take hers gently.

"Y/N?" he whispered, his voice soft, trembling with the weight of his emotions. "Hey, can you hear me?"

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, the bright light of the hospital room making her squint. She blinked slowly, her vision blurry, disoriented, but as her eyes focused, they found Reid’s face, his wide puppy eyes filled with worry and relief. A small, tired smile tugged at her lips, her voice hoarse as she spoke.

"Spence..."

Relief washed over Reid, his chest aching with it. He squeezed her hand gently, his eyes never leaving her face.

"Yeah, I’m here." He said softly, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand. "How are you feeling? Are you in pain?"

Y/N swallowed, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at the stitches in her shoulder.

"A little." She admitted, her voice weak but steady. "But it’s manageable. I’m okay, Spencer. I’m alive."

Spencer nodded, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

"You scared me, Y/N." He said, his voice thick with emotion. "When I heard you’d been shot... I thought..." He trailed off, his throat closing up at the memory, the fear that had gripped him so tightly.

Y/N’s fingers tightened around his, her thumb brushing against his skin in a comforting gesture.

"I’m sorry." She whispered. "I didn’t mean to scare you. It just... happened so fast... The unsub, is he-"

Reid nodded, confirming her unfinished question - yes, he's dead -, his brow furrowing as he observed her, concern etching lines into his face.

"And mentally? How are you holding up?" He asked, his voice gentle, but with the unmistakable edge of a profiler. "I mean, after everything you went through today..."

Y/N took a deep breath, her eyes closing for a moment as she processed his question.

"I’m okay." She said slowly, her voice soft but firm. "It was terrifying, but... I'm alright."

"Are you sure?" He asked again, his eyes focused on hers, as if he was reading into her mind. "You know, it’s normal to experience symptoms of PTSD after a traumatic event like this." He continued after noticing how she hesitated to answer his question, his voice taking on that familiar tone of reciting facts. "Victims can often experience flashbacks, anxiety, depression... Did you know that the amygdala can become hyperactive, causing an exaggerated response to stressors? It’s important to talk about what happened to process it. Avoidance can actually worsen symptoms, so facing the trauma head-on is usually the best course of action..."

Y/N listened quietly, her eyes softening as she watched him talk. His words were a comfort, his knowledge a balm to her frayed nerves. She knew this side of Spencer, the need to rationalize, to explain, to wrap his mind around every detail until it made sense. It was one of the things she loved most about him. She didn’t interrupt - she never did -, letting him talk, his voice soothing her more than anything else could.

When he finally paused, taking a breath, she smiled at him, squeezing his hand.

"Spence..." She said softly, her voice pulling him from his thoughts. He blinked, focusing on her, his expression anxious. "I’m really okay. I promise that if I go through any of these things you listed, I will let you know. Okay?" She assured him, her smile warm despite the pain in her side. "Thank you for being here."

Reid’s eyes softened, his grip on her hand tightening slightly.

"I wouldn’t be anywhere else." He said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. He hesitated, his eyes flickering with uncertainty before he continued. "I, um... I told Hotch I’d be your emergency contact." He said, his voice tentative, as if he was afraid of her reaction. "I know it’s not official. There’s paperwork and procedures, but... I just... I couldn’t let you be alone."

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise, her brows drawing together as she looked at him.

"You... did that for me?" She asked, her voice soft, touched.

Reid nodded, his cheeks flushing slightly.

"I... I didn’t want you to be alone." He repeated, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I care about you, Y/N. A lot. More than I probably should. And when I thought I might lose you today... I realized that I can’t... I can’t hide it anymore-"

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, her eyes widening as she looked at him.

"Spencer..." She whispered, interrupting him, her voice filled with surprise.

Reid swallowed, his eyes dropping to their joined hands, his thumb tracing small circles on her skin.

"I’m in love with you, you know?" He said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. "I’ve been in love with you for so long, and I was too scared to tell you. But seeing you lying there, thinking I might never get the chance to say it... I had to tell you."

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, her heart swelling with emotion. She could see the fear in his eyes, the vulnerability, the raw honesty of his confession.

"And it's... it's totally okay if you don't feel the same, I would totally understand it-" He started rumbling desperately after a long minute of silence.

Without a word, she reached up with her hand from her unharmed arm, her fingers curling into the fabric of his dark tie. She tugged him down, her movements slow and careful, mindful of the pain in her other shoulder.

Spencer’s eyes widened, his breath hitching as he let himself lean down, shutting up instantly, his face inches from hers. Y/N’s lips curved into a soft smile, her eyes shining with life.

"I love you too, Spence." She whispered, her voice filled with sincerity.

Before he could respond, she pulled him closer, her lips pressing against his in a gentle, tender kiss. It was soft, hesitant, but filled with all the emotions they had kept hidden for so long. Spencer’s heart raced, his eyes fluttering closed as he kissed her back, his hand cupping her cheek, his thumb caressing her soft skin.

The kiss was everything he had ever dreamed of. Her lips were so soft and plump against his own, moving slowly in a perfect dance, her uncontrollable breathing hitting his face as a gentle and warm welcome.

As they pulled away, their foreheads resting together, Spencer’s heart felt lighter than it had in years. He had almost lost her, but now, as he looked into her eyes, he knew he would never let her go.

"I think you owe me a date now." Y/N whispered, a small smile stretching across her lips.

"Of... of course! As soon as we get out of here, I'll take you on as many dates as you want." Spencer nodded frantically, the tip of his nose hitting hers with his movements while his eyes traveled around her face, memorizing all the details he could finally see up close before lowering his head, meeting her lips with his own again.

[shortcakesturns]

omg hi ur like the only person writing for Rob from Love Island so slay of u! I was wondering if u could do like an enemies to lovers rob x reader🥹

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄�� - 𝐑𝐎𝐁 𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃

a/n: not proofread cause i’m lazy! thank you for all the support on rob!! send in requests for anybody and i’ll write for them ❤️ (I don’t just write love island!! I write much more just ask!) combined request, I can write a non smut if u want

summary: you would do anything to prove to everyone rob didn’t actually hate you, that’s when the heart rate challenge came in clutch..but it backfires.

warnings: smut, unprotected sex (not safe!!), semi public sex? cream pie, rough sex. p n v, oral f receiving

𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓. 𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒, 𝐆𝐎 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐍.

rob glares at you, his eyes piercing through your skull in attempt to intimidate you. his attempts fail so he barrels towards you and bumps his shoulder with yours harshly. your hand flies up to your shoulder and eyes dart to robs, he shrugs and looks you up and down.

“go get your sluttiest outfit on y/n, i’m sure you have plenty.” he laughs and turns around. the devil really wears overalls.

an hour later after getting ready you stand in front of the mirror alone looking at your dorthy costume from the wizard of oz. a button up part at the top to reveal the white lingerie bra. a short dress that barely covers your ass with a matching lingerie thong and clear thigh high socks. little bows on your thighs, hair in bowed pigtails.

you give one last glance at yourself, this was the first time you could really make rob look stupid. get his heart rate way up, have it revealed in front of the whole group. everybody knows rob can’t stand you, and you can’t bare to be in the same room with him.

everybody goes before you, giving you enough time to think about what to do.

before you can think it’s your time, you strut down the villa floor. you hear screams from the girls and boys but rob sits there with crossed arms and a sour face.

first… it’s kenny, you get on kenny’s lap grinding a bit and making sure to withhold eye contact with rob. you lick kenny’s neck before crawling over to kordell to give kenny a good view of your thong.

(WE RESPECT THE GIRLS HERE SO THIS IS JUST TO MAKE ROB JELLY)

you go over to kordell and squat over him and grind down on him. screams are still echoing but the adrenaline is getting to you. blood rushes to your head while blood rushes to robs dick. he keeps a straight face so you needed to up your game.

then came kendall…you get up on kendall’s lap and do a couple of tricks and shaking your ass a bit. maintaining eye contact with rob.

miguel was next, you got down on your knees in front of him. “you think you can save me miguel?” you look up at him innocently.

then Aaron, you get on his lap and grind a bit.. but then robs turn it was. you grab him by the collar bringing him to the front and kicking him down.

a tent was very much in his pants, his jaw was clenched and body was tense. this was monumental for the other islanders. despite being in a couple the only reason you guys were together was so you weren’t voted off. everyone got louder as you kicked his chest and then his neck and then grinding down on his rock hard cock.

whining touching your breasts, “there’s no place like home…right rob?.” you kiss his mouth and grab his collar again and slam him down. standing up above him your heel barely missing his ear. you walk away and join the rest of the girls and then the boys leave screaming in excitement.

the girls surround the fire pit in anticipation, you can’t help but think you might’ve messed up with rob. every-time you grinded on a guy. you could see the rage that was building up inside of him.

every guy goes and does their tricks. but when rob comes out. you see revenge in his eyes. he couldn’t let you outdo him and you couldn’t let him raise your heart and face the humiliation.

after a bit of eye contact, it was finally your turn. rob threw out over his shoulder and laid you down face down, ass up. wrapping his lasso around your waist and grinding down while holding your hips up. nipping and kissing at your neck. he grabs your hair slightly to make you look at him “is that the best you can do baby?” then lets your hair go and joins the fire pit and so do the guys.

it was now time to see who raised your heart the most.

𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐘𝐒..𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐊𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐎𝐑

𝐊𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀

𝐀𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐊𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐎𝐑

𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐄

𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐊𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐎𝐑.

𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐊𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐎𝐑.

𝐑𝐎𝐁...𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐁𝐘 𝐘/𝐍

holy shit, your plan had worked. a stupid smirk plastered across your face as everyone mouth drops.

“I’ll take that smirk right off your face y/n.” rob whispered in your ear lowly.

𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒..

𝐊𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐎𝐑: 𝐀𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐍

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀: 𝐊𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐋

𝐒𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐀: 𝐊𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐋.

𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐇: 𝐊𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐋

𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐄: 𝐊𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐋

𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐀: 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐘

𝐘/𝐧...𝐑𝐎𝐁.

this can’t be right, this can’t be right at all. your face is bright red and your face is burning up. “is that so princess? and you laughed at me getting turned on by you..not my fault you looked so damn slutty in this cute little outfit.”

he tugs on your dress a bit and everybody gets hype but soon after ariana leaves and your all left to yourself, another text comes through.

𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒..𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍. 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄.

with no hesitation the islanders all pick you and rob. claiming it’s a fuck it out scenario. but you couldn’t stand robs ego. rob had the biggest ego. this was not a fuck it out thing..sure rob has a great body, but personality was unbearable to you.

“nothings happening tonight y/n.” he says to you coldly. the girls grabbing you before you could talk back.

the boys surround rob and then suddenly your picking out a cute lacy piece of lingerie.

“are you guys gonna fuck tonight?” leah blurts out moving her brows up and down.

“hell no, this is just to show him what he could have if he wasn’t such a big dick to me.” the girls brows raise and burst out into laughter.

the girls run down the stairs, you follow them very far behind so rob can get a good look at your body. rob stands there with no emotion but hand over his dick to hide the boner that’s forming.

he eye fucks you and says the goodbyes to the other islanders as you enter the hideaway.

you look around and it’s beautiful, but rob quickly drags your hands to the bedroom and bends you over the bed.

“act like a slut huh?” SMACK “getting my heart rate up?” SMACK “embarrassing me?” SMACK

“r-rob i’m sorry.” you let out, parting your legs farther. you couldn’t deny anymore.

you needed rob to fuck the ever loving shit out of you.

“you want this?” he asks.

you nod and blurt out yes.

“good girl.” he kneels down and takes your thong off swiftly shoving those pretty panties into his pocket.

you still couldn’t see him so the uncertainty of not knowing what was coming next was turning you on, you were practically dripping and a mess.

rob swipes his finger up and down your slit before pushing two fingers into your wet hole and licking and sucking your clit aggressively.

moans are heard against your cunt, making the pleasure more intense. you tighten around his fingers. “your not cumming on my fingers.”

he quickly pulls away fumbling with his belt and hearing his pants drop. a harsh slap is landed on your ass again. you were sure your ass was red.

he uses his foot to part your legs more and lines himself up with your cunt and pushing in slowly. he throws his pretty head back and begins to thrust into you deep and slow.

“you like torturing me pretty baby?” he whines.

“fuck this pussy is amazing, gonna fuck you everywhere.” he whines and whines.

you couldn’t get a word in since his thrusts speed up. he was pretty big. very big. you were full.

he pulls out and flips you to your back. “wanna see that cute face of yours when I fill you up with my cum.”

he pushes back in speeding up and letting the white ring form around his dick, suddenly you tighten against him and rob lets out a strained groan and everything goes black when your eyes glue themselves together. water gushes from your cunt onto the sheets, floor, and rob.

“oh holy shit your doing that again y/n.” his thrusts get harder and faster and he makes you squirt again and again till he’s satisfied.

“i’m gonna cum pretty girl.” his thrusts get sloppy and then strings of cum fill your cunt up.

he topples over onto the bed pulling you with him.

“maybe it was a fuck it out thing, your pretty y/n.”

he kisses your forehead.

“also, kaylor told me I was a big dick to you..so question is my attitude matching my dick size or whatever.”

you slap him.

“shut up.” you smirk.

[redflagshipwriter]

Mamabat Chapter 11: the trap snaps shut

masterpost

Five vans peeled into view, rocketing around the curved road fast enough that they visibly tilted through the turn. They all bristled with weaponry.

Cass felt her lips press into a faint line. She glanced at Dannybaby: scared. I knew it. Here they are.

They didn’t have to talk about it. The three adults stepped out and put their backs to ring Danny, facing outwards to the threat.

“Shoot the racks,” she commanded. The mounted weapons. She didn’t like that. She pulled out a batarang herself and squinted to find her aim. The construction? Sloppy. Exposed wires. Weakness.

A gun cocked. “Aye aye, captain.” Jason hefted a gun in each hand and started shooting as the vans screeched to a stop in a circle around them. Bang! Sparks flew where he hit. Cass and Dickiebird did the same with quieter precision, slicing wires and leaving projectiles sticking into the metal monstrosities. Electricity sparked. Just in time: machines whined as they were powered on. One gave out with a huge bang!  The van attached to it jolted as the machine punched a huge dent into the roof. White smoke floated away, clouding the nighttime scene with a chemical stink.

“Whoa,” Danny breathed.

She felt a twinge of satisfaction.

Jason hit the last set-up with a bang! Bang! Then his foot scuffed across the pavement to knock against Danny’s. Check, you’re here, you’re safe, you’re little.

“They’ll come out!” Danny warned.

He was right. Doors clicked unlocked all around them and men in white suits piled out, futuristic looking guns aimed at the little group. 

She felt a twinge of disbelief. “Can’t shoot,” Cass said. No way. So dumb. They were in a circle. Friendly fire, new concept to losers??

They shot. She hit the ground in a roll and trusted that everyone else would. They did. She turned her head to see that one agent was down from friendly fire. There was no blood as he was lifted off his feet and blasted backwards against the van he came out of.

“Ghost scum!” howled one of the suits.

“We knew it!” 

The victory in their voices set her blood boiling. Cass launched herself to the closest opponent and took him down with a nasty hit. She whirled on the next one, two mean hits. Go, go, clear the area! She heard feet scuffling and weapons whining as they fired, fired, fired on the boys.

She took number 4 down as the smoke was starting to clear. She heard a pained oof from the center, where Jason and Dickiebird were blocking Danny.

“Jason!” Danny said. He sounded very young. “Oh, shit.” Cass cast a frantic glance over at his posture and sucked in a breath even as she bulleted towards the next opponent. Determined. I have to do this. Here we go! 

No, no!

Jason was down. Dickiebird was darting between Jason and the man actively firing. Danny was pale. He opened his mouth. He put his palms out. He flashbanged. 

She blinked away stars and slammed a man’s head into a van before he could aim at her. Slam, slam, drop. She stole another glance. Danny was- Danny had white hair now and he was flashing green light at their enemies. Hm. She couldn’t afford to watch. Cass bared her teeth, angry. 

Air sizzled: GIW firing wildly. Guns fired: Jason was still conscious. Danny yelped: what? 

Cass didn’t dare look more. She moved faster than Batman could ever, brutally taking down these criminals with disdainful ease. They had nothing but numbers and lasers. 

Green shot past her vision. She traced it back: Danny! Her eyes went wide. Wow. He had some kind of organic blast, like Starfire. Very useful! 

 It wasn’t enough. Danny screamed. She heard him hit the ground. Sizzling.

She howled, wordless with fury. She tackled the next agent and cracked his head against the pavement. Only two more. She flung a batarang down the barrel aimed at her and then yanked the weapon away to brutally jab the air out of the agent’s diaphragm. Cass tossed it at him as he fell. Solid thunk. It hit his head.

The last man tried to say something, white teeth flashing in the gloom. Her ears were closed to it. The only language she spoke right now was violence. She used it to get him down and wrench him into zip ties. She could hear Dickiebird talking his soothing sounds at Danny baby. Cass wanted to go there. Cass wanted to soothe him. She wanted to see his hurts. 

But she had to secure the area. She rushed around to the groaning and crying men she had put down. She immobilized them. The foolish ones tried to get up as she approached. The smart one (and there was only one) held his hands out, eyes wide in the night. He talked at her. Beseeching, reasoning, she just doesn’t understand. You’re like me. Not like them.

Cass snarled. She understood just fine. She pressed his face into the ground harshly, fingers digging into his jaw. “Shut up,” she gritted out. She left him with effort, ignoring the mean impulse to smack him. 

All the boys were on the ground. There was no blood. Eyes open. Not dead.

Something in her gun unclenched.

Dickiebird looked up at her from where he was supporting Jason, sitting halfway with a grimace as he holstered his guns. Hands shaking. “He’ll be fine!” Danny pressed his body against Jason like he was trying to absorb his body heat. His hair was black again and his eyes looked tired. “He, uh, it’s shock,” Dannybaby babbled. She knelt to rub at his back, silently encouraging the explanation. “They basically zapped his ecto, stopped circulation. It should start up again in a few minutes and he’ll feel fine.”

“Get off,” Jason grunted. He shoved at Dickiebird. Weak. “I feel fine.”

Lie.

“I feel drained,” he admitted. “But fine. Just weak. I can stand.” He struggled to stand, biting his lip. He swayed only slightly. “Man,” he cursed under his breath. Jason cast an unhappy look at the 14 agents groaning on the ground, on their bellies like the worms they were with hands ziptied at their backs. “Not my best showing.”

“Next time, you could dodge,” Dickiebird suggested lightly. 

“You’re lucky it got him and not you,” Danny snapped. “Didn’t you see that guy go flying?”

Tense. Dickiebird paused. Smile. Soothe. “I’m only teasing,” he said. “It’s fine, Danny.”

“None of this is fine!” Cass swiveled her head to make sweltering eye contact with the scumbag who was cutting in. He was bold, for someone with his cheek digging into the rocks and cement. “By the authority of the US Government, you are required to submit these ecto-entities for testing and capture into our custody. Release us, or face dire consequences!”

Cass looked at him. She felt hate. Disdain. You’re nothing, you’re a worm to me. 

“They’re telling the truth,” Danny whispered. “It’s, uh, it’s legal.” He looked haunted. He rubbed at his chest: some memory of sharp pain.

Dickiebird snorted and slung an arm over Danny’s narrow shoulders. “Maybe by US laws, but Oa has jurisdiction that supersedes. This was a clear case of assault.” He gave an unpleasant smile. Big brother. Big angry. Guard dog at the door. “I’ll make a call.” 

The next minutes felt very long. Cass pressed Danny’s face into her shoulder so that he didn’t have to make eye contact with the fallen agents. She stroked his hair with her free hand, boiling inside with fury. 

Dickiebird called. A Green Lantern answered: coming.

They waited. Jason said he felt better. His body said: mostly better. But strange. They ignored the threats and complaints from the GIW men on the ground.

Hal Jordan came, with one more Green Lantern that Cass didn’t know. He gathered up prisoners in a green veil. He talked with Dickiebird. He nodded, and left.

“I wanna go home,” Danny said quietly. “But I think that we need to get Jason to my doctor. He’s really not right. It’s… It might be time sensitive.”

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part ten —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 2.3k tags: death. blood. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: this chapter kicked my butt. thanks for the patience~

An ear-splitting gunshot bites the ground near your boot, close enough to feel the heat simmer through the worn leather. It takes everything in you not to freeze in terror. You grab Blue and run. 

Adrenaline kicks into high gear once again, but with her dead weight and your lack of strength, you know you can't get far. You manage to tumble behind a stack of rusted bins just as another round fires. 

Blue clings to you. "He's following us!"

Your heart sinks as your fingers reach for your bow— you left it.

"Give me your gun," you sputter quickly.

She shoves the unfamiliar weapon in your hands. A tremble consumes your body as you peek over the barrel to find your target. For a second, you see your attacker as he passes by one of the jeeps. A young man no older than yourself. 

Without hesitation, you close an eye and go for his heart, but the bullet grazes the top of his shoulder with a spray of blood. Used to a bow, you aimed too high.

He barks out a swear and then lifts his rifle in retaliation. Before he can shoot, a Grey bursts through the window of the jeep, clamping down on his neck. His throat turns to gore. The gun falls from his grip as screams of pain quickly turn to muffled groans.

Relief and horror pound through your veins. That was close. Too close. You have to get Blue out of here. But how—

There is no chance to decide. Suddenly, she screams again. You whip around to meet the slash of a long knife and the flush of cold air as your coat is torn. Someone has snuck up behind you. You fumble with the gun but the attacker knocks it out of your hand, then fists your hair hard enough to make your scalp burn. It happens so fast. You can't even get a good look at him— only the wild stare of his eyes and the strength of his stature. Whoever these people are, they are certainly better fed than that man in the woods.

You thrash against him, hurling saliva at his face. Apparently, he didn't expect that because he hisses, "Fuck."

You use the distraction to grab your own knife, the only weapon on you, and blindly drive it into the taut muscle of his thigh. He howls, letting go of your hair, and you slip away just enough to dodge the next swipe of his blade.

The fight is short-lived. You've grown stronger, but not enough to fight a man. He is skilled and bulky. Your attempts to hit him are futile. His knife catches you in the forehead, sending a curtain of blood down your face, and he grabs hold of your hair once again.

"Gonna cut your throat first," he murmurs, low and gravelly. "Then your little lamb's."

He will kill you. Then her. You can't let him. You won't. Something animalistic takes hold of you. You do the only thing left you can think of— bite. Hard. The sickening taste of human flesh and hot blood fills your mouth as you rip out a chunk of his nose.

"You bitch!" 

He clutches his oozing face. Blue shouts at you, her finger jutting toward something— the Grey. Done with its first meal, it draws toward the scent of fresh blood. Before your attacker can recover, you throw all your weight at him, which isn't much, but it is enough to make him lose his footing and veer into the Grey's path. It grabs hold and sinks another bite into his face.

Suddenly, two more gunshots ring out. One to the Grey's head, and the other through the man's eye. Both bodies flop dead to the ground. Before you can panic, a wild-eyed Ghost returns in long strides. 

"Blue!" he bellows. 

"Dad!" she yells back.

He heads straight for her, quickly dipping down to check her bandaged leg and search for any other wounds. Fear has forced her eyes to stay open, her body stiff and alert. There is a wet stain at the crotch of her jeans. 

"They tried to kill us," she cries.

“I'm here, baby. I won't leave you again.”

You wipe the blood off your face and glance around, panting so hard your lungs hurt. The air reeks of carnage and gunpowder, but the firing has ceased. 

"They attacked us," you speak in a raw shout. “Two of them. Did you— Are the rest gone?"

He nods. "Could be more nearby. Let's get out of here before we find out."

He slings the rifle over his shoulder and scoops up Blue without an ounce of the effort it took for you to do so. 

He moves fast. Retrieving your bow, you push hard to keep up with him. 

Twilight tints the sky purple. You make it past the fence and zig-zag through the medical tents when movement catches your eye again.

"Ghost, to the right!" you scream.

You knock an arrow onto the string, aiming for the distant figure. But the movement multiplies, more shadows lurking towards you with uneven gaits. Not people. Greys. The realization forms a pit in your stomach.

"They can fucking smell us," you choke out. 

"Hit the faster ones!"

Arrow after arrow, you aim for the ones that move with the stamina of a more recently infected. To your right. To your left. Ghost carries Blue with one arm and shoots with his handgun. More and more crawl out like cockroaches, no doubt catching a whiff of the blood that stains all three of you. 

Two built like linebackers run wildly up to Ghost from either direction. He shoots one, while the other grabs him by the shoulder. You launch an arrow at its skull, your aim more precise now that you're not shooting bullets, and it lets go of him with a squeal. 

When the trees grow thicker, it becomes harder to see them. Despair pushes a cry up your throat when you slap a hand back to your quiver and feel two arrows left. 

A slippery mix of mud and leaves suddenly takes you down to the ground, your knees landing on a hard tree root. You swear under your breath, fumbling to get back up, when a Grey you hadn't noticed behind you lunges on top, slamming you back down. Pain shoots through your ribs as you frantically roll around, thrusting a forearm against its throat to avoid its opened mouth and kicking your knees into its chest. Then, a fiery bullet lodges into its forehead, the Grey going limp on top of you with a splatter of brains and coagulated fluid. 

"Get up, Twix!" Ghost barks. 

You shove the body off and scramble to your feet, legs feeling like jelly, but you force them to keep running. 

You whip a brief look behind you. 

"There's too many— I'm almost out of arrows!" 

"The river," Ghost throws over his shoulder. "Those fucks can't swim."

You realize his idea when the roar of water greets your ears. Ghost doesn't hesitate to sprint onto the rusty rebar, slipping his gun away to hold Blue with both arms. 

You follow behind, forcing your eyes on the bank ahead as you slow down to keep balance. All you have to do is get across and the river will take care of the rest. Heartbeats pound in your skull, each step requiring an unfathomable amount of focus that you struggle to muster. You're about halfway there when you hear the splash of Greys falling in, and a brief glance below causes your footing to falter. 

This time you fail to grab the beam.

Cold water envelops you like a million needles.

A mouthful of water burns down your throat, and for a moment, you can't move. Can't breathe. Everything spins around you. It's not until your feet collide with something hard - the bottom of the riverbed - that your brain registers what's happening and you kick out to propel yourself up. 

You break the surface for a gulp of air before the current pulls your head back under. Your arms flail around in search of something to grab. Just when you latch onto what feels like a log, a hand seizes your ankle with a hungered screech. You slam your foot back, over and over, more water filling your mouth as you struggle to kick the Grey and hold on at the same time.

Finally, the rotten skull caves in and the current sucks it away. With your leg freed, you haul yourself up the log toward the edge of the river. You begin climbing up the cliffside, using the twisted roots as footholds, your hands digging into caked soil. You're almost to the top, but you feel numb and weak. So weak. You can't find anything else to grab. The wet sole of your boot begins to slip.

"Grab on!"

A gloved hand stretches down. Ghost is crouched above, Blue now on his back so can he lean over. You grip his hand and he pulls you up, until you collapse on the ground, wet and shivering. 

You cough up water and bile. 

"Bloody fucking hell.” 

It's been a while since you've thought about dying. You've made it this far, instinct always taking the reins and pushing you onward. But now, as the reality of the cold, wet clothes clinging to you sets in, you consider asking Ghost to just shoot you. It would be quicker than freezing to death, and a much better fate than drowning or turning Grey. At least you know Blue will be safe now.

Before you can form the words, you hear the shuffling of fabric. A jacket, a beanie. Set on the ground beside you.

"Take off your clothes. Put these on."

The rest turns into a dream. You don't remember putting the clothes on, or standing up and moving your heavy limbs. You don't remember getting to the hunter's cabin, but the next thing you know, you are curled up on the floorboards beside a small fire, inhaling the musky smell of Ghost's oversized jacket, with the blanket you brought tucked around your bare legs. You don't feel cold anymore. Your head pounds. You can hear the steady rhythm of your heart, slow but present. Behind you somewhere, Ghost tends to Blue. You know this because you hear him whisper to her as her sobs are muffled by biting onto a shirt. Amelia, Amelia, he says to her. A name you've never heard before. He must be cleaning the wound, the pain of it causing her to thrash and kick. Then, the sounds fade, and you know she is asleep. 

When your eyes finally tear away from the flames, you spot Ghost hunched over, lifting up his shirt. Dark blood and ink stain pale skin. 

"You were shot?" 

His eyes snap up. He regards you for a moment, and it is now you notice that most of the white of his mask has been stained with red from his kills. 

"Knife," he says.

You don't know why you offer, or why he silently accepts. Somehow you end up knelt beside him, your cracked fingertips cleaning the puncture wound in his torso without a single word exchanged. It's not deep enough to need stitches. You clear the blood and dab on antiseptic. The only sign he feels any pain is the flex of corded muscles beneath your touch and the occasional sharp inhale through the mask. His skin is oddly warm, a temperature that does some to ease the tension in your muscles.

When you're done, you roll the shirt back down. He doesn't say thank you, not that you expected him to. 

You break the silence with a voice that barely hovers above a whisper. "You could've let me freeze."

His brows lower. "You could've let them kill her."

"I would never do that." When he doesn't respond, you glance at her sleeping form. "She's okay?"

"Just a graze," he confirms.

"She lost quite a bit of blood. She might need a few days to rest."

Your gaze shifts back to his. You quietly add, "Did you recognize them? Were they a part of the military?" 

"Maybe. Their gear was. Didn't know them, though."

"Why did they try to kill us?"

He gives you a look. Of course. He tried to kill you for the same reason once.

"They have a camp nearby," you murmur the answer, more to yourself than to him. "Something to protect."

He gives a slow nod, then moves to grab his rifle and a hoodie to slip on in place of the thick SAS jacket he lent you. As he moves to the door, you realize what he plans to do. Keep watch.

You slip the beanie off and run your fingers over the cut on your brow when he says something just before leaving.

"For someone who once asked me to kill them, you fight hard to survive, Twix."

You don't know what to say. Just hours ago, you almost asked him to kill you again.

There's a beat of silence and then, "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Do you fight so hard."

A breath sticks in your throat, and you stare at the floor. You're not sure why he is asking this, or why the answer is so hard to give.

"I... I don't know."

With that, he leaves. You watch the fire turn to dark embers. The faded adrenaline has left you with a fatigue you have grown familiar with. If you weren't so tired, maybe you would still be scared, your mind filled with fresh memories of gore and death and screaming. But you fall asleep quickly, scooting beside Blue and sinking into the warmth of his jacket. 

[heytheredelulu]

ready to comply part 2? 👉👈

As you wish!

I may have left this one on a cliff hanger as well. 🫣

I’M SORRY! I was just having so much fun I had to leave it open in case there was interest for a part three. ❤️

Ready to Comply - Part Two

Requested by @littleone2001

Soldat!Bucky Barnes x PlusSized!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

ALL OF MY WORK IS 18+

C/W: Language, discussion/implications of violence and murder, gun play (sorry, not sorry), unprotected sex, rough sex, a lil boob slap (once, because I had to), spanking, fingering (f receiving), anal fingering (f receiving), brief discussion of kidnapping/making reader his sex slave

✏️ A/N at the end.

“All I can smell is how wet you are.”

Oh fuck.

You muster up a small, broken sound from your chest when the realization finally hits you that your desire is overwhelming Bucky’s senses to the point that he’s struggling just to think.

“I-“

His fingers hook beneath the saturated fabric of your panties, his fingers grazing against your folds and igniting a heat in your body that sets your nerves on fire.

He tears them away, reducing them to a tattered rag in his fist which he brings to his nose and inhales deeply before he discards them to the floor with a growl.

He forces your thick thighs apart, spreading you open with his trembling fingers to observe your tight, wet hole as it clenches desperately around nothing.

“Fuck!”

His breath catches in his chest and he stumbles back, withdrawing the gun from his shoulder holster and brandishing it at you.

Your eyes widen as you snap your legs shut, raising your hands defensively and shrinking back in horror.

Bucky steps forward and presses the barrel of the gun against your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

“I’m sorry.” He chokes out.

“You’re going to kill me.” You whisper, fear taking hold as your eyes screw shut and a tear slips down your cheek.

He shakes his head slowly, tracing the cool metal of his weapon along your jawline. “No, I ain’t gonna kill you. Not yet.”

Your eyes open, your expression twisting into one of confusion. “Then why.. why are you sorry?”

He sets his jaw, lifting his left hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Because I’m gonna hurt you.” He rasps.

Your brows knit in concern. “What do y-“

Bucky cuts you short, replying only by dipping his gun between your legs, pressing it firmly against your bare, weeping cunt.

Your entire body seizes in terror but as he drags the cool, hard weapon along your slick folds, the fear gives way to something else entirely.

“You don’t wanna hurt me..” You say slowly, carefully, biting back a moan as the barrel of the gun grazes across your clit.

“But I do.” He taunts, pulling the gun away and gripping your jaw with bruising force. He presses it to your mouth, your slick coating the metal and wetting your bottom lip. “Open.” He growls, leaving you little choice with how hard he’s holding your chin. He forces the gun into your mouth, your eyes wide in apprehension. “Suck.” He demands, pressing it down on your tongue. You swirl your tongue around it, tasting yourself on the bitter metal. He groans, withdrawing it harshly from your mouth with a string of spittle and tucking it back into its holster.

“I’m gonna fuck you. And it’s gonna hurt.” He mutters, his calloused fingers moving to unbuckle his belt.

“Bucky y-“ He pinches your cheeks together painfully in his metal hand, effectively silencing you.

“Quit fuckin’ calling me that!” He snaps, using his grip on your jaw to yank you forward to him.

“Soldat.” He corrects in a menacing tone, nodding your head for you to ensure you understood.

“That is my name. I suggest you remember it, because you’re about to be screaming it.”

He releases your face harshly, reaching to pull his hard, thick cock from his jeans and spitting into his palm. He curls his hand around his impressive length and pumps himself lazily from base to tip, rubbing his thumb roughly over the slit and smearing beads of precum along his shaft to mingle with his saliva.

Your eyes follow every stroke of his hand as he closes in on you, your brain working to comprehend just how in the hell your body was going to accommodate his size.

He’s right. This is going to hurt.

He clutches the neckline of your dress with his free hand, ripping and tearing the fabric until you’re bared to him and he kneads at your breast roughly pinching the pebbled flesh of your nipple harshly between his fingers, drawing a small cry from you.

“Buc-“ You stammer.

He slaps your tit hard and you wince from the sting as it radiates across the tender flesh of your ample breast.

“Soldat.” He growls through clenched teeth, hiking your legs to rest your heels on his shoulders and tilting your pelvis upwards as he lines himself up with your aching entrance.

You suck in a sharp breath as the crown of his cock breeches your tight, wet hole and you writhe underneath him against the sting as he splits you open, stretching your cunt and filling you in a way you’ve never experienced.

A shameless moan erupts from your throat when he begins to snap his hips, fucking into you with a merciless rhythm. What was once pain is quickly building into pleasure and your back arches up off the desk.

“So fucking tight.” He grunts, his heavy sack swinging with every deep thrust into your dripping cunt. His jaw clenches and he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your thighs, spreading you wider as he tucks his chin to watch himself disappear into your wet heat with a predatory gaze.

Pleasure builds in your abdomen and you rock your hips to meet his hungry thrusts, biting down on your bottom lip as his thick cock massages your inner walls. The corners of his mouth twitch as if he’s biting back a smirk when he registers you eagerly moving in sync with him. He snakes a hand down between you, tracing his fingers along the girth of his cock where he’s filling you and gathers your slick along his fingertips, raising his hand and spreading his fingers to admire the sheen of your wetness with a thoughtful expression.

Without warning he withdraws, leaving you desperate and empty when he lets your right leg drop and curls his hand around your left ankle, flipping you hard onto your stomach. He grabs your hips and yanks you backwards towards him so you’re bent over your desk with the lip of it biting into your pelvis. He delivers a harsh smack to your ass, kneading the soft flesh in his hand, then dipping his head down to suck a bruise into the skin before biting down hard into your plump cheek. You yelp and raise yourself up on your palms, but Bucky splays a large, calloused hand across your back, forcing you back down and kicking your legs wider with the toe of his boot.

He plunges two fingers in your thoroughly fucked hole, coating them in your arousal before withdrawing them and sinking his cock back into your swollen cunt. Strangled noises of pleasure catch in your throat and you push your hips back greedily to meet him, your walls throbbing around him as ruts into you, his balls slapping against your clit and sending shockwaves through you with every brutal thrust.

He spreads your ass cheeks roughly, teasing his wet index finger along your backside, circling your puckered hole and causing you to squirm. He presses into you, working his finger in sync with his hips, massaging it into you until you manage to take him to the knuckle and he lets out a satisfied groan that you nearly drown out in your own wanton moan.

“Fuck.” He rasps out, pain blooming as he moves to add a second finger. You cry out at the intrusion, your hands clenching into fists above your head and your nails biting into your palms as he rocks his fingers into you, scissoring you open.

You thought you’d been full when it was only his cock but fuck, were you wrong.

It was too much.

It was too good.

The tension wound tight in your abdomen finally snaps and you completely shatter.

A choked sob rips from your throat and your pussy spasms, your walls fluttering around his cock and your asshole contracting around his fingers as you scream, your orgasm tearing through you with enough force to make your head spin and your ears ring.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

He slips his fingers from your tight hole, grabbing hold of your hips with both hands and slamming into you with unrelenting force, fucking you through each wave of euphoria as they crashed over you in succession.

“I’m gonna tell them I killed you.” He grunts, his cock kissing your cervix. “So no one will ever come looking for you.”

You mumble incoherently, tears of ecstasy staining your cheeks as you lay limp in the wake of your earth shattering release while he continues to pound into you at a steady pace.

“I think I’ll keep you tied to my bed.” He whispers in a menacing tone, his thrusts growing frantic as he chases his impending orgasm. “I’m gonna fuck every hole in your body, every day, until you can’t fucking take it anymore.”

Bucky snaps his hips forward in one last powerful thrust and then stills, shouting a string of curses as his cock pulses and he pulls your plump ass flush to his pelvis, emptying himself deep inside of you.

He tilts his head back, his chest rising and falling erratically and then pulls out, staggering back as you rise up and turn to face him with flushed cheeks and hair slicked against your sweaty forehead.

“Get dressed.” He orders, tugging his jeans up and fastening his belt. “You’re coming with me.”

You nod and move on weak knees, feeling his cum slowly leaking from your cunt as you gather your blazer. He watches you carefully as you pull it on, buttoning it in an attempt to cover your naked body.

Bucky holds out his hand impatiently and you take it, cautiously moving closer to him, your thighs sticky as they rub together with every step you take.

You place a palm flat against his chest and he looks down at you with his brows furrowed in confusion at your gentle gesture before you rise up on your tiptoes, pressing your mouth against his. He stiffens momentarily but quickly reciprocates, his tongue teasing at your bottom lip in a silent demand to deepen the kiss. You comply, moving your tongue slowly against his in a sensual dance and tracing your hands along his broad chest as you lean further into him.

When you break the kiss abruptly and step back out of his embrace, he blinks in bewilderment before his face contorts into rage as he registers that he’s staring into the barrel of his own gun.

Taglist (Taglist is open):

@littleone2001 @suz7days @truthfulliarr @lilacka @writtingrose @samsgoddess @loveisallyouneed1125 @vicmc624 @millercontracting @wildernessflora @mydorkyboys @blackhawkfanatic @honestlywork @ladyvenera @cavity-exe

A/N: My husband gave me so much shit for this while I was writing it: tHiS iSnT cAnOn, BuCkY wOuLdNt Do ThAt, iT dOeSnT mAkE sEnSe

Look, I know. It’s a fanfic, it’s AU, it’s not canon.

Anyway, now I’m really anxious about posting this, worried that it won’t meet your expectations. So I hope you enjoy so I can tell my husband to suck it. 😈

💋Sj

[mullet-mother]

Eaten, Stuffed, or Mounted?

My first oneshot - ever

TW: Smut below the cut, MINORS DNI

I have a fun tidbit of information for you.

Did you know that when you crash your car the radio doesn’t stop playing?I was made aware of that lovely fun fact after swerving to avoid that damn deer. 

I finally got my ass out of the house for the first time in months after persistent pestering and coaching from my friends to go to their New Years party. I wouldn’t say I was excited, but I was trying to be—hence the obnoxiously loud music blasting through my car’s speakers. I shouldn’t have taken that curve so fast—the visibility was absolute garbage with the snow. The animal jumped out so quickly; I reacted instinctively, and the black ice spun my wheels when I tried to avoid flattening the buck, sending me careening into the trees on the embankment. As I said before, the radio doesn’t stop playing when you crash. I hadn’t considered that my death would consist of me bleeding to death by myself on the side of the road with the speakers blaring ‘Party Rock Anthem’.

What a ridiculous celestial discharge.

When I opened my eyes, I was most certainly not in Kansas anymore. My eyes and nose were not prepared for the onslaught of stimulus they received. It was so, so red. The smell of rust and sulfur stung my nose and eyes. The sounds of screaming also did not help the overwhelming feeling of dread I started to experience. 

While I wasn’t particularly shocked that I ended up in hell, this was also not what I had expected. So many religions have their own versions, most commonly the lake of fire and brimstone. I was not expecting the burning city, dead bodies littering the streets, porn on every billboard, and the twisted and exotic forms of the…residents. It felt like I had entered the most twisted version of ‘Grand Theft Auto’ that someone could have conceived. 

It took only seconds for me to snap out of my shock, when I heard a shout in my direction. I scrambled to my feet and cursed, realizing I was in the insufferable heels and dress I decided to wear for the party. This also made me acutely aware of the difference in my body, but at the time I didn’t have the mental capacity to absorb what had changed, but the heels I wore made the hooves I now had nye-impossible to stand.   A large bear of a man—quite literally—was approaching me with a grin that made my hair stand on end. 

“Going somewhere all dressed up like that by yourself? Or are you just out to get fucked and your cute little tail pulled?” His disgusting maw was drooling and it had nearly made me gag.

It was made apparent that even in death I had no sense of self preservation. 

“Go fuck yourself, you rip-off build-a-bear fuck stain!”

It had slipped out of my mouth faster than I could react, and our big furry friend was not pleased. 

The growls that left his chest and the elongating teeth were not comforting. “You. Fucking. Cunt. I wanted to fuck you, but now I’ve got something else in mind.” His mouth seemed to grow wider, but it was the change in smile on his face that made me bolt so fast I nearly got whiplash as I kicked my way out of those god-awful heels.

I don’t think I’ve ever run so fast before, my hair whipped by my face, my legs burned, and the acrid air stung my lungs with each breath I gulped into my body. I heard him behind me, snarling, screams of other demons, and curses as he barreled them over in his pursuit. I leapt over bodies and pools of blood; I couldn’t remember ever having the ability to run like that. In hindsight, deer can be fucking quick.  I could feel him getting closer and made a sharp turn around a corner in hopes to lose him. 

I landed face first into what felt like a designer pillow. I looked up slowly as a pair of slender arms grabbed my waist to steady me. Mismatched eyes looked down at me with a face of shock, which promptly shifted to confused. I gaped up at the demon in surprise. His confusion shifted to a dazzling smile with a shiny gold tooth. He tried to speak but was quickly interrupted.

“Y’know I usually charg-”

“Please help me; I’m being chased; he’s going to kill me; please help me!”

The tears began to stream down my face before I could stop them, and I began to violently shake.  I don’t know if it was the adrenaline or the fact that I hadn’t had a chance to even absorb my current situation, but I threw every ounce of trust into the stranger that had caught me. 

The demon’s eyes hardened and the smile dropped to a grimace. His arms tightened around my waist, and he quickly ushered me into a limo waiting down the sidewalk. 

He sat me down next to him and turned to look at me. The dazzling smile that he had before returned to his face. He slung his arm around me and pulled me right back up to the fluff on his chest.

“ Nice to meetcha; I’m Angel.”

Angel brought me to the hotel with him, but it was Charlie who insisted that I stay. While I wasn’t necessarily interested in redemption, Charlie was kind, and well…free rent. I was quickly introduced to the rest of the hotel, and became integrated rather quickly. I tried to help where I could, and soon joined the flow of cleaning, cooking, and helping to maintain the state of the hotel. I felt comfortable with the seemingly found family, including a certain Strawberry Pimp.

It was a shock after settling into my body with its new modifications. That fucking deer gave me a lovely parting gift on top of sending me into that tree. While my tattoos were still in their rightful place, the rest of my skin had faded to an off white, almost grey. Hazel eyes shifted to a black sclera and lavender iris. I gained soft ears and an unruly tail spotted with the same rainbow highlighting my black hair. The hooves were definitely an adjustment, no more pedicures for me unfortunately. 

That was six months ago.

Angel became my best friend within hours, we began spending our nights watching TV dramas and bothering Husk at the bar. He also started to pick up on my attraction for the buck in the hotel. I couldn’t deny my interest, but I most certainly pretended to unless it was in the confines of Angel’s room at 4 AM after copious amounts of alcohol. But that’s all it was, attraction.

Alastor and I started out with a friendly disposition; we weren’t friends per-se but we bantered and laughed at ridiculous jokes when in the same company.

That devolved into sarcastic quips and jabs, hiding coffee cups, and constantly trying to get a rise out of each other.

It started when he refused to change the radio station. While I enjoy jazz and the classics as much as anyone—I need variety. “Alastor, please. I have asked you THRICE now—and very nicely I might add—to change the station to something else.”

He continued to ignore me and hum along to the song currently playing and it was starting to really, piss me off. 

“Peepaw, I understand that you’re always reliving your ‘golden years—I get it! But if I have to listen to one more grainy, barely audible man groan about how he’s lonely, I might lose my mind.” 

“My dear, I understand your lack of appreciation for culture and class, but I will not be changing this station. End of discussion.” 

The fucker had the audacity to smirk at me. 

“Class? I’ll show you class, you audacious, virgin,  fuckboy!” 

The radio began to whirl with the changing of stations, moving back and forth—glowing the same purple as my eyes. Then suddenly it stopped, and the most obscene music I could possibly think of began to blare from the radio. A classic - CPR by CupcakKE;

Want your dick soaked? Place it down my throat

Tongue tickle yo' dick but not telling a joke

Peddle in this pussy that's how you rock a boat

It get live in this pussy, I'm not talking Periscope

“What in the fresh hell is that?”

The disgust on his face was absolutely priceless. He demanded that I turn it off, change it. He tried to switch it back himself, but I very clearly said;

“My dear, I understand your lack of appreciation for culture and class, but I will not be changing this station. End of discussion.”

I then began changing the station whenever I damn well pleased. He got one request to change it and if he fought me on it I would put on my most devious hits, all outrageously filthy. This turned our little friendship to a sparring match. 

Husker thus named me the resident ‘shit-disturber’, and ‘almost worse than him’. Both him and Vaggie were absolutely convinced I had a death wish. 

That couldn’t have been farther from the truth. I just loved seeing his ears flatten out and his smile strain. During my inquiry into whether or not he bleats after the discovery that I have my own (albeit embarrassing) squeak, I thought his head was going to pop off with the crack from his neck. The radio-static was so loud I had to cover my ears—and it was so satisfying.

Angel teased me relentlessly and told me he ‘can’t stand the sexual tension’, which I denied vehemently, as much as I might have wished there was. While he and I constantly teased each other he was always a gentleman regardless. I also found the tall, dark, and creepy vibe rather sexy, but I’d settle for imagining that there’s sexual tension and pushing his buttons.

Which is exactly what I’m going to do today during breakfast. 

As I come down into the dining area everyone is conversing amicably, Alastor looks content, casually sipping his coffee at the head of the table. Unfortunately for him, I had the most delightful thought last night, and I have been impatiently waiting to make it known to the group.

I quietly go to the kitchen and make my iced coffee; the excitement building in my chest. As I go to sit down I can feel the smile on my face spreading even wider.

“Good Morning Everyone!” They all turn their attention in my direction and the strangeness of my enthusiasm. I am usually…unpleasant if I’m out of bed before 10 AM, but I don’t believe anything could ruin my mood today; I could barely sleep with the anticipation of what’s about to transpire.

Alastor looks over his mug in my direction and it’s clear that he is suspicious of my jovial mood—and he should be.

“Alastor! As I was falling asleep last night I was thinking about Vox.”He inhales a sharp breath, and a new rush of excitement wiggles its way up my spine. “ His silly bit about you being venison or cooking you? I just think it’s ridiculous! You’re far too lean.”

Husk sits across from me with a look of abject horror on his face, and I can only continue with unbridled glee.“I mean, can you imagine? Deer are already gamey—with your figure, it would be far too tough to eat!”

The sound of his grip tightening on his cup and the beginnings of crackles in the air only furthers my resolve. 

He responds with clenched teeth and a static filled voice. “Is that so, little doe?”

I nod my head with a determined look on my face - seriousness overcoming my smile. “In my humble opinion yes; I think it would be better to mount you on the wall instead. I’m personally a huge fan of taxidermy.”

Alastor is barely containing his rage at this point when he asks me;

“Maybe we should eat you instead, you’re obviously the better choice on the menu with your proportions, or would you rather be stuffed and mounted on the wall instead, hm?” 

I paint an innocent smile on my face and finish the rest of my coffee out of my cup, making sure to slurp as obnoxiously as I can. I smack my lips and stand up from the table.

“Alastor, I want you to take one good look at this fat ass and tell me if it looks like I give a fuck whether I’m eaten or stuffed.” 

For a moment there is only silence,

A quick look around continues to feed my giddiness. There are looks of horror on Charlie and Husk’s faces; Angel and Vaggie trying desperately not to choke; finally my gaze falls on the man of the hour.

I don’t know if I have ever made him so incredibly mad. His face is red, teeth clenched, smile stretched to its limits. His antlers are slowly growing larger, eyes flickering to radio dials, his body getting larger. The sound of radio static and crackling is nearing uncomfortable levels. 

“Thanks for the lovely breakfast everyone! See you later for group activities.”

As I walk away, I can hear the sound of a mug shattering. On the way back to my room, I am nearly vibrating. The satisfaction of getting such a visceral reaction from both Alastor and the rest of the group was exquisite. ‘Resident shit disturber’ indeed. I’m not naive enough to believe I won’t face extreme retaliation, but I’m ninety percent sure he won’t kill me. 

The rest of the day goes as usual, and I see very little of Alastor. While I’m still riding the high of this morning, I begin to get nervous. He doesn’t attend any group activities, and while that isn’t too far from the norm, it still has my nerves on edge. By the end of the day I’m ready to crawl into bed, get off, and sleep until noon. 

I make it back to my room and slip inside when I hear the door lock behind me and the shadows in the room rising.

I am so, so fucked.

A squeak leaves my mouth when I feel myself dropping into what feels like nothing before landing roughly onto a carpeted floor. I lift my head and see a fireplace, small table, and the open expanse of what appears to be a bayou. The overwhelming feeling of both dread and excitement shoots through my body as I realize exactly where I am. 

I attempt to get up to my feet, but am forced to stay on my knees by the large clawed hands squeezing my shoulders. Alastor is bent at the waist; he’s larger than normal, with a strained smile and antlers out; his clear red eyes are the only clue to his dwindling self control. He puts his face directly in front of mine and my skin prickles from the static. 

“Hello little doe, are you pleased with your lovely little performance at breakfast?” 

“Were you not? I thought it was excellent.” 

“Why are you so intent on being a vexing little Brat?” He loses his static the moment he says ‘brat’. A clear voice filled with true frustration. 

The sound of his voice causes my cunt to slick and my body heat to rise. My cheeks flush in embarrassment, and for once in my life, I have no response. I just continue to stare into the glowing red eyes that are searching mine for some semblance of an answer. Maybe Angel was right and it was sexual tension?

His right hand comes to wrap around my throat; his left finds my hip as he guides me up off of the floor. I’m now standing in front of him, having to crane my neck to look up into his eyes, his size dwarfing mine. I can feel my breathing getting heavier and my slick soaking through the fabric of my panties.

“Tell me, What would you prefer? Being stuffed, eaten, or mounted on the wall?” His eyes narrow as he squeezes the hand around my throat, and my mouth goes dry. I try to think of a proper response, but my brain is fogged with his eyes, his cologne, and the heat consuming every inch of my body. 

All I can do is close my eyes, whimper and lean into the hand around my throat. I feel him squeeze, and I know he’s demanding an answer. I look up at him, and I can feel the tears gathering in my eyes; I can feel my heart pounding in my chest in anticipation. 

“Anything Al; whatever you want.”

I feel a tongue slide up my cheek; he groans deeply, and I can feel his claws digging into my hip. His lips hover over mine and I move to close the distance but his hands stop me. He moves his hands to my cheeks and squeezes them together, my mouth popping open.

“Open your eyes, doe; look at me. You will get whatever I deem to give you. You will not cum unless I say so, you will beg for release and will not get it until I deem you worthy of such pleasures after your abhorrent behavior. Are we clear, Brat?” 

I let out a soft moan as a response.

His smile widens and a soft phrase leaves his lips that turns me to mush. “Good girl.”

Another fall into nothingness, and my back is on soft sheets, any clothing I had gone. He’s standing at the end of the bed, studying my naked body and I’m suddenly shy being so exposed. I move to cover myself when I see the thick black t

entacles surge from behind him to grab and trap my arms and legs. My arms are pulled above my head, my knees bent, and legs spread. The hungry look on his face has me blushing and closing my eyes, which fly back open when I feel his long wet tongue slip through my folds. It pulls a high pitched moan from my throat and a groan from him.

“Maybe I should just eat you, little brat, keep you tied to this bed just for me.”

He continues to slowly lick and suck on my clit, just enough to bring me close to the edge, only to switch techniques and rip me away from it again, fucking me with his tongue, swirling it around my clit slowly, flat tongued laps through my folds. Tears prick at the edge of my eyes before I start begging.

“Al, Al, please; I can’t take it anymore; please let me cum. I need it; please, I’m begging you!”

He just continues with a torturous pace and keeps his smile in place. 

“Fuck me; stuff me; I don’t care, please! I need to cum; I need it, please!”

He stops and brings his face to mine, a smirk there, his lips shining. “I want a nice, sincere apology from you, Brat. For your atrocious performance and disrespect today.” 

“I’m so, so sorry Al; I promise I won’t ever do it again; I’ll be so good for you. Please let me cum; please fuck me; I’ll be good!”

As soon as I finish, his lips are on mine; they’re soft and bruising. This kiss is tongue and teeth and months of repressed sexual desires. My hands are suddenly released, and I’m instantly ripping at his shirt and pants. My hands can’t move fast enough. My mind is spinning, and my body is aching with need. 

I finally feel his length hot and heavy on my cunt; it slides easily through my soaking folds and we both moan at the contact. He opens his eyes and looks into mine, always the gentleman. “I  need to hear a yes, darling,” he moves his mouth down to my neck; I can feel his teeth gently scraping against my skin. 

The softness of the question makes my heart swell in my chest, “Please, yes, Al; I need you.”

With one rough thrust, he stretches and fills me, his hips flush against mine. I’m so unbelievably full, his tip pressing and pushing against my cervix. He slowly pulls out, dragging his cock against my oversensitive walls before roughly thrusting back inside. I can feel myself gushing around him with each rough thrust in, soaking my and his thighs.

I’m babbling and crying out his name over and over. Begging him for more.“Please make me cum, Alastor; I want to cum all over your cock; I want to feel you cum inside me; I’m begging you!” My eyes are glassy and staring into his own.

He picks up his speed, ramming himself in and out of me roughly. He brings a claw down to press and circle my clit, then gently kisses my lips and whispers into my ear, “You’ve been so patient, little doe; such a good girl. Cum for me.”

One hard thrust, and a scream is ripping through my throat as hot thrumming pleasure surges through my body; I can feel my heartbeat in every cell of my body. Before I have time to recover, he continues his brutal pace, “One more, darling. I need you to give me one more.”

“I can’t; it’s too much I can’t!”

“You can; cum with me. I need to feel you milking my cock.”

He tilts my hips, and the position has him hitting that spot inside me over and over again. I can feel the tingling heat starting to grow in my abdomen once more. I tell him I’m getting close, and he doubles his efforts. Sweat drips down his forehead; I can feel his cock getting hotter inside me. He grabs my knees and pushes them to my chest, bending me in half. The position sends his cock even deeper inside me. 

I’m screaming his name, no doubt the entire hotel hearing my cries of absolute bliss. His thumb returns to my clit and presses down firmly, rubbing those perfect circles. With his mouth by my shoulder, he commands me again,“Cum with me, now.”The moment I feel him spilling his hot seed inside me and his teeth in my shoulder, another orgasm sends electric waves through my body.

I slowly come back down and open my eyes; he’s back to his regular self, seemingly relaxed. 

“Hey Alastor, I have a question.”

“And what is that, little doe?”

-“Do I just have to get you really pissed and you’ll fuck me like that again?” 

Thank you so much to the-demon-of-a-thousand-eyes for editing for me! You're amazing!

[alt-vera]

— don’t take the girl ⁀➷

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when faced with a life-threatening choice, joel miller makes a surprising confession.

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☆ | joel miller | 1.5k | ❛ don’t take the girl - tim mcgraw ❜

warnings: fluff. slight angst. lowkey soft!joel miller. murder. kissing. age gap.

❝ take the very breath you gave me, take the heart from my chest. i’ll gladly take her place if you’ll let me, make this my last request. take me out of this world, god please, don’t take the girl ❞

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HE DIDN’T MEAN TO BECOME SO ATTACHED.

　Joel could remember the very first minute he met you. The shade of the alleyway casting a low tone over your soft features, a small scrape on your cheek just below your eye.

　Tess had taken you in, explaining that you were the daughter of an old friend from way before all the chaos and destruction. That she remembered meeting you when you were just a baby, barely cooing out words with small chubby fingers that wrapped around her own. That you’d lost your mom a while ago, and had no one else. That you’d been on a mission to find Tess for a long time.

　He didn’t like you at first. Thought you were too soft. It annoyed him how persistent you were, always hovering around him and Tess. Always there. He didn’t like how young you were, and he was convinced that you’d somehow fuck up one of their deals if you were there, or that you’d somehow get killed in the process. Or worse, get him killed.

　It wasn’t until he saw you in action that he gave in a bit. Saw how you’d really survived all those years on your own. Saw how you ripped yourself free from a raider on one of their trips out of the QZ, how you’d so effortlessly pulled your knife across the taut skin of the raiders throat, blood splattering onto the soft apples of your cheeks as you watched the man fall, no emotion crossing those deep eyes of yours that always seemed so expressive. They were blank in that moment, as if you had watched a man’s life leave his body a million times. As if you were used to it.

　He couldn’t believe how you’d smiled at him so softly that same night while a fire flickered between the two of you, mere hours after the whole scene. How could you still be so sweet after killing a man as if it were plain sailing?

　He couldn’t help but let his mind wander to a darker place. How many people had you killed?

　He didn’t like to think about such a kind young woman slashing a man as if he were a bug she were squishing.

　After that, he began letting you come on runs with him.

　It was supposed to be a routine mission in the city, grabbing supplies and trades at a drop point to smuggle back into the QZ. Neither of you were expecting a struggle, not to mention an ambush, but in the world you lived in the unexpected always seemed to happen.

　Inside the drop point, which was an abandoned warehouse, rotting and dilapidated, you’d let your guard down. Your gun was placed on an old crate as you poked around while Joel, only a few feet away from you, checked to make sure everything that had been promised was delivered.

　You didn’t see the man coming up behind you, didn’t hear his uneven breaths or the crunching of old glass beneath his feet.

　He grabbed your arm, nearly tearing your shoulder out of it’s socket as he pulled you like a shield across his chest. The cold barrel of his pistol pressed against your temple, his grip like iron, bruising your supple skin.

　Joel heard the struggle and whipped around instantly, eyes wild and frantic as he held his gun out in front of him, not sure where to aim that wouldn’t get you shot in the crossfire.

　“Put your gun down!” The man behind you screamed, his voice so loud that your ear drums rang. You watched everything in slow-motion as Joel carefully put his rifle down, raising his hands as he did so. A stray bead of perspiration ran down your spine.

　“Just let her go, n’we can talk,” Joel attempted to reason, but was met with silence broken by the mans ragged breaths as he pressed the gun further into your temple, the metal creating a building pressure in your head, leaving an imprint in its wake.

　“There’s no talking here,” The man spat, “Someone ripped me off. I don’t know who it was, but somebody here is paying for it. It’s either you or the girl, old man. You choose.”

　Your pulse quickened as your eyes trained on Joel, who’s face wrinkled as he tried to figure out some sort of solution. You tried to speak with your eyes, tried to tell him that it was okay. That he could get out of here and take the stuff back to the QZ, and leave you to your fate. You were fine with it.

　But Joel wasn’t. “I’ll take her place, if you’ll let me,” He said quietly, his words slicing through you. “Just please, don’t take the girl.”

　You wanted to scream at him, but you stayed quiet, lips locked shut and body shaking with fear and adrenaline.

　You heard the gunshot, and your eyes closed on impact. You only inched them open when you felt the pressure on your head leave, and heard the sound of a body hit the floor. When your eyelids lifted, there stood Joel, small handgun that was presumably in his back pocket resting with it’s aim towards the floor, his hands shaking.

　You slowly looked to the ground beside you, and there laid your assailant, blooding and bits of brain pooling on the concrete around him with a fresh hole in his forehead. The gun that had been so dangerous in his hands only moments ago now laid slackly in his limp palm.

　“Goddamn it!” You could faintly hear Joel yell, his words falling on deaf ears. “See this—This is what i was worried about.”

　Joel was in front of you in an instant, rough hands cupping your cheeks as he examined you for any sort of injury, eyes lingering on the crisp indent from the barrel that stayed on your temple.

　“I thought i’d lose you,” He breathed out softly, anger leaving the bones of his body, hot air fanning your face as he fought to calm down his anxiety. He pulled you into him, surprising you as he wrapped his arms around you in a bone-crushing hug.

　Your voice was muffled against the flannel of his shirt. “I thought you didn’t like me.”

　“I’d have traded places with you in an instant.” His words were heavy against the shell of you ear, and you pulled away from his grasp, eyes studying him carefully. There was no denying the terror that still lingered in the dark hue of his iris’, and how deep his worry lines were creased as he frowned down at you.

　“You’re around so much that I—I can’t imagine what it’d be like if you weren’t,” He continued, “Don’t want to.”

　“I would’ve given him everything i had,” He carried on, “Would’ve given him the damn heart out of my chest if it meant he’d take my life instead’a yours.”

　You figured this was Joel’s messed up version of a confession. So, without words, you kissed him, and he deepened it with long buried affection and protectiveness. Two things you didn’t think Joel Miller was capable of.

　“Let’s get out’f here,” He said after he had pulled away. His words brought you back into the atmosphere, struggling to tame your wildly beating heart as you remembered the dangerous predicament you could potentially still be in. “Don’t know if it was just him, or if there’s more.”

　You nodded, taking one of the duffle bags of supplies onto your shoulders. It made you lean to the side slightly from the weight, and a rare chuckle escaped Joel’s lips. He took the bag from your shoulder, putting both onto one arm and slinging his rifle onto the other.

　“I got it,” He said, “Jus’ watch my six.”

　During the trip back to the QZ, it seemed as if nothing had changed between the two of you. But it did. There was a newfound tension in the air, one that spoke of the kiss you shared in the warehouse, and how Joel would lay his life on the line for you. It sparked with the electricity of intimacy and a fucked up version of love.

　It was an unspoken agreement between the two of you that neither of you would tell Tess about what had happened. About the ambush, or the kiss. But you and Joel would know. You and Joel would know that there was now some sort of feelings between the two of you. A new connection that would be acted upon on late nights and moments alone together. The kind that was shared within knowing looks and small grins to one another. Fleeting touches when no one’s watching, and memorized whispered pleas of trading your life for his.

[dollwrites]

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!sorcerer!reader, rough sex, orgasm denial, sukuna’s mean, begging, degradation, pussy spanking, suggested noncon prior to the beginning of the fic, name calling ( brat, whore, bitch ), dacryphilia, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟯 ∣ day six [ sukuna ryomen ( megumi ) + orgasm denial ]

“W-wait, please— fuck!!”

another howl of disapproval tears from your throat as the King of Curses pushes you off of his cock, again. your body trembles and twitches; your used cunt trying to clench around air and hold on to the orgasm that you’d been right on the cusp of.

“Let me…” you’re panting, trying to stabilize your weight on your scuffed-up knees, but the muscles in your body had all but turned to gelatin after hours of relentless fucking. “Let me cum…” it’s an attempt to demand, to sound tougher than you were, but you sound pathetic and weak, pushing your ass back towards the bastardized visage of your best friend.

beyond the curse marks that etched into his complexion, Sukuna Ryomen had twisted Megumi into a monster that you didn’t even recognize. or, perhaps, it was because of the tears blurring your vision or the haze your poor brain had been fucked into. you didn’t know anymore.

“So entitled for a little, fucking whore. You’re not acting like you don’t want this, anymore.” one powerful hand grabs most of your hair at the roots in a tight vice and pushes you forward, smearing your face into the floor, and he hunches over you. you squirm and whine, but not from the screaming pain in your scalp or the taste of blood in your mouth, but because you could feel his cock, hard and throbbing, as it rubs against your ass cheeks when he hunches forward. his body is on fire against yours, smearing sweat from his broad chest across your shoulder blades. “A few hours ago you were trying to kill me, screaming for me to stop, and trying to threaten me, and now you’re yipping for my cock like a wild animal. Begging to be mounted. Cum-hungry. You’re an easy one to break.”

“Go to hell,” you groaned, but you still writhed, winding your hips in an attempt to convince him to push back inside.

“I’m taking you with me.” he retorts with a raspy chuckle, before doing just that— and none too gently. with a forceful thrust, every inch of solid cock and pulsating vein barrels through your spongy canal, filling you to the brim and knocking the wind out of your lungs, before he uses his free hand to dig his digits into your fleshy hip and fall into the same, brutal rhythm he’s been decimating you with. you mewl and clamor to hold on to something. your nails scrape against the tiles on the floor, some of them chipping into jagged edges as your eyes roll back. “You know that, don’t you, brat? You’re damned— you were damned the moment you started to enjoy the way I fuck your helpless, little cunt.” his breath is hot and heavy against the shell of your ear as he ruts against your body, pounding it mercilessly. you try to shake your head, but his grip holds it steady and smeared against the floor and he guffaws, “Don’t think I can’t feel you, whore. Your cunt is sloppy wet, but the harder and faster I fuck you, the more I deny your release, the more frantically your hole squeezes.” your stomach feels like it’s in knots, your climax quickly approaching, and he must’ve felt your body start to tighten and prepare to cum, because he snickers and jerks on your hair tighter. “Just like that,” a low grunt dies in the back of his throat, “you’re already going to try and cum again.”

“Please,” you moan, trying to convince him to allow you release by pleasing him, since begging hasn’t seemed to be working. your ass bounces back to meet his violent thrusting, and the way you squelch and the sound of your wet skin slapping against his fills you with shame. “Please, let me cum! I need— need rest— can’t do this—“

“Greedy bitch.” but you could tell by the way he grinds his jaw when he says it that he likes the way it feels. pulling himself back up on to his knees, Sukuna places both hands on your ass cheeks, which were already sore from his relentless spanking, and he digs his sharp nails in. “What makes you think you deserve it? Because you can take my cock, you think I owe you pleasure or something?” he stills you with his strength, and pulls himself from your abused cavern right as you’ve started to hold your breath and knit your brows, on the edge of your climax, much to your dismay. “You get wet because I abuse your pussy, that’s because you’re filthy, not because I want you to like this.”

“Noooo!” you squeal, deflating like a balloon as he soils yet another orgasm. this time, the sensation slipping away was so intense, that your eyes had begun to water, and you try to look over your shoulder at him, glare daggers up at him for being so cruel, but you find his form, massive and daunting and flushed pink with sparkling sweat trickling over marked skin, too dizzying, and you gawk instead.

Sukuna smirks, wide— red eyes alight with malevolence upon seeing your tears. “Pitiful, aren’t you? Ah, but seeing that look of despair on your face only makes me harder. You want it so badly, it’s almost cute.” he looms over you, pushing on your ass to force your chest back down to the floor, your back arching so your ass sticks higher in the air. your thighs tremble hopelessly, and he enjoys the way you shake and sniffle. “Go ahead and cry, brat. Beg me until your voice goes out. I still won’t let you cum. I love this too much.” grabbing his massive cock at the base, he guides the swollen tip to tease your sticky folds, and for a moment, you try to open up and welcome back inside, regardless of the way your walls ache from the stretch, but he doesn’t force his way back inside. rubbing up and down, he teases your cunt from hole to clit, before slapping the squishy head of his cock against you in rapid-fire spanks.

when you start to squirm and babble, working up the nerve to beg once again to be blessed with an orgasm and relief, he leans closer, his tongue licking a fat stripe from your chin to the apple of your cheek, gathering a mass of salty tears on the buds so that he may taste your anguish. “I’d so much rather watch you suffer.”

[ameliathornromance]

"(Y/N)!" Your Orc partner roared.

Where had you gone? It was a routine raid, you should have stayed back and help everyone move supplies.

The fire that had been set to burn out most of the humans (your idea) licked the sky, buildings collapsed with a plume of ash.

It had all gone wrong. The whole point of the fire was to get human beings running and out of the way so that the Caravan could run in, take what they needed and leave.

But that wasn't what happened. The humans had fought back. They had started to drag up water from the well, and tossed it over the fires. The Orcs had no choice but to retreat.

But the humans drew their swords. And the Orcs had no choice but to defend themselves.

Bloodshed had ensued and the fire had gotten out of hand. Once your Orc had retreated to go and get you out of the fray, you were gone. You should have been hiding by the treeline, away from the madness.

"(Y/N)!" Your boyfriend shouted again. He ran past bodies, bodies of his own and humans too. The blood that had spilled made it difficult to maintain your boyfriend's balance. He slipped, and caught himself way too many times.

But he reached the centre of the town, he saw you. You clutched a bucket of water to your chest, soot smeared across your face while another Orc barked at you.

"(Y/N)!" Your Orc Boyfriend bellowed.

You jumped, but the other Orc snatched your bucket before you dropped it. He ran off as your Orc Boyfriend approached you.

"I-I..." you began but you couldn't finish.

"What are you doing?! You need to get out of here, now!" He snapped.

"But the Orcs, they're injured-"

"Don't worry about them, get to the wagon at the other side of town, my others will keep you safe." When you didn't move, your Orc barked, "now, (Y/N)!"

You gritted your teeth. You knew this was no time to argue, but you didn't want to just leave him here. But as a collection of angry human roars echoed from the other side of the village, you flinched.

"Go, now!" Your Orc turned away from you and to the human mob getting closer and closer.

"I'm not-"

"I'll be fine! Now go!" Your Orc Boyfriend shoved you away from him. Once you had the momentum, you took off into a sprint. You knew he was right, there was no way that you could defend yourself from that many people.

A few other Orcs ran past you to join the fight. You still didn't turn back. You knew if you turned back now, you wouldn't be able to keep running away.

The wagon, holding a couple of barrels came into view. The only Orc standing, beckoned to you, "come on!" He bellowed.

Your lungs burned, your legs ached, your arms were sore from helping the survivors. As soon as you reached the wagon, the Orc grabbed you and sat you amongst the barrels, providing you good cover. Should the humans decide to use bow and arrows.

You dared to look back. Where was your partner? Where'd he-

An answer appeared before you could even finish your thought. Your amazing boyfriend, barrelled out from a cloud of smoke, brandishing his axe. Humans nearby flinched, screamed, some even roared and swung back in defence.

The wagon had started to move, drawn by the Orc who had put you on the back of it.

A few humans sprinted to keep up your boyfriend, waving torches and pitchforks. But they only fell further and further behind as your Orc raced to catch up with the wagon.

You leaned forwards, holding your hand out to him, "hurry!"

With one final leap, he grasped onto your arm and crashed onto the wagon.

The wagon creaked under his massive weight. But it did not break. The supplies that the Orcs had stolen rustled as your boyfriend adjusted himself.

He lay on his back, panting, huffing.

"Damn human bastards." He breathed. "The others were good diversions. They said they'd catch up-"

You flung yourself on top of him and squeezed him tightly. Your heart thundered hard in your chest, adrenaline still rushing through your system.

Your Orc said nothing, instead, just placing his large hands on your back and holding you there.

It was a close call. Too close. For either of you.

"Promise me you'll never do that again?" You looked up at him. "Please?"

Your Orc Boyfriend looked at you and huffed, "Only if you promise to never go into another raid like that again."

Nodding, you settled your head on his chest again. His heart had slowed to a dull thumping.

As the voices of the angry humans died out, you felt yourself relax. You were both safe. And that's all that mattered.

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