#and she looked like she wanted to murder my ass

[deanscherrypie420]

ℙ𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕪 𝕘𝕚𝕣𝕝

A/N: This is my first criminal minds fic but I figured I should cause I LOVE the show... I haven't watched the new season yet cause of personal reasons but, ya know, I'll get there. <3 I hope you enjoy

Characters: Spencer Reid, Reader Y/N, JJ, Emily Prentiss, Luke Alvez,

Pairing: Reader X Spencer

Warnings: Mentions of murder, interrogation, violence, angst, fluff, suggestive dialogue, arguing, praise kink, Dom/sub, age gap, implied smut, (6 years) (NO ACTUAL SMUT.) (Let me know if I missed anything!)

Summary: After taking you into custody, the team tries to get a confession out of you for a crime they suspect you committed. The only thing you seem to want is to play. They bring in Reid as a last resort, and you can't help but like him... Even if he is a pain in the ass.

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Y/N was walking around in the mall, stopping to check out Victoria Secret. She loved the store, the fragrances, the clothes, or lack there of. Lingerie made her feel pretty, and she loved it.

After selecting a few sets that she liked, along with a set of perfume and lotion, she went to the checkout. She opened her wallet and grabbed one of her many cards, handing it to the cashier with a smile.

"Thank you for shopping with us, have a lovely day." The woman told her, and she rolled her eyes. Once she left the store she took the escalator downstairs, making her way to the parking lot. When she arrived, she noticed the swarm of cop cars.

"Ironic." She told herself, keeping her head down and making her way to her car. She opened her passenger door and set the bag down. When she turned around, she was met by two agents.

"Y/N Y/L/N, you're under arrest for suspected murder, accomplice to murder, and grand theft." The taller man spoke, and she nodded, a small smile creeping onto her lips.

"How fun." She said as she put her hands behind her back, hiding a small blade within her sleeve. The man turned her around and pressed her against the car. Before he could inform her of her rights, she maneuvered the blade from its confinement and sliced the agent's wrist.

It wasn't meant to help her escape, but simply to vex the man. He grunted and slammed her harder against her vehicle, tightening the cuffs harshly around her wrists. She gasped and bit her lip, "That hurts!" She protested, but was quickly shut up by his partner. "Karma's a bitch."

She was led to a black SUV, a large hand covering the back of her head as she got in. The drive was quiet, she spent most of her time studying the agents. One was a blonde, slim, confident woman. The other was a brown haired, taller man.

She slouched down, moving her elbow to undo her seat-belt. Once it was off, she leaned forward and grinned. "Officer, do I get to keep my stuff?" She cooed in the man's ear. He looked back at her in the rear-view mirror and tsked in disapproval. "You got out of your seatbelt."

"Sit back, head against the headrest." The woman ordered. Y/N pouted her lip, falling back into her seat. "It's not like I have my hands. I can't hurt you." She complained, but she was ignored.

Ugh, so rude, she thought.

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Now, she was sitting alone in an interrogation room. She tilted back in her chair, her handcuffs binding her to the table. "I'm bored! Come on guys, where are you?" She shouted at the mirror, a sick smile on her face. "Play with me!"

She had already spoken to quite a few agents. She had fun with all of them, watching them get mad. Oh, how she loved it. Her smile only grew as a new woman came in.

"Oh goody! I love meeting new people." She feigned innocence, her tone high pitch and bubbly. "I'm Agent Prentiss. I'm assuming you know why you're here?" Her tone was gentle, like a parent soothing a child.

"Is this your new tactic? Baby me and hope I confess?" Y/N giggled, soaking up Emily's irritated look. "Y'know, you have a really bad poker face. You're pissed!" She broke out in a fit of laughter, swinging back in her chair and tilting her head back.

Emily abruptly left the room, taken aback by the young woman's demeanor. When she closed the door, she turned to her group. "Do you guys see this? We played all of our cards here. She's not gonna talk until we get something we can use."

Jennifer shook her head, rubbing her temples with her fingers. "We literally brought Daniel up, and she didn't flinch. How does that not affect her?" She sounded exasperated, so ready to be done with this case.

Suddenly, Spencer barged into the room. He seemed to be in a hurry, a file in his hand. "Let me. I think I can get something out of her." He asked quickly. Emily just nodded and motioned towards the door.

Y/N raised her eyebrows when he came in, kicking the chair in front of her out from beneath the table. "You're the guy from the car." She acknowledged, and he nodded.

"You're being held for suspected murder and theft. How do you feel about that?" He asked, and she thought for a moment. "Hmmm... I think it's awesome. What about you?" She teased, and he gave her a stern look.

She didn't know why, but she felt her stomach turn. She leaned back in her chair and scoffed. "You're no fun. Why are you here?" He shook his head and opened her file, not bothering to answer her.

"Hey, I asked you a question." She hissed, annoyance creeping in. "Answer me!" She whined, and he slammed his hand down on the table. "Shut up. Speak when I ask you to."

She felt her cheeks warm, embarrassment evident on her face. She bit down on her lip and kicked his legs beneath the table. "You're a douche." She muttered and he ignored her again, setting the file down and flipping it for her to see.

"Your accomplice is Daniel Turner, correct?" He questioned and she rolled her eyes, her turn to blow him off. He didn't let it slide though, standing and grabbing her face. "Correct?" He repeated, and she swallowed hard.

"Correct." Her voice was quiet now, polar opposite to what it was before. He smiled and sat back down. "Good girl." He praised. She froze, eyes locked on him. She felt a warm feeling pool in her core, overwhelming her. He, on the other hand, continued skimming through her file. He knew what he was doing.

The profile read dysfunctional family, so he knew she had some sort of parental issues. They had tried both approaches, Luke playing the role of the proud dad and Emily as the proud mother. It didn't work for either of them, so they abandoned the idea.

He didn't know why it wasn't obvious before, but an older man wasn't enough. Reid was thirty-two and she was twenty-six, but she wanted dominance. Luke had taken the soft approach and it didn't work, so Spencer decided to try it the other way around. So far, he was successful.

She bit her lip as she watched him, squirming slightly in her seat. She was hot and bothered, and tried to hide it. She knew it would be used as a leverage. What she didn't know, was that it already was.

"Stop moving." He ordered her, and she scoffed. "I'm sorry, these cuffs aren't exactly comfortable." She spat at him and he looked up at her. Quickly, he got up and pulled out the key. He removed her handcuffs and set them on the table. She was about to say something smug, but he was quicker.

"Lose the attitude." He paused then glanced down at her, "Also, you're cuffs have nothing to do with your legs. Don't lie to me again." That seemed to shut her up, her cheeks burning with red as she nodded. After a few minutes he set the file back down, flipping to a specific page. "You murdered this man, correct?" She looked down at the picture, her face subconsciously contorting in disgust. She quickly fixed her face, plastering a smile onto it. "I don't know, did I?" She teased and he glared at her.

It was a warning. A warning for her to change her tone or she'd be a bad girl. "Yes, sir." She mumbled and he raised a brow. Spencer shook his head and stood up to leave. "W-wait, where are you going?" She asked, the eagerness in her voice betraying her.

"I don't like liars, Y/N. Do you want to try that again?" He scolded, and she moved back in her chair. She knew she was supposed to be taking the blame for this, she was the cover-up, but she knew she wanted him more.

"I, uh, I do." Her eyes were glued to her feet, and he smiled. "Look at me when you speak." He told her, and she hesitated, but held eye contact as he sat down. "I didn't... I didn't do that." She motioned to the picture, not wanting to look at it again.

"But you know who did. Can you tell me?" His tone was different now. It was still stern, but it had a softer edge. He was coaxing the answering out of her, rewarding her good behavior by being gentle.

"No.." She shook her head slowly, now staring at the wall behind him. He raised a brow and frowned. "Why is that?" He prodded, and her teeth sunk into her lip.

She cleared her throat and tried to upkeep her tough demeanor. "I don't know anything. You don't have anything to charge me with so I want to leave." She held eye contact with him, and he gave a pity grin.

He raised his wrist and pulled down his sleeve, revealing the deep, crimson slice she had inflicted earlier. "Assaulting law enforcement is a charge, and if you don't cooperate I'll be sure to press that." He warned and she crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair.

Her cheeks were pink and she looked nervous, with more than just her current situation. "Talk to me." He said as he stood up and moved in front of her, kneeling down.

She choked on her words, tears beginning to well in her eyes. "I didn't know... I mean, I know now but I didn't know this is what he made me cover for. This c-could ruin my life." Her voice was barely a whisper, tears falling into her lap.

He reached up and wiped her cheek with his thumb, then carefully taking her hands from her lap and squeezing them. "We know Daniel did the digital work, who committed the murder." He questioned further and she broke.

She started crying, the most vulnerable they've seen her. She confessed everything she knew, Spencer occasionally having to calm her down so she could breathe.

After she spilled her guts, they had a name. Anthony Velasquez, 30 year old male. Spencer quickly got up, picking the file up to leave the room. She knew he would leave. but she felt used. She didn't know why.

Reid paused at the door and turned to her. "For your cooperation, you are free to go. You might have to stick around for a bit to answer more questions, though." She nodded and wiped her eyes, letting out a shaky breath.

He walked back over to her and helped her stand up before wrapping her in a tight hug. "You did great," He rubbed her back and cradled her head in his free hand.

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A few days had gone by since the incident. Y/N was home alone, laying in her bed and processing the last few days. Suddenly, her phone rang and she jumped.

She fumbled it in her hands for a moment before she pressed accept. "Hello?" She croaked, her throat dry. "Hey, it's Spencer. I was wondering if you wanted to go to dinner with me?" He asked casually. On the other end, he was at his desk, fidgeting with a pen.

"Oh. I mean, sure, yes. Yes, of course. Not of course, but yes, I would like that." She rambled for a moment, her cheeks warm. She was flustered and a bit nervous. She had assumed she was just another case, but maybe not...

"Okay great, I'll pick you up at eight. Text me the address. Bye." She didn't have to see him to hear his smile, which only made hers grow. "Okay, bye." She checked her home screen, realizing she only had two hours to get ready.

She had showered in record time, carefully selecting an outfit afterwards. She couldn't decide between two dresses. Both were red, and both ended at her mid-thigh. The only difference was the texture. One was silk, and one was covered in lace designs.

She walked to her mirror and pressed them to her body. She ended up deciding the lace dress, sliding it on and returning to the closet. She selected a matching pair of red heels and put them on, twirling in front of the mirror in triumph.

She then sat down at her vanity and brushed her hair out, painting her nails and doing her makeup. She hadn't been on a date in awhile, so she was a little nervous.

She felt pathetic, staring at her phone and waiting for him to arrive. Once it neared 8:15, she wondered if it was a joke, if he even liked her. She sat up on her bed and thought for a moment, her insecurities bombarding her mind.

All of her worries seemed to fade when she heard a knock at her door. She quickly made her way across the apartment, opening her door carefully. She was greeted by Spencer, he was wearing a nice suit and dress shoes.

She smiled and opened the door fully. "Hi, sorry. I forgot my bag, give me a second." She said as she turned away from the door, leaving it ajar. He stepped inside and looked around, finding her choice of decor adorable. He thought she was adorable.

She came back from her room, and he looked her up and down. She looked magnificent. "Sorry, I didn't know if it was a nice restaurant or not.. I feel like an idiot, I haven't been on a date in who knows how long. Sorry, I'm rambling, I get really nervous. I mean, I am really nervous. Not because you make me nervous, but I mean you do, but-" He cut her off, striding forward and cupping her face.

He kissed her. She froze for a second but quickly leaned into it. They stumbled back onto a wall and he caged her in, devouring her lips. She tasted heavenly, and he never wanted to let go.

She however, needed to breathe and gently pulled back. She giggled when she saw him, her red lipstick smudged all over his mouth. "What?" He questioned, and she reached up and swiped his lips. "You have my lipstick all over your face." They both laughed and he bit his lip, moving his hand to her mouth. His thumb pulled down her bottom lip and he smiled.

"Pretty girl." He whispered before leaning back down and connecting their lips again. He tapped her hip with his finger, letting her know he was about to pick her up, and he did.

She gasped and looked down at him, her hair falling down her shoulders. "What about dinner?" She breathed out, a smile spread across her face. He leaned up and kissed her, "I have a better idea." He murmured against her lips, his hands travelling up her back, pushing her dress up. He carried her to her bedroom, kissing up her neck. She gasped and ran her fingers through his hair, tugging at the strands.

He groaned and tossed her onto the bed, a loud yelp escaping Y/N, followed by a giggle. Spencer looked down at her and bit his lip, "You're so beautiful." He praised, climbing on top of her and claiming her lips again.

My pretty girl

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A/N: I didn't proofread yet, I just kinda rushed it. I COULDN'T HELP IT I WANTED SPENCER REID!! I hope you enjoyed, thank you for reading!

Follow, reblog, and like! Send requests <3

[lovl3igh]

my thoughts on ep 1 of s2:

> i like how quiet this episode was on the blacks side, not much was said (apart of daemon's scenes), baela did not say a word and only comforted jace with gesture, rhaenyra said just one line!!! (and emma slays the whole episode), jace's cracking voice, funeral is very quiet, actors played only with their bodies, chills

> i love the corlys's scene, "i had this comissioned for prince lucerys" THAT HURTS, are you kidding me? THE PEARL OF DRIFTMARK

> glad that they showed rhaena during the funeral, i wished we saw scene with dragon twins comforting each other or sth, rhaena spent 6 years with luke on the dragonstone, she was supposed marry him and they took it from her, i wanted more

> alicole is disgusting, hate both of this hypocrites, slutshaming rhae and tormenting her for years, just to screw each other. the scene when cole asks alicent to put the white cloaks on him was great, she, as (dowager) queen, gives him once again a symbol of honor that he doesn't deserve

> b&c scene was... there, ig. next red wedding my ass. where's the horror in choosing the child by helaena? or begging to take her life instead of a child? i loved phia's acting and the scene with helaena leaving the room with jaehaera in her arms only with the sounds of jaehaerys' murder in the background but i wished the scene looked more similar to book!b&c. helaena walking into the room where alicole fuck each other? it looked grotesque

> kinda annoying daemon's mostly shows his love to the children by violence, i liked him trashing rhaenys and erryk, very in character (and also bc i hate rhaenys' scene in ep9), "son for a son" line was there, except everything again is "by accident", like blood and cheese went to helaena by accident...? cutting the scene before daemon's answer was a mistake. was "son for a son" everything he said? did he mean aegon perhaps or jaehaerys or either? it would be smarter to kill aemond or aegon but more cruel to go for a child. we know daemon can be cruel but since he wanted to go with rhaenys after aemond, he's no fool. i'd prefer to have daemon directly saying how far he can go to avenge luke. but absolutely love daemon with his crime cloak

> aegon is an idiot who don't know how to rule (OBVIOUSLY, BC HE'S NOT SUPPOSED TO BE THE KING, HE WASN'T PREPARED FOR IT AND HE DOESN'T WANT TO BE OTTO'S PUPPET), only tries to gain sympathy from people, father of the year who doesn't even know where his son spends time and not interested in any way in his daughter. notice how the servants reacted when he entered the room, i hate that little asshole

> is alicent really surprised that her father undermines her, A WOMAN, after she helped him usurped rhaenyra exactly because she is A WOMAN herself??

- cheese you're gonna burn in hell, KICKING A DOG? and he looked kinda sad for helaena? DUDE, YOU'RE CAUSING HER PAIN, why are you so weird about the fact that your crime is criming

> nice moments: rhaenyra jumping off of a dragon looked really cool, also the wall, cregan and jace's talk, jace and joffrey on funeral, jaehaerys tormenting tyland, "fuck hightowers", rhaenyra and syrax mourning together the loss of their children

> acting wise emma and harry carried this episode; phia and phoebe did the best with amount of screentime and script they got

[thecountesstribe]

HOTD SEASON 2 EPISODE 1 SPOILERS, A LITTLE BIT OF A LONG SHITPOST.

Last night I couldn't talk about it but Alicent really is one of the funniest characters on that show. She's literally a stereotypical bible thumper. We all know one in real life. Little miss “condemn others for their “sins” and then turn around and do the absolute worst.” Miss duty, honor and sacrifice was shagging the kingsguard, which she's not supposed to be doing btw, even if that bum is dead. I wholeheartedly believe she's been screwing him before Viserys even kicked the bucket. On top of that she's clinical levels of delusional and absolutely mental. Imagine having the temerity to send letters to the woman you literally tormented for years, after the usurpation of said woman's birthright that you had a major hand in and after your rabid ass son killed her child too. What is there to talk about? “Dear Rhaenyra, sorry my son murdered your son and his dragon in cold blood, come over and bend the knee to my other incompetent son who sits your throne and let's pray and talk about it and go back to being friends, signed your former best friend Ali” She was wholeheartedly expecting a response too and she got left on medieval delivered LMFAO. Does that sound sane to you? The prayer scene was also so disingenuous. She didn't like those boys, especially Lucerys. She wasn't praying to no Gods, she was trying to sacrifice Luke's soul even in the afterlife 🤣🤣🤣😭😭. A comedian.

How does Crybaby Cole still have his job? Can someone answer me? Was Rhaenyra seducing him and sleeping with him wrong? Absolutely. She didn't take advantage of him, he was the adult in the situation and he swore his oaths, not her, that was his fault. Then he struck what was essentially a High Lord and the future King's consort and murdered a young lord at the wedding of the heir to the iron throne. How he still had his head after is beyond me. Still flabbergasted about how he thought Rhaenyra would've ran away with him, to be poor, like Daemon and Viserys wouldn't have turned the entire 7 kingdoms upside down looking for her. How exactly was he expecting to hide the heir to the Iron Throne? That really made sense to him... He got rejected once and made it his entire personality, to go on to become the same thing he said he didn't want to become... A WHORE. He should've just let that hurt go honestly. At least with Rhaenyra on the throne he could've been a whore with benefits. Alicent can't really do anything for him, Otto is literally in her way. He's extremely bad at his job too. How is he gonna explain his absence from his duties, y'know watching over the queen, sweet summer child Helaena and her children. “Well Aegon while we had intruders running about the castle I was fuckin your mom in your older sister's old quarters who your mom and I still carry a torch for”. He should've just fallen on his sword fr 🥱. When you actually think about it this show is a comedy.

Criston and Alicent they could never make me like you but they're funny as hell.

[whoishotteranimepolls]

Defend Your Blurbo Submission (this is LONG—1105 words, sorry!)

Dorsal Fin Appreciation or Lack Thereof

Hear me out y’all, but Arlong the Saw seriously needs more love in this fandom than he is getting. This is not a plea to the folks who don’t go feral at all for anyone in One Piece, this plea is for my fellow One Piece fans. Why so angry?

Out of all the villains in the entire franchise, and I am 100% ignoring the Live Action by Netflix—this is about OG canon Arlong from the anime (haven’t really read the manga yet), he seems to be the most hated. I have seen more genuine love and affection for Kleenex Boi Trebol than I have for He Carries Two Fish Sticks Everywhere He Goes Arlong.

Yes, he did conquer an island in the East Blue. Yes, he did extort money from the citizens monthly (effectively making him a loan shark). Yes, he took a young Nami and had her work for him, originally under horrible circumstances. And yes, he did kill Nami’s adoptive mother Bell-Mere. I feel like y’all shut him out of fandom love simply for killing Bell-Mere.

Out of all the villains that regularly see love, he killed a whopping one person. One.

He let Bell-Mere give parting words to her girls, he let her say goodbye, and he actually killed her rather quickly. He didn’t torture her, didn’t rape her, didn’t drag anything out. He stated that if you can’t pay, you die. He didn’t lie. She couldn’t pay so she died. Arlong is very cut-and-dry, you know exactly what you’re going to get with him.

Compare him to someone like Eustass Kid, who has killed way more innocent people than Arlong ever will. Kid got his bounty based on his egregiously high civilian casualty count. His big bad bounty came from innocent blood being spilled, that’s what makes Kid so damn dangerous to the government. Because let’s face it, he fails as much as Buggy does in the whole pirating thing. He took on Kaido at least once and lost and he took on Shanks twice and lost. He doesn’t win his pirate battles; he just wins at killing people who can’t defend themselves against him. And y’all eat him up like candy.

Arlong kills one backstory character and he’s the most hated man in One Piece. He’s better looking than Hody Jones and many other characters, he’s more humane than even he wants to admit, and he had great character development too.

He started off treating Nami like a slave or a pet and in ten years’ time grew to consider her a valued officer and crew mate. He wasn’t just fighting to keep his cartographer; he was fighting to keep the only female member of his pirate family from leaving.

Doflamingo killed his own father when he was a child, murdered his own brother, murdered countless other people, and overthrew a fucking country. And y’all drool over him like a stuck pig at a luau.

Arlong was a pretty solid pirate all things considered. He plundered consistently over the course of 10 years and built himself an empire on land rather than a fleet. He had a cunning plan. He had minions within the Marines (just as Doffy did with Vergo, but Arlong’s were actual marines), so he infiltrated through human frailty. He only committed one act of murder.

He had all the maps, a creature from the Grand Line and let’s not forget he and all but one of his crew were also from the Grand Line. He kicked ass. He even had convictions; he wasn’t all about himself. He cared about his own species, every single member of his crew, and he never turned on any of them. He did exploit a loophole with Nami but regarding his own people, he treasured all of them.

When they did something wrong or disagreed with him, he never harmed them. He didn’t treat them like shit. Their lives were precious to him. Hody Jones not only abused other fishmen/fishwomen, but he also flat out killed them. He murdered his own monarch and any fishman who didn’t agree with him 100% was killed. Arlong would fall on his own sword before even letting so much as the idea of killing any of his own kind cross his mind.

When Arlong did have disagreements with other fishmen, he just separated from them and went his own way. He never killed his own kind, wouldn’t dream of it. Arlong has lines in the sand that he will not cross, he has boundaries and respects them. Arlong actually has morals that he adheres to. Hody Jones is amoral, and Doffy isn’t far behind. Hell, Arlong has more solidified convictions and morals than Sakazuki, who like Hody, kills his own subordinates if they disagree with him.

Arlong really isn’t that villainous of a villain. In my opinion, he is a deeply traumatized person who never dealt with his trauma. He bottled it all up and is slowly consuming him. He’s damaging himself by doing that and he is able to be mislead by thinking he’s doing right and following solid ideals. He truly believes his species is superior and he truly believes that they need to rise up and take their freedom.

Now, he isn’t wrong. Fishmen are treated horribly and they do need to take their freedom, but treating humans the exact way they have been treated is also wrong. Arlong is so deeply wounded that he hasn’t figured that part out yet. He was starting to with Nami evolving in his crew. He even admitted to her intelligence and skill a few times, he was slowly starting to mend his ways when she left.

Arlong is deeply traumatized, misguided, but redeemable. And yet, no one gives him a chance. How can you all heap the love on civilian slaughterer Kid, pirate failure Buggy, snotastic Trebol, familicide Doffy, royal traitor Crocodile, domestic terrorist Sakazuki (because like me, some of y’all out there love him too), fish gutter Hody Jones, delulu “deity” Enel, lard ass Blackbeard, or giant psycho Kaido with the scrawny legs that shouldn’t be able to support him but y’all can’t find three nice things to say about Arlong the Saw and his glorious dorsal fin?

I mean come on! Have you seen that sexy dorsal fin of his? He’s tall, has luscious locks, teeth that regenerate, two fresh fish sticks in his pants, a cool ass sword, decent fashion sense, and he can breathe underwater which is just so cool.

Why must you hate him so? He’s not that bad all things considered.

Defend Your Blurbo #7

Please remember this post is about curiosity and genuine fandom discourse. Be kind with your answers because this is not a debate essay, this is a discussion between fans.

Well, in case anyone doesn't know who Arlong is, he's an early One Piece villain.

Now, this anon took a much different approach to the series than the others, so have fun with this and One Piece fandom. Defend your Blorbo

[swiftful-thinking13]

when I tell you that the guests today were directly from the pits of hell I’m not even exaggerating…why was every person the absolute WORST

[luyo-mi]

yall ever just design a new outfit for barbie

[flowerflamestars]

Timeloop snippet

Eris Vanserra was born in a land where magic lived. Alive under his fathers hands, shaped  by a raised voice, his mothers tears, changed and shifted by the year or the day, the stars and his brothers, the sun and his bothers.

Old was Autumn, bloodied long before Eris had looked through the ancient hungry trees with a childs smoke spark eyes. No amount of the blood that indeed followed had fully shaken wonder from him. Horror and hate held fast, won often, but Eris was not man who discounted what was wild of faery, even if it existed outside his reach. The Courts were older still, but not eternal. What was truly immortal, among immortals, was what Elain Archeron had in her damned garden shed. Eris watched, still past stone, body screaming warning, as she slipped past him, light summer gown trailing flagstone, just to croon hello and rap her knuckles against the wide iron rim as though she were entering a building. Her head tipped- hearing what he could not, as though Eris could hear anything at this moment over his own heart, rendered prey by greater power- Elain smiled down into murky, glowing water, before twisting to grin over her shoulder. “It was lonely,” Expression gentle, a little line forming between her intriguing eyes, their darkness catching otherworldly light. “They buried it again. Alone in the dirt.”

[rosquinn]

akuma kun 2023 is like a well executed gacha life mini movie to me

[birdmenmanga]

sorryyyyy sumiko is still the fucking character of all time like at the beginning of the series you're like yeah whatever. mom's not in the picture. dead anime mom we've all seen it. and then you find out she's not dead she's just like. wandering the country doing deadbeat mom business. whatever. more important things are happening. her first appearance in person is her dropping a dragon on top of her son. she doesn't even say hi. then someone comes in and says "hello I'm the supernatural government and your mom has been committing god murder aka supernatural treason. how are you feeling about this, besties?" and then you find out her husband really really loves his wifey (despite her being so absent). and then you actually meet her for real and you're like oh! oh. oh yeah she's so fucked up hahaha jesus fuck

[p2iimon]

drawing more furry fnaf art. yknow just to keep you posted. i love posting in the tags sorry these ones got away from me

[ladyimaginarium]

ok so i& was holding myself& back by a thread for a few days but. beyonce's lemonade album is. quite litcherally marlontine in an au where he lives & he has to answer to her. basically that whole speech in waiting to exhale where she takes his shit & burns his shit while smoking a cigarette. she destroys his ass lmao

[hecksupremechips]

I love to imagine Rebecca as trans like it just has become so ingrained in my mind it feels weird it’s not canon. She realized at a young age and her parents were supportive and let her present how she wanted and they used her name and pronouns, but they weren’t around enough to go the extra mile for her and make sure she was being protected. She was the target of some pretty bad bullying at school, both from the students and the staff, and Ashton was the first person to defend her. Ashton is cishet (cuz I think it’s funny) and hes kinda ignorant at first but he tries his best and he just likes Rebecca and wants good things for her and he’s so emo he scares away the bullies lol. And this was definitely a big part in Rebecca gaining feelings for him he just showed her this special kinda care that no one else ever did, and it’s what makes her extra insecure as the years go by. Cuz she wonders if maybe the reason Ashton never seems to reciprocate her feelings is because she’s trans and he just never thought to see her as romance material as a result. Which is a line of thinking that gets out of control really bad and she never gets to have the closure she wants with it either

She tells Isabella that’s shes trans just cuz they’re best friends and it sorta comes up eventually. Isabella was a tomboy growing up so she can definitely relate to the bullying shit pretty well and they are very protective of each other and vow to beat up anyone who talks shit about the other. They also just open each other’s minds a bit, Isabella helps Rebecca feel more comfortable in knowing there’s many different ways to be a woman, Rebecca helps Isabella maybe explore her feelings about her own gender and whether or not she’s really attached to womanhood. Zach finds out in a more casual way, it’s just something he learns cuz it felt weird that he was the only one who didn’t know and well. He’s a good guy, he wouldn’t mind. It’s not something the two of them ever talk about really, aside from bonding over a few shared experiences with having to deal with assholes. And really, being trans just isn’t something Rebecca wants to talk about too much, just because she’s gotten to a point where’s she’s experienced being stealth and she knows how quickly people can turn on you when they know, and she understandably doesn’t wanna deal with that shit. But because her friends are so supportive, she doesn’t exhale and let herself just exist naturally around them and it does help her feel less insecure about who she is

Sexuality wise I think she’s "straight" I think she’s spent most of her life looking at Ashton and just assuming she’d be with a man but once she finally gets to give up on him she has Moments with Isabella or like a certain fondness for Marianne and their shared love of history and other nerd shit and shes just like. Uh Oh 😟

[misserabella]

could i request mean!ellie fucking you with her strap while wearing a suit? including a daddy kink if possible 🎀

mine

dark! mafia ellie x fem! reader

cw; +18 content! minors dni!, mean and dark ellie, jealousy, death of a second character, ellie commits murder, begging, guns, strap on! sex (r receiving), teasing, ellie being a menace, rough fucking, daddy kink, praise kink, praising, ass smacking, cum eating, use of good girl…

okay but what about mafia! ellie pissed the fuck off ‘cause one of her allies couldn’t just stay the fuck away from you during the mafia dinner; complimenting you, touching your hair, your dress. so she just had to show the motherfucker his place, and you, yours.

“you enjoyed it, huh? enjoyed the attention?” she groaned, her hips harshly smacking your ass as she pistoned into you, fucking your absolute brains out. “enjoyed that fucker gushing for you?!”

“n-no, daddy! i swear!” you cried out, your perfectly manicured nails digging on her desks wood, in which she had bent you over before dicking you down.

you whimpered at the sting of her hand landing on your ass in a harsh smack.

“it didn’t look that way to me. do you like it? like it when someone else rather than daddy touches you? you want him to fuck you?”

“no!” you shook your head, stuttering due to her relentless pace.

“louder. say it louder. who do you belong to?”

“to you daddy!”

“whose pussy is this?” another smack. her thrusts were kissing your cervix.

“yours daddy! my pussy is yours!” you babbled in between moans and whimpers.

“fucking right. you’re fucking mine.” she smirked. looking at the man tied to a chair in front of the two of you, muffled, watching. “now say it to him, baby.”

your watery eyes found the man’s, your lips puckering in a moan.

“i’m daddy’s. only daddy’s.” your high pitch voice promised.

“atta girl. that’s daddy’s girl.” you cried at the harsh thrust she gave you, one of her hands —the one that wasn’t forcefully pushing your head down against the wood— found your clit, overstimulating you. “now show him how much does this pussy love my cock baby. cum for me. give him a show before i blow his brains out.” you moaned, crying out ‘daddy, daddy, daddy’s! in between sobs as she ripped out of you an orgasm so big your ears rang and vision went white. “fuuck. good girl baby. soaking my fucking cock.” she chuckled, fucking you through it, watching your cum gather on the silicone. once you were completely fucked out of your mind, she pulled out, drops of cum splattering on her carpet.

she hummed, her hand circling her cock to pump it, your cum slicking her fingers as she made her way towards the man who had dared to touch you, to even breath beside you.

“you see this?” she inquired, bending over the man with her soaking hand showing. she slowly pushed her cum-covered fingers inside her mouth, smirking at the teary eyes of the man who muffled pardons for his life. “mine.” she whispered on his ear, the gun she had extracted out of her leather belt on the other side of the man’s head, against his temple.

that was the last thing he heard, ellie’s piercing eyes the last thing he saw, and the rope against the skin of his wrists and the napkin in his mouth suffocating him the last thing he felt. ‘cause thank god he didn’t felt the piercing of the bullet across his head, blowing up his brains.

ellie didn’t even flinch, wouldn’t even have nightmares about the dying light in his eyes as she saved her gun and made her way towards you once again, taking you in between her arms to pull you away from the body and to guide the two of you towards your room.

“i swear i didn’t mean it daddy. i only love you…” you whispered against her neck, and she hummed, kissing your head.

“i know baby. it was his fault. for touching what’s mine.”

[horrorartsworld]

Hi! I’ve read quite a lot of your works and I’ve got to say, you’re a great writer, like oh my god!

I was wondering if you could write a one shot of Alastor with a female reader wife who’s like Beetlejuice? Appearance wise (but more feminine), personality wise and power wise as well. Maybe he hadn’t seen her full power before due to no one chanting her name, but during extermination day, as a last resort, someone does and she kind of just goes full on “beast mode” to protect her husband? What would Alastor’s reaction be? Would he like it?

If you can’t do it, that’s alright! I hope you have a great day! ^^

( ≧ᗜ≦)₊˚⊹♡ OMG NONNIE!! you do not understand how excited i was to write this for you hence beetjuice being one of my favorite movies hehe and thank you so much i hope you enjoy this one !!

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

ghost with the most !

alastor/beetlejuice f!reader

warnings: slight angst, mentions of blood and massacre, some fluff towards the end!!

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

“Wait…sooo you’re telling me chuckles over there has a wife?!” Angel Dust asks his voice raising in disbelief towards the chipper blond in front of him who just so happened to spring this unbelievable information on him.

“Oh sure!” Mimzy raved, with a sort of twinkle in her eye that she only got when she started to gossip. “Under all that creepy and murderous exterior there’s a big ol’ sap! Can’t say I blame him ether — his wife’s a real firecracker! Me and her use to get into all kinds of trouble when we were living!”

She sighs reminiscent on her past looking like she was lost in thought before Angel erupts in bewilderment once more, “There’s no fucking way! I can’t believe i’ve never heard about this…”

Then he suddenly glares at Husk who was unamused by the whole thing. “What?” He huffs with an eyebrow raised, using a towel to wipe off the innards of a dirty glass.

“You knew about this didn’t you…” He eyes him with the worst stink eye making Husk snort, “Listen…I did but that women is bad news and if anyone bothers to say her name three times it’s over…” The cat then places the glass delicately amongst the others before Mimzy gestures for a drink earning a scowl out of him, grabbing the glass once more. “Besides why wouldn’t i know…”

Angel Dust rolls his eyes, resting his cheeks in a pair of his hands taking all this new information in, then sitting up straight again. “Wait? why three times..”

Mimzy giggles delightfully like a toddler clapping her hands seeing Husk place a full glass in front of her. “It’s like her way of a contract honey, to make sure you truly need her when she’s summoned and she’s not all that bad Huskie she’s just a little eccentric and bizarre is all, but truly a fun gal!”

Husk lets out an annoyed huff turning his back to her as she downs her drink in one big gulp with a small hiccup following. “Besides no one’s seen her in years, bless her damned soul…” Mimzy goes back to being reminiscent once more, but this time with a frown forming on her face which was unusual for her.

“Anyways tits, are ya joining us tomorrow? Gonna be a riot.”Angel Dust attempts at changing the subject though he still wanted to know more, seeming that his question somewhat spooked her she started readying herself to leave.

“No, no, no sweetheart! As much as I loooove a good brawl, this one is just not my cup of tea, kick ass though, choa!” And like that the tiny little blonde broad was gone out the door.

Leaving Angel to stew on all this information he just consumed, his eyes then wandering on the grouch in front of him with a smirk playing on his face.

“Wanna fuck before we die?”

“No.”

“Worth a shot.”

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊🪲

On Extermination Day it wasn’t looking so hot for the Hazbin crew.

Each and everyone getting hit down one by one like a domino effect without really too much that they could do about it with their fire power seeming to not be enough like they thought.

Angel Dust looks along the battle field, spotting most of his friends injured or worse and none other than Alastor actually getting his ass kicked. Causing the spider insane amounts of uneasiness, when suddenly an idea clicks.

“Y/n…..,” Angel Dust hesitates thinking back to what Husk said about you and how this could possibly turn out. “Ah fuck it….Y/n! Y/n! Y/n!” He gives in shouting it as loud as he possibly could and within an instant the sky above the hotel swirled in green, causing many sinners and angels to look into the direction of it completely in awe of what it could be.

Alastor holding his chest as the gash across it starts to burn profusely, he notices everyone had stopped for some odd reason making him look in the direction of what had caught everyone’s attention, and if that man’s smile wasn’t permanently on his face already you would’ve saw the biggest grin known to man.

Suddenly a loud noise of a playful accordion rips through the air in a circus theme. ( https://youtu.be/gwsR5gOKK1U?feature=shared sounds something like this if your curious.) “Attention Kmart shoppers!” Your sweet yet sinister voice echoes throughout everyone’s ears with a menacing giggle following. “CLEAN UP ON ISLE SEVEN!! ,” Everyone looks around confused without noticing your form appearing in the middle of a bunch of the Exterminators, Angel Dust finally getting a good look at you causing his jaw to drop. Green hair flowed down your shoulders, a white and black striped dress hugged your body as two large mallets adorned both hands with a mischievous grin that could put Alastor’s to shame, then spinning both mallets around before giving quick blows to each and every dumbfounded exterminator that you saw, leaving an absolute massacre in your wake. Chest heaving with golden blood on your face, when you suddenly notice them, quickly wiping the blood with your striped sleeve and made your way over.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

(dress ref!!)

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

Your green cloud forms behind a unsuspecting Adam with a pointed black nail coming out to tap his shoulder. He looks around aimlessly before facing Alastor once more, and then suddenly a large golf club appears with you on the other end of it with a golfers cap on your head. “FOUR!” Is shouted from your lips as you suddenly swing it with much force sending the douche bag flying lord knows where.

You hold your hand over your eyes pretending you saw where he was going, but then quickly snapped out of it to tend to your lover. “Always know how to make an entrance my dear,” Alastor says rather proud of his wife for being able to keep her cool all while kicking ass. “Oh you know I can’t help myself when there’s a crowd!” You dust yourself off before you do your best to help him up seeing his gash slowly dissipating into nothingness leaving just the rip in his nice dress shirt making you frown. “Awww Al, he ruined my favorite shirt!” You then loose track of what you were upset about and start playing with the hole delicately skimming your fingers across his skin, making him shiver as you made it seem like a mouth making ‘nom, nom,nom’ noises until Alastor cleared his throat.

“Sorry babe..” He chuckles down at you while then patting your head, before you wrap your arm around him taking him back to his friends.

“That’s quite alright…now how about we do some catching up, i want to hear all about your adventures,” He says looking down at you feeling how much he really missed this, missed you, clinging to you close like he never wanted to let you go again while you two walked.

Your eyes light up, bouncing up and down giddily next to him before jabbering on the rest of the way about things like almost getting eaten by a sand worm and practically ruining a recently deceased married couples start on the after life.

And of course Alastor was happy to hear all of it from his precious wife who he adorned and loved very much…

[gutsby]

Cabin Fever

Pairing: Dark!Joel x Dark!Reader

Summary: Joel saves your life, but help comes at a price.

Warnings: 18+. DEAD DOVE: DNE. NONCONSENSUAL. I’m never ever beating the insane bitch allegations, I fear. Protector-turned-pervert-turned-unwilling-captor-kinda. Corruption kink. Daddy kink. Somnophilia. Misogyny. “It’s too big; it won’t fit” + Joel “I’ll make it fit” Miller. Captivity on both ends. Oral (f!receiving). Gunplay. Oversimplified first-time anal. Uno Reverse Drugging. Evil, inexperienced reader meets evil, feral, slutty Joel. Attempted murder x3. Russian Roulette…as foreplay?

Notes: Both characters SUCK. I condone nothing they do. Please do not take any of their behavior or language to reflect my own moral predilections. That is all 🚬😵‍💫

You were hardly shaking at all when he’d found you chained, maimed, and frozen half to death on the plains.

He didn’t see that every day, that was for-fucking-sure.

Joel Miller barely got to see his share of happy, grinning girls on the cold and bitter frontier he inhabited. Ones that were tied to posts and clinging to life were even less common, so the sight of you there had almost frightened him at first. He’d approached you like one might advance upon a sleeping bear: with the utmost caution and a Winchester Model 70 levelled directly at your head.

He’d learned you were unarmed and defenseless in less than a second. He’d come to realize you were largely unconscious—and unclothed—even sooner than that.

He had been industrious in freeing your hands and feet from their restraints but never uttered a word as he did.

Even on the two-and-a-half mile trek back home, he hadn’t spoken once. You’d hung off his left shoulder like a pretty, frosted slab of meat, covered only with the sherpa blanket he’d secured around your neck, and dangled precariously down his back for the entire fifty minutes.

Your toes were two shades shy of onyx with frostbite.

Your limbs were hanging like lead over his chest.

A whisper of, ‘You’ll be fine, darlin’, I promise’ had just seemed ill-suited for the circumstances and his nature. In truth, Joel didn’t know if you’d be fine. You might die. The blood wouldn’t be on his hands one way or the other, but he never had liked burying bodies this time of year. He’d have to wait until April to break ground, at least.

Presently, he dropped your limp form to the floor of his cabin and hoped he wouldn’t be needing to bury anyone.

You sort of looked charming in the firelight.

He stomped off to the kitchen and began rifling for pans, preparing to defrost the icy stranger as best he could.

You didn’t die.

You didn’t wake for forty full hours, but you didn’t die.

When you stirred on the floor with warm sherpa around your shoulders and a rough calfskin rug under your ass, you thought you had died—maybe taken a pit stop in cowpoke purgatory while you were at it—but then you blinked. Breathed. Realized you were still very much inside your body and most likely still in Wyoming.

You sat up where you were and looked around.

“Da-a-d?”

You knew it was useless, calling for your father.

He had been dead almost eight months; you just wanted to double-check to make sure you were still on earth.

When dead dad didn’t answer, you tried someone else.

“Momma?”

Still no answer.

Figured, since she was among the ones that had left you chained outside in the first place. It’d been worth a shot.

You started to rise from your place, when a sharp pain in your side made you plop back down on the rug. You winced and lifted the blanket, then your old nightie.

A neat little taped-down bandage had your ribs encased in antiseptics and gauze. You frowned down at a stain in the centre, which looked to you an awful lot like blood. That circle of old fluids must’ve been twice the size of your fist and currently oozing tiny, fresh beads of blood from the strain you’d just exerted. You pursed your lips.

Least they could’ve done is kill me, not leave me here.

You’d take it up with your old would-be assassins another day, you were sure. Right now, you were parched, starving, in dire need of a piss, and reeling on the floor to grab hold of something sturdy to lift yourself. But you were as much a child then as you had ever been, swaying in place and clawing at air like someone who’d never kept their balance before. Or might’ve been drunk.

You rolled onto your good side and cast a sweeping look around the cabin. You smelled slow-cooked barbecue.

Thank fuck, you thought.

Now, if I were a juicy rack of ribs, where would I be?

The kitchen was dark and empty; the smell was coming from elsewhere. You craned your neck, tilted your chin, spotted a loft overhead but figured it wasn’t too likely to find someone grilling up there, so where the hell was it?

And who the hell was it, smoking meats and mending up strangers in the cold and lonely dead of winter like this?

You put a pin in that thought as you searched for a place to pee.

By the time you’d hobbled out of the bathroom, the smoky smell had grown even stronger. It was so pungent it bordered on vertiginous, invading every inch of the cabin with a force. Then it was leading you, teasing you by turns to venture outside. All you had on your feet were some oversized socks and two strips of medical tape.

Against your better judgment, you continued to hobble.

Out the door, down the steps, slowly, then following your nose and the first whiff of smoke you smelled to make it to the place you were almost certain you needed to be.

You trudged around a corner of the cabin’s exterior and stopped. Turned around. Cursed your own senses for being so stupid to miss the huge fucking shed spewing smoke out front—or was it the back?—and plodded on.

Your feet might have carried you a third of the way there before your powers of sight and sound eventually failed you again, and you missed another big something.

Big and beige and coated in snow—baring its teeth and snarling at the unfamiliar presence as soon as it saw you.

The next thing you knew, sixty-two pounds of Belgian Malinois had had you knocked to the ground in less than a second. You hardly understood what had hit you until it was barking and chomping away an inch from your face.

You fought hard and frantic to shove the ugly fucker off, but your bandaged hands were no match for its paws. The dog continued to tear at your blanket, nip at your ears, claw at your neck, and all around snuff out any sense of peace you might have acquired in the dozen-odd minutes since you’d first woken up. You screamed.

You yelled as loud as you could and felt yourself cower and sink lower into the snow as you fought.

Just when you tried to raise a knee—to kick the animal in the ribs or else protect your own—a sound broke out above the buzz.

A voice, clear as day:

“CUJO!”

The dog stalled on top of you a moment, just to be yanked off the next, and the closest thing afterward was a face—kinder than Cujo’s but not by very much.

It was a broad, bearded, pock-marked head with more soot to recommend itself than skin. Lips smeared with ash and grime and curved down in the single most decisive frown you’d seen in your life, the man looked to be beside himself seeing you tits up in the snow.

He gripped one arm of yours, then dropped it.

Picked a leg up, paused, then hauled you into a cradle carry as graceless as you’d ever felt it done before.

“Come!” he snapped, and it took you too long to realize that he was talking to the dog. You’d already wrapped your arms around his neck in abrupt complaisance.

He carried you back into the cabin and kicked the door open in front of you. He held you firm for a second, then, just as he had outside, changed course before you knew what to do and was shortly depositing you on the sofa.

You winced when your ass hit the cushion.

You started to sit, grab a pillow for your back or just bring your knees to your chest, when suddenly a palm was pressing flat on your front. Forcing you to lie down.

“Hey, hey!” you cried when the man started lifting the hem of your nightgown.

If he’d heard you at all, he didn’t show it. He just worked his thick, dirty fingers under the fabric and raised the white satin like he might the hood of a car. He frowned.

It was then that you noticed a blooming red splotch on your side, slowly overtaking the terra-cotta color of dried blood on the bandage and spreading out. Then a pain.

Instead of pushing the man’s hands away, you were holding them tight, wrestling that same touch which was trying to keep you from poking around the area now.

“Quit,” the man said, sedate as could be.

“Hurts,” was all you could think to tell him—and you guessed he’d already had that part down by the outpouring of blood. He shoved your hands off.

The brand new crimson hue had already soaked through the bandage. He pulled it off. You caught a glimpse of a wound that seemed to be weeping through its stitches—oozing pus and blood and a gore you could’ve gone your whole life without seeing. You would’ve liked to run a couple gentle, awed fingers over it, but as it was, your coarse and tight-lipped medic wouldn’t let you.

“Hold still,” he commanded.

“Heystopstopstop!” you implored him, feeling a streak of pain up your side as his calloused hands delved deeper.

At your latest flinch and plea, the man seemed to have had enough. Or just needed to angle your body in a different direction for easier access to the site. He gathered you back up in his arms and walked over to the kitchen, where he set you down again on the counter. Hands moved to your hips, briefly, to push you back on the surface and allow him to stand between your legs. Again, the man frowned as he peeled off your pyjamas.

Two warring fears of pain and overexposure fought like wild beasts in your brain for a second—you yelping and trying to cover your breasts in a hurry, then realizing how much it hurt to lift your arms that way when your ribs were dripping blood, then the man making the decision for you both as he pushed your hands behind your back and said a simple ‘Fuck’s sake’ to keep you pinned.

You didn’t like it.

You didn’t like it, and you let him continue, because you knew that you didn’t know shit about doing this yourself.

Joel must’ve fixed your dressings fourteen times before turning you loose. He’d had you perched atop his counter like goddamned Prisoner-of-War Barbie, all riddled with bumps, bruises, and lesions galore, looked your body up and down just once, and nearly grew sick at the sight.

He’d disgusted himself by feeling as aroused as he was.

Shortly thereafter, he’d toted you off—before the blood could rush down to his dick and start to swell—shrugged your gown over your torso, and stepped away. Simple.

Then you’d had to go and throw a wrench in his plans.

“What if I need to pee?” you’d said as soon as Joel started up the stairs with you in his arms again.

He had meant to drop you off on the bed in the loft, out of sight, but it seemed you were more concerned about the prospect of traversing the steps up and down for potty breaks. Joel had audibly huffed above you.

“I can leave a bucket.”

“Yu-uck.” The latter word had been given two syllables to show the full extent of your disgust, like a child might do.

And that was how you’d ended up here: snug in his bed on the ground floor, curled up in more layers of flannel and wool than you could count and staring blankly up at the man who was standing cold and aloof off to the side.

Your eyelids were growing heavy with sleep.

He figured they would be.

Joel picked up the glass that sat beside your empty one on the nightstand and drank, watching you all the while.

“D’you know my momma?” you asked, voice sounding extra small coming from the depths of your cocoon.

Joel finished his drink in four big gulps.

“Sure hope not,” he said once he’d set it back down.

By the sight of the scars he’d found littering your hands and back alone, Joel was able to surmise you’d come from a pretty rough, ragtag group. Maybe even Raiders. Knowing folks like that simply never struck one’s fancy, so he’d been honest. You might’ve argued, or laughed, if you hadn’t been nabbed so tightly in the grips of those first stages preceding sleep, so instead, you nodded.

“Figured,” you mumbled.

7:11, Joel read on the clock. You’d finished your drink at seven, or somewhere thereabouts. Judging by your size, it wouldn’t take long at all for the medicine to take effect.

‘Medicine,’ Joel thought, sounded a whole hell of a lot better than ‘drugs.’ One was meant to rehabilitate, rejuvenate, bring new life to your worn and weary bones. The other would just knock you cold and keep you there.

On second thought, those were definitely drugs Joel had just slipped in your water before giving it to you to drink.

As your eyes blinked from closed, to open, to closed, then open but slightly less open than the time before, and closed again, he felt a sick sense of accomplishment twist in his gut. If only his former-nurse friend could have seen what he was doing with those morphine sulfate tablets he’d traded for—he likely would’ve slapped Joel across the face. And Joel would’ve smiled all the same.

Yeah, okay, drugging the unsuspecting and defenseless female he’d just saved from death’s doorstep two days ago didn’t look great on paper, he would fully concede.

But this was all in good fun.

Great fun, even.

For him.

“Sick fuck,” Joel muttered as he started to undo his belt. The button and zip were taken apart just as fast, and with two steps, he was standing at your bedside—his bedside—and tugging his trousers down his legs. He took his cock in his hand and glanced over at the clock.

7:15.

He nudged your shoulder.

7:16.

Peeling layers of blanket away from your body.

7:17.

“Hey…honey?”

A lot more nothing from the girl sleeping in front of him. He shrugged his jeans to the floor, kicked them off at his feet, and moved onto the bed. You just looked so sweet.

Joel tried working around the fabric of his boxers but got impatient pretty quick. He hauled those off, too.

Soon, his beefy, bare, and surprisingly tan legs were bracketing your hips as he stroked himself above you. His eyes roamed the lax and tranquil features undeniably characteristic of sleep, and he pumped himself faster. Really, there was no need for theatrics or enhancements now—he was already hard as three tonnes of steel—but Joel would be lying if he said he didn’t like the build-up.

You were no longer in danger of dying, thanks to him. You were slowly but surely on the mend, no thanks to Cujo at all, but many thanks to him, Joel Miller, the man who had pried you off of that post, pulled you out of your chains, ushered warmth back into your limbs, and stitched up your side out of the goodness of his heart.

Any objective onlooker could see that you’d availed yourself of his medical attention and aid without ever asking, so why should he request access to you now? This was the way of the world these days, anyway. Sex was no longer so much a question as it was an answer in most scenarios—a mere transaction, wherein the physically weaker of two parties was forced to capitulate. Not within the four unsullied walls of Jackson and a few other pockets of homestead communities here and there, but on the whole, absolutely. Jackson was down the road a ways away and sufficiently far enough from Joel’s cabin for him to be disentangled from their rules. What mattered now was obtaining what he was owed.

Still, the man hesitated a half-second longer above you. He jerked his cock even faster and felt his stomach start to clench. Was that? No—nerves were fucking juvenile. Getting close to cumming from just the sight of you alone was for chumps. Joel Miller was no chump.

He lifted your nightie and lowered the head of his cock to rest between your folds. Then he shifted his knees so that he could rub himself gently against your warmth.

Joel Miller was a monster, but he was no brute. He also understood female anatomy well enough to know that, well…wetter was better. He started moving his hips.

You exhaled through your nose. Nothing major; you probably hadn’t even felt him long enough to whine.

Joel planted a hand beside your head—a preemptive warning.

“There…” He liked to talk as though you could hear him. Like you might be semi-conscious and dimly aware of what he was doing to you then, “Right there…ah, baby.”

He never did catch your name.

That was no matter. So long as you stayed put and made a nice, wet, pretty little hole for him to fuck, you would be fine. By the feel of your folds alone, he could tell you’d be a fun thing to use. Soft and snug and plied with drugs, you could do, and be, anything he damn well needed.

Or maybe nothing at all, he thought without humor.

Joel brushed your cheek with the knuckles of his free hand and watched you turn away, making a face. He snagged your chin and tilted it back to him, sharply, before gliding those fingers down your chest, then your tummy, then your hips, then dipping between your legs. He found your clit and pressed it with a deliberate touch.

“Hey,” Joel whispered, again, as though you might hear, “You’re gonna stay still and let me do this.”

Your nose scrunched in response, thighs clamping together. Joel pried them apart with one push and continued sliding his cock back and forth. He grunted.

“Gonna let me take what’s mine, hear?”

You didn’t hear much of anything, he suspected, but he asked the question all the same. At least now your legs were staying open and he could rut himself gently into that space without having to keep them spread. A first, gentle ‘mmph’ sounded from your lips, and he was glad. He kept thumbing that spot he knew you would like and rubbing along the seam of your cunt with his erection.

Then Joel felt a weight on his shoulders. Remorse? No. Anxiety? Perhaps. This felt more like a fog, though, seizing his muscles and seeping gently between the grooves of his brain. He gave his head a fierce shake.

“Hold still,” he said, more to himself; you hadn’t moved.

Joel fisted the base of his cock and angled the tip toward your entrance, caring much less whether you were ready or not now that his desires had grown stronger.

He was met with resistance on trying to push in. He dug his fingers in the pillow beneath your head and scowled.

“Quit…clenchin’…like that. Ain’t…fair to me,” he huffed.

He was one to talk.

Now, he’d been with a staggering number of women, experiences ranging all across the spectrum, but even the tightest, most untouched pieces of ass he’d ever tapped had given way more than this. Your walls were unyielding, refusing to give him entry. Joel cursed and rutted his hips in a rough, entirely unsuccessful, thrust.

You hummed in response, eyes still closed, one hand fumbling mindlessly for something to hold. Joel seized it.

“Not lettin’ you off that easy, darlin’, I—”

“Fuck,” you breathed, followed by a low whimper.

Joel froze. Had you heard him? Felt him just now?

Something about the uncertainty laden in those questions sent his mind into overdrive, heart beating a wild cadence in his chest. He realized then that his mouth had gone dry, his vision was skewed just slightly on the outskirts. And his cock was throbbing.

“Ya like that?” Joel seethed, not thinking, still rubbing, “Like givin’ daddy a hard time before lettin’ him in?”

“Uh-huh.” Softly.

You little slut. He knew it all along.

Whatever it was that kept your body from being coupled with his was almost immaterial to him now. Joel’s mind was swimming with desire, cock dragging in desperate, fitful bursts between your legs, never penetrating but still wringing massive jolts of pleasure from that place.

With the way he was feeling now, Joel could cum from just fucking your thighs. And that was alright.

You were moaning underneath him. Even…smiling?

“Fuck, baby, you look so pretty.”

Joel had never called a girl pretty before and meant it. But he hardly knew how else to describe you now with how good and sweet and fine you were making him feel. A strange warmth sank into his chest, making it harder to breathe, and then he was panting above you, as if he were really inside that dripping wet spot. He was close.

“Such a pretty…sweet…fuckin’ thing for me.”

That red, raging, leaky cock of his was almost a blur between your legs, he was thrusting against you so fast. Joel thought for one frightening second that it might be his skull that would explode instead, so high was that pressure between his ears, but his fears were promptly put to rest as the first rope of cum came stuttering out. Then another. Then another. Then another.

By the time he finished, he could’ve sworn he’d left a hundred spurts on your tummy. When Joel glanced down and saw a sea of opaque, sticky white, he groaned.

Then he fell. Fully collapsed at your side with his brain in a tizzy of wild, heady feelings and sank into himself.

He hadn’t even fucked you, and he felt like he had.

He lifted a hand to wipe away his spend, but he couldn’t.

He would get to it in the morning, before you stirred, he thought. He thought. He didn’t have the chance to think much longer at all, as darkness started hedging him in.

He slept.

It was 7:57 when he woke.

The man had no real way of knowing that, though, seeing as he was greeted with a nickel-plated revolver between his teeth the second he opened his eyes.

You were straddling his torso, gun pinched between two calm, bandaged hands. You frowned when he jumped.

“WH—” he started.

“Shut up.”

“ST—”

“I said shut,” you cocked the gun, holding it tighter, then shoving it even further inside his mouth, “the fuck. up.”

The man obeyed.

‘Joel M.’—you’d read the name etched on the butt of his pistol before picking it up some twenty minutes ago.

“Pretty fuckin’ thing,” you mocked the man’s Texan drawl as you wiggled the barrel even deeper along his tongue, “Like givin’ daddy a hard time before lettin’ him in?”

The man’s eyes widened.

How dumb did he think you were?

Offering a semi-clear liquid that should’ve been water; he hadn’t even waited for the morphine tablet to fully dissolve before handing it over to you. Fucking idiot.

You were more disturbed by the fact he’d thought you stupid enough not to notice than him actually trying to drug you. The latter was almost to be expected from predatory, execrable men like him, but the insult to your intelligence? Unacceptable. You’d remedied that affront fairly quickly, though, swapping his glass with yours the second he hadn’t been looking, then nestling into his bed and playing pretend for what had felt like an eternity.

You’d been awake the whole time the man touched you, not knowing what the hell was going on but feeling like you had to stay still. Let him finish. Out of fear, at first, then curiosity, then some strange and unfamiliar sensation that you couldn’t quite describe as anything but a pleasurable itch between your legs. You let the man continue, hearing him grunt and groan and swear up a storm before he shot something hot all over your tummy. By the end of it all, you knew it was wrong, and you knew it was dirty—though you weren’t sure exactly what it was that he had done—but you wanted to learn more.

Which was probably why you hadn’t just shot the old pervert right between his eyes the second he’d stirred.

You shifted atop this ‘Joel M.’ and frowned once more.

“Why’d you stop?”

Gun still wedged in his mouth, Joel’s voice sounded garbled as he spoke, “Wha-agh-at?”

You retracted the metal just long enough to pose the question again. When you had, he still looked stunned.

“Answer me,” you barked, and feeling your patience lapse, got straight to pistol-whipping the motherfucker upside his half-grey head, “You DUMB, or somethin’?”

The man sputtered again.

“No, no— I don’t— dunno what you mean.”

He sounded dumb. You would need to spell this out.

“Why did you stop rubbing me like that?”

If anything, the clarification only seemed to baffle him further. He opened his taut, bearded mouth, then closed it, then eyed you up and down with a look that said he was considering something. Then he stared at one spot.

You glanced down at it too.

“And what is this, anyway?” you asked, swiping one finger at the mostly dried moisture on your stomach, “Why’d you spit this stuff up all over me, huh?!”

“I ain’t—”

You raised the gun as if to hit him again. He jolted back.

“I didn’t mean— shit. Shit, I just…came on you, ‘s’all.”

“Came?”

The word hung in the air like a grenade, waiting. Mr. M was already bracing himself for the impact, it seemed.

“Came?!”

That bracing served him well, because in the next second you were lifting the weapon even higher and eyeing him with the most pointed, putrid look of disdain. You’d never been one for letting grenades go untouched.

“Ejaculated!” Joel hissed, lifting a hand to shield himself, “Felt— felt so good I just couldn’t stop and I-I-I came.”

You paused.

Came. Felt good. Couldn’t stop.

You had felt good when he’d rubbed you. You had not wanted him to stop. But then he had. And you were mad. You’d never been touched that way in your life, and now you were feeling fifteen hundred emotions at once.

Were you supposed to ‘come,’ too? Why did he stop?

“Why didn’t you let me…ejaculate, too?” The words felt foreign and strange on your tongue.

For the first time, you saw one side of Joel’s lips twitch. Evidently fighting the urge to turn them into a smile.

“Girls don’t really…do that,” he said. Then, after a beat, “Why? Ain’t ever had your pussy rubbed on by a man?”

You shortly landed the blow you’d been holding over his head, splitting the skin along his brow with one hit from the butt of his gun. Joel jumped again, then moaned.

“Crazy bitch!”

“Creepy fuck.”

Your eyes narrowed with loathing, unable to comprehend how a man so vile had just made you feel so good. Your stomach was twisting in knots while Joel rubbed his forehead, pawing helplessly at the gash you’d just left.

“I saved your life,” he grumbled, low, “You owed me.”

“Did I?”

Abruptly, and without really thinking, you were sinking the muzzle of the gun into the spot you’d just cut, mouth kicking up in a smile at the sounds of pain it elicited.

“Did I, Joel?” you cooed.

“How the— the fuck do you know my name?”

Momentarily, you yanked the revolver from his face and tilted it to show him his name carved into the bottom.

“What’s the ‘M’ stand for? ‘Molester’?”

“Means ‘mind’ your fucking business,” he spat.

You probably would’ve hit him again had it not seemed as though he were trying to sit up just then. You slid swiftly from his frame—just to take a step off the bed, gun still pointed at his head. Then you backed away.

One by one, rapidly, you unloaded the bullets from the cylinder, maintaining a safe distance from the man all the while. You watched him blink and try to get some thing from his eyes, but he didn’t seem keen to move.

You left just one live round inside. You made a point to spin the cylinder and, again, aim it straight at his head.

The man was blinking even harder. Rubbing now, too.

“I feel…” Joel murmured.

“Drugged?” you returned, “Yeah, that must suck.”

A set of wide, irate, and horrified eyes met yours. His mouth hung open in a stupid look of shock. Trying to piece the last bits of this fucked up jigsaw puzzle together and growing angrier by the second.

“You fuckin’—”

Joel’s words were cut short by the weight of your body barreling back over his. Graceless, you imagined, but still nothing close to something you cared about now. You planted your knees on either side of his ribs and grazed the tip of the six-shooter down the length of his nose.

“Tell me,” you said, “How’d you make it feel so good?”

Your hips twisted for effect, jostling the man’s own parts beneath yours and clearly causing some effect in him. The muscles in his jaw jumped up as he gritted his teeth.

“You know damn well, slut,” Joel griped.

Without another thought, you squeezed the trigger.

Click.

The man’s whole body lurched underneath you. Trembling with the realization that you’d left just one lone bullet for him—and he didn’t know which chamber.

As far as foreplay went, Russian Roulette was probably a first, even for a man as wanton and depraved as Joel. You smiled sweetly and made another gyration with your lower half, which prompted him to grip you. Tight.

“What? Ya want me to fuck you, is that it?” he growled.

“I thought it wouldn’t fit.”

“I’ll make it fit.”

“How?”

Try as you might to conceal it, your gaze likely betrayed a hint of sincerity as you made that last inquiry. Joel’s eyes flickered between yours, searching for something there, and just when those glossy brown irises had found it, they stopped. Blinked. He shook his head, incredulous.

“My mind ain’t…right,” he said, slowly, “But I— I know you know what I mean by that, sweet pea.”

Something in your tummy fluttered at the sound. You gripped the pistol tighter to get rid of the feeling.

“I don’t,” you answered.

Again, Joel was stumped. For the first time, though, there appeared to be some sympathy behind his eyes. Or stupidity. Or just a shit ton of morphine coursing through his veins as he tried to make sense of this situation.

As if to confirm an idea in his drug-addled brain, he lowered a hand between your legs and hovered there a second. He watched you; you watched back but didn’t move.

Then slowly, almost clinically, Joel slipped two fingers underneath you and found a soft, pulsing warmth—far wetter than the last time he’d touched down there. When he pulled his hand away, both fingers and half of his palm were glistening with a fluid. You let out a startled cry at the sight of it and nearly dropped your gun.

“What is that?!”

Joel looked to you, equally awed—for different reasons.

“What do you mean?”

“Why’s it all…sticky?”

You couldn’t even try to hide your horror at the thought of that weird, syrupy stuff leaking out of you. It was strange enough feeling it come out of a freak like Joel, but from your own body? He had to be fucking joking.

“It’s normal.”

“Like hell it is— you— STOP!” The last fragment of your sentence was swallowed by a scream, leaping back when Joel moved his fingers toward your face.

“What? You’ve never seen this?” He sounded like he was teasing. You could shoot him for how smug he sounded.

In very small amounts, you’d seen stuff. Blood every month. Bits and pieces of bodily secretions that, to you, had always seemed gross. But never this. Never big, sticky globs of…whatever the fuck this was. You continued to back away on the bed, gun still tipped toward Joel but now trying to put some distance between your bodies. You didn’t know how else to act.

You did know you wanted to scream when Joel stuck his fingers in his mouth. Bile might’ve jumped in your throat.

He sucked the dew clean off the digits, then wriggled them to show what he’d done. You felt the urge to vomit.

“That came from— from— why are you eating it?!”

Joel grinned. Big.

You weren’t sure why, but he looked psyched to be alive in that moment, and not just because of the narcotics.

Before you knew what was happening, he’d pushed you flat on your back, hips pinned underneath his hands as he moved over your body. He didn’t even try for the gun.

“And here I was thinkin’ you were just fuckin’ with me,” he chuckled, palms sliding under your nightdress. When you felt the residuum of wetness from his spit and your slick stuck together on his fingers, you wanted to squeal.

But you didn’t. You tried propping yourself up on elbows until Joel was sliding your one and only article of clothing over your head, then beckoning you down on the bed in front of him. You watched his gaze flit down to your side.

“Still hurt?” he murmured, tracing over the bandage.

You shook your head no, though it did, a little. At the moment, it seemed the pain was the furthest thing from your mind as you saw Joel slide down your body and try to take up residence between your thighs—with his face planted right there. You kicked his shoulder in protest.

“Quit!” you cried, pulling your legs up to your chest.

“You quit,” Joel returned, yanking them back.

Then you felt you had no choice but to brandish the gun, taking the thing between two palms while you pointed it again—as if he needed the reminder.

“Fine. Why don’t you keep that thing aimed at my head while I give you some?” he muttered. The subsequent ‘See if I give a shit’ was silent.

“Give me some what?”

“Head.”

Head. You’d never heard something phrased that way. Joel’s head was down there, sure, practically grinning from ear to ear as he hooked your legs over his shoulders, but certainly he didn’t mean to do a thing as drastic and dirty as—

“JOEL!”

“Hm?” His voice was muffled by your thighs.

You tried to shy away, but he held you down.

“Joel, I— I pee out of there,” you hissed, “Why the fuck would you wanna put your mouth on that?”

As if your groans of disgust and vehement attempts to get away weren’t enough to deter him, you watched Joel’s tongue dart between his lips and down to yours. The sick fuck was actually licking your folds, tracing the tip across that warm, sticky place and moaning into your skin. Holding you tighter when you pleaded for him to stop. Then, with the hand that wasn’t prying your legs apart, he reached down and started stroking his cock.

Again, it felt dirty and wrong. Beyond the fact that this man was a perfect stranger and easily decades your senior, you were repulsed by the sight of his lips and his tongue and his spit mixing up in that messy, wet place you still didn’t quite understand yourself. You didn’t know much about your body, but it had never once occurred to you to be kissed down there. Joel was roaming every contour and crevice with his tongue like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he liked it.

“I hate it,” you whined, feebly.

You knew you could’ve easily blown the man’s brains out, but some small part of you was still plagued by curiosity. ‘Hate’ was just the first word that came to mind when you were faced with something that made you scared.

“It’s weird,” you tried again. This time pressing the gun to the top of his bobbing head while you grit your teeth, “And wrong.”

At that, Joel stopped.

His eyes flickered to yours, all glass-like and hooded.

“Why? Practically lickin’ ya clean here,” he said, starting to grin to himself as his words came slightly slurred, “There’s nothin’ wrong about this, sweet pea.”

You felt something flutter between you. He felt it, too.

“Like when I call ya that? ‘Sweet pea’?” he said, pausing to flick his tongue over the spot that had just stirred at his words. He watched you fight back a whimper.

“No,” you choked. You pinched your eyes shut, unsure whether it was pleasure or pure revulsion overtaking you—or both.

Suddenly, you felt Joel’s hand smooth over your thigh, still warm from when he’d been stroking himself below. He placed an affectionate kiss to your belly and grinned.

“Is that what this is? Feel guilty about feelin’ this good?” he murmured, “Think it’s…dirty, what we’re doin’?”

At length, and just barely visible to him, you nodded.

“It is dirty,” you corrected him quietly.

Then you saw that stupid pseudo-sympathetic smirk tug at the corners of his lips, and just when you thought he might nudge his way back up your body—to do what, you weren’t sure—he sank between your legs. This time, he made sure to hold your gaze as he re-assumed the position. His palm continued to rub at your thigh, as if to distract you from the rough brush of his stubble or the fact that his mouth was hovering so dangerously close.

“Sweet pea,” he rasped, “Ain’t nothin’ dirty about this.”

As if to punctuate his words, Joel dragged his lips down your slit to press a kiss to your centre, eyes never leaving yours.

“Not here…”

He pointed with his tongue, moving it deftly between your folds. You gripped the sheets, trying to ignore the pleasure that the simple act wrought through your body.

“Not here.”

He kissed your clit. You squeezed even tighter.

“Not on my tongue, on my fingers, anywhere, y’hear?”

You were about to answer—maybe tell him he was supremely full of shit, then flash the gun in his face—when Joel shifted onto his knees on the bed. He moved slowly and as calm as he ever had, motions languid while his mind was likely steeped in the morphine by now. He snagged one of your ankles. He slid his hand up the back of your calf and tugged you down to the edge of the bed. Then he stood up, right between your legs. The warmth radiating from his bare lower half was immediate, almost suffocating from where you lay. You didn’t like it at all.

You refused to meet his gaze, grip tightening on the gun.

“Joel…”

When that warmth at your front shifted inward, though, you hardly had a say in what your reflexes did or didn’t do. You jumped when you felt the head of his dick slip past your pulsing core, closer to the other hole below it.

“Not here, either,” Joel continued, grin still evident from his tone.

Before you could even think to ask what he meant to do ‘here,’ Joel moved one of your legs up, tilting your hips, and pushed ahead with just the tip of his cock. Not breaching it fully, but nudging—prodding at that hole.

For the first time, you let out a moan.

You hastily clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle it.

“Aw, honey,” Joel murmured, “Did that feel good?”

His words reeked of condescension. You scowled at the ceiling.

“No.”

You felt him push a little further—this time making the head of his dick notch into that tight ring of muscles.

No, the word rang through your skull once more. Your curiosity was shortly supplanted by disgust—how the fuck could you let this creepy old man, this stranger, press into you like that? Talk to you like you were dumb? You seized hold of Joel’s pistol with both hands and aimed directly for his chest.

“Stop doing that,” you growled. When the man’s grip on your leg only tightened and you couldn’t writhe away, you lifted the other and tried kicking him in the gut. Of course, Joel caught your foot midair, and it never landed.

“Just givin’ ya options, darlin’,” he said, easy-going. Not seeming to care about the firearm pointed his way.

Fuck it.

You squeezed the trigger again.

Empty chamber.

If Joel flinched, you didn’t see it. He did, however, knock the gun right out of your hand the next second, sending it tumbling with an unceremonious thump on the bed behind you. You tried to leap back for it, but your arm was quickly pinned. Joel cocked one silver-flecked brow.

“You done?” he asked, almost bored.

Your last—and only—leverage taken away from you, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of anger. And desperation.

“I don’t wanna do this,” you cried, trying to squirm away.

Joel didn’t move his cock, but he did hold you still. Blinking with indifference and a fair bit of drug-induced dissociation, it seemed, from the far-away look in his eyes. He pushed both of your legs so they were folded up to your chest, and ignored your whimpers when he did. At length, he pulled out just enough to smear some of your wetness down to the hole he was trying to fuck.

“You want this,” he countered gently.

“I DON’T!”

Joel continued as though he hadn’t heard you, and moments later, you sensed another slick something pooling against you. From your position beneath him, you could see a bead of spit slip from Joel’s mouth and stretch into a thin, glistening string all the way down to the space between your thighs. You watched him rub the saliva in with his fingers, almost meticulous as he did it.

Then he eased his hips forward an inch, wedging himself back in your ass. He groaned when he felt resistance—and a sharp clench of your muscles.

“I can teach ya…show ya everything…there is to know.”

His words somehow made it out through ragged breaths. That broad, tan chest was heaving with every labored pull of his lungs, and you could tell he was feeling good.

You might’ve been able to say the same for yourself, were your mind not singly occupied by the desire to escape. Still at war with yourself, wondering how it would feel or what you might see that first time, all the while despising the man who seemed hell-bent on forcing it.

He might’ve saved your life, but there was no fucking way he’d get to use you like that and stay breathing.

You were raised better than that.

You could do better than anything this man had to offer.

You resolved to kill him as soon as the drugs knocked him out—just like you’d had planned from the second you woke up on the floor of his cabin that afternoon.

Of course being chained, maimed, and frozen half to death on the plains for some well-meaning stranger to find you had always been part of your mother’s—and the rest of the Raiders’—grand plan. Having this stupid, horny sap take you into his home with the hope of claiming you as his own was just the icing on top.

Now you had a reason to kill Joel and steal all his shit.

At present, he fed another inch of himself inside you and grinned when you let out a startled cry.

“Atta girl,” he said, smirking, “Feelin’ okay?”

“Fuck you.”

“Will do.”

Then, as if to prove a point, he bottomed out, sheathing his cock to the hilt in spite of your cries. Your hands fisted the sheets, and you tried to pull off. It didn’t work.

In fact, all it accomplished was giving Joel more room to thrust back into you. And pull out. And shove back in. The snap of his hips was like cruel and excruciating clockwork, completely unhindered by your words or your gestures or your pleas to stop fucking doing that Joel, it fucking hurts! If anything, the sounds of your censure only got him harder, and with it, made it that much easier to fuck you rougher. His eyes shone with pride.

“What’s’at, sweet pea?” he hummed, strokes coming into a steady pace.

“It’s too…big…doesn’t fit,” you whimpered.

In response, Joel glanced down to see the spot where your bodies were joined. He pushed even deeper.

“Yeah?” he said when you yelped, “I think it fits just fine.”

Motherfucker, you wanted to wail, but then your neck craned sideways—your mouth trying to find purchase in anything you might grit between your teeth—and the only thing that escaped your throat was a sob. You tried burying your face in the comforter, only for Joel to yank it back.

Cupping your chin and pinching both your cheeks in a single, punishing squeeze as he continued to fuck you, “What’s the matter, darlin’? Too much?”

You groaned and clenched your jaw, head jerking away.

Per usual, Joel was undeterred. Even smiled.

“My pretty girl need somethin’a bite, huh?” he hummed.

He probably knew you wouldn’t nod, so he went ahead and decided to oblige that one need he saw anyway. Snagging your nightie, Joel raised a hand to your face and proceeded to push the fabric inside your mouth.

Just as he started to lift his hips to deliver another thrust, he had to stop. A sudden, sharp ‘FUCK!’ left his mouth, then a groan, and his hand retreated fast.

You’d bitten him.

You were grinning just a little, and you’d bitten him.

Joel promptly slapped you across the face. If you weren’t so fucking amused by the sight of his bright red fingers, you just might’ve winced. Instead, the smile stayed on your lips, the slap barely registered, and, to your utmost disbelief, something else had just then started to form.

Pleasure, in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuckin’—” Joel snarled.

“Shit,” you finished, eyes rolling back.

You couldn’t help it. Joel was rutting into you relentlessly. That brief hand bite detour had only stoked the flames of his hatred—and arousal—and now he was practically splitting you in half with the force of his thrusts. He slapped you once more for good measure.

“Oh, that you fuckin’ like?” he seethed, cheeks flushed, “Can’t get off with my…tongue on your cunt, but a slap— and my cock buried deep in your ass gets the job done?”

“Uh-huh,” you answered softly. Mindlessly.

Really, there were no two people more fucked up than you in this moment, you thought. Joel growing harder with each desperate objection of yours, you going all soft and hot and bothered the second he slapped your face and fucked you rougher, and together, the two of you letting out grunts and moans of pleasure while the bed shook like an earthquake just shy of a 9.5 on the Richter scale. Were you not already planning to slit the man’s throat after all of this was over, you just might’ve wanted to marry this Joel M for how wonderfully he fucked you.

You let him know as much when you seized his forearms.

Bouncing into his thrusts, you bit your lip and finally met his gaze. Joel’s eyes were trained in somewhat of a daze, pupils all but swallowing his irises as he fucked you.

“Like being daddy’s little cocksleeve, huh?”

Only the sentence was slurred so bad you could scarcely make out half the words. You nodded just the same.

“Like it when he fucks you in the ass?” Joel panted.

You nodded again.

That pleasure in your belly had worked its way up to a full swell—and whatever it was, you couldn’t bear the thought of losing it now. You gripped Joel’s arms even harder as his chest swayed into you, then sank further and further until your fronts were pressed flush to each other and your ankles were hooked tight around his back.

It almost felt intimate. That coarse, weathered, sweat-coated face spattered with patches of grey seemed to you nearly handsome as his lips hung limply in an ‘o.’

Joel’s cock dragged back and forth between your walls at this new, snug angle, and moans fell out of you both.

“Baby.” His voice was hoarse. Strained.

You couldn’t quite make sense of the expression above you, but there was an unmistakable, muted desperation lurking somewhere beneath it. Joel rutted into you quicker, balls leaving rapid smacks against your ass with every thrust. His hair was disheveled, and his hands were making fists in the sheets on either side of your head.

“Joel—”

“Jus’ lemme use you.”

Words so low they were barely audible as he panted.

“But—”

“Daddy’s…almost done, sweet pea. Just take it.”

You were surprised he’d had it within himself to be so soft. A peculiar sort of haze hung over his face, the pace of his hips picked up even more, and suddenly those plush pink lips were hovering a mere hair’s breadth away from yours. Mumbling. Rambling on and on about how wet you were, how perfect you fit him, how nice and sweet and tight your body felt as he fucked you stupid.

That sensation in your own stomach grew even stronger.

Unsure of what to do, you pressed a palm to his chest.

“Joel, I…I feel funny,” you whispered.

Joel hummed. Didn’t slow.

“I know.”

He knew?

“What’s it—ah, fuck.” Your words broke off in a whimper.

Instead of proffering a verbal response, Joel just slipped a touch between your bodies—thumbing sloppily between your folds to earn a couple more high-pitched moans. Your legs tightened around his middle.

“Joel, s-stop!”

It felt so good it almost hurt. He didn’t stop.

“S’just an orgasm, baby,” Joel panted, “You’re okay.”

And, in spite of his own impending climax and the effect of the drugs likely reaching a fever pitch inside him, Joel managed to slide his other hand beneath the back of your head. Cradled you to him while he fucked you into the bed and made you come unraveled with his touch. You tried to writhe away, but he was used to the drill by now—he just fucked you harder and rubbed you faster.

Whatever he wanted would come soon. You doubted there was anything you could do to stop it, but you tried.

Without thinking, you grabbed hold of the damp locks of hair at the nape of his neck and yanked on them hard.

“Joel, I can’t— I can’t,” you keened.

The hand at the back of your head held you firm.

“You can,” Joel returned, tough but surprisingly calm, “Give it to daddy, ‘s’all ya gotta do.”

What exactly ‘it’ was was still unclear. You just knew you felt good and warm and full—about ready to burst. When you felt tempted to give his hair another tug, Joel’s eyes met yours, and they were soft. Insistent, still, but soft.

Dilated as all hell and probably swimming in clouds of a delirious, bleary haze, but always soft. Almost tender.

“Be a good girl and give it to daddy,” Joel slurred, slow, “C’mon, sweet pea…cum for daddy, please.”

For the first time in that short, rough, utterly deranged time you had known this man, he was begging you. Pleading with you, now, as his body grew overwrought with pleasure and just needed release. You needed it, too, not even knowing how you would get it, but the force of his thrusts, the warmth of his body, the look in those warm, bare, powerless eyes—you fucking loved whatever it was that could make a man like that so weak.

You had to strike while the iron was hot. You slid back.

Joel didn’t notice, too focused on your face and the feel of your body to see when you’d reached for the gun.

Just as you took hold of it, a jolt of pleasure tore through you. Your heels dug into his back, and you nearly lost control of the pistol. Joel groaned in your mouth, begged you once again to cum all over this cock, make a fuckin’ mess of it, baby, please, and you could only whine, grip the metal tighter, and raise it slowly to the side of his head while he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

The peak of your pleasure had come into view. You felt it.

You nudged the muzzle through those soft, slick, salt-and-pepper shaded tufts of hair near the edge of his temple right when the first throes of euphoria seized you.

“FUCK!”

You squeezed the trigger.

[angelsforthenight]

MRS. AND MRS. SMITH — abby anderson x fem!reader

ways you can help gaza 🇵🇸

do not buy tlou2 remastered!

a/n: this is way more inspired by the mr and mrs smith series (2024) not the 2005 one!!! this explains why they’re wives :3

you’re an assassin along with your assigned partner/wife, abby anderson. fed up with her toxic behaviour, you’re pleased when the mission is centred around you seducing a man for murderous motives. why? well, because you know it’ll get under abby’s skin. little did you know, things would blow over way more than you thought it would.

cw: mdni, owen feature🤮🤮, long fic, kinda slow-burn ig?, femme fatale, arranged marriage couple, kinda toxic relationship, violence, mention of blades, car sex, mean!abby, bratty!reader, dom!abby, degrading, bdsm, ass-smacking, finger-fucking, cursing, jealous!abby, hair pulling, dry-humping, finger-sucking, choking, rough sex, teasing, squirting.

“short brown hair, rugged beard. got that?” abby’s murmuring voice comes in from the earpiece you’ve got attached. you groan and roll your eyes, wishing you could mute the goddamn thing.

see, any other day, you would’ve loved to hear your wife’s pretty little voice guiding you — her praises when you’d do something right or her degrades if you’d do something wrong both sending shivers down your spine, compelling you to do whatever she wanted.

but not today. today you’re over it. so what do you respond with?

“yeah, i know, anderson. we both got the fucking brief.” you hiss. you know how pissed abby gets whenever you curse at her; so that’s exactly what you do. you relish at the thought of her gritting her teeth, not being able to snap at you in front of all of these people.

that’s right, you two are at a charity gala event. it’s fancy. too fancy to the point where it’s intimidating: glistening chandeliers, artistic decorations and bustling people wearing glamorous attire. you and abby needed to blend in with the crowd so not only are you two dressed smartly for the occasion but are also split up. not that you’re complaining. you’re sick of her. sick of her petulance whenever you’d get glorified by the agency instead of her, sick of how sometimes she can be so simple-minded, sick of how, at points, she lacks at making you feel loved.

your job is to take out an owen moore, for unforeseen reasons. you never question what the agency tells you to do, neither does abby.

you’re planning to lure him in an concealed area with your enticing charisma, make him believe you’re going to sleep with him before slicing him dead with your blade. you prowl through the many people, scanning the area with a keen eye to find him. claude debussy plays as background music, taming your harrowing nerves. killing is never easy.

“found him yet?” abby sighs.

“please don’t distract me.” there’s way too many people and it’s beginning to stress you out. what if you never find him? failing the mission is the last thing you wanna do.

“i’m getting bored. plus, small talk with strangers pisses me off.” she complains.

“not my goddamn problem.” you retort, the ends of your tight-fitting dress flailing against your legs as you pick up the pace, worrying if there’s not enough time, worrying if he’s even here in the first place.

“literally what is your problem? acting extra fuckin’ snobby tonight...”

your eyebrows knit together. abby always finds a way to get under your skin.

“let’s not fucking start—“ you’re about to snap and make yourself look like a fool in front of all of these people until somebody accidentally bumps into you: spilling his drink all over your dress. great!

“oh shit. sorry, i didn’t mean that.” you hear a man’s voice as you stare down at your ruined dress in disbelief. you slowly glance up at the culprit; only to find the noted brown hair and rugged beard staring right back at you. owen moore.

despite your worked up embarrassment and your extreme annoyance, you manage to flash a smile.

“it’s okay, but... you do realise you owe me now right?” you bat your eyelashes, hoping you don’t look silly.

“and what’s that?” owen chuckles, rubbing the back of his head and making immense eye contact. he’s already flirting back, you think. this is about to be so fucking easy.

with a few drinks, owen’s already tipsy and you’re leading him to the vast room. you make him believe you’re just as woozy; stumbling and giggling away. you take advantage of his obliviousness: your hand brushing against the slit of your dress, fingers cupping the wooden handle of the blade in the garter wrapped around your thigh. whilst he laughs and babbles nonsense, you carefully trace the edge of the blade — feelings of excitement rushing to the surface. regardless of the fact that killing is never easy, it’s also never not exhilarating.

you’re about to fully whip out the blade until owen decides to be bold: setting his slobbery hands against the small of your back and trying to lean in for a kiss.

“woah.” you feign a grin, pulling his hands away. “we go at my pace.”

“aww… please?” he mumbles, trying to seem like an adorable puppy but instead making it look disgusting. this is sad, you think. you try to grab your knife again but he’s now grabbing your arms; desperate for a fruitless smooch.

“come on… don’t play hard to get.” he growls, his sudden aggression catching you a little off guard. no need for stress, you know what to do. your knee prepares itself to kick hard in between his legs until somebody’s arm suddenly emerges from behind, wrapping around his neck and squeezing hard.

“what—“ you breathe in bewilderment, eyes widening. despite owen choking and uselessly clawing at abby’s arm for escape, her gaze stays intently trained on yours; a death stare. it’s unnerving.

it doesn’t take long for owen to turn cold and slack, eyes rolling to the back of his head. abby lets him go, but not without cracking his neck first, and you watch as he flops onto the floor.

“what the fuck, abby…” you mutter, palming a frustrated hand across your face. “where the hell did you even come from?”

“there’s doors.” she tilts her head towards the backdoor behind her. you hadn’t even noticed it. your eyes travel back to her; irresistibly ogling at the black suit clinging to her body, complimenting her form. you almost forget you’re supposed to be mad at her.

the blonde chuckles wryly, a petty exhale. “you starin’? assumed pussy boys were more your type.”

“real fucking mature.” you snarl. “i had him. i was this close to killing him, abby.”

“you were taking too long.” abby shrugs, condescendingly pouting. you grit your teeth.

“jealousy? really? grow up.”

“at least i watch where i’m going. nice dress, the wet splotch is a nice touch, really.” she slanders, narrowing her eyes. you scoff, trying to pretend as if that dig didn’t offend you.

“you’re a fucking child. help me with the body.”

you two leave the building with ease, pretending as if owen is a friend that’s had too much to drink, wrapping his arms around the both of your shoulders and leading him to your car. abby opens the boot and you two push him inside. you two will decide on how deal with the body later.

for now, you’re sat on the passenger’s seat whilst abby drives, the two of you salty and quiet. abby’s driving way too fast; her hand gripping the steering wheel like her life depends on it. she’s obviously fuming.

“can you slow down?” you glare at her.

“you owe me… i mean, who even says that?” abby grumbles, ignoring your request.

“a lot of people do. now slow down, we don’t wanna attract attention from police knowing there’s a dead body back there.”

“not to mention that you’ve had an attitude since last night! the way you were flirting with that oliver guy? or whatever the fuck his name was, had to be on purpose. to spite me.”

abby starts driving even faster, increasing your stress. “owen.” you correct, “you’re so self absorbed!” you continue to beg for her to slow down.

“he’s, like, the embodiment of revolting too. don’t even get me started at the way he was trying to force himself on you. i should’ve put a bullet in his brain.” abby rattles on, pure jealousy oozing from her tone.

“you were definitely enjoying it too. i know you were.” she turns her head to look at you, not paying attention to the road.

“abby. abby!” you scream as abby almost runs through a poor family trying to cross the road.

“fuck.” abby murmurs as she swerves messily, just in the nick of time, steering into a deserted field. the two of you are out of breath from the fright, hearts racing from the adrenaline. abby rests her head on the wheel, letting out a long sigh.

“just what the hell is the matter with you?” you scold, “all this shit over a mission? are you serious?” abby’s lack of response leads you to continue yelling at her.

“of course we’re going to have to flirt with our targets now and then! the fuck happened to your professionalism? if i had known you’d be acting like this then i would’ve never—“

“why didn’t you kiss him?” abby raises her head to look up at you, her face blank. you blink, a little taken aback by the unexpected question.

“i…” you look away. you’re not exactly up for abby knowing that you couldn’t kiss him because of her. “where even are we anyway?”

“nice try. since you’re so professional, why didn’t you kiss him? he clearly wanted to. you could’ve easily killed him then.” the corner of abby’s lips arch up into a smirk — the familiar smug look of hers that never fails to get you weak.

“for someone who’s had so much to say just a second ago…” she leans in a little, arm resting against your headrest, “…you’re awfully quiet.” her voice is hushed down to a soft whisper, and you swear you’re beginning to feel a little lightheaded.

“look, abby, you’re my wife… so…” you mumble in response to her pressing question, avoiding eye contact. abby chuckles, loosening her tie. here comes the floodgates.

“don’t play dumb and pretend as if the agency didn’t arrange that.” her finger presses against the dome light of the car; illuminating your embarrassed face. just what she wanted to see.

“you’ve been enjoying yourself, seeing me all jealous like this. you liked playing femme fatale, hmm?” her finger slowly twists itself around a strand of your hair, before she yanks a handful, forcing your head closer. you wince, eyes clenched shut. your cunt decides to flex too — reminding you that she’s got a mind of her own, and that she finds being in an empty field like this, in abby’s car, pretty fucking hot.

“let’s face it…” abby whispers, so close that you can feel her breath tickling your ear, shooting heavy tingles down your body.

“you want me so bad it hurts.” her eyes drift down to your thighs that are starting to shift uncomfortably in your seat. it’s beginning to ache down there and it seems like abby’s aware of that. you can’t help it. after all, abby sitting so close: loose strands of hair framing her face, unfastened tie and darkened eyes fixed on you, feels so good that it’s suffocating.

you squirm a little and abby grins, her fingers still laced in your hair. her grip slightly tightens as she licks her lips. she looks hungry.

“maybe what hurts is your fingers in my hair.” you quip, though your voice is a little shaky.

“maybe you need to fix your attitude.” abby retorts, “like, seriously, pipe down… you’re probably soaking down there.” she snickers, right on the money.

“fuck you.” you glare at her, gauging her reaction. you want to believe you’re saying this out of sheer anger for what went down tonight, but deep down, you know that’s not the case. in reality, you just want to get under abby’s skin. it’s what you’ve been craving since the beginning; to get her pissed.

you wipe the pleased look off of abby’s face, which is now replaced with a frown. your heart pounds with anticipation: so much so that your chest faintly heaves, lips parted.

abby’s eyes wander to your lips and in one swift movement, she pulls you in; pressing her lips against yours. you’re quick to kiss her back, the sweetness of her mouth sealing yours. fervent can’t even begin to explain the way you two are kissing. akin to wild animals, small muffled groans escape the both of you.

desperation is thick in the confined air of the car, as abby pulls away and shrugs her blazer off. you stare up at her.

“hurry… with your slow-ass.” you whine.

“watch your fucking mouth. c’mere.” abby commands. you naturally do as she says and she begins to unzip your dress — not without making sure to go deliberately slow.

“why do you have to be so mean?” you sigh, burying your face in the crook of her neck.

“oh, trust me… i’m only gonna be meaner.” she warns whilst planting gentle kisses on your neck. you’ve always admired abby for her ability to vary from being sour to tender in seconds. little did you know, the peppered kisses on your neck served as a prior apology to how cruel she’s going to treat you in a second.

once everything is off, abby marvels at your body. like a painting in an art gallery, she makes sure to pay attention to even the minuscule details of your body. it’s her favourite thing in the entire world.

“turn around.” abby mutters, her eyes hazy; voice bleeding with lust.

“what?”

“just do it.”

you hesitantly do as she says. abby beams: finding your weak resistance amusing yet is also excited to break you.

“now… bend over.” she coos, clearly poking fun.

you shoot her a glare, cheeks flushed. “what am i, your dog?”

“don’t piss me off.”

you glare at her for a few seconds longer before sighing, reluctantly bending over.

“arching that back and everything… wooow.” abby teases, “and to think i haven’t even touched you yet.”

“oh, just fuck off, abby…” you complain, the embarrassment beginning to overwhelm you.

“what was that?”

“i said fuck—“ but you’re cut off by a yelp when abby brings her palm down flat against your ass. you flinch violently; very, very taken off guard.

“mm? didn’t quite hear you. repeat yourself.” abby taunts, smacking you again. you grunt and flinch yet again, feeling the sting of her slap coarse through your body. abby’s humiliating you, milking every last drop of your embarrassment. the worst thing yet? you’re enjoying this way more than you should be.

“i’m not kidding. speak.” abby commands, showing no signs of mercy. your skin is already starting to gleam red, and your pussy? well, it’s a fucking party down there.

“abby…” you cry, completely under her control. the more she smacks, flesh recoiling under her palm, the more your head goes blank.

“go on babe… finish what you were saying before.” abby prods. this time, when she smacks you, her fingers grasp the flesh on your ass tightly; watching in delight as her fingertips leave little red marks. you’re trembling like a leaf, both from the pain and the arousal.

see, the thing with abby is that she never likes to let things go. she adores jabbing at you until she gets what she wants.

another smack, this one so hard that you need to press your palms against the window. abby then grips your waist and pulls you way closer; making your ass press against her hips.

“you wanna get fucked?” abby mutters, teasingly bringing your waist back and forth against her hips: hard, playful thrusts. your bare cunt pressing against her crotch is, without a doubt, driving you insane. you frantically nod in response to her question, in which abby replies with latching her hand around your neck; forcing you upright so that your back is now against her chest.

“use your words.”

“y-yes…” tears begin to stream down your face. you’re desperate, yearning for her touch as if it’s a life or death situation.

“so finish what you were saying.” her fingers slightly squeeze around the sides of your neck.

“i-i told you to f-fuck off but i d-didn’t… haa… mean it.” you splutter. the you a while ago would’ve had her mouth agape in horror at your behaviour right now.

“see? that wasn’t so hard, was it?” abby coos, her fingers tracing down your stomach, in between your thighs. long, drawn-out circles are traced on your swollen clit, her fingers pressing just the right amount of pressure. you groan, and abby taps her chin against your shoulder; smirking at how your legs are writhing, desperate for more.

“where’d all your attitude go?” the blonde ridicules. her other hand moves over to your breast, squeezing it, her thumb caressing your nipple. as to the hand working on you, her middle and ring finger brush against your folds; up and down. she’s touching you but it doesn’t feel like it’s enough: abby knows that.

“don’t do this to me, abby…” you exasperate. she lets out a breathy chuckle before flipping you over and setting you down onto the car seat. she reclines it back, eyes yet again fixed on you. you stare up at her with big glossy eyes, your head blank as if you’ve been dumbed down.

abby gloats at how helpless you look, grabbing your face with one hand and squishing your cheeks. “you look stupid.”

“shut up and fuck me.” you mutter in a muffled tone. abby laughs as if what you’ve said was the funniest joke in the entire world. you wonder if abby can feel your cheeks burning up against her palm.

before you know it, abby plows her thick fingers so far inside your cunt that you’d squeal, if it wasn’t for abby’s hand still clenched on your cheeks.

“this what you wanted?” abby purrs, fingers curling up against your g-spot already. you moan, back arching and squirming.

“oh! riiiiight, you can’t speak.” she gloats, playfully shaking your head with her hand. you whine in embarrassment, yet you secretly enjoy how she’s handling you like a doll.

abby’s finger-fucking you rough, wet squelch noises filling up the car. the sound of it is so erotic that it leaves you dizzy, eyes rolling to the back of your head. the blonde releases her grip on your face but not her thumb, that slips inside of your mouth.

“suck.” you mindlessly do as she says, as if you’re brainwashed. you can see abby’s cheeks tint red when you slowly suck her thumb, making sure to keep eye contact.

abby chuckles, looking away. seems like she didn’t think you’d actually do it.

“you’re shy.” you point out. you triumph over the fact that now it’s her turn to be embarrassed, but not for long.

“shut the fuck up.” abby says brusquely, her fingers operating way harder than before; relentlessly pounding against your g-spot. you cry, feeling overwhelmingly good.

that rigid attitude you had a moment ago? now dead and buried. you feel surreal, a series of mewls and sobs leaving your lips.

“nothing smart to say anymore? you look fucking pathetic.” and she’s right. you look like a hot mess. abby smothers your tears all over your face. you mindlessly move your hips, fucking yourself on her fingers. she smirks, loving what she’s seeing. you feel a knot beginning to untie in your stomach, sublime throbs coursing all over your body.

“i’m cumming…” you manage to choke out.

“i know.” abby buries her face in the crook of your neck, and you shiver at the feel of her breath against your skin.

“i’ll decide to be nice and let you finish.”

and that’s your cue. with an ending moan to seal it off, you feel your body tense up, eyes widening. abby leans in and presses her forehead against yours. you squeeze your eyes shut, before your body relaxes. you’re panting like a dog, staring up at abby with foggy and depleted eyes.

“so cute…” she murmurs before cupping your chin and kissing you — this time, soft and tender as opposed to the way she was kissing you before. you feel warm.

so absorbed in each other, you two forget about how you’re in the middle of nowhere and how the body in the car boot needs to be dealt with. for now, you two have something more important to worry about: how you’re gonna clean up the mess you’ve left all over the chair and dashboard.

a/n: you made it !!! thought it’d be funny if the target was owen😭😭 hope u enjoyed reading <3