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gutsby · 2 months

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Diehard

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel tries Viagra for the very first time.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Erectile dysfunction. Daddy kink. Praise kink if you squint. Overstimulation. Cumplay. She/her pussy pronouns. Pushing physical limits with a pre-negotiated safe word in place for it.

Note: No more limp dick erasure. We die like [old] men.

Part of the Waiting Game ‘verse | Word count: 986

Joel just wanted to prove he could fuck like he used to.

He didn’t think he’d almost kill you in the process.

“JOEL!” you screeched, heels digging deep in the mattress as your climax came in seismic waves.

The stimulation was insane. Normally the much-older man would have been down for the count after two—and usually one—big O, but now his chest was heaving, hips relentlessly beating a punishing pace against your own.

Your walls were slick with not only your cum but his, milky ropes of his arousal making for an obscene set of sounds every time his dick slid in and out of your cunt. You could feel his balls tighten and twitch with every forthcoming spurt of him, practically reeling with the pulse of each new sticky gift inside you. His groans rumbled low, but the power and pleasure and outright primal fervor they conveyed were unmistakeable. You had to look down, feebly, to believe it yourself—Joel never fucked his way through your orgasm and his.

Then you felt a palm slide up the back of your head, and Joel held it up to make sure you watched him fuck you.

“J-Joel,” you whimpered, watching his girth disappear and reappear at least a half-dozen times as you did.

“Just a little more, honey,” he murmured against your forehead. The smack of each thrust was dizzying, “Want my pretty girl nice and full’a me before she leaves, okay?”

Joel never could let you head back to college without a few of his loads and a head full of filthy memories—something to hold you over until your next visit home. You would’ve liked to mumble back, ‘Okay,’ but then your pussy clenched around him, and his thrusts grew faster.

“My sweet girl,” he grinned, “She likes that, huh?”

You could scarcely manage a nod. The weight of your head was held fully by him, and if that wasn’t indicative enough of your fucked-out state, your face surely said the rest. When Joel leaned back to adjust the angle of his thrusts, he caught sight of your hooded, glossy stare and almost came all over again. He slowed his pace for once.

Then he dipped a finger between your body and his, just long enough to douse the tip of his digit with cum. He bottomed out inside you, watched you part your lips in a gentle gasp, and pressed his touch to that open space.

It was almost like you didn’t have the strength to suck. You just let him smear the sticky stuff along your lower lip, gaze plastered to his. Then Joel’s cock sank deeper.

“O-ow!” you whined, partly reanimated by the stretch.

“You can take it,” Joel grunted.

The double entendre wasn’t lost on you. You could, and would, take his finger and his cock inside. You suckled dumbly on the cum-drenched fingertip in assent.

But when Joel’s finger popped out of your mouth and his thrusts picked back up, you weren’t entirely convinced you would be able to hold up the second half of that deal.

It wasn’t fair. He took one magic pill, and poof, his dick stayed hard for half the fucking day. You had nothing but your youth and two shaking legs to ensure your survival. When Joel worked his cock back and forth a couple more times and it seemed your body was about ready to scream, you took hold of his biceps and squeezed tight.

“I can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

The tip of his cock nicked a soft ridge inside you, and you jolted back. Joel’s palm was still pressed to your head, holding you to him, and his hips had you pinned as well.

Instead of answering, you whimpered.

You didn’t want him to stop, but you also weren’t sure if you could handle any more. Your eyes met his, pleading.

“Can’t what?” Joel pressed, a little more sternly.

Another whimper. Inside, Joel’s cock was rubbing that pleasure point raw, and you felt another climax coming.

“Use your words.”

“Too— too—”

Each new thrust was sending stars before your eyes. Joel was one sick man if he tried to make you talk while he fucked you past the point of all intelligible speech.

“Too what? Tell me, baby.”

You’d get that fucker back someday. Joel just grinned.

“Too much,” you hissed when his hips delivered another mind-numbing push. Then, feeling pleasure threaten to peak at almost a painful degree, “Toomuchtoomucht—”

Joel continued thrusting, knowing damn well you knew what to say if you really wanted him to stop. As if to underscore this point, he tipped your head back and made you hold his gaze, features creased with a frown.

“That sure don’t sound like the safe word to me.”

It wasn’t. You knew it wasn’t. He didn’t need to tell you twice, or even breathe a second word besides. With one more brush of Joel’s thick, throbbing, implausibly hard cock, he sent you over the edge and into your fourth orgasm of the morning, hitting that spot again and again.

And again.

Just like before, Joel fucked you through each wave, catching your lips this time to stifle your cries. You might’ve gone blind for a second or two, but that was alright; the pleasure, proximity, and then the sweet, erratic pulse of his cock sending rope after rope of his cum deep inside made the overstimulation worthwhile.

Your body went limp against the bed, held tight in Joel’s grasp, when you felt that sickly sweet dichotomy of soft, tender touches and a cock lodged between your walls that was as hard as it had ever been. Still trying to console you with kisses, still trying to warm you up for another round, perhaps, Joel almost laughed out loud in your mouth when you groaned into his and whispered:

“Please don’t ever take that fucking pill again.”

#SOMETIMES I WRITE THIS MIDDLE-AGED MAN LIKE HE’S 25 AND JUST NEED TO SHUT THE F*CK UP #*brittany broski voice* BE REALISTIC!!!!!!!#BE F*CKING FOR REAL #FOR A SECOND BE FOR REAL #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #tlou #the last of us fic #joel miller x you #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel

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hurthermore · 1 month

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»»------► 𝚂𝚎𝚡 𝚂𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚠𝚒𝚌𝚑 (18+)

Pairing: 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚡 𝙵!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Summary: 𝙱𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚁𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚘 𝙳𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗. 𝙻𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚢, 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚞𝚜𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚜 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚢𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

Word Count: 𝟹.𝟷𝚔

Warnings: 𝙱𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚊 𝚑𝚞𝚐𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚕, 𝚟𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚕, 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚊 𝚍𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚟𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚊 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛

A/N: 𝙰 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝙴𝙰𝚄𝚃𝙸𝙵𝚄𝙻 @selenezq 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴𝙻𝚈 @lustylita 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙵𝙰𝙽𝚃𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙲 @muppetdust !!<𝟹

Being the wife of the infamous Radio Demon came with struggles, struggles that didn’t derive internally from your actual marriage, but externally. Alastor was the perfect husband, doting on you as if you were a higher entity, pampered you like you meant the world to him, loved you like you were the most precious thing in existence. No, the struggles you had to deal with came from the mere fact that people craved to either kidnap you or end your life, simply because you were Alastor’s only weakness.

Luckily for you, Alastor was a possessive and obsessed man, a fact you came to figure out even before he had begun courting you; he had claimed you as his before you had even been aware of it, which was something that you oddly found yourself not only minding, but adoring.

It was normal for you to feel his shadow stalk you within your own silhouette whenever Alastor wasn’t present due to his possessive nature and his primal urge to protect you, so whenever you found yourself parted from the presence of your darling husband, you would always find his smiling shadow linked to you. It would do just about everything and anything to make you smile, blush, and swoon as it craved to see your happiness just as your dear Alastor did.

Even now, as you waltzed around the streets of hell without your husband by your side due to him having to deal with some frivolous denizens across town that had breached the contract of soul ownership, you had intentions to visit Rosie; a dear friend of you and your husbands, intending to meet up for a catch up and gossip session. Naturally, in tail, Alastor’s shadow danced around you as you made your way to Cannibal Town.

Watching his shadow as it attempted to contort laughter from your larynx by acting almost like an imbecile, pulling ridiculous faces and swirling around your legs to tickle your skin, you had failed to notice the dozens of blood thirsty demons behind you; pursuing you as they distinguished you as the Radio Demon’s wife. An easy target to gain leverage over Alastor himself.

Continuing to walk as you fixated your entire attention on the adorable shadow that belonged to your husband, you had flinched as its smile suddenly tensed with frustration and anger. Before you could register as to why it was suddenly filled with aggravation, its mouth unhinged, widening inhumanely, an image you had never witnessed previously before a loud screech erupted from its gaping mouth; a screech that almost made your ears bleed as it caused every piece of untouched glass that surrounded you to shatter into tiny little pieces instantly.

Placing your hands over your ears in reflex, you glimpsed at the conjuring of your red husband; his form materialising at a rate of panic. Fully coming into existence before you, Alastor’s eyes blacked out before his form grew larger. Gaping in surprise, you had no inclination as to why Alastor had suddenly appeared before you, let alone contorting into his large demonic form; and before you could turn around to witness who or what was the focus of your husbands anger, one of his tentacles had seeped through the cracks of the pavement below you, wrapping its slimed length around your waist only to harshly pull you away from the barrage of whatever lurked behind you.

Shocked, you clenched your fingers into the appendage as it lifted your body from the ground below you before placing you behind your husband’s ever growing form. Carefully landing you on your feet, the tentacle refused to let go of you as your husband began picking up numerous people, squishing them into the pavement, forcing their blood to splatter against his clothes; even going as far as tearing some beings limb from limb, consuming parts of their demonised flesh in the process; all the while you could hear screams of anarchy and panic echo through the thick air of hell as bypassers attempted to avoid your husbands enraged assault.

It was then that his shadow embraced you from behind, attempting to comfort you as your husband continued pouring the blood of demons onto his well presented attire; you were unsure as to why everything that was currently unfolding before you was even happening, but it didn’t take you long to realise that Alastor was protecting you, sheltering you from any potential danger as he preserved your life.

Swooning at the act of your extremely attractive husband murdering people simply to protect you, your thighs tensed against one another as you looked back at his shadow; its usual black face tinged with a slight blush as it curled up against you, forcing its cold touch to sink into your warm flesh.

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” You had asked it suggestively, referencing to how it had screeched for your husband like a battle horn demanding for reinforcements. It had nodded with extreme enthusiasm, trembling in pleasure from your words; making you laugh ever so slightly as you leaned into its embrace, watching as your husband ended the last few living lives of demons whom had attempted to harm you.

As your husband’s ridiculously large form began to reduce into his regular size, you ogled his bloodied suit and overcoat; his presence radiating such power from the show of dominance and strength. “Oh Ally!” You had swooned as the black appendage around your waist dragged you toward your loving husband whose smile had strained.

“Are you alright, my love?” He had asked you with a slight tint of anxiety in his tone; so subtle that you almost missed the way his voice dared to crack. Nodding as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, you allowed his blood soaked form to dirty the fabrics on your body as you embraced him, pressing your front against him with purpose, intent on showering your darling husband in the love he deserved.

“You’re so handsome, Ally.” You whispered into his hair as his sharp, taloned hands held you steadily around the indents of your waist. You could feel the sensations of his claws tightening into you as you complimented him with seduction rolling from your oral muscle. “So handsome, and so strong too.” Your voice rumbling in the same erotism as you continued to praise him; almost missing the way his breath had hitched ever so subtly as the words left your mouth. “And all mine too.”

As his reddish eyes glimmered with want, the tension in his shoulders tightened as he became flustered from the praise; it was an oddity for you and all the living denizens who had the privilege of seeing him in a state, which was none. Alastor was a force to be reckoned with, a demon that was a contortion of horrific features and had enacted equally as horrific offences, yet he was also a demon who would become a puddle for his wife and his wife alone.

Before he could process a response to you, which was unlike him, being the quick witted man he was, you had placed your lips against the corner of his mouth before pressing yourself fully on his own dried lips. He had responded rather quickly, allowing you to assault his mouth with your own as his clawed tips dragged along the spine of your back until it tangled within the roots of your hair, only to push you into him further.

You hadn’t been aware of your surroundings as you felt your husband's oh so familiar tongue seep into the cracks of your mouth, his wet muscle swirling around every gummy part of your ingress. You hadn’t noticed the world beyond your husband as he warped the two of you into the confines of your shared living quarters within the Hazbin Hotel; not until his hands had latched into the skin of your thighs, holsting you up before slamming you into the entry door vociferously.

Tightening your hold around his neck, you latched onto your desire filled husband as he held you up, his claws piercing ever so slightly into your flesh as he carried your weight with ease. The lustrous moan that reverberated from your larynx couldn’t be prevented as your upper back was pressed into the bitter cold door; your husband’s smile widening within the heated tongue tying kiss as he forced his hardening cock to press against your clothed core.

All it took was for Alastor to snap his fingers before the textured fabrics that prevented you to feel his furred skin had been dispersed into a realm of reality that didn’t exist. You couldn’t help but groan as the soft fur of your husband's chest pressed again the bare exposure of your breasts, contrasting the cold skin of his pelvis that rutted against your bared core.

His cock begged to wear your cunt; the same cunt that despite not receiving any foreplay, had widened for your husbands ever large phallic organ like a reflex; awaiting his penetration by overly lubricating itself.

Your husband was aware of how receptive he had trained your perfect little pussy to adhere to his cock and his cock alone; so without giving you proper foreplay, he had forced you to cry out softly as his fat cock penetrated your slicked walls. Every slight crevice, every throbbing vein, every twitch of his length could be felt within your tightening cunt as he furthered it within you; your breath heavily moaning his name in pleasure as you laid the back of your skull against the wooden door that assisted in keeping your balance upright as your husband fucked himself within you.

Before Alastor could exhaustively insert his heavy length within your cunt, you had felt another pair of hands grasp the cheeks of your posterior; hands that felt oddly familiar. Startled, you attempted to break the kiss between you and your husband, but as you leaned away ever so slightly, Alastor denied you the privilege of leaving the warm embrace of his mouth by digging his claws into the back of your scalp. “You stay attentive to me, darling; it’s just my shadow.” He spoke out between the kisses you shared.

Everything seemed to become warmer inside of you with this new found information as Alastor spoke with such eroticism. You had thought about including his shadow in your intimate sessions before, had thought about riding his shadow whenever Alastor wasn’t around, but you had always been too intimidated to ask, to initiate anything; afraid of how your husband would react to such a request.

But as the shadow underneath you continued to claw at your ass, you could only praise the gods in the depths of your psyche as Alastor allowed his dimensional breaking shadow to mess with the juice of your thighs and posterior.

Your attention was fixated back onto your husband's cock as he finally bottomed out inside your walls. Moaning as you basked in the pleasure of the fulfilling sensations his heavy cock sparked within your cunt, your moans contorted into a strangled gasp, your fingertips piercing into the furred skin of his shoulders as you felt something similar to a tongue intrude into the orifice of your ass.

His shadow was fucking his tongue into your ass, something you had never thought about nor believed would happen.

“I’m going to fill you up in every fucking hole, my darling wife.” You had heard your husband speak over your cock drunk moans with a possessiveness like no other. His hands gripping into your skin as he pulled his long length out of your widening cunt, only to thrust it back in with intention; the door behind you being forced to bang with preciseness as he rammed into you with his rough and unforgiving pace. “I’m going to fill your entire beautiful body with my essence so no one even entertains the idea of taking you from me.”

It was his way of telling you he was scared of the potential dangers that threatened to take you away from him, his way of preventing that very thing from happening.

Letting out wanton moans as the overwhelming sensations of your husband's cock and the tongue-like appendage in your ass, the early stages of an orgasm was slowly being built up. The long and slimy muscle intruding the sanctuary of your posterior had you crying in pleasure and uncomfortability whilst your husband's cock had you screaming in pure satisfaction. It was a violation you had never experienced before; Alastor had never touched the inside of your ass before, and for him to allow his shadow to just penetrate you like that had your core drenching in even more lubricant that doused your husband's hard cock.

“Does that feel good, my pretty little wife?” Alastor had asked you with a growl, his voice drenched with lust and primal rage as he continued to ram his cock into you; the door behind you being forced into a submission of bangs as your ass was continuously rocked into it with a rhythm as Alastors tip consistently entered and left your cervical opening.

Mumbling an arrangement of yeses, your husband’s yellowed toothed smile widened at your fucked out expression and dumbed out consciousness; and the appendage in your ass that felt so uncomfortable in such a good way retracted, much to your dismay. But before you could whine at the loss of fulfilment in your posterior, Alastor’s shadow had stuck to the door behind you, towering over you just like your husband did as he fucked you.

“You’re my good boy, aren’t you?” You had managed to mumble in moans despite how dumb your husband had resorted you to as you spoke to your husband’s shadow; its face lighting up in a red blush as it nodded far too enthusiastically to your question before it began prodding its cock against your ass. The whines of whispered groans that echoed from its being sent shivers along the flesh of your shoulders.

A cock that felt exactly the same as your husbands’.

Before you could pay the shadow anymore of your precious attention, Alastor had grasped his sharp claws into the skin of your face, forcing you to stay attentive to him and him alone. “I told you to stay focused on me; your husband.” He had snarled at you as his pace became harsher; relentless. Your attempts to scream in pleasured pain dwindled as a long, thick, black appendage forced its way down your throat as Alastor’s pace became violent and vicious.

Not having any time to register the look of pure pleasure that doused your husbands expression as he watched your mouth being fucked by one of his tentacles, your eyes squeezed shut as the shadow that belonged to the man you loved began to insert its cock into your ass with struggle; the length spearing your tight posterior open slowly.

“I told you darling. Warned you that I was going to fuck every single one of your holes.” Your husbands yellow smile was all you could make out beyond the black appendage that fucked it’s way into your throat. “But I do wonder if you can take more.” His words were laced with want, a desire to see you break.

His words hadn’t registered as your orgasm neared the edge of combustion, specifically all over your husband's cock; cocks? Your thighs tensing, trembling as a slow pulsation doused your lower stomach, your clit throbbing against your husbands tufts of fur and he continued to rock into you with reckless abandon; his shadows tongue prolonging out and onto your shoulder as it’s cock fucked into your ass whilst a tentacle tried to shove itself further into the depths of your oesophagus.

It was all becoming too much; and your peak was nearing at a rapid rate as the sensation of two cocks and a tentacle fucking into you all at different rates caused your mind to become absolutely blank.

Before your orgasm could reach its release, the size of your husband's cock seemed to contort into a strange shape, and as you slowly opened your eyes, you witnessed another conjured black appendage wrap itself around the thickness of Alastor’s ragingly red, wet, fat cock. Rolling your eyes back, your throat could only rumble as you moaned against the appendage in your throat; the shadow behind you still rutted its own cock inside your ass as it began to lick the side of your face like a damned dog.

“Such a good girl; such a good wife. My wife, taking everything I give her; you’re perfect darling.” He had spoken with pride, proud that your mind, body and soul had accepted, desired everything he had given you. Everything was too much, especially with his words of praise; too much yet all so good that you had forgotten how much noise you two were making, forgotten that other people inhabited the hotel, forgotten that everyone could probably hear your husband desecrating every single opening you had to offer as he fucked you against the rocking door.

You could hardly hold on to your husband as your arms became limp as the tentacle around his cock fully swirled around it, your concentration could only focus on the multiple sensations of thrusting, rutting and pounding as your thighs began to spasm uncontrollably, your orgasm spurting from your clit as you let out an assault of choked screams against the appendage in your mouth.

As the natural lubricate of your cum splattered against your husband and leaked against the cock in your ass, you could feel both Alastor and his shadow’s movements become incredibly erratic, a pace that would have you screaming in pain if it wasn’t for the appendage in your mouth.

The halting of their movements and the loud groans of wanton moans that left both of the figures that sandwiched you wasn’t what let you know they had ejaculated inside of you in two different places. No, it was the sensations of their harsh spluttering of copious amounts of cum that splattered against your walls, both vaginally and anally.

You didn’t even know his shadow could cum.

Until now that is.

Slowly, every appendage, every organ that was inside you retracted, forcing the stupid amount of mixed cum to drip erratically from your holes as you coughed up some air.

Hardly being able to make out what was going on from the intense assault on your body, you had almost missed the way your husband had smiled at you whilst his shadow continued to lick your face as both of their hands fingered their cum back into their respective holes.

Yet despite how erotic, how disgustingly deranged your husband had just acted, he said something contrastingly sweet; something he always seemed to do for you.

“The day you part from me is the day I cease to exist, my love.”

»»------► 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

yes i will be working on misconduct next<3

#alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #reader insert #x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader smut #alastor smut

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shotmrmiller · 2 months

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1.8k of what was supposed to be a drabble, oops. same au as this just different situation.

there he is.

the titan the crowd calls Ghost. a creature who seemed to have crawled out of the abyss itself, rage etched into the very marrow of his bones. scars crisscross his arms, chest, and back— souvenirs of battles both won and lost. no one knows much about him. no real name, no past, no future. blank.

a void.

just like his sunken eyes, the only thing anyone can see from behind the midnight black skull balaclava that clings to his face like a second skin. (does he even remember what he looks like underneath?) he stands in front of the club's owner in ragged clothing: a tattered wifebeater that's been stitched, torn, and re-stitched. his pants have strained seams and patched knees. his boots are high cut, made of worn, scuffed leather with laces in the front, pulled tight. functional.

he's terrifying. most here come to fight for glory, for redemption, for escape. not he, though. reverent whispers claim this is all he knows. that he fights like a cornered, wounded beast, with no discipline nor strategy. just primal hunger and unmatched ferocity.

and that's who your idiotic, egotistical boyfriend wants to fight. granted, he's a pretty damn good boxer. not that you'd know much about that, you're simply parroting what you've heard his coach say. but this isn't boxing. no one here wears a padded helmet, with comfortable gloves and silky shorts. the fellow with the mohawk currently fighting isn't even wearing a mouthguard, for fuck's sake.

there are no fucking rules, no referees, no honor, no mercy.

your shoulders rise up to your ears as you tense at a nasty blow the pretty one you've come to learn is named gaz gives mr. mohawk. it splits his lip instantaneously, crimson dribbling down his chin and onto his barrel chest. he should be in pain, but there's only a glint of madness in those bright blue eyes of his. the crazed smile he gives gaz is all blood-stained teeth.

your boyfriend taps you on your shoulder, making you jump. "i'm gonna go talk to mr. price now that he's no longer busy."

what?

"no! you can't be serious!" the metal chair you were seated on screeches as you shoot up and run after him, feet slipping on the mud-slicked floor. "hey! wait!"

he reaches the tall, burly man(broker?) with the antiquated mutton-chop beard before you do. the tailored suit clings to his large frame, molding to his mountainous shoulders and tapered waist. his polished shoes are pristine, unlike the surface he's standing on that's littered with wager slips and sodden with cheap beer.

"don't. be smart, fight smart. you can't possibly— did you see the way the one with the mohawk took a hit to the face without flinching? he's insane! they all are!" you flick your eyes to mr. price. "no offense."

he chuckles low. "none taken, sweetheart. soap's a vigorous man, is all."

soap. gaz. ghost. they've all got bloody fighting nicknames. meanwhile, the only thing your boyfriend's ever been called is dearie by his elderly neighbor.

"your pretty girl's right. i'd steer clear of the pit. this ain't no place for a sheltered bloke such as yourself." his eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, yet it felt like a facade. the evenness of his tone had dread crawling up your spine.

"boss." you squeak at the deep voice that comes from beside you— accent thick on his tongue.

mr. price waves a hand dismissively, the rings that adorn his fingers glinting under the dim light of the overhead lamps. "it's nothin' but a couple a'folk placin' their bets."

the look of unfettered stupidity flashes on your boyfriend's face as he turns his head and realizes just who mr. price was talking to. "if it isn't the masked specter himself."

stupid. stupid stupid stupid. god, your boyfriend came in one piece but he's going to leave in bloody pieces if you don't stop him. "stop," you hiss. "this ridiculous stint of yours is over." as is this sorry excuse of a relationship. he'd been a sweet guy at some point, or maybe you were just blinded by his good looks. "sorry for the bother, mr. price. we'll be taking our leave." tugging on your boyfriend's sleeve, you try to lead him away but he stays anchored in place, posturing like a peacock; chest out, shoulders squared and head held high.

he looks at ghost as he challenges him. "name your price. anything, i can meet."

how he can be so blasé in the presence of this bastion is beyond you. ghost stands tall, his shadow engulfing you whole. you can feel the weight of his presence, a crushing force pressing against your sternum. he doesn't speak; and honestly, he doesn't have to. ghost's silence spoke volumes.

"he's not interested, see? let's just go before we're thrown out on our arses."

but your boyfriend doesn't concede. if anything, it only adds fuel to the fire. "not good enough for you? eh? is that it? think yourself untouchable just because you're king of the underbelly?" he goads.

your cheeks are hot, scalding with embarrassment. he's starting to garner attention from the audience that's supposed to be watching the current fight.

and then ghost breaks said silence. "i don't want your money." his rich voice reverberates through bone and marrow; it rattles your very core. "you didn't work hard for it, i can tell. golden spoon runt."

your boyfriend's eyes ignite with anger. for a moment, you thought he was going to swing on the spot, but then, like a wisp of smoke, it dissipated. his fists unclench, his jaw relaxes. "what do you want, then?" he questions.

ghost tips his head your way as he keeps his gaze on your boyfriend. "her. i win, she's mine."

you should've known your now ex would agree. nothing would keep him from accomplishing his goals of 'putting the big dog down' as he so eloquently put it. now you're firmly sat right next to price on the stands (because you will not be calling him john anytime soon, no matter how many times he corrects you) essentially as his hostage.

"nothing personal, sweetheart. i'm a businessman, after all, and the prize walkin' out the front door would be bad for business. hope you understand."

no, you don't. so you tell him as such.

"tha's alright. simon'll take good care of ya, i promise."

"is there any particular reason you're so cocksure of your simon winning?" you manage to ask, your voice fragile.

he takes a thick inhale of his cigar before answering. "unfortunately for you, i've seen it all— the broken bones, shattered dreams, and—" you watch tendrils of smoke unfurl from his mouth, "adversaries who never walked back out."

spectators have already begun to huddle around the cage, puffing on cheap cigarettes. they all look desperate, eyes gleaming with greed. this time the one collecting wagers is a blonde woman, older in age, with her hair in a low bun and a puffer vest. "that your wife?"

he curls a large hand around my shoulder before twisting to look at— "laswell? no. don't swing tha' way." price gives you a gentle squeeze.

oh. you can feel warmth creeping up your neck. "sorry. didn't mean to- er. i didn't know."

"'s'alrigh'. her wife's nice enough. you'll like 'er.'' her wife? the confusion must've shown because he rumbles out a laugh. "no. it'd be me barkin' up the wrong tree. i—" he tightens the grip on your shoulder, "like whatever's pretty to look at." his words from before resounded in your head.

'your pretty girl's right...'

the heat that'd receded now stung the tips of your ears. whatever words you want to say are lodged in your throat but thankfully, you're saved by the bell. literally.

the rusty thing tolls and the crowd hushes their voices and stills their restless shuffling. first walks in your ex (idiot), looking exactly like what ghost had called him earlier— a golden spoon child. his shorts are glossy, even under the flickering, sickly light that falls over the cage. his boxing gloves are a vibrant red, pristine as if right out of the box. (you don't remember soap getting his pretty face broken by hands with gloves, but whatever.) he looks perfect, like something out of a hollywood movie.

and so out of place.

unlike ghost who's just stepped into the ring— who commands the attention of all within the hazy room. he fits right in with the rats who scurry around in the bowels of the city. he moves like the shadows that cling to the dark corners, his steps silent as whispers. a haunted being— one the world above with its neon signs and bustling crowds has long forgotten— has made his home down here.

ghost bumps his mma gloves with your ex's boxing ones, in a show of surprising sportsmanship.

the bell tolls once again, and the fight begins.

and just as quickly as it began, it ended. you blink, momentarily displaced, because there is no way what just happened is real. there hadn't been no real fight. it'd been one devastating blow to the side of your ex's jaw that ended everything. he hadn't stood a chance. it—

"'s done. sorry, love. but simon's headin' this way to claim his prize." price gives you a sympathetic pat to your back. "i swear it on my life he won't harm a hair on your head."

what?

ghost barrels through the roaring crowd and comes to a stop before you. "you're with me, now. best get used to it." shock blurs your vision, or maybe it's the fact that you've been hoisted up and thrown over a shoulder that did it.

it doesn't matter. the one you came here with is currently lying limp on the stained mat, his mouth hanging open a little awkwardly. is he broken? you're put down on a bench in a large dressing room that has only one tall locker in it with a tiny ghost sticker on the front.

"did you... is he dead?" you ask, pulse quickening.

"no. either dislocated or broke tha' jaw of 'is only."

you sputter when metal clinks on the surface of the wooden table he's currently leaning his weight against. dusters? "you used fucking dusters?"

he turns his head and looks at you, piercing and intense. "you and i both know i didn't need anythin' to knock his teeth down his throat, isn't tha' right, pet? eh?"

his knuckles are calloused and heavily scarred, the little finger bent at an angle even when straight. "don't worry 'bout him, you're with me, now." he shrugs on a plain, black jacket and heads for the door. "try to leave and i'll jus' find you again. don't make this any harder than it has to be."

welcome to the rat king's domain, sweetheart.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x f reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you

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squishycheekanon · 5 months

Note

If you’re getting into JJK I’m gonna call it, if you write Sukuna you’re gonna get a lot of people asking for more-

Itadori/Sukuna x reader

Sukuna was on my list 100%

Warnings: 18+, smut.

“Itadori fuck!” You screeched your back arching, tits pressing against his chest in way that has him groaning at the feel of it. Your sensitive nipples grazing against his skin sets your body on fire, it’s just right. Like the way he’s pounding in and out of you, leaving no time for you to even control your breathing.

“S-So good!” Itadori gasps almost whines as he fucks you, hovering over your body thrusting in and out so deliciously. His breath is hot and it tickles your ear as he pants into your neck.

“Please! Harder! Fuck me harder!” You begged, eyes fluttering close and head falling deeper into the pillows. You wanted it so badly, already creaming on his cock you needed that little bit extra for your orgasm to hit you.

He began to speed up, fucking you harder, feeling the tip of his cock hitting your cervix. He was no longer whining and moaning, he was grunting and almost growling in your ear. It took everything within you to try and focus on the changes, no only his sounds but he was gripping your wrists on either sides of your head, tighter now. Rougher.

You really did try and focus on it until he changed the angle he was fucking you at and suddenly your body went limp all you could do was lie there and let him fuck you, “Fuck I can’t!” You whimpered into the air.

“You asked for it. You’re gonna fucking take it.” That made you freeze up, Itadori doesn’t speak to you like that.

“Itadori?” He stopped thrusting at the sound of worry lacing your wavering voice. He pulled back out of where his face was hidden in your neck and the sight of him made your body tense, inhaling sharply.

His face was darker somehow, a smirk on his lips, one you’d never seen on your boyfriend before. And marks. Black symbols and lines across his chin, cheeks, forehead and nose. You instantly knew. “S-Sukuna?”

He chuckles letting go of one of your wrists and sliding his hand to grip your neck, “Hello sweetheart.” He squeezes your neck and you moan, the sound has a dirty grin forming on his face, his hips beginning to move once more.

“So fuckin’ naughty, aren’t you?” Sukuna panted, struggling not to close his eyes from how tightly you were clenching around his length. “Filthy little girl, likes to be choked hah? Likes to have her man’s fingers around her throat while he fucks her? Hmm?”

“Itadori could never fuck you this good.” He could feel you whine against his hand, and it made him feral. Unlocking a primal urge within Sukuna he didn’t even know he had, with you looking so small underneath him, so innocent, so submissive. Fuck he was going to to ruin you.

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ravonix · 2 years

Text

You ever need to just

AAAAAAAAAAA

#i need to just let out a primal screech ive needed this since 2016 #i need to find an ocean to scream at #ravon rambles

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monstersflashlight · 4 days

Note

Hear me out: a monster takes over an abandoned pool and reader decides to "ghost hunt" but instead find the monster in the pool

I don’t confirm nor deny this was inspired by The shape of water’s monster.

The abandoned pool

Gn!Water-monster x fem!human || oral sex, heavy dub-con, kinda cnc

You were determined to prove there were no ghosts in that place. The multiple vloggers who toured the place kept saying it was haunted, but there wasn't anything there. Just a big building full of dark corners and a full pool. The pool was the weirdest part in your opinion. It should have evaporated a long time ago, but it was still there. A full dark pool at the end of a long corridor. It was so creepy, morbid curiosity called you to it.

Your steps sounded so loud against the empty corridors. You approached the pool and laughed when you heard some splashing, probably some rats. You turned on the camera and set it at the entrance of the room, clearly facing the pool. You wanted to record yourself exploring it, so nobody else would have to come to see for themselves. So you could probe everyone how wrong they were about the ghosts.

You should have known better.

You approached the pool and opened your mouth to talk to the camera, but your words were cut short by a screech. A palmed hand darted out of the water and pulled you in. You fell into the pool like a sack of potatoes, water rapidly surrounding you. You couldn’t breathe, you were panicking. There was some sort of creature swimming around you, creating a turmoil in the water that made impossible for you to see what it was. You tried to pull yourself up, get some air in your lungs.

But then the creature stopped, the water clearing. A figure stood before you, so weird and so confusing. His face was flat, no nose, no visible lips, just two big white eyes without pupils and a big mouth full of sharp teeth. You screamed, but you just got some bubbles out, the water swallowing your fear. Their palmed hands grabbed your body, his clammy bluish skin touching yours, groping you. His touch was exploring, but uninvited, your panic rose again, the lack of air burning your lungs. You kicked them and swam up.

You got yourself free and pushed your body out of the water, breathing air in rapid pants. But you didn't get your whole body out, they caught you at the edge of the pool. Half your body out, your legs still submerged. He pulled down your pants, exposing your ass and pussy to the cold air. They launched right in, a harsh tongue entering you as they made out with your pussy. You could feel his fangs close to your clit, their mouth so big it covered you completely. Their palmed hands grabbed your ass, parting your ass cheeks to get better access to your pussy.

A primal part of you awoke right there, the assault to your pussy so weird but so good that you started to grind back against them. You felt embarrassed, ashamed and afraid, but you couldn’t deny the wetness in your pussy. They were lapping at your juices like it was ambrosia. You wanted to feel bad, you wanted to hate it, but it felt so good. So fucking good.

You came against a water-monster's face, grinding against them like your life depended on it. Your whole face flushed with embarrassment for being so needy against them.

They growled and your body shivered, their hands parting your ass cheeks once again. When you felt something entering you from behind, you pushed back your ass to bury them deeper, like a monster’s slut. You fucked yourself back against the intrusion, as the monster grunted behind you with each thrust. You felt naughty, like you were doing something really bad, but it wasn’t enough to make you stop.

The appendage inside of you felt weird and ridged, but fantastic against your thigh walls. They were relentless and you were desperately trying to get there, to cum again. It was like the first orgasm didn’t scratch the itch, just burned you faster, higher. You felt like you were about to explode against him. His clammy skin made a filthy sound when it hit your ass, and you were digging it. You were digging everything that was happening. And when they grabbed one of your boobs over your wet shirt and pinched your nipple, you started convulsing around their shaft. You felt them growling behind you as something warm and slimy filled your pussy.

After that, they finally let you go, winking at you from the pool as you pushed yourself out and walked on unsteady legs to your things and ran out of there. When you got home you realized the camera recorded everything. You just got yourself a monster porn movie. Starring yourself.

#monster #monster fucker #monster imagine #monster x human #teratophillia #monster boyfriend #monster x reader #terato #water monster #water monster x reader #water monster x human #fem reader #gn monster #request

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mocacheezy · 2 years

Text

"Don't keep us in suspense, where are they?"

MA JEZUS FAKIN CHRIST NE ME JEBAT,

FUCKING ZEPPELIN BARNEY

"A desperate measure that gives us a sliver of time to save them." Is that what you said Optimus?

REALLY OPTIMUS? REALLY?!

Like listen I know he couldn't have known the location unless he went and looked at the info while Megatron was extracting data from him, BUT WHAT REASON WAS THERE TO LOOK SO SMUG FOR KNOWING THIS?!

That you people now need to go inside that big fat-head THAT IS LITERARY MEGATRON?!!! BITCH THAT'S ALL THERE IS OF HIM DO YOU THINK HE WON'T NOTICE YOU TECHNO ORGANIC GERMS CRAWLING AROUND HIS CIRCUITS?!

If I slightly alter the quote said by the most brilliant and eloquent member of your team;

You're all going to die.

#i know they won't but by FUCK PRIMAL #FUCKING FUCKETY FUCK YOU ASSHOLE #moca screeches #moca watches #tf beast machines #fucking hell why. why. WHY?!#i am so glad I am almost finished with this show because I cannot take this oracle spark bullshittery anymore

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verstappensrealwife · 30 days

Text

My Race Winner - Lando Norris x Reader

fluff, smut.

approx. 1200 words

warnings: sex...

lando norris masterlist - here. f1 masterlist - here.

Your knuckles turned bone-white as you clutched your fists tightly, the intensity of your grip a physical manifestation of the emotions churning within. From the moment Lando, your cherished boyfriend, surged into the lead, you became ensnared in a whirlwind of hope and apprehension, clinging to the edge of your seat with bated breath.

With each passing moment, the gap between Lando and his competitor, Max Verstappen, widened, a visceral testament to his dominance on the track. What began as a slender one-second advantage burgeoned into a nerve-jangling two, then three... until the chasm yawned wide, stretching to an agonizing eight seconds between Max and the man you held dear.

Every heartbeat echoed like a drumroll in your chest, each pulse a relentless reminder of the stakes riding on this race. You poured every ounce of your being into willing Lando onward, a silent prayer uttered with every fervent beat of your heart, beseeching the racing gods for his triumph.

Anticipation coiled like a serpent in your belly, mingling with the icy tendrils of fear that threatened to ensnare your thoughts. As the final lap unfurled before your eyes, you were ensconced in a maelstrom of emotions, caught in the tumultuous currents of exhilaration and trepidation.

Every turn of the track became a crucible of tension, each corner a crucible where hopes soared and fears faltered. The harsh mixture of roaring engines and screeching tires filled the air, a symphony of speed and adrenaline that reverberated through your very soul.

With every twist and bend of the circuit, you felt yourself teetering on the precipice of ecstasy and despair, the line between victory and defeat blurring in the haze of adrenaline-fueled passion. Each passing moment felt like an eternity, time stretching and warping as you clung to the edge of your seat, consumed by the drama unfolding before you.

But then, in a blaze of glory, Lando surged across the finish line, his victory a triumphant crescendo that shattered the tension like a thunderclap. HE JUST WON!

A primal roar of jubilation erupted from your lips, an explosion of unbridled joy that reverberated through the air. In that moment, nothing else mattered except the fact that the love of your life had emerged victorious, his triumph a beacon of light in the darkness.

As Lando leaped from his car, his victory celebrated by the crowd and his team, his gaze sought yours amidst the chaos. Tears of pride and elation welled in your eyes as you watched him, your heart swelling with love and admiration. Without hesitation, you rushed into his arms, the force of your embrace nearly toppling him over as you enveloped him in a fervent hug.

"You won!" you exclaimed, your voice trembling with emotion as you held him close.

"I did!" he replied, his own excitement mirroring yours as he returned your embrace with equal intensity.

A squeal of delight escaped you before you leaned in close, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, "I'll let you have your way with me later, race winner." The promise hung in the air, charged with the electricity of anticipation, before you whisked him away for further celebrations before the podium.

The adrenaline rush of victory still surged through Lando's veins as he practically bounded down the stairs after the podium ceremony, his eagerness palpable as he urged you towards the awaiting taxi with an infectious enthusiasm. The thrill of triumph painted his features with a radiant glow, his eyes alight with anticipation for the intimacy that awaited you both at home.

Efficiently dismissing and thanking everyone who congratulated him, Lando took your hand in his, leading you out of the bustling venue and into the waiting taxi. Each step seemed charged with anticipation, the air electric with the promise of the passionate reunion that awaited you both.

As the taxi pulled away from the venue, the city lights blurred into a kaleidoscope of colours, the world outside transformed into a mesmerizing tapestry of motion. Inside the cab, the atmosphere crackled with anticipation, every moment stretching out into infinity as you both eagerly anticipated the intimate moments you would share behind closed doors.

The journey felt like an eternity, each passing second marked by the pounding of your heart and the soft hum of the taxi's engine. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as you stole glances at each other, the tension between you palpable as the anticipation mounted with each passing mile.

Finally, you arrived home, the key card in hand trembling with anticipation as you fumbled to unlock the door. With a click, the door swung open, revealing the familiar haven of your shared sanctuary bathed in warm, welcoming light.

Stepping inside, the world outside fell away, replaced by the sanctuary of your private retreat. The air was heavy with anticipation as you found yourselves locked in a passionate embrace, the heat of your desire igniting like a flame between you.

Clothes were shed with reckless abandon, discarded in a trail leading to the bedroom where you both collapsed onto the bed, consumed by the urgency of your longing. In that intimate space, time seemed to stand still as you lost yourselves in each other, the outside world fading into insignificance as you surrendered to the intoxicating pull of desire.

His touch was like a bolt of lightning, each caress sending delicious shivers cascading down your spine, igniting a symphony of sensation that reverberated through every fibre of your being. With tender reverence, he explored every inch of your body, his hands tracing a map of desire as he worshipped you with an intensity that stole your breath away.

Each kiss was a flame, fuelling the inferno of passion that blazed between you, igniting a wildfire of longing that threatened to consume you both. In the heat of the moment, time seemed to lose all meaning, the world fading into insignificance as you surrendered to the intoxicating pull of desire.

With deliberate slowness, he entered you, savouring the exquisite sensation of your bodies melding together in a seamless union of flesh and spirit. Each thrust was a declaration of love, a testament to the deep connection that bound you together, the rhythm building to a crescendo of ecstasy that left you both trembling with longing and breathless with desire.

You were a babbling mess, not knowing how to speak, what to say if you could, it was a lot and it was overwhelmingly sensual and passionate.

Orgasm after orgasm washed over you, waves of pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave, threatening to sweep you away in a sea of bliss. In that transcendent moment, there was no past, no future, only the blissful present of being together, lost in the rapture of shared passion.

As he collapsed against you, spent and breathless, you cradled him close, cherishing the weight of his body against yours. With a tender smile, you brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, gazing into his eyes filled with love and satisfaction.

"My race winner," you whispered softly, your voice a tender caress as you held him close. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of his embrace, you knew that you were home, your hearts beating as one in perfect harmony, a silent affirmation of the love and joy you shared in that tender moment of afterglow.

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iamthecomet · 2 years

Text

I forgot to clean my fucking HOUSE.

And they're coming in like a half an hour.

FUUUCCCKK.

#comet comments #insert primal screech here #like I said #today is just #not the day

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after-witch · 3 months

Text

No Strings to Secure You [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: No Strings to Secure You [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: You push too far and get sent to a white room with white walls.

Word count: 2000ish

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, food deprivation, chastisement, abusive behavior

The push and pull of captivity is not something you could have prepared yourself for, really. Could anyone?

There’s the pull, that intoxicating desire to behave for him. To do what he says, to act how he wants, to make things easier on yourself and him in not-so-equal measure.

There’s the push. That feeling you’ve buried deep inside you but can never fully wash away. The need to get away, to never give in, to pound against the walls and scream and tell him to shove his stupid rules up his ass.

No matter how many times you pushed, it never seemed to get you anywhere.

But the pull? When you followed the pull, it was a different story. He becomes softer. Kinder. More prone to agree to your requests, like asking for new books, or a warmer blanket, or a stuffed animal similar to the childhood one you’ll probably never see again.

That’s where you are now, you think; deep inside the pull. Yet there’s no telling when that push will come rearing its ugly, primal head back into your life.

“It’s not smut,” you insist, soft voice raising just a little. You keep your head down out of stubborness or embarrassment, you’re not entirely sure which.

“It is.” There’s no question or argument in his tone. “There are plenty of other books that are more appropriate, angel.”

“But…” You know what you should do here. You should agree, thank him, and tell him the name of a different book to procure. It would be sensible. It would be what he wants. And maybe that last part is what edges you away from it. “But you said I could ask for any book I like. And I like that book series.”

“I’ll find you a different book,” he tells you. “One that is more suitable.”

Stubborn, stuffy breath comes out through your nose. “I want that book.”

“No,” he says simply. You should let it go. You should.

“That’s not fair.” You lick your lips. You feel pressure starting to build inside your chest. Familiar pressure, a push. “It’s a book. You’re being--you’re being ridiculous.”

“Apologize.” It’s not a request.

Push or pull? You can make a choice here. Or maybe you can’t, and that’s the worst part of it all. All of your choices are made for you, whether by Overhaul or your own damaged psyche.

“No.”

You cross your arms.

“Apologize,” he repeats, more firmly. And, oh, you should.

“No!” Louder, now. You stand up and your fingers shake as you grip the edge of the sterile hospital-style tray he serves breakfast, lunch and dinner on. The food is just as appealing--which is to say, it is often not: mostly overcooked vegetables, bland proteins, plain white rice.

You asked him, before, if you could have something different. Like the food you used to eat. He said no, even when you compromised, asked not for a whole meal, but just a little treat. He still said no.

And now you’re the one saying no again, and it feels right, it feels fair.

“I’ll ask you one more time.” The patience has left his tone almost entirely. You know this. “Apologize or there will be consequences.”

Your breath comes in heaving. It leaves in a huff, spit flying, as you grab the tray of food and throw it as hard as you can across the room.

It clatters and food splatters and your ears ring from the sound and the hot, heavy pressure in the air.

Overhaul’s chair screeches as he stands up.

Tightness chokes your throat and you swallow. You should do what he says, you should. But it’s not fair. It’s not right.

You force yourself to look up at him, and oh. He’s furious. Livid. There’s something sharp in his voice as he spits out the words:

“I warned you.”

The hallway you’re walking down is completely unfamiliar. You didn’t even know it existed, yet here it is: connected to Overhaul’s bedroom through a plain door hidden inside of a bookcase.

He stops in front of a door with a glass window towards the top and opens it with a key, and there’s nowhere to run when he silently commands you inside with a gesture.

The room is small--white floors, white walls. Narrow overhead lights. There is a mattress on the floor with no sheets at all. A metal toilet and a metal sink. Your eyes scan the room for something, anything else; but it’s just walls. There isn’t even a light switch.

You turn, eyes wide, heart feeling like it wants to leap out your throat.

Before you can speak, Overhaul takes a step backward and fills the doorway.

“You’ll be staying here for the foreseeable future. II thought you were past such untoward behavior. It seems not. We’ll see if your behavior improves and revisit your… living arrangements then.”

Part of you wants to get on your knees and beg for forgiveness. The other part of you prevails, staying stubbornly silent, refusing to give him what you think he wants: pitiful tears and apologies.

After a moment, he steps back and shuts the door. You can see him through the little glass window, which slides open before he speaks. “When I feel you are ready to apologize and mean it, you can come out.”

The glass window shuts.

The overhead lights flicker on.

You plop down on the mattress and hug your knees to your chest. It’s… a relief, isn’t it? To be away from him? At least when you’re here, you won’t be subject to his stupid rules.

This suits you just fine, then.

You say so, even, to the white walls.

They don’t answer.

There’s a hinged slot on the bottom of the door, and your first meal--it must be dinnertime--is silently slid through. There’s a glass of water, a cup of your vitamins and pills that you hate to take but always have before, under Overhaul’s watchful eye. There’s some sort of mush-looking porridge that is a step down from even the overcooked vegetables you usually get.

You drink the water, and taste the mush. It’s impossibly bland, and you decide not to bother with it; you’ll wait for breakfast, which always has vegetables. The vitamins remain untouched.

Nothing is said when the tray is taken. Not that you expected it.

When the lights go out later, you’re startled at first--you were standing up looking for cracks or tiles or anything to count. Quickly, you feel your way back to the mattress and curl up. For the first time, you miss your bedroom--just a little. You miss the comfortable warm blanket, and your stuffed animals.

Sleep comes fitfully, with the loss of routine.

In the morning, the lights come back on with a loud buzz and a breakfast tray is pushed through the bottom of the door.

A glass of water. A cup of pills. A bowl of mush.

You drink the water. You force down half the mush because your stomach is growling, although the texture is so awful that you gag a little. Again, you refuse the vitamins, leaving them there for the tray to be taken away.

Boredom sets in quickly. Normally, you’d be reading a book. Or doodling on some paper. You think about the books, running some of the stories through your head; but it’s different than reading the words on the page.

Lunch comes.

A glass of water. A cup of pills. And a bowl of--what else, apparently: mush. You leave the pills untouched. Fuck him, and his pills and his rules and his stupid room.

Dinner comes--at least you think it’s been a few hours--but the tray does not.

You pound on the door.

“Don’t I get dinner?”

Nobody answers. Is there anyone who can even hear you? The hallway was empty, before.

Your stomach growls until you fall asleep.

The morning comes, and you practically skid your knees sliding over to the tray when you hear it being slid through the door.

A glass of water. A cup of pills. And… nothing else. No mush. No veggies. Your stomach complains, but you have nothing to answer it with. So you gulp down the water and leave the damned pills, and go back to your mattress and try not to cry.

Lunch is the same. Water. Pills. No food. You refuse to take the pills.

This time, you can’t avoid the tears.

When your dinner tray comes with nothing but water and a cup of all-too-familiar pills, you pound on the door.

“This is fucked up! You can’t starve me! You can’t--”

The lights go off without warning.

How long do they stay out? You fall asleep eventually, wishing you had something to cling to--a pillow, a stuffed bear--but you’re stuck here in this unfamiliar room in the unfamiliar dark.

The lights aren’t on when you wake up. You start to imagine things in the dark. Not monsters, but patterns. Little swirls of rainbow lights, like the kind you sometimes saw as a kid.

When the lights do mercifully turn on, your breakfast tray is pushed through. A glass of water, a cup of pills. You miss the mush.

Hours pass slowly, stretched with nothing but your thoughts and hunger.

Your stomach growling punctuates the boredom, but not by much. You’re even missing the bland food Overhaul served you before; vegetables and plain rice seem like a dream. Grilled chicken, steamed fish--heaven.

It must be days that you don’t eat. It must be.

You can’t hold out forever. Who can? The room is starting to drive you a little mad, you think. Nothing to do. Nothing to see. No one to talk to…

Finally, one morning, when the tray comes through, you swallow down the pills. The tray is taken away without comment, and the hours until lunch seem more endlessly than usual.

You’ve taken to picking at a loose thread you plucked out of the mattress during the long hours of the day. It’s something to do, at least. Not that it helps much.

When the tray comes through in the afternoon, there is a bowl of mush there. It takes you a few moments to register it; when you do, you don’t hesitate to dig in, eagerly swallowing the warm, bland oatmeal-like bowl with a gusto that would have been ridiculous a few days ago.

Your fingers hesitate at the cup of pills, but you never want to be this hungry again, so you take them.

“Overhaul?” You ask, when the door opens for your tray to be removed. “I-I’m sorry I acted out, I’m ready to come out now.”

You did what he wanted, didn’t you? Took your pills. Apologized. Surely he would forgive you now.

But no one answers.

Eventually it becomes its own routine, really, although it’s nothing as luxurious as your old one. You miss that routine--the nice, clean clothes picked out for you every morning; the fresh food every meal; the books, the drawing, the little things in your room. You even miss the conversations.

You ought to have appreciated the things he gave you. That’s what you realize over the days, sitting on the mattress, picking endlessly at the thread until your fingers bleed a little.

You ought to have appreciated his presence, really. The way he let you ramble on about the books he gave you, the way he complimented your drawings.

Was it worth it? You think one evening, waiting for the lights to turn off. It was just a book. You could have had others. Maybe it was too dirty, maybe it was a bad book, to cause all this trouble.

Maybe he was right.

You don’t know when it happens, but the door does open.

The light that comes in is so harsh that you cover your eyes for what must be minutes. Then there are gloved hands on your wrists, pulling you up and off the mattress on unsteady legs.

He doesn’t stop pulling until you’re out of the room, and the cool air of the hallway is both welcoming and dizzying in equal measures.

“I--I can come out now?” You ask, still squeezing your eyes shut, blinking rapidly as you try to get them used to the light.

“Yes.”

It’s the most beautiful word you’ve heard in ages. Well. The only word you’ve heard in ages.

He leads you back down the hall, back through his bedroom, and if it weren’t for his grip on your wrist, you would’ve leapt clear across the room and flopped on your bed like a child.

Instead of letting go, he leads you to your en-suite bathroom.

Ah. You hadn’t properly washed in um, a while. The occasional attempts to clean yourself with your hands using the sink next to the toilet notwithstanding.

“Go on,” he says. His voice is mild, testing.

You scamper into the bathroom without complaint. It’s familiar and lovely and you missed every bit of it.

There’s a set of fresh, clean clothes laid out on the counter. Your favorite soap and shampoo set in the shower. You wash yourself three times, until the water is clear and your skin is almost raw from scrubbing clean.

You dry yourself and dress yourself and stand in the doorway, head down, waiting for him to tell you what to do now. You don’t want him to get mad--you don’t want to go back in that room.

After a few moments, Overhaul speaks.

“Come here.”

Your heart flutters. Will he yell at you? Tell you that this was just so you could get clean, and lead you back?

But you should do as he says. And you do, legs trembling, glance unable to meet his gaze. Instead you look at the walls, covered with your own drawings, plus a few pretty prints he gifted you. You look at your bed, and its comfortable floral blanket, and the stuffed rabbit sitting on your pillow. Just where you left it before--before the room.

His gloved hand grips your chin and turns it towards him.

“Eyes on me,” he says, so you listen. He tilts your chin up, making it even harder to look away. Not that you would--you want to listen.

“What did you learn?” His voice is soft but there’s an underlying firmness to it. A firmness that you want to walk on--it’s like solid ground after so much uncertainty.

“That…” Your voice is still hoarse and you swallow, coughing. “That you know what’s best?”

He might be smiling behind the mask. You can’t tell.

“That I know what’s best about what?”

You don’t dare look away from him. But your fingers find the soft fabric of your fresh, clean dress. It’s one of your favorites--did he pick it out on purpose? Guilt begins to roil in your stomach alongside anxiety.

You think over the words before you answer. “About… what’s best for me.”

He doesn’t stop there. “In what way?”

“In-in… I mean… in everything?”

You think he likes it--that you stammer over your words. He hums, and it sounds like pleasure.

He lets your chin go and peels off the glove, dropping it in the trashcan before he snaps on a fresh one.

“Very good.”

The breakfast tray is steaming hot with steamed vegetables, white rice, eggs. A cup of pills in the corner, waiting for you to swallow them down. The eggs are overcooked but they might as well be caviar from the way you begin to eat them without complaint, humming, feeling grateful that you’ve got a good meal in you.

Were you ever really someone who argued with him? Someone who felt pulled to rebel, to complain, to feel that the treatment you received here was anything less than gracious?

Whoever that someone was, they need to be gone; they must be. That person can stay behind in the white room, for all you care.

After you finish your food, you swallow down your pills, one by one, as Overhaul watches.

Maybe in a few days, when you’re sure that he’s not mad, you’ll ask him for a new book. This time, you’ll let him pick the title.

He knows best, after all.

#yandere overhaul #yandere chisaki kai #yandere bnha #yandere mha #yandere #afterwitch writes

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