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nabtime · 4 months

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Sir Waylon of Gotham

Waylon wasn't much for talkin' to hoity-toity well-to-doers. Didn't much like their attitude. Or the way they looked at 'im. Lookin' down their noses, all pinched-faced and holier-than-thou, like he was the scum of the earth for the way he looked. And while Waylon wouldn't deny that he was scum, it sure weren't for lookin' the way he did. He'd earned that title fair 'n square, through hard work 'n strikin' fear inta the people of Gotham.

And he did that by bitin' they's arms off, not 'cause he was a li'l scaly.

Point was, Waylon didn't talk much with fancy people. Yeah, he talked to the Bat Brood and they could half be considered fancy on account of mostly bein' Waynes under the mask, but they didn't count. Not really. 'Specially their newest petite couyon that liked to swing about in his sewers like the chit owned the place. He didn't know how the kid was added to the family- coulda been adopted, coulda been one a' the other one's partner, coulda been another blood son a popped up outta nowhere 'gain.

Waylon didn't ask and the chit never said. No, all Phantom ever wanted to talk 'bout was how Waylon was doin. Idjit was far too concerned about Waylon's well-bein' when he shoulda been mindin' his own damn business. Kid said it was part a his business. That heroes had to check in on the reformed, make sure they were well and happy so they didn't have a need to get back inta villainy. Waylon wanted to call bullshit on 'im but he just didn't have the heart when the kid looked so earnest 'bout it.

And maybe the kid was swingin' in all the time just to check in on an Old Croc. Maybe even the kid didn't mind bein' 'round 'im an 'is big, scary teeth. Sure it were more likely he needed an escape an' the sewers were a place most Bats didn't venture less they had to, but iffin that were true- kid didn't have to find and talk to him every time.

All this was to say that he'd gotten used to seein' Danny 'round the sewers, and even seein' Jay when the older kid was sent to bring the other back topside.

Who he had not gotten used to seein' in the sewers, though, was a pretty thing all done up in medieval dress and glowin' green. Nor was he used to the hulking Knight done up in glowin' black armor standin' next ta her.

And, again, Waylon wasn't much for talkin' to hoity-toity people, let alone Ghost Royalty or some such, but he was still a man with manners. An' they were in his sewers (well, an' Grundy's, but the big lug weren't here, so's point was moot) so he was haven'ta be the one to greet 'em.

He growl echoed off the stone and muck as he approached the two beings that were floating midair, just above the water. They both looked lost until he fully rose from the grime and addressed them.

"Youins need somethin? Ya lookin fer Danny?"

And, well, Waylon said he had manners. Never said he was gonna use 'em.

"Oh!" said the sweet thing in flowing gown, her voice just as soft as she looked. "Yes! You must be the good Sir Waylon of Gotham that the King speaks so fondly of. I am Princess Dorathea and this is my personal guard, Fright Knight."

Sir Waylon? Now that's not somethin' he's ever heard afore. Him? Deservin' of a title like Sir? Ain't no way. He weren't 'bout to say nothin', but it sure did make him feel all flustery that a noble Lady like her would think so highly of a monster like him.

"Nah I wouldn' say he's 'xactly fond a me, but the name is Waylon, yeah, uh- My Lady."

And she smiled at 'im, sweet as anythin', like he weren't made a sharp edges an spilled blood. The big Knight aside her was actin like that too, posture relaxed as he just let her get closer. Closer an most people ever dared. 'Cept Phantom an some a the Bats. Was it a ghost thing? No fear a death, so whats scary about a big man with sharp teeth anymore?

"Would Sir Phantom be near-abouts?" she asked. "I require his counsel on matters of import."

"Sorry, cher- uh, My Lady," he grumbled, "ain't gotta clue where he's at. Somewhere's topside, prolly."

Her shoulders slumped just the slightest, obviously disappointed in his answer. And try as he might to want to give her a better one, he only knew where the kid was when he wanted to hang around underground. Waylon avoided the streets at all costs these days, not wantin' to risk trouble again. He'd spent enough of his days wastin' away in Arkham and Blackgate, thanks.

The Lady turned thoughtful though and graced him with a tilt of her head and a smile. "Perhaps you would deign to assist me instead, Sir Waylon?"

"Well nah, I'd love ta, My Lady. Supposin' its somethin' I can help ya with."

"Yes," she said, circling around him in a graceful glide, "so long as you are willing, you will suit just fine."

"Ya still haven't told me what ya need help with, ah- My Lady."

Waylon couldn't see the Knight's expression but he could almost feel the amusement pourin' off a him. And he wondered just what the hell he'd agreed to that a guy like that'd find it funny.

"My brother is making moves to take back the Kingdom. He has amassed a small, but skilled contingent of rebels and intends to usurp me at the upcoming Yule Celebration."

"So ya need muscle ta help stop 'im?"

"Oh no," she said, sweet but full of venom- like arsenic. Her grin was now full of teeth, teeth much to sharp for a proper Lady like her, and her eyes turned to glowing reptilian points. "I can take care of him myself. I intended to ask Sir Phantom along as contingency."

She looked him up and down and the Knight standing guard behind her was projectin' a certain smugness as he did the same.

"You, however, Sir Waylon," she said, and the tone near sent a shiver down his spine. "Will do well as both warrior and suitor."

"What say you?"

#nap shitposts in the afterlife #naps fics #dp x dc #dpxdc #i leave the ending up to your imagination or someone elses potential continuation #i just had the funny idea that they'd all be good together. yes that includes Fright Knight.#have fun with the ship and ship name byyyeeee

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yandere-daydreams · 4 months

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Title: Bared Fangs.

Commissioned by the very lovely @ohsotearful.

Pairing: Yandere!Childe x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 3.0k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Modern/Serial Killer AU, Kidnapping, Prolonged Imprisonment, Blood/Gore, Reader Gets Hurt, Obsessive Behavior, Gun Violence, and Unhealthy Relationships. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You should’ve known something was wrong as soon as Childe asked you if you wanted to go outside.

Honestly, you should’ve known something was wrong as soon as he found you reading in front of his fireplace, as soon as that crooked, schoolboy grin found its way to his lips and he forewent his usual routine of draping himself on top of you like some muscled, zealously homicidal weighted blanket in favor of ruffling your hair and toying with the collar of the flannel you were wearing (his flannel, technically, but you tried not to let yourself acknowledge how accustomed you’d grown to wearing your captor’s clothes or, more troublingly, how long it’d been since the last time you’d felt disgusted by it). “Snow should be done for a couple hours,” he started, nodding towards the frost-coated windows. It might’ve been a more charming sight if not for the scratches carved into the surface of the glass – souvenirs from there the first time you got your hands on one of his axes. “I’m thinking of stepping out, doing a little hunting before the storm kicks up again. Wanna come with me?”

You narrowed your eyes at your book, trying to hide the way your heart beat a little faster at the suggestion of being able to leave his claustrophobic cabin. But, with Childe, you were usually better off staying safely tucked behind the bars of your rustic cage. “Is this going to be a normal hunting trip or a you hunting trip?”

He only hummed. “’fraid I don’t know what you mean by that, princess.”

“Are we going to be hunting animals, or…” You trailed off, swallowing down the bitter taste that came with remembering why you were here. “… or, you know. People, or whatever.”

“This time of year?” He let out an airy laugh, like you’d asked to go skiing in the middle of summer. “There’s nobody on the mountain ’cept me and you.”

Still, you dug your teeth into the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to try and think beyond your near-overwhelming desire to be anywhere but here. Childe was a murderer, a sadist, a kidnapper, but he wasn’t the type to play mind games. He tended to divide his reality between the world outside – where people could be hunted like quarry, their bodies left to rot in tents and rivers with only the occasional token taken as a keepsake – and the world inside the walls of his cabin – where he sat you down in front of a low-burning fire and told you stories about ice-fishing with his siblings and pouted when you admit his (admittedly, not entirely inedible) cooking could use a little more seasoning. After that first night – the worst night of your fucking life – he seemed to want to keep you resigned to the latter, at least until he came home covered in blood and desperate for something warm and familiar to fuck until he passed out.

Eventually, you sighed, closing your book and sitting up. “Fine. When do we leave?”

His grin widened, head lulling forward as he pressed a kiss into the top of your head. “The front door’s already unlocked. I’ll give you a head start, a full five minutes. Actually, make it ten – just to make it a little more fun for you.”

There was a beat of silence, then another. “Childe, you’re making it sound like you’re—”

“Like I said, there’s nobody on the mountain but me and you.” He pulled away, turning on his heel. “I’ll be nice, too – won’t use anything with more than a twenty-foot range.”

“But, you— you can’t just—”

“Tick-tock.” He clicked his tongue, winking at you over his shoulder. “Unless you’d rather cut straight to the good part.”

You should’ve known something was wrong, and now, running through the frozen wilderness desperately lost and barely dressed, your ten minutes spent and a killer undoubtedly chasing you down, you were paying the price for it.

You didn’t have time to be tactical. The snow was fresh enough to make every interruption unbearable obvious, meaning that – even if you were willing to stop and spare the seconds it’d take to hide your tracks, it wouldn’t have done you much good. Your only option was to run, but even that was easier said than done. Childe preferred to keep you in a state of hand-crafted domestic bliss, meaning what few clothes you did have were either picked out by or borrowed from him. Currently, all that separated you from the cold was his flannel, an oversized shirt, and a pair of his boots that you’d snagged on your way out. The chill snapped at your cold legs like the teeth of some unseen predator, the frigid air burning holes in your lungs, but the thought of what Childe would do when he caught you was enough to keep your feet moving, to keep you sprinting blindly through the forest. He wouldn’t kill you. You had to believe that he wouldn’t kill you, but—

A high-pitched holler, the sound of branches snapping underfoot and foliage being pushed aside somewhere behind you. You hadn’t stopped running after your first trembling steps away from the cabin, and yet, he couldn’t have been more than a few hundred feet behind you – half a mile, at your most generous guess. You started to curse under your breath, then thought better of it, biting down on your bottom lip with enough force to draw blood and pivoting to the left, where the forest seemed to be just a little thicker. If you couldn’t get away from him, you could at least try to hide before he got to you.

It was a haphazard, half-baked plan that was cruelly and immediately cut short as your foot caught on a root hidden by the snow, tearing away your right boot and leaving you sprawled over the frozen ground. Dampness sunk into your thin clothes, and you shut your eyes, trying to listen for Childe’s footsteps, but there was a reason none of his victims ever seemed to hear him coming. The forest’s minimal white noise was enough to swallow him entirely, the sound of birdsong and distant car engines disguising his presence despite your best attempts to—

Your realization was delayed, but intense.

Cars.

Cars meant roads. Cars meant civilization. Cars meant people, people who could take you away from here, away from Childe. You clambered to your feet, but failed to take so much as a step before a sudden, stabbing pain bit into your calf, your leg immediately buckling underneath you. You would’ve fallen entirely if it hadn’t been for the adrenaline running through your system, numbing the agony and choking the ragged scream that threatened to rise from the pit of your chest into a cracked whimper. It was one of Childe’s arrows – you would’ve been able to recognize that black steel from a mile away – but you didn’t let yourself linger on the implications. With grit teeth and balled fists, you limped forward, leaving a thin trail of crimson in your wake. You would’ve missed it if you hadn’t been looking, but it was there – a thin, wobbling, unpaved dirt road, only marked by two thin rows of tire tracks that sliced harshly through the otherwise unmarred blanket of snow. God, you never thought you’d be so happy to see dirt.

There wasn’t time to think. You stumbled out of the woods and into the road, the arrow’s head sinking that much deeper with every stuttering movement. The car you’d heard was still there, too; a by-the-numbers sedan, only a few hundred feet down the road. You threw up your arms up, then thought better of it; cupping your shaking hands around your mouth. You moved to call out, but whatever you might’ve said was stolen away from you as something dark flashed across your peripheral and another arrow planted itself in your right shoulder. This time, you crumbled like a dead leaf – broken into pieces by a morning gale.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Childe emerge from the tree line, his crossbow still in-hand. As he came to stand in front of you, your gaze shifted back to the car. You watched, your mind buzzing with pain, as it disappeared around a sharp bend, never so much as slowing down.

You didn’t realize you were crying until you heard Childe coo, wiping away the tears flowing down your cheeks before they could freeze against your skin. “Sorry, princess,” he muttered, his voice low with a painful edge. “I guess I cheated, huh? Couldn’t help it – just knew you’d look so cute all bruised up and bleeding.”

Dropping his crossbow carelessly, he fell to your height. He was dressed for one of his usual hunts; a cut-off shotgun slung over his back, a hunting knife sheathed at his hip. The leather casing of the latter pressed into your side as he dipped lower, burying his face in the crook of your neck and pressing a long, open-mouthed kiss into the base of your throat. You felt his knee settle between your thighs, and weakly, your hands found their way to his chest. “Not here,” you mumbled, more afraid of the chill quickly seeping under your skin than being seen. “It hurts, Childe. I—I think you hit something imp—”

“I’ll be fast.” Another kiss, this one to the exposed skin of your collarbone. His calloused hands skirted over your sides, then your waist, hiking the thin fabric of your oversized shirt up to your midriff. You were already past the point of total numbness, and yet, the rough gravel beneath the snow cut harshly into your exposed skin. Rather than distracting you from the pain in your calf, your shoulder, it only seemed to draw more attention to your bleeding wounds, only seemed to make it harder to ignore the dull heat of Childe’s mouth against your chest. “Gotta take you out more often. You’re always beautiful, but I didn’t know you’d look this pretty.”

It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. His arrow burnt into the tattered skin of your calf as his hands fell to your legs, groping at the plush of your thighs playfully before shifting his attention to the fly of his jeans. You knew what he wanted, he’d always been transparent, but the sound of shifting fabric, the sight of his rosy-tipped, stiff cock pressing flush against his stomach – that was enough for the loose coil of dread writhing in the pit of your chest to tighten into a tight, jagged knot of pure terror. You tried to sit up, to make your refusal that much more apparent, but Childe only caught you by your uninjured shoulder, shoving you into the ground with enough force to earn a pained scowl, a fractured whimper. His only response was a wordless, vaguely sympathetic noise, a softened lull to his wide smile. “No skipping out on this, babydoll. I can’t guarantee you’ll end up in one piece if I have to wait ‘till we get home.”

It was a fair warning, but anything he could have said would’ve been lost on you. Your heart was beating in your ears, blocking out any other sound. Pools of red blood and piles of limp bodies flashed across your vision and desperately, futilely, you clawed at the hand on your shoulder, kicked at his chest, thrashed underneath him like an animal unaware that resistance would only make the predator want to drive its teeth that much deeper. It was more Childe’s divided attention than your strength, but your heel found his side and, just for a moment, he slipped, letting out a soft grunt as the hand pinning you down fell away. You were scrambling onto your knees in a second, attempting to get your feet underneath you in another, but your little stunt was cut short as Childe lashed out, wrapping his arm around your neck and forcing your stomach against the ground. There was no whimpering, anymore – just a ragged, ear-piercing scream as his free hand found the arrow in your shoulder, tearing it out of you in one clean, unfaltering motion. His only response came in the form of a throaty moan; deep and terrible and followed immediately by the feeling of his cock against your dry cunt. You would’ve begged him to stop, offered to let him do anything he wanted to you if he just didn’t do this, but he didn’t give you time to bargain. Without hesitation, he thrust into you, bottoming out in the same motion.

Trembling sobs tore at your throat and past your lips, tears now flowing unabashedly down your cheeks. Childe kept his full weight against your back as he fucked into you with short, sharp thrusts – never happy unless he was burying himself in the deepest pocket of your poor, freezing pussy. Rather than desensitizing you, letting you fall back into some distant state of nonexistence, the snow seemed to burn where it was pressed into your cheek, your chest. You wished he would’ve taken off the rest of your clothes. You wished he would’ve just shot his stupid arrows into your skull and put you out of your misery.

It shouldn’t have felt good, you didn’t want it to feel good, but your body didn’t know that. Your cunt clenched and drooled around him, trying in vain to turn his assault into something you could enjoy, but the way he grunted into your ear snuffed out any pleasure you might’ve been able to feel. “Tryin’ to pull me back in,” he muttered, his voice already airy, already strung out. You couldn’t help but wonder if, had you only been able to run from him for another minute, he would’ve found something else to shove his dick into and left you out here to freeze to death. “Is that your goal? Wanna – Fuck, wanna help me warm you up?”

His hands fell to your hips, pulling your ass flush against his hips and letting him fuck into you that much deeper, that much more brutally. Your injured leg grated against the dirt of the road and you cried out, your voice ragged and barely coherent. “St— Hurts, stop, stop, please, stop—”

“That’s it, always making such pretty sounds for me.” He buried his face in the dip of your shoulder. “Sometimes, it feels like all I wanna do it cut you open and crawl—”

He was interrupted by the dull roar of an approaching engine and something brightened inside of you, your eyes shifting towards the road, towards the well-beaten pick-up truck speeding in your direction. The breaks screeched as you and Childe came into the driver’s view, and for a second, you let yourself go slack underneath him, relief overwhelming your better judgement.

Childe wasn’t so sentimental.

His shotgun was in his hand before you could so much as process that he’d moved. Wordlessly, he fired off two shots; the first to the windshield on the driver’s side and the second to one of the front tires. You watched on helplessly as your last hope for salvation bucked, swerved, then veered off of the road entirely, catching on a snowbank and turning over once before crashing into the trunk of an oak that failed to so much as shake under the force of the collision. It was quieter than you’d expected it to be, the only sounds that of shattering glass and crunching metal. If there were survivors, no one screamed, or called for help, or came stumbling out of the wreckage. Childe’s breath hitched in his throat, his pace growing that much more erratic as he buckled into you – his pointed canines finding the tender junction at the base of your throat and burying themselves in your skin. It was less a love-bite and more an effort to eat you alive. What little blood he didn’t lap up washed over your chest, melting the frost and mixing into the snow beneath you. “Look—” He groaned, tried and failed to pull away from you. His voice reverberated against the curve of your neck as he went on. “Look what you turn me into, princess. Got me making all kinds of messes for you.”

Blood. Bodies. The taste of his cum on your tongue as your friends bled out under the same roof. You would’ve choked the air in your lungs if you’d been able to breathe, but there was no point lingering on pleasant hypotheticals. There were no distractions from the feeling of Childe’s hips grating against yours, the way his cock twitched as settled against you. A guttural moan tore past his lips as something thick and searing flooded into you, and you refused to let yourself acknowledge that this was the warmest you’d felt in days.

You stayed there, limp and frozen and miserable, as Childe pulled away from you, pulled out of you. Your eyes fell shut as he stumbled to his feet, your skin too numb to feel anything aside from the pressure of his arms around your motionless body. He pulled you against his chest, then let out a low whistle. “Might’ve gone a little overboard there. Sorry ‘bout that, princess.” A low chuckle, a gentle squeeze. “I just can’t help it, not when it comes to you. You’ll forgive me after a warm bath, right?”

You didn’t answer. The arrow in your calf must’ve fallen out, or maybe not – you couldn’t feel anything below your knees. Your hands felt like dead weight too, utterly disconnected from anything you might’ve used to control them, but every drop of panic, every ounce of horror – that all paled in comparison to the never-ending pit of pitch-black loathing that formed in your chest as you stared up at Childe. You hated him, wanted to see him torn apart with his own stockpile of weapons, but you really couldn’t blame him. Not for this, at least.

You should’ve known something was wrong as soon as the monster bared its fangs.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere childe #childe x reader #yanderecore #yancore

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tteokdoroki · 1 year

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aali I want to bite bakugos biceps I want him to finger me send help I just want to be stupid with him bc he does all the thinking 😔

૮ ͈>◡< ͈ა warnings — smut, minors dni 18+, dumbification, praise, biting/marking, finger fucking, slight!nipple play, soft dom!bakugou, fem!reader.

crying so loud yearning for him because bakugou does everything in his power to make sure you never have to think ever again.

he likes to feel like the big strong man— like you need him to make your every choice and your every move. he likes having you lying on his chest, needy little mouth latched onto it and sucking purple bruises between his pecs (made with love) because it means you’re occupied enough for katsuki to slide his fingers past your entrance without prep — rough padded thumb on your clit drawing lazy circles before he moves ‘cause you make the cutest content little sighs when he touches you just right.

“pretty little thing, aren’t ya?” he coos, voice rough but filled with sweet-love and honey as it runs through your ears. it’s like he fills your brain with cotton, only curling his fingers against your soaked velvet walls when you gargle around his tit or pout just a little bit. “got nothin’ in that pretty head ‘cept for me, right?”

bakugou knows that he’s spoiled you way too much when you nod instead of answering with your good girl words and your manners like he taught you and your eyes are sort of blank— content but just as empty as your head while he finger fucks you the way that you like, mapping out every pleasure spot that has you shuddering and arching your ass back for more, for him to go deeper.

and he’ll moan when you sink your teeth into his peck and suck— moaning along with you cause you can’t muffle your whines the faster his fingers move, rub at your gushing gummy insides and mould you like you’re piece of clay until you’re dizzy with pleasure. “i gotcha baby, be good for me. cum f’katsuki…” the blonde purrs to you, stroking your pussy just right, whimpering into your hairline cause he’s so proud of you, so turned on watching how you force yourself to ride his fingers through your high— creaming around them, throwing your ass back down on them until they shine and they’re soaked and you’re almost done cumming. “such a good girl, my fuckin’ girl. uh-huh, you got it. ride out that high f’me, sweetness.”

and katsuki kisses away your tears, swipes a clean thumb over your teary-stained cheeks and let’s you suck his slick digits clean until you’ve calmed down — mumbling a small ‘thank you’ as you drift off on his love-bitten chest.

‘cause he loves you, and he loves spoiling his brainless little baby.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou smut #bakugou thirst #bakugo smut #bakugo thirst #bnha smut #bnha x reader #mha smut #bnha x you #bakugo x reader #bakugou drabble #bnha thirst #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #tteokdoroki #✧ ₊˚✉️੭ — new notification #✧ ₊˚🗯️੭ — messenger #esloao #<3

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boop-le-snoot · 9 months

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masterlist

dirt

sundress+no panties+daryl = uh oh...

title and soundtrack is dirt by depeche mode. you need to take depeche mode away from me tbh, I'm hung up on the exciter album writing smut when I should be making updates to my negan and ironstrange fics.

I also headcanon daryl having huge fat swinging balls for some reason and I'm so sorry you had to read that I turn into an animal when I write daryl

cw: 18+, word count 3k. a little rough (butt slaps, some bites, he calls you a "bitch in heat" and a "slut" a couple of times - lovingly of course), a little pervy (you're fucking outside and daryl eats his own come out of your pussy+breeding kink if you squint really hard).

He reaches in, fingers curling around the bunched up, patterned cotton of the dress and his mind blanks. The low growling, he realises, is coming from his own mouth.

"The fuck, girl?"

You look at Daryl over your shoulder, where the bare skin has erupted in goosebumps from his hot, humid breath. "What?"

You sound annoyed, but there's a distinctive teasing undertone to it. Your eyes are narrowed a little too much. The corners of your cherry-tinted lips are tilted upwards.

"You ripped all my damn underwear, Daryl! What did you expect?" You grouch, breaking the second of still silence. "Can't just take a stroll to Victoria's Secret anymore, can I?" Seeing his face darken even more, you hastily add, "I got a couple I wear on runs."

You sound so cute when you're annoyed, Daryl thinks, but it's overshadowed by his blood rushing in his ears, hot and fast. His cock is still pulsing in his jeans and it demands to be released.

"So you jus' walkin' 'round with allat juicy ass hangin' out fo' all da men to sniff?" Daryl feels an urge to clarify to you, what is exactly you're doing, that he's upset with. "Cuz that's exactly what all them dawgs are fuckin' doin'!" He's jealous, of course he is, but most importantly, he doesn't trust any of the men as far as he can see them.

Hell, he isn't completely sure even Rick would pass on the opportunity to get an eyeful of your soft thighs, your scrumptious ass, or your fat cunt, for that matter.

Lord knows they're the juiciest fucking things he has seen in his whole entire miserable life. Just thinking about it makes his rock hard cock twitch and release a sad dribble of pre-cum in his pants.

"Exactly, your girl!" You declare, eyeroll audible in your voice. "Nobody's seein' me without my panties 'cept you."

Daryl's only response is to hitch up the sundress higher, the movement so quick, the fabric gives a sad crack as the seams threaten to burst. Your ass is still bare, still round and smooth as ever, nobody should have this sort of curves while they're in the middle of a damn apocalypse, he thinks, and sinks to his knees and sinks his teeth into the supple skin of your right ass cheek.

You yelp at the sharp pain. You squirm, your attempt at getting away, of course, futile: your hips and waist are firmly in his grasp. Rough fingertips dig into you, just shy of painful.

"There," Daryl inches back a bit, admiring the indentations left behind by his teeth. For someone who forgets to take care of himself most days, his teeth are surprisingly straight and white and strong. And he lets you feel it. "Now if any asshole decides to go nosin' where he shouldn't, there'll be a warnin'." Daryl sounds proud of himself, which is all and all - fair.

Once the initial shock subsides, your feel your cunt lips stick together even more as your arousal oozes out of them- and down your thighs, now that there isn't any fabric to contain it all. In all honesty, you did enjoy the occasional breeze that would waft up your skirt, even if it didn't offer much respite from the sweltering summer heat.

And Daryl is definitely not helping matters, either. He's like a damn furnace, pressed up against the back of your legs, all solid bulk, breathing hot and moist into your skin, every exhale going around the curve of your ass and disappearing between your legs. He knows it the moment that you shift in place, subtly trying to widen your stance even though there is nothing more you want than to rub your thighs together to provide relief to your swollen lips and throbbing clit.

He raises a hand, wide and open-palmed, and smacks your ass. "You're such a fuckin' slut," he grouses. And your first instinct is to gasp at the offense; you hide your grin in a lip bite. Yes, yes you are. And you know it. And he knows it. Your ass cheek jiggles as he gives it another well-aimed slap. "Lookit you," Daryl presses the issue, "drippin' wet." To hammer his point home, he takes a thick, fat finger and runs it along the seam of your cunt.

It glides easily. You shudder, biting back a moan. Your legs shake just a little, but Daryl notices - he always does - and his finger dips inside your lips. The rough, calloused fingertip swipes through your labia, stopping just short of your clit. You whine and he withdraws.

His numerous knives and tools clatter as he abruptly gets up.

"You wanna be fucked, huh?" Voice quiet, Daryl's front presses to your back with a malicious intent. The prominent bulge of his erection is pushing into your back. "Is that why you goin' round naked? So anybody coulda bend you over, anytime, huh?" He reaches around you, hand blindly nosing for your face. When he finds it, he wastes no time in prying your mouth open, sticking the damp finger inside.

Your own cunt, salty and tangy, blossoms on your tongue. The gesture makes you moan around his finger and him- he sticks another one in, keeping you quiet.

"Shut the fuck up," Daryl orders. The rasp in his voice makes your knees buck and your cunt weep and he knows it. His free hand moves at your back, and with the accompanying noises, you come to realise that he's opening his pants and hurrying to free his dick.

When the damp, silky tip touches the bare skin of your ass, your body reacts before you do. Your mouth wraps tighter around his fingers. Spit dribbles from the corners of your mouth and onto his wrist. Your back arches into his body. He is just as scalding as the sun beaming down from the sky.

Daryl pushes his fingers deeper into your mouth, holding them there until you gag. The motion makes your whole form spasm and shiver; his cock gives a responding jump of its own.

"Lookit you," he rasps directly into your ear, hot breath tickling the shell of it. "Like a fuckin' bitch in heat," he grabs the meat of your ass cheek, spreading you one-handed. His cockhead noses around the cleft, leaving a sticky trail behind itself. It dips near your cunt, adding your juices to the mix. "You want it so bad."

You do. You really, really do. But you know Daryl is mean. You love it when he's mean to you. When he is proud of the strength of his bulk, when his eyebrows draw tightly over his brilliant blue eyes and nothing, absolutely nothing can escape his predatory stare. You crane your neck, trying to look back at him, to plead with your eyes.

He gets it, because he always does. Daryl's fingers quickly leave your mouth, dragging a wet trail of spit down to your neck where his fingers wrap around it in a secure hold.

"You want it so bad, then fuckin' beg," he says the words and you immediately, greedily descend into the permitted depravity.

"Please, Daryl," your voice sounds hoarse, interrupted by hiccups as you struggle to swallow the saliva that had pooled in your mouth and around his fingers, "please, fuck me. I'll be good. Please."

You feel him fist his cock as it twitches; you can't help it, really, as you arch your back even more and push your ass against his rough hand. Immediately, he withdraws it, just to slap you again.

"You're a bitch in heat," he muses, but you can hear the beginnings of impatience in his voice. "Say it!"

He's never made you do that before. Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, you gasp, part shock part offense, until you feel a drop of fluid roll out over the outer lip of your cunt and fall and disappear somewhere below you. Then it's just lust. The kind that tints the whole world red and narrows your field of vision.

"Fuckin' say it!" Daryl demands, patience thin.

You wouldn't put it past him to just shove himself in at this point. "I'm... I'm a bi- I'm a bitch in heat," you hiccup, feeling your face flood with heat. "I'm a bitch in heat, please fuck me!"

You feel his lips tilt up just the tiniest bit against your ear before he reaches back for his cock and aims it at your cunt in a single, precise thrust. You gasp and mewl as he suddenly stops halfway through. Your cunt ripples and flexes and squeezes. Daryl drops his forehead onto your shoulder, panting.

"So fuckin' tight," he murmurs, mostly to himself. You're not - he knows better, he makes sure you're not before he even thinks about sticking it in - but you are. All that blood that went straight to your cunt the moment his breath caught up in his throat at the sight of your bare pussy - It's making your cunt swell all around him.

A pathetic mewl leaves your lips, your satisfaction incomplete. You wiggle, you arch, but Daryl is as unyielding as ever.

"You take what I give you," he growls, teeth bared like an animal against your ear. Nonetheless, you feel the tip of his cock kiss your cervix. Stars burst in your eyes. You are so full, practically bursting at the seam of your cunt where his fat balls rest against the stretched hole.

Slowly, Daryl withdraws, both of you hissing at the drag of his fat cock in your engorged cunt. You may be a bitch in heat but he's every bit the stud that is just as fervent and feral to breed you. His teeth creak as he pulls back completely, leaving just his weeping tip inside of you.

And then he slams home. And again. And again. And again.

With every powerful thrust of his hips, you gasp. Quiet, pleading moans is the limit of your vocal capacity. Mouth dry, the air gets trapped in the back of your throat as your lungs demand their due.

Daryl is unrelenting. His blunt fingernails drag over the skin of your throat, leaving marks in their wake, as he makes way to your mouth.

"This is what you wanted, slut?" He pants into your hair. "Be quiet. Be really fucking quiet unless you want everybody to see what kinda..." He inhales sharply, feeling your walls flutter at the flith dripping from his tongue.

And it shouldn't make you feel the way you feel. Those fucking words just add more accelerant to the fire in the pit of your stomach, spreading it from there and up, over your face. It flames. Your hand helplessly clutches the nearest surface as you attempt to brace yourself against his thrusts and the notion that anyone could see you.

Bent over something or another, dress hiked up to your waist and Daryl's hips pistoning in and out of you at a rapid pace. He didn't bother undressing save for letting his pants hang freely just below his cock and balls. Heavy, fat balls, littered with coarse dark hair, that slap against your cunt and your clit with a resounding smack every time he drives his cock inside of your cunt. The squelching noise it makes is obscene.

Another whine, and your pussy squeezes him once again, blind and hungry for release. You can feel it building steadily, deep within your abdomen.

"Fuck yeah," Daryl growls, "you fuckin' like this, don't 'cha?" He's gotten the hang of it: the dirty talk, he knows exactly how to get under your skin. He's a mean bastard with nothing close to dignity or self-respect. If anyone saw him, rutting into you, little more than two animals, he wouldn't, couldn't stop.

Daryl would stare them down up until his cock swelled and busted, depositing his seed inside your womb.

Your knees feel weak. It's getting harder and harder to keep up with him; seems like every pathetic whimper that leaves your lips only makes him meaner, stronger somehow. The grip of his hand on your hip is bruising. Daryl effectively wears you on his cock, submerging himself into the warm depths of your pulsing cunt over and over.

"Da-Daryl..." You gasp, you moan and you plead.

He doesn't stop. He merely handles you into a different angle, the one that hits that special spot inside of you with every powerful thrust. He is mean, but he is also fair.

"Gonna cream my cock?" He barely makes sense to himself, the words that his dry mouth garbles seem to have a mind of their own. "Gonna be good, girl? C'mon."

"Ah," you want to say yes, you want to affirm, but all that comes out of your mouth are garbled, unintelligible noises of pleasure. But Daryl sees it. It's in the way your arch becomes near-painful, body overtaking your mind. Even the slightest bit of pain blends into hot-blinding pleasure. You don't know where what ends and begins.

It begins somewhere behind your cunt. The contractions start slow and aching, and every punch of his cock to your guts intensifies the feeling tenfold, until every last inch of your cunt is squeezing around him in that same arduous, suckling rhythm. It's like your pussy is nursing at his cock, attempting to suck his life out of him and deposit it into you.

The pleasure is like a wall of fire and water. Your chest blooms with it, but your extremities swarm with pinpricks. Mouth parted in a silent scream, you sway forward, managing to catch yourself on your elbows at the last moment.

The man behind you doesn't care. He's way past caring, having had started chasing his release the moment your cunt enveloped his cock in a vice grip. The meat of it is sensitive and he spends the few inches to the finish line gracelessly mashing it inside of you, accompanied by the sound of wet flesh meeting even wetter, sloppier flesh.

"Take it, fuckin' take it," you hear him gasp through your stupor before that familiar, warm rush floods your cunt. His cock twitches, once, twice, three times, each forceful throb followed up by more and more seed being pumped into the depths of you.

Against your back, Daryl sags and pants out his excerption. Like a dog. His wet nose leaves sweat stains on your back where he nuzzles into you.

Your knees shake as you struggle to hold up his weight, and then your legs completely turn to mush when droplets of his cum escape your cunt as his spent cock slips out. You know you should be worried about stains in unsightly places but somehow, you can't bring yourself to care.

Daryl notices this, of course. His bulk slides off you; you hear him quickly shove himself back into his pants before his ass hits the ground with a loud thud. Next to you, of course, his stubbly, prickly cheek rubbing over the skin of your leg. He places a wet kiss on the inside of your thigh, and then another.

You know the drill. It's hard for him to find words, sometimes, after a scene like that. It's the intensity of it, the forceful ejection of him out of his head where he spends most of the time, that renders him speechless. Daryl is forced to feel - good things. It's not something that he is used to.

Your skirt is still around your waist and the hot sun is shooting lasers directly at your ass and pussy. You've managed to get your bearings enough to feel at least a little self-conscious, a little exposed. Your combined fluid still drip from you and for a split second, you think about pulling up your panties to try and at least somewhat contain the mess.

Right, you sigh to yourself. It makes your exhausted body twitch and sag even more.

Daryl gently pushes away your hand that was attempting to pull the dress over your ass. You freeze; he smiles against your skin, a little closed-lipped grin that makes something warm and fuzzy make a nest inside your chest. That quickly turns into a startled gasp as his fingers glide through the mess of your cunt.

You're spent. Exhausted. So sensitive, his rough skin practically hurts on your hole and clit.

But Daryl gets it. You get him, and he - he gets you. His hot breath fans over your pubic hair and it's all the warning you get before he opens his mouth wide, flattens his tongue and licks. You've made a big mess and there is a lot to take care of, but if there's anything about Daryl that you know, is that he's thorough at what he does.

In no time, he's got his tongue shoved down your cunt as far as it would go, curling against your walls, lapping up his and your cum like your pussy is an all-you-can-eat-buffet and what's inside of it is sugar and spice and everything nice.

But it's not enough. It's not anywhere near your clit, or any other place that could make you produce more of the cream he's feasting on. Idly, you think about who's the real bitch in heat here, but push out your hips to meet his face nonetheless. You can be mean too. If you want to.

I don't know what to say for myself

#daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #female reader #twd smut #not tagging this with norman reedus bc i have posted my face before and I'm not that bold #or am I?

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suuuupernovaaa · 10 months

Text

Clean | Hobie Brown x f!Reader

You got yourself into a little bit of a fight, and Hobie has to patch you up.

Mature. 18+. Mention of blood.

The cloth meets your tender skin, and you hiss and try to pull your hand away.

"Hobie, that hurts," you say through gritted teeth. "What is on that?"

Holding your hand tightly to your chest, as if to protect it from him, you look up to see an exasperated expression on his face.

"Stuff to clean it. Give me that back." He grabs your hand a little gruffly, and puts the cloth back on. When the sting subsides, it does feel nice and cool.

"Someone out to teach you how to throw a proper punch," Hobie says, dabbing the cloth gently, moving it up your arm to where your other scrapes are. None of them are terribly deep, except a slight gash on your thigh from, you think, falling onto some broken glass.

"I know how," you reply quietly. He moves to your other arm, and you feel the stinging again. "It wasn't much punching, anyway. It was like... clawing and shoving. It was chaotic."

He gives you your hands back, and looks down at your legs, noticing the cut on your thigh. He lets a whistle out from between his teeth, and stands up. He rinses out the cloth he's been using, and grabs a new one from his kitchen drawer. He puts more 'stuff' on it, and returns to you, sitting down.

"This is gonna hurt." He scoots close, so that your legs are between his, and without another warning, presses the cloth to your cut.

"Oh crap!" you shout, and you're annoyed when Hobie starts chuckling.

"Oh crap!" he mimics in a high-pitched voice, meant to resemble yours. He places a large bandage on your leg, and a couple others on cuts that look a little nastier on your arms, and then sits back. "Think you'll survive," he comments. "Now, you need to tell me why you were in a fight. Looked like a couple of cats in a bag when I arrived."

You turn away, looking from where you sit at his kitchen table over to the TV, which is showing the news. Hobie always has the news on, even though he hates it and everything they ever talk about.

"It just, escalated. She was a fan, I guess, of the band. And she asked if I knew you, and I said yes. And she said... some not nice things. She was just drunk."

You're his whore, then? Do you think I could get in on some of that? I'm sure he's not very picky. I mean, look at you.

You can feel the way she grabbed at your stomach, pinching it. It felt like something scripted out of a bad teen movie, except it was really happening, and she just wouldn't stop.

"What did she say?" Hobie asks. When you look back at him, he's leaned forward, eyes narrowed, lips pursed.

"It doesn't really matter. It's over."

"It matters to me."

You shake your head and wave your hand in the air, as if to dismiss the conversation. "Really, Hobie. It was just, I don't want to relive it."

He reaches out and places a warm hand on your bruised knee. "Tell me."

You roll your eyes and sigh. "She said like, I must be, uh, sleeping with you and your standards must be low because... I'm like, fat, or whatever."

Hobie sits up, his back straight as a board, his eyebrows raised and his jaw a little slack. "And you beat the shit out of her?"

You draw your line into a straight mouth and nod. "Sort of. I mean, I can't fight but, she was bleeding and crying at the end of it. I was bleeding too but, I wasn't crying."

He nods, as if in approval. "Why does she think we're sleeping together?" he asked. "She's seen you, at a show or something?"

"I didn't get a whole backstory, Hobie. I guess so."

"Hm." He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. "Must've noticed how I look at you. Everyone has. 'Cept you."

How Hobie looks at you? You try to think of what he could be referring to. Sometimes when he's on stage, he finds you in the crowd and smiles. But, you're good friends, so that doesn't seem all that exciting to you - does it seem that way to everyone else?

"How do you look at me?"

"Like I'd like to fuck you, Y/N. Like the shape of your body is all I can think about, and it really doesn't fucking matter what anyone else thinks about it. It fucking keeps me up at night."

It feels like you've been slapped in the chest, and all the air has left your lungs. Your mouth is instantly dry, and your legs feel weak.

Hobie is so dry, so even-toned, it's hard to tell if he's joking or not - but would that be a funny joke right now? Hobie is a lot of things, but he's not insensitive, and he certainly wouldn't try to hurt you on purpose.

"It does?" you ask finally.

He leans forward again, bringing his face just a few inches from yours. "I want you, Y/N. I thought I'd made it obvious, but now I see, I didn't."

You lick your bottom lip, and Hobie glances down at your mouth.

"Can I kiss you?" you ask, and a soft moan escapes his mouth, as if asking for permission turns him on. You feel his fingertips on your cheek, running upwards, until he cups your face in his hand.

You should close your eyes, you think, but the sight of him coming towards you is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. His soft brown eyes, his full lips, his sharp cheek bones, his glistening piercings; you want to remember every sharp edge and round corner.

He pauses, just before your lips meet and whispers, "Anything you want to do to me, you can."

#hobie brown #Hobie brown x reader #hobie brown fic #hobie brown smut

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bestjeanistmonster · 30 days

Text

Dc au- Vector as Killer Croc!!!

A crocodile detective mutated during an investigation to become the massive, ravenous monster in Gotham’s sewers

Knuckles only comes up to the height of just above his knee so he’s massive

Vectors role has been SUPER fun to think about cuz he’s killer croc and plays the role of commissioner gordon (cept that he’s not a cop cuz any of these characters working willingly with a COP is just so out of character to me that i couldn’t do it)

He was an independent detective starting out, then after an incident where he gets mutated he gets sent to arkham cuz he kind of went on an accidental rampage and cuz he looks rlly scary.

Vector’s bummed out at first but then he realises that he could use this to his advantage and basically be undercover inside the super criminal scene, he already has a scary reputation and he can listen in and gather info about the other criminals and what their planning and tell batman about it

The rumours in Gotham that he eats ppl rlly helps with his villain cover lol. Like it was just speculation and when ppl look at Vector they just assume that he uses those massive teeth for something so it became quickly accepted as fact by everyone (he prefers pizza)

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kirbyskisses · 1 year

Note

monster iwa…. is rewiring my brain chemistry

oh sem. my queen, you have awakened my little godzilla/mothra = iwaizumi/reader heart. i will now enter a feral unhinged state - i take no responsibility for what is about to happen.

tw: hybrids, monsterfucking, breeding mention, size kink, “just the tip”. minors/ageless blogs dni

godzilla type hybrid!iwa, a monster man with these huge muscular, gray-scaled arms and claws, sharp teeth, a long, heavy tail and back spines. still with that handsome face, a head of dark-brown hair and cold green-grey eyes that bore down on you. he’s so big

has a downright possessive love for his queen - a good-hearted little thing - mostly human but with fuzzy hair, bright eyes and precious moth wings.

he groans and curses and roars - a grumpy protector - but alway simmers down into a loud, comforting purr when he wraps his tail and huge body around you.

he doesn’t quite get what your chirps and cries are about while his slippery, long, blue tongue penetrates you but he doesn’t mind too much.

“have to prep you, little lady. st’p trying to close yer legs! i’m not gonna hurt my lovely queen. just gonna eat you up…”

and he does. :(

eats your fat little pussy like a man starved - huge claws breaking into the nest he’s made below you so they don’t tear into your thick thighs instead.

monster!iwa has no technique, he doesn’t need any. :(

has a tongue so long it slobbers on your clit while reaching deep, deep inside your walls.

a constant squelchsquelchsquelch and unceasing suckling noises echo around as he only takes breaks to say “sweetest fuckin’ pussy,” “that’s m’ goddess - stretch nice and wide…” before spitting on the overstimulated bundle of nerves and starting again.

you must’ve cum four times by the time he stops, wings, antennae and body twitching and twittering barely able to make a coherent noise - pussy lips still convulsing after minutes on end.

monster!iwa is so big you can feel him deep, deep in your tummy when he thrusts his cock in.

promises to start with the tip but your gummy walls are so addictive, so sweet and drippy around his bulbous tip that he can’t resist and lets out a choked roar as he bottoms out inside you.

*sniffle* trying to grip the hardened scales on his shoulders. :((

trying to kick or fly or do something, anything to get the pressure out because it’s so fat inside you but you’re immobilized - by his weight on top of you, his tail wrapping behind you - pulling you into him

his monstrous, long tongue delving inside your mouth forcing you to suck on the slippery muscle as your pussy sucks in his cock ☹️

the obscene sounds your little cunt makes reverberate around the room, mingling with high-pitched whines and breathless moans

“that’s my pretty little moth. my cute little queen.” he smirks, practically able to see the thoughts leave your brain; there’s nothing but him, him, him

and fuck, you’re so small. so delicate. chubby and soft with the most beautiful wing and eyes. gone is your usual bubbly smile - just your perfect lips letting out tiny gasps.

he growls like an animal when you mutter, barely coherent.

“look ‘t me. look ‘t your king - open your eyes and say it louder.”

and so you do, because he’s the king of the monsters and he’s filling you too well for you to disobey.

“wan’ your eggs hajime, pleaseeee - wan’ your babies!”

and he bares his sharp teeth with a vicious smirk at the thought of you heavy with his hybrid heir, breasts milky and full - your plump little form unable to do anything ‘cept waddle ‘nd cry for your big kaiju husband to help you. ☹️

of your plump little form unable to do anything ‘cept waddle ‘nd cry for your big kaiju husband to help you. ☹️

oh, he’s addicted.

#queen sem😩😩😩#I am the world’s biggest godzilla fan he was made for me.#also check out my post about kaiju no 8 for more monster!iwa #monster!iwa #tw monsterfucking #tw hybrids #hajime x reader #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi hajime x reader #smut #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #iwaizumi hajime (27) athletic trainer #mothzilla #kirby’s asks🌸#x plus size reader #x chubby reader #x black!reader

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pedge-page · 3 months

Note

just cut my hand and i’m losing my mind thinking about joel licking up my blood. i need blood kink!joel like i need air

Anon: I do hope your hand is better!!! Im sorry this has been in my inbox forever but here's my drabble for it.

Warnings: blood kink!Joel, blood, toxic controlling Joel

- - - -

You're slicing vegetables for your homemade soup when you knick your pointer finger with the blade, hissing loudly.

It didn't feel like much aside from a sharp sting, but the blood flowing down your palm and to your wrist screamed otherwise.

"Shit," you curse, searching for a towel to wrap your hand in.

Your movements are haulted when you feel a calloused grip hold your arm out, firmly, almost painfully so. His body pins your hips to the counters edge, his hot breath sending goosebumps over the shell of your ear.

You close your eyes. Prayers fill your mind that he can't feel your heartbeat through your back, doesn't know the fear youre feeling right now under his presence, against his sturdy powerful body, knowing it'd end badly if you even tried to resist him.

He doesn't say anything. Your wrist trembles in his grasp, the blood shining darkly against your skin, thick and oozing down to your forearm now. You both watch as a drop begins to form, threatening to spill past your elbow.

But it quickly finds safety—or perhaps greater danger—when Joel's lips enclose around it. He hums as the bitter metallic taste overwhelms his taste buds. You gasp at the nudge of his hardened cock still pressed against your ass.

He swallows, then trail his tongue over the crimson path, lips ghosting over the clean areas he's engulfed. You feel hot kisses bruning into your skin, tongue flat, lapping up every microbe of your blood until he's taking your hand in his mouth, eyes meeting yours as he sucks more and more of it, drawing closer till he's suckling straight from the source of your cut.

He groans, heavy lidded eyes narrowed on your wide ones. You see his apple bob in his throat as he cleans your wound with his saliva before he kisses the wound one last time.

"Th-thank you, Joel—"

He roughly grips the back of your neck and clashes his lips on yours. Devouring, nipping, skinning you alive if could in this kiss that is anything but loving. Anything but reassuring. It's a threat, and so clearly when you gasp as his teeth sink into your lower lip.

You pull away instinctively, feeling a swell in your mouth. he licks your fresh blood from his own lips, savoring it, relishing in swallowing something sacred of yours.

His thumb glides along the puffy cut he'd given you, pushing down slightly with a threatening grip around your jaw "Be careful, birdie. Ain't nobody, not even you, allowed to hurt this body—nobody—"

He tilts his head and stares into your soul with a growl. "—'cept me."

- - - -

Permanent Taglist

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrs-oharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover

#pedro pascal smut #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #last of us fanfiction #last of us smut #joel miller fic #tlou smut #tlou fanfiction #bloodkink!Joel

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quizzicalwriter · 5 months

Note

anything that involves cuddling/sfw sleeping with Dallas? maybe the reader is a bit clingy and shy 😻

Storms

Pairing: Dallas Winston x Fem!Reader

Summary: Thunderstorms had always been a safe haven for Dallas, now he’s finally able to share one with you.

Warnings: None! ‘cept for some kissing.

A/N: Thank you for the request!

Word Count: 1.8k

Thunder shook the walls, ringing through your ears with the ferocity of a passing train. Each flinch earned you a gentle hush from Dallas, a kiss behind your ear, or a squeeze of his arms.

You’d never been one for violent storms. Calm storms you could handle, you loved the gentle lull of rain, the whisper of passing wind as it carried leaves off into a nearby neighborhood. But this? This was much different than what you’d grown accustomed to.

The radio had buzzed off a selection of warnings, interrupting your preferred music station in favor of warning people of the incoming wall of rain, as if you couldn’t see it by simply looking outdoors or sticking your hand out a nearby window for half a second.

Dallas, however, loved it.

It was something you hadn’t expected, but you weren’t surprised by either, given that he’d grown up in New York and had seen his fair share of hurricanes before he’d retreated to Oklahoma. He whispered tales of his youth against the shell of your ear, stories on how the rain had rattled the thin glass of his bedroom windows as a child, how he’d watch with childlike wonder as lightning illuminated the sky.

Dallas’s arms held you snugly by your middle, fingers fumbling with the soft fabric of your shirt as the rain pattered against the windowpane adjacent to his bed. Whenever lightning would crack across the midnight sky, he’d begin counting.

“One-“ He whispered, fingers drifting along your forearm. “Two-“

Before he reached three, thunder sounded through the air, the vibration felt deep within your chest. You could feel the rumble of his laughter against your back as he pressed kisses along the curve of your neck, his hold tightening as your worried eyes gazed out into the black ink of the night.

“Y’know why I count?” He asked. When you shook your head he hummed, adjusting himself to be closer to you as he threaded his fingers with yours, giving your palm a gentle squeeze. “Lets you know how far away the storm is.”

You didn’t know enough about the topic to dispute his words, nor did you want to. His voice had a calming nature to it, the deep vibrato resonating in your ribs, soothing your ever-beating heart into a calm rhythm. So you hummed back, tilting your head back slowly to push yourself closer to him, a move he accepted with a hushed ‘awe’.

“Poor thing.” He whispered, despite the caring nature he’d laced in his words, you could hear the smile tugging at the syllables, threatening to spill into a chuckle at your fear of the storm. “I’m here, doll. Storm can’t come inside.”

You laughed at that, turning halfway to look up at him. He smiled down at you, unlacing one of his hands from yours to cup your cheek, thumb brushing against the swell of your cheekbone.

“I know it can’t come inside.” You responded through your soft laughter. “Still, it’s loud. Loud noises scare me.”

He clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, eyes never leaving yours as you gazed up at him. If you’d been anyone else, anyone at all, he would’ve laughed. But you looked pitiful, fearful in his hold as each rumble from the sky filled the silence.

“I know.” He murmured, brushing your hair back from your face as he spoke. “Want to know something?”

You nodded, lips quirking up into a smile as he gently pushed your cheek, forcing your attention back toward the window. His fingers continued brushing through your hair, nails gently scratching your scalp.

“Listen.”

You could hear it, the sound of wildlife, the branches of faraway trees cracking in the wind, the leaves tapping against the siding of the house. Crickets chirped, cicadas hummed, birds called from their well-protected nests. It all melded together, swirling into a makeshift melody, a lullaby.

“Nice, isn’t it?” He asked.

“Yeah,” You replied. “It is.”

You both stayed like that, curled underneath thin bedsheets, legs intertwined, sharing whispered words as the storm raged on overhead. He watched over your shoulder, eyes filled with the same childlike wonder that’d filled his mind in his youth as the sky came alive with brilliant flickers of light.

His adoration for the storm, the rain, the lightning, all of it - it soothed you. You felt at home in his grasp, heartbeats synchronized. Your foot brushed against his lower leg and down to his ankle, repeating the movement every few seconds as you twirled his ring against his finger.

Eventually, the storm passed, the only remnant of the chaos being the near-silent droplets of rainwater as it cascaded down from the roof, dripping down the windowpane in neat patterns. The moon shone through the clouds, peeking in through the raindrops, painting you both in a pale, patterned hue.

His hand cupped your jaw, turning your attention back to him. You gave him a tired smile as you situated yourself on your back, watching through half-lidded eyes as he propped himself up against his left arm.

“What?” You whispered, smiling through the word as his eyes danced over your face.

“Nothing.” He replied, although you knew what lingered beneath the words. Dallas was a man of few words, preferring to show how he felt through actions rather than relying on his mind to thread together a coherent sentence when all he wanted was to show you his love through stolen glances and kisses behind abandoned buildings.

“Sure.” You chuckled, lifting your hand to brush back his unruly hair, having been messed about from lying in one spot for too long. Yet even with sleep-tossed hair, he still looked gorgeous beneath the pale moonlight. You leaned up onto your elbows, hand drifting down to his jaw, fingers brushing against the muscle as you pressed your lips to his.

The kiss was sweet, his lips moving slowly against yours as his hand moved to cup the back of your head, fingers entangling themselves in your hair. He made no move to maneuver himself atop of you, content with leaving the moment as it was without pushing it any farther.

His lips trailed from yours, delicate kisses placed against the bridge of your nose, then to the space between your eyebrows, as if he intended to map out your face with his lips. You giggled, eyes squinting shut with a smile so bright it caused his heart to skip a beat within his chest.

Dallas would be damned before he’d let anyone see him as you saw him in that moment; vulnerable, in love. Love was a dangerous thing, something that terrified him in the expanse of the night. Having you beneath him, beside him, eyes watching him with the same sense of longing he’d felt buried deep in his chest until he’d met you, you made the fear tolerable, worth it. You’d made every environment feel like home. No matter the place, the position - his heartbeat would match yours.

So for those nights, mornings, days - whenever the two of you had a moment of reprieve that wasn’t filled with bounds of chaos or company, he’d show you the parts of himself that terrified him, the vulnerability and urge to love something, protect something - you.

“You’re thinking too hard.” You hushed out, snapping him from the depth of his daydream as he looked down at you, thumb brushing against your temple.

“I was.” He replied, a soft laugh following the words. “Does that scare you? Me thinking?”

You snorted at his teasing words, shaking your head as you brushed your fingers through his hair.

“Doesn’t worry me.” You murmured. “Or scare me. Although I’m more used to Pony or Johnny going quiet when they think, not you.”

He couldn’t argue with your logic, he was known for speaking his mind at the worst of times, often causing trouble for himself when he couldn’t reel in his tongue. He hummed as he leaned down to press another kiss to your forehead.

“Just thinkin’ about you, doll. That’s all.”

His words intrigued you, eyebrows lifting at the thought of you occupying space in his mind, the sight leaving Dallas groaning, knowing he’d sunk himself into a hole he’d have to talk his way out of. You loved hearing what he thought about you, just as much as he loved hearing what you thought about him, even if he’d never admit it.

“Fine-“ He grunted, relenting with a roll of his eyes as he moved to sit up. You followed suit, folding your legs underneath yourself, resting your chin against your open palm, elbow propped up against your knee. Dallas smiled at the sight, your genuine curiosity about what went through his mind never failed to amaze him.

“I just-“ He started, clearing his throat with a subtle lift of his chin, eyes moving from yours. “I trust you, guess it confuses me or somethin’.”

“How so?”

“Well, it wasn’t- it wasn’t wise when I was growin’ up. Trustin’ somebody could get you hurt, you had to look out for yourself.” He replied, shifting himself to face you. “Took me long enough to trust the guys, and with you, it came naturally. Quickly. I never understood it, I still don’t sometimes.”

You smiled, the sight tugging at his heart just as it had earlier, along with all the times prior. He loved that you understood him, he never had to over-explain himself, what he did, why he did it, you simply understood. You knew about his past, as much as he’d been willing to tell you, anyhow. Some of the stories haunted you, the thought of him so young, so alone, it hurt your chest in a way you couldn’t put into words; and yet there he was, bold, brash, heavily sarcastic - alive.

“I’m glad you trust me.” You murmured through a smile, knee brushing against his as your hands fumbled with the outer trim of the shirt you wore, a shirt you’d so diligently stolen the moment you’d gotten into his apartment earlier on in the day. “I know it takes a lot.”

“Yeah,” he yawned out, stretching his arms over himself before wrapping them around your middle. The movement had been quick enough to startle a laugh out of you, but you made no move to stop him as he pulled you back down against the mattress, his legs immediately intertwining with yours.

You knew him well enough to know that was his way of ending a conversation kindly, not wanting to pry a subject to bits if he could help it. So your curiosity relented, satisfied with his expression of trust in you. You’d felt the same thing when you’d first met him, but you’d save that conversation for another time.

“Storm’s passed.” He mumbled, words nearly incomprehensible as he buried his face into the nape of your neck, his fingers threading with yours. “Ain’t scared anymore, are you?”

“With you?” You asked. “Never.”

A/N: I hope you guys like this one! It’s shorter than usual, but I loved writing it! Honestly, I love small moments shared between characters, hidden away from others. Lets you see their true character and I’m HERE for it. Anyhow, thank you all so much for the continuous love and support you show me and my work! I appreciate y’all so much! As always, you can find my work over on my AO3 under the username, “Unscriptural.”

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whereireid · 1 year

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quaritch taking care of his bunny on her period, (human reader)? i'm on my period and all i want is for daddy to take care of me and baby me 😔

oh no baby!! im sorry to hear you're on your period !!! i got u!!! here's daddy quartich taking care of his lil bunny; (brief mentions of nsfw but noooo detail)

Quartich's nose crinkles when he watches you almost double over in pain. Despite being curled up in his blankets, with a hot water bottle pressed against your belly, you're still whimpering. He’s not quite sure what’s wrong - recently you’ve been quiet and he found it best to avoid you, but his hair pricks with worry when he hears you sniffling, and he just has to check out what’s wrong.

Grumbling into the pillows about pain, you're too preoccupied with your own issues to worry about what Quaritch is doing - you don't even notice that he's next to you until the bed dips with his weight, and his tail flicks against your skin irritatingly.

"Someone hurt you, bunny?" Quartich asks, his head tilting to the side as he kisses his teeth slightly, yellow eyes blown wide in concern. "You've been cryin' and wincin' all day like a goddamn injured calf."

"Nobody's hurt me, daddy." you whine, trying to ignore the fluttering of your heart when Quaritch's large palm comes down to rub soothing circles on your back, his lips curled into a frown. "Except from you.”

Quaritch's ears flitter in confusion, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish until he finally splutters out, "Me? I haven't done nothin' to hurt you, bunny, 'cept for maybe those spankings the other day. But they were well deserved.”

You huff quietly as Quaritch’s tail wraps taps against the mattress softly. “Daddy, why don’t you want babies with me?” You ask hesitantly, so incredibly quiet he can barely hear. “I haven’t got a baby and now I’m suffering because of it.”

Recognition washes over his face, and Quartich shakes his head softly, nuzzling his warm body closer to yours. “You never mentioned it, bunny,” he hums, his hands trailing lewdly up your shoulder, snapping your bra strap with a grin. “But if you want my babies, I can always try fuckin’ em into you now.”

“No use now. Won’t work.” You huff and puff and cross your arms, your body feeling like jelly when Quaritch’s lips softly begin to press against your neck.

“Oh no, bunny, it won’t work now, but it will sure help to ease the pain.” He grins at you wickedly, and your heart flutters in your chest.

The hot water bottle suddenly doesn’t feel so hot anymore: not now warmth has flushed through you because of the eagerness from Quaritch to gain his red wings.

#🐰💕—bunny fics #🐰 — asks💕#miles quaritch x you #miles quaritch x reader #miles quaritch imagine #miles quaritch smut #avatar #avatar smut #atwow #avatar 2009 #avatar 2 #recom miles quaritch

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raz-writes-the-thing · 7 months

Text

DW Prompt Drabble

Tenth Doctor x GN!Reader / Requests are open and encouraged

Summary: prompt based on this prompt list!

21. "you know, this reminds me of the time I met the president."

CW: none really, just a quick little thing

DW Tags: @nyxiethesimp @quickslvxrr (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

“You know, this reminds me of the time I met the president.”

Currently, you and the Doctor were scanning the inner depths of a cave out in the Pookt Systems for traces of Human life and interference over the ages. There was supposed to be no life for lightyears, so how humans were supposed to have interfered with this little moon of a planet was indeed, quite a good question.

You blinked at the Doctor, doing your best to turn the words he’d just said over in your mind to make sense of them.

“Look, I know that nine hundred-odd years is a long time to get up to some truly wacky shit, but- what do you mean this reminds you of the time you met the president?” A beat. “And which president?”

The Doctor tears his eyes away from the results he’s getting from the Sonic and grins.

“Ohh, you know- dark caves, human nature, age-old enemies of human-kind. The usual.”

You babble with confusion for a brief moment before he catches on that you’re not following. He hops back up from his crouching position and clicks his tongue.

“Right, didn’t tell you that one, did I? It was 1790 and Washington had been president for a year,” he launched into explanation. “I was there looking to complete a coin collection for a friend when we found a plot,” he popped the ‘p.’

“A plot?” You arched your brow.

The Doctor grinned, waving the Sonic at you.

“A plot,” he agrees. “Daleks wanting to wipe out humanity. Their usual thing. Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yes, Washington ran into us in Main Street and as one would, we offered to bring him with us! Wacky one, that Washington.”

You watched him with interest, wondering just how it was he managed to get himself and everyone else into these ridiculous situations. The Sonic beeps, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“Oh- results! Brilliant!” The Doctor breaks off mid-sentence and is immediately sucked back into the world of the now, and you know you’d get to hear the end of that story someday, but right now there was a mystery to solve and nothing sucked the Doctor in like a good mystery.

“Huh, that’s odd,” he says, analysing the results. You question what he means by this and he responds by telling you- “No human contact here at all. ‘Cept you, of course.” He frowns, tongue pressing into the back of his front teeth.

“No, this is saying- no, it can’t be.”

You refuse to ask him again. You know he will clue you in when he puts all the pieces back together in that very big, ol’ brain of his.

“The Sonic, it’s- it’s picking up Gallifray energy signatures. Live ones.”

His startled eyes meet yours.

“Oh, this is not good.”

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babytarttdoodoo · 10 months

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kind of a rouge prompt idea but “i just told a story at work about my childhood that i thought was really funny but now everyone is super quiet and someone said i’m so sorry” but it’s jamie + the team edition. like he talks about a traumatising James Thing and has no idea how horrifying it is until they’re all like …… wtf

love your writing! <3

Thanks for the prompt (and the lovely compliment)!

I’ll preface this by saying I have next to no knowledge of dentistry and you should not assume any medical assertions made here are correct.

((I also feel like I should add that I finished this one off while more than a little tipsy.))

Enjoy the himbo chaos.

(Prompt Fill Masterpost)

—

“Ay, dios mio, it was terrifying.” Dani put an emphatic hand to his chest. “Earl. He still haunts me.”

“Thought you were over that, bruv.” Isaac frowned up at him from his usual spot on the locker bench.

“On the pitch, yes. But at night…” Dani shook his head mournfully. “I have dreams of being chased in the dark. I know it is him.”

“I used to have dreams like that.” Colin piped up, pausing in tying his laces and looking haunted. “‘Cept it was my nana chasing me, on her mobility scooter.”

A few people sniggered and Isaac clapped Colin’s shoulder. “That’s fucked up.”

“I never remember my dreams,” Sam mused. “But I have always been a very deep sleeper. My father says I was the envy of all other parents when I was a baby.”

“I have only ever had one nightmare.” Richard declared. “All of my beautiful little teeth fell out of my mouth and I was ugly. Who will kiss me if I have no teeth?”

“Who’s losing teeth?” Jamie asked, joining the conversation from the doorway with a furrowed brow.

“We are discussing nightmares,” Jan explained matter-of-factly, then turned back to Richard. “Dreams about losing teeth are commonly attributed to stress.”

Jamie shook his head, still looking confused.

“Nah, don’t get that one, mate. Your dentist can just stick ‘em right back in, can’t they?”

That sparked a round of horrified protests and Jamie flapped his hands like a conductor to quiet the rabble.

“Eh, eh, I’m right!”

“Actually…” Sam held up his phone, open on an NHS webpage. “Jamie is correct.”

The locker room erupted into disgust and outrage while Jamie grinned smugly and tipped his I,COG cap to Sam for the assist.

“Hold on, how did you know that?” Isaac demanded, staring at Jamie like he had two heads. That quietened the team a little as heads swivelled in Jamie’s direction.

“Knocked two of ‘em out when I were, like, 10.” He shrugged and tapped a fingernail against one of his front teeth in demonstration. “Mum’s friend were a dental nurse. Told her to put them in some milk and take me to hospital.”

“You were very lucky.” Sam commented, still scrolling through the information he had found. “A significant gap in your teeth can lead to premature ageing.”

“And what a tragedy that would have been, eh?” Jamie beamed, gesturing to his face. “To think I might have deprived the world of this top tier mug.”

Other players groaned and laughed, a few tossing socks or discarded shirts in Jamie’s direction while he ducked, sniggering.

“How do you know they gave you your real teeth back?” Bumbercatch questioned, with an air that suggested great suspicion of the dentistry profession as a whole.

Jamie considered that. “Fair point,” he conceded. “They feel like mine, though.”

“Wait, how do you even manage to lose two teeth at once?” Colin interjected, muffled by his fingers as he prodded his own mouth in confusion. “I’ve never lost any after my baby teeth.”

“Took a snooker cue to the face.” The team winced as a collective and Jamie nodded sagely. “Were pretty grim. Blood all over the pub floor and everything.”

“You were 10?” Thierry clarified, face scrunched up. “Do kids normally get into bar fights here?”

“Well, yeah, s’pose not.” Jamie shuffled in place, suddenly looking a bit uncomfortable. “Weren’t a fight so much. Dad took me in to watch a match and it all kicked off a bit.”

An uneasy quiet overtook the general hubbub and more than one face went stony at that revelation.

“Mate.” Jeff looked like he’d rather not be the one probing further, but had bitten the bullet anyway. “Your, uh, your dad wasn’t the one with the pool cue, was he?”

“Eh…” Jamie glanced around the room before answering. “Well, yeah. He was. But I’m, like, 90% sure it were an accident.”

Chaos detonated like a bomb.

Isaac and Richard jumped to their feet, one cursing in French, the other demanding to know how long it would take to get to Manchester. Colin seemed to be googling train times.

Dani had taken to rifling through his bag, looking for god knows what, and Thierry was strapping on his mask like it was war paint (he didn’t even need it anymore, he just liked looking scary).

Jan was a terrifyingly silent pillar in the middle of the storm and Sam… Well, Sam looked like he had been gutted.

“OI!” Roy’s bellow commanded immediate silence, players freezing mid-shout. He was framed by the door to the coaches’ office, arms crossed and typical glare set in place. “What the fuck is going on out here?”

“Close ranks!” Jamie all but squeaked, invoking a hallowed, sacred vow from the team to collectively shut the fuck up.

All eyes turned to Issac who, as captain, had the final say.

On balance, he decided it was probably best that their new manager didn’t get arrested for murder before the season even got underway.

“Agreed.” he finally acquiesced and the whole room affirmed their compliance sullenly. It just wasn’t worth the forfeit to cave in under Roy’s (very effective) glare.

“... right then.” Roy finally allowed, still looking at them all suspiciously. “Then get out on the pitch and stop wasting our time.”

Everyone clamoured towards the tunnel, eager to escape the intense atmosphere. All except Jamie, who was still hurriedly pulling on his kit.

He tried not to seize up when Roy sidled over.

“You’ll tell me later.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question and Jamie knew better than to take it as one. He slumped in defeat.

“Yeah. Probably.”

#is it crack!fic or is it just afc richmond #who's to say #fic prompts #fic prompt #my fic #jamie tartt #isaac mcadoo #colin hughes #sam obisanya #moe bumbercatch #dani rojas #jan mass #jeff goodman #richard montlaur #roy kent #ted lasso #richmond himbos

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