(a shitty dead dove joke)

I'm over 25, so apparently this is as done as my brain is gonna get. When I checked it with a toothpick it was still a bit raw in the middle. Most of my stuff will be DARK or weird, so tread lightly.

[livecrow]

Call me Crow

MDNI - she/they - late 20s - fat - sideblog

I specialize in dark fics with fat reader self-inserts. Expect occasional, repetitive, and highly self-indulgent writing. Everyone who leaves me a comment on a reblog, in tags, replies, or asks shall receive a lil forehead smooch. Yes, you.

Masterlist

See #crow writes for all my writing.

"Fics" (<1k words):

You claim you're “un-kidnappable.” John disagrees. Soft!Dark!John Price x fat fem reader cw: noncon 7.7k words

Ghost convinces you he's going to fucking eat you. DARK!Butcher!Ghost x fat reader cw: noncon 3.2k words

Exposure therapy, featuring Gaz's dick. Dark!Kyle Garrick x reader cw: dubcon 1.8k words

Soap "retrieves" you. Dog Shifter Dark!Soap x fat reader cw: kidnapping 1.5k words

There's more than one way for John to fuck your face. Dom!John Price x reader cw: forced masc 1.4k words

Drabbles (>1k words):

Ghost "helps" you wax your pussy

Ghost terrorizes housekeeper!reader

John knows a mum when he sees one

FAQs

"Do you take requests?"

Sorry, I can't. Any sense of even perceived obligation gives me fucking anaphylaxis and will kill me.

"Will you continue X?"

While it's likely I'll circle back when the mood strikes, for the same reason as above, any follow-up fics have no definitive timeline. Keep in mind, even then when I do get inspired, writing takes a massive amount of time and effort for me, unfortunately.

However! Don't let that stop you from sharing thoughts and questions with me!

What I will and Won't Write/Reblog

See #crow rambles for my random bullshit.

*I reserve the right to self-reblog one of my own posts several times if I'm trying to get traction, especially on a longer thing I worked really hard on. If that annoys you, probably don't follow me, lol

[quarterlifekitty]

I found the best plink EVERRR

https://x.com/HNEYLUVR/status/2052187067564593257/video/1?s=46

Tell me this isn’t Nikolai omggg🤭🤭

Even the caption suits him if u squint. An AU where he’s a dealer and just falls in love with one of his clients and wants to be the only one taking care of her

What if we made this a little darker 😈

Cw: drug use, coercion, kind of non-consensual prostitution

Nikolai who’s your boyfriend’s plug.

“My plug is coming over— just be cool, ok? He gives me an insanely good price. He might hang out for a little, too.”

You know by now any questions you have will be waved off, so you resign yourself to dealing with there being another strange man in the apartment.

Nikolai greets your boyfriend warmly, like he’s an old friend, but his eyes light up when they land on you.

“And tell me— who is this beautiful creature?”

It’s a slippery slope from there.

That first time, he just sits by you, maybe drapes an arm on the couch behind you. You take a hit from the joint he has for himself at your boyfriend’s urging. Nikolai laughs and looks at you with soft eyes when you cough— like he just saw a silly puppy fall over.

He kisses your cheeks when he says goodbye and your boyfriend waves it off with a “he’s European”.

The next time, his arm is around your shoulders. Then, there’s a hand on your thigh. His goodbye kiss starts landing closer and closer to your lips.

And you feel guilty because you like it. There’s something so slow and easy and sticky about Nikolai— he’s easy to fall into. He’s an excellent conversationalist. He has interesting stories and despite the fact that he only sees you once a week, he seems to remember more about you than your boyfriend ever does. And your boyfriend, usually blitzed within the hour, either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. Every time you bring up how it’s a little strange what Nikolai (or Kolya, he’s insisted you call him) does, he waves it off— telling you to just be cool and not ruin a good thing.

Your coughing persists every time you take a hit to be polite. Nikolai responds by shotgunning with you. You were sure that would push your boyfriend over the edge, but no.

Until one day, you come home to what you think is an empty apartment. Your boyfriend should be at work. But you walk into your bedroom, and there he is— Kolya playing with the old teddy bear from your dresser (your boyfriend always ends up throwing it out of your bed).

“Nikolai—“

“Malýshka, how many times have I said? You can call me Kolya,” he chides gently, placing the bear down in a sitting position before moving to you.

“Jason isn’t—“

“I know he isn’t home right now, pchelka. He told me I could come here today while he was out.”

“He… he did? Why?”

The truth sits like a sore under your tongue but you don’t want to let it out. You don’t want to admit how stupid you’ve been. How this has been a long time coming.

“He is, well…. A loyal customer. But he hasn’t been able to make a full payment for a long time.”

He can see the second hand of a clock ticking behind your eyes.

“And he knows… he knows how fond I am of you.”

You shake your head in disbelief.

“And he made me an offer.”

You cry. First and foremost at the betrayal. At being treated so cheaply. At knowing this would happen and doing nothing to stop it. At the fact that you ever fell for the romantic words of a man so spineless. But most of all you cry from guilt and relief at the same time.

Because this has been your deepest, darkest, most unspoken fantasy ever since Nikolai walked into the door with his deep brown eyes, with his imposing figure and the gold chain dangling from his neck— and called you beautiful while looking at you like he really believed it.

You spend the rest of the evening in bed with Kolya. The same bed where your boyfriend fucked you. Slept next to you. Left the covers in a mess when he left bed after you.

Hours of it consist of comfort. Of shushing and cooing, of soft stroking and quick circles, of tongue and kisses and nuzzling with his nose.

Nikolai only fucks you once you beg. With a quivering lip and hiccuping sobs. When he can see your hips and feel your cute little hole on the tip of his cock as you try to line yourself up and chase him so he’ll fill you.

Respectfully, he put on a condom. But you don’t really care.

And when you’re in his arms afterwards, playing with his chain while he rubs your back, there’s a lot he could say. But he doesn’t need to say any of it.

He only speaks when he starts to pull away with a groan and a stretch. For a moment, you think everything will shatter— the dream will end and he’ll leave. He got what he wanted. No one wants you beyond what you provide for them. It’s then that he speaks.

“Tell me what you want to pack.”

[silverlullabies]

Mmmm imagine being passed around between Captain MacTavish, Captain Price, and Nikolai because you made one too many old man jokes at their expense. Now the only sounds coming out of you are your desperate, exhausted whimpers and the wet slap of skin on skin.

Drenched in sweat, strands of hair sticking to your hot face as you ride Nikolai's cock with everything you have left. Poor thing with your thighs burning, muscles trembling with every bounce, but the Russian only lounges back, hands loosely on your hips, refuses to thrust up, cock dragging along drooling walls as you lift and drop, lift and drop.

"Faster, Malyshka," Nik drawls, tone full of amusement. "You are young, full of energy, da? All those jokes of old men... now you huff and puff like broken steam engine."

A loud, pathetic whine rips from your throat as you force your shaking legs to move quicker. "Nik- p-please. 'm so tired." Voice cracking into a huff, chest heaving. Sweat rolls down between your breasts, cunt clenching hard around his cock, messy and soaked, dripping down his heavy balls. Legs feeling like jelly, muscles screaming as your grind down harder, clit dragging against the coarse hairs at his base with every exhausted roll.

A sharp crack of a hand across your ass makes you squeal, jolting forward. Before you can recover, Captain MacTavish’s rough hands yank your hips down hard, forcing every last thick inch of Nikolai’s cock back inside you until your bodies slam flush together. Both of you groan at the sudden, overwhelming fullness.

"None o' that whinin' lass," MacTavish's burr says behind you grinding you down on Nikolai until you drool. "Ye've been takin' the piss outta us for weeks callin' us decrepit old fucks. Now look at ye, bouncin' like a wee spring lamb. Dinnae stop now. Yer young, full o' fire.. put that young energy tae use."

Broken whimpers spilling from your throat as your burning legs lift once more. The wet schlick-schlick-schlick of your soaked pussy sliding up and down Nikolai’s cock fills the room, filthy and loud. Your arms shake, fingers curling into his broad, hairy chest, breasts bouncing heavily with every exhausted drop.

Before your legs can give out completely, strong hands grab you from behind. MacTavish hauls you off Nikolai in one smooth motion. Your cunt clenches desperately around nothing for a split second before he spins you and pulls you straight down onto Price’s waiting cock.

Price groans deep in his chest as you sink onto him, the new stretch punching the air from your lungs and making your eyes roll back.

“There’s my girl,” he rumbles, voice gravelly and smoky. One large hand lazily cups your breast, thumb flicking over your sensitive nipple. “So fucking wet. All that young stamina… don’t waste it now. Ride me proper.”

You try. God, you try. You start bouncing again, ass slapping rhythmically against Price’s thick thighs. The new angle has his cock dragging right over that devastating spot inside you with every drop, sharp pleasure cutting through the exhaustion like lightning.

MacTavish kneels beside you, slowly fisting his own thick cock, the flushed tip leaking as he watches. "Aye, just like that bonnie. Look at the mess yer makin', soakin' the Captain's balls like a good little slut." He reaches over and pinches your swollen clit, rolling it between calloused fingers until you sob.

Your rhythm falters, legs buckling for a moment. Price tsks softly.

"None of that." he murmurs, eyes dark. "Show us how much energy that pretty young body has."

MacTavish leaned in, breath hot against your ear. "Keep goin' lass. Yer no' done until we say ye are. Bounce harder- let us hear how soeaked ye are for old men."

You cry out, muscles screaming, body drenched and trembling, but you keep moving- lifting, dropping, grinding- lost in the wet sounds of your own exhausted submission. The three of them watched with satisfied eyes, trading you between them like a well earned prize, refusing to help even as your whimpers turned into wrecked, desperate moans.

[553580]

unedited brain hairball about the exquisite horror that is telepathy

being a mindreader in the apartment next to an s.a.s. soldier is absolutely horrifying.

it's peaceful when he's deployed, you can just keep yourself to the west side of your place to avoid all the stressed out thoughts of the single mum in the other neighboring flat. when he's gone you can sleep peacefully, with the only thoughts in your mind being your own.

but when he's home? god fucking help you, even sleeping on the couch at the far east side of your flat doesn't save you from his big, loud, violent memories. you can't sleep when he's home, can't concentrate, can't do anything but go for long walks or drives, hoping to get some space between you and the ever-present montage of death and violence that keeps pushing it's way into your mind.

you've never seen the man whose thoughts and memories invade your mind, just his hands and arms as he loads weapons and sharpens knives in his memory. you might've passed him a dozen times in the halls and not known it was him, too engrossed in the reels of violence and brutality playing in your mind. at a certain point, you decide you need to see him, to put a face to these thoughts, if only so you can arrange to go for a very long walk or take a vacation when you see him.

it's mid-morning when you're awoken from a deep sleep by the stolen images of death playing like an unwanted movie in your mind. you watch as a man with a bomb strapped to his chest begs for his life, begs to see his daughters again, tries to bargain his way out of death- only for a different man to shove him over some railing, sending him careening to his violent demise. it sends you into a near panic attack, breathing shallow, heart racing, palms sweating.

seems like your neighbor is home again. time to put your plan into action and put a face to these thoughts that keep bullying their way into your brain.

so you start making pancakes, whisking everything together until it's time to go next door. in slippered feet, with a robe tied tight around your waist and your hair still in a bonnet, you trudge next door and knock. surely he'll just be a normal guy with a lot of terrible lived experiences, surely he's nice enough and just has a traumatic job- you're pretty sure he's a soldier, considering the content of his thoughts and ruminations and the number of times strange faces in them have addressed him as 'sergeant'.

the memories of collapsing buildings skids to a halt as your knuckles rap on the door, replaced by a curiosity as you hear footsteps approaching. the door cracks open, chain still engaged, as an undeniably pretty man looks out at you with big brown eyes.

in your experience, it's always the pretty ones with the worst minds, and your neighbor is certainly no exception to that.

"hi, uh, i'm sorry to bother you. i'm your neighbor, uh, number 304, and i was wondering if i could borrow an egg? i was in the middle of making pancakes and didn't realize i was out." you ask nervously, watching the confusion on his handsome face smooth out into curiosity.

his thoughts shift gears, and instead of playing memories it switches over to imagination- and you find yourself instantly regretting your choice.

images of you, naked and tied to his bed leave you breathless and wide-eyed in shock as your neighbor slightly closes the door, unlatching the chain to let you in. he introduces himself- kyle garrick, but his friends call him gaz- but you can barely hear it over the sound of your own pulse in your ears as he imagines himself fucking you roughly with a hand wrapped around your throat, kissing the tears on your cheek as you cry on his cock.

it's hard to keep your hands from shaking as he ushers you inside, and it takes all of your strength to keep your smile plastered on your face and engage in small talk as he starts a mental pro/con list regarding whether it's better to seduce or outright abduct you and take you to his mate's secluded property way out in scotland. you manage to get your egg, maintain a polite back and forth, and make a plan to move far, far away as you 'listen' in on him mentally debating whether or not to let you leave his flat.

[he doesn't keep you this time, but it's a near fucking thing according to the silent self-chastisement coming through your wall, interspersed with snippets of a violent imaginary porno, featuring the two of you. fortunately, you have a girlfriend who mentioned vacancies in her building, and you're able to cut your lease and move over the span of just a few days while kyle's back out on deployment. for a few months you think you're safe, think you're in the clear- but your stomach lurches and heart sinks when all-too-familiar fantasies of you bound and gagged and under kyle's hands resurface as a van with tinted windows drives slowly down the street past your building...]

[ioshk-chan]

In sickness and in health

Pair: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x f!reader, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x f!reader, Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader, husband!John Price x f!reader,  husband!Nikolai x f!reader, kidnapper!König x f!reader.

CW: established relationships, fluff, a little bit toxic Price and Nik if you squint, kidnapping, questionable characterisation, unedited, silly.

Summary: So, you're sick in the middle of summer. Sucks. Fever, chills, runny nose, cough? The whole package. All you want to do is curl up under a blanket with a box of paper towels and a bowl of hot chicken soup. But alas, in today's economy, that's impossible. You're not serving customers and can spend the workday isolated in your own tiny workplace, so after swallowing every over-the-counter fever medicine you have, you get ready for work. Except...

Word count: 2,783.

A/n: Hi there! A little something to hopefully cheer up @rainbowcoloredblood. It went to the more silly direction, than I wanted, but I tried! Still super rusty after my hiatus, but fuck it we ball! Please, enjoy!

Kyle

Opening the front door of your apartment, you bumped into Mr. Perfection returning from his morning run. His skin glistened with sweat in the dim hallway light and a sweet smile lingered on his lips, the one he shows only to you.

"Oh, hi! How was your run?" you ask, letting him in. Listening to his answer, you bend down to put on your shoes, and a sharp pain shoots across your forehead. You wince, but keep fumble with your shoe laces.

"Everything okay?" Kyle asks, stopping in the middle of his story about a lady chasing a loose dog at the park he went running today.

Straightening up, you give him a meak smile.

"Yeah, I just didn't get enough sleep. I have to go to work now". You reach for your usual morning kiss, but at the last moment remember about your illness and pull away, not wanting Kyle to catch it from you too. "Have a good day".

He grasps your wrist with lightning speed, jerking your body into a his, giving you a hug. His lips pressed to your forehead, and you melt from the care in this gesture, something you're not used to.

"You're burning. And not from how much you love seeing me sweaty and out of breath. You're sick".

"It's just a cold, Kyle. I took my meds, I'll put on a mask, and lock myself in my office so I don't infect anyone. Everything will be fine".

"No". The tone cuts off any objections.

Kyle takes your bag from your shoulder and, ignoring your feeble resistance, pulls you deeper into the apartment, stripping you of your "street" clothes along the way. It's not like this is the first time. Only now, the scattered pieces of your attire on the floor don't tell a story of uncontrollable passion. Especially when you’re dressed in your pajamas and tucked back to bed.

"Kyle, I have to go to work".

"No. You need to rest and recover".

"But".

"I'll take care of everything. Give me a few minutes, I'll hop in the shower and then I’ll take care of you, my little snotty princess".

Johnny

"Lass? Where do you think you're going?" His sleepy face pops out of the bedroom door, and the rest of him follows. In all his glory. Uncovered. Nothing in the world would make this man sleep wearing clothes. Or even underwear. You know for sure. You've tried.

Feeling your cheeks flush, and not from the fever, you look away, continuing to pack your bag for work.

"I told you, Johnny, I'm working today".

Shuffling his bare feet across the floor, he sleepily approaches you, wrapping his arms around you from behind, pressing his cheek to the top of your head. The man is a living furnace and his body radiates such warmth, that you give in, exhausted from fighting the chills.

"Mm, hen, you're so hot".

"Johnny, please, we don’t have time for this, I'll be late". You weakly struggle, trying to break free from the trap of his arms. To no avail.

"No, lass, I'm serious. Do you have a fever?"

Johnny turns you to face him with one deft movement, making your vision blur and your head spin. A warm palm covers your forehead. His other hand touches his own, comparing.

"No, you're not going anywhere today".

"But I need".

Before you can finish your sentence, Johnny throws you over his shoulder, leaving you hanging upside down just centimeters away from his firm ass. If you weren't so weakened by the cold, you wouldn't have been able to resist and would have at least tried to sink your teeth into his juicy flesh. But not today.

You land softly on your back on the bed. The contact with the mattress causes something inside your chest to shift, and you burst into a wet cough.

"And she was planning on going out somewhere today", Johnny mutters, handing you a paper napkin. While you catch your breath, he expertly strips off all your clothes—all your clothes—and covers you with a blanket, ignoring all your attempts to reason with him.

"Now be a good hen, and call your boss and tell him you're not coming to work today, while I make you some tea. Then I'll help you sweat the fever out—they say it helps with a cold".

Simon

He knows you're sick even before you wake up. Observant, as always, of any changes in your behavior. A slight whistle with every inhale, a louder snore on the exhale, increased sweating, and generally more restless sleep. He gently brushes his lips against your forehead, confirming his suspicions – you have a fever.

Unbelievably quiet for a man his size, he gets out of bed and grabs your phone from the nightstand. Going into the other room, he turns off all your alarms and calls your boss. The call ends in less than a minute.

Back in bed, Simon holds you tightly, robbing you of the chance to escape.

A couple of hours later you open your eyes, struggling. This morning, sleep refuses to let you out of its clutches. Or maybe this it’s not sleep, but just your enormous boyfriend pinning you to the bed with his body? Ignoring the suspicious pain in your throat, you reach for your phone to check the time. 9.14 am. You were supposed to be at work by 8 am.

You jump up in bed, your heart pounding, wondering why didn't you hear your alarm and why don't you have any missed calls from your angry boss.

But getting Simon Riley's enormous bulk off of you without a crane is simply physically impossible.

"Simon, wake up, I overslept, I need to go", you're pleading, trying to move his arm from your torso. To no avail.

Woke by your struggles, Simon gives you one look that makes you suddenly freeze in place, waiting to his reply.

"You're sick and you're not going anywhere until you get better".

"I'm gonna get fired…"

"You have three days off".

"What?"

"Called while you were asleep. You're on sick leave for three days. Paid".

Your eyes widened in shock, and you couldn't help but gasp.

"How did you do that!?"

"Asked politely".

You roll your eyes, knowing perfectly well what Simon’s "asking politely" sounds like. You don't know how he does it, but something in his voice makes people obey without question. You know it better than others.

"Meds on the nightstand. Take it".

Glancing at the bedside table, you notice a cup of water and a blister pack of medicine. Simon watches you, unblinking, as you swallow the pill. As soon as you put the cup back, he grabs you with one hand and pulls you close.

"Sleep".

And what else can you do? There's something in his voice that makes people obey. Without question. And you know it better than others.

John

You wake up alone in bed, which is unusual. It's much brighter outside than it should be, since you woke up before your alarm. Lifting your heavy head from the pillow, you look around for your phone, but it's nowhere to be found.

Rising from your bed, all weak and dizzy, you go on your wobbly legs to look for your husband. Maybe John took your phone to make a call? He always does that because he forgets to charge his own.

In the kitchen, you finally see him. Lazily dipping a tea bag into a mug, he's actually talking to someone. You move closer, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your cheek to his shoulder. He stops the conversation to kiss the top of your head. Drowsy, clearly with a fever, you can barely concentrate on the conversation. Only when you hear your name are you finally awake enough to comprehend human speech again.

"She's not coming today. I don't know, Bob, maybe because she's sick?"

You look up at him with horror in your eyes, silently begging him to stop and let you talk to your own boss instead. John ignores your plea, soothingly stroking your back and looking away.

"It's not her problem. Find a replacement".

You hold your breath, dreading the conversation you'll have with your boss at your next meeting.

"Human resources management is the boss’ responsibility. If you can't handle employee getting sick, you might not be suited for the position".

Goosebumps ran up your arms. John had various "voices". Sometimes his quiet, affectionate "sweetheart" would make your knees buckle and your head spin. His equally quiet, yet threatening "Don't" would stop fights that seemed inevitable. You dreaded to imagine what happened to those who experienced the full force of his scream. But most of all, you didn't envy those he spoke to in that dry, bureaucratic language.

The even tone, the dry, formulaic phrases, the deceptive calm that hid a fiery tornado, ready to engulf any fool who stood in his way. It was the ultimate sign of disrespect, or even disgust. Worse than a spit in the face. Worse than direct threats or insults.

But you knew your boss; he didn't have the brainpower to grasp the gravity of what was happening. An irritated grumble came from the phone. John grimaced, pulling the phone away from his ear.

"I don't think it's good for my wife to work for such an idiot. We'll pick up her things and her check on Monday".

Without listening to the rest of the stream of insults, John hung up and finally looked at you. Smiling softly and brushing a strand of hair from your sweat-dampened forehead, he said,

"We'll find you a more suitable job. One where you and your talents are valued. Or maybe it's better for you to stay home. All this stress is taking a toll on you; you're catching colds more often now".

"John, we've already discussed this. I can't just live off of your money. I'm an independent woman and I want to earn my own".

"Of course, sweetheart, I don't doubt you at all. But I want to remind you that you have an option. Just don't forget that".

You still had plenty of little barbs and big objections left in store. After all, you had just lost your job because of him. But they all stuck in your throat as John kissed you tenderly, holding you tightly.

"Now let's get you back to bed. Your cold will drag on if you continue to stand on your feet".

Nikolai

"I told you not to leave the house unless absolutely necessary. If you'd stayed home, you wouldn't have caught it".

The words were harsh, but the tone was soft, accompanied by the gentle touch of a damp towel to your burning forehead.

Yes, you're sick. Like a complete loser, you caught some nasty virus in the middle of summer. You just wanted to enjoy the warm summer sun. Who knew it would rain? There wasn't a cloud in the sky that morning.

"Now I'll have to take the day off and spend the whole day at home caring for my sick wife", he said, wiping your neck.

"Nik, it's just a cold, not tuberculosis", you muttered hoarsely, throwing your head back, giving him more access to your skin. "I'll sleep feel better right away. Don't sit too close, you might catch it".

"Quiet, solnyshko. Save your throat and let your man take care of you".

Obediently falling silent, you relaxed, watching his measured movements. Throwing back the blanket, he began wiping your chest, paying far more attention to your nipples than to the areas that truly needed wiping.

Suddenly he stopped, the gentle smile fading from his lips. Looking you in the eyes, with all the seriousness in his voice Nikolai could muster, he said in Russian:

"А если еще раз вздумаешь мне перечить и попытаешься снова подняться с кровати, я тебя к ней привяжу и не стану отвязывать, даже чтобы тебя в туалет сводить".* Even though you didn't understand a word, you still got the message—something bad would happen if you didn't obey. You nodded silently in response, indicating the hint had been taken and no further explanation was needed.

"That's papa's good girl", Nikolai drawled in a satisfied voice. The towel slid down to your lower abdomen. "Now spread your legs and let me clean you up. But let's make some mess first".

*"And if you dare to disobey me again and try to get out of bed, I’ll tie you down and won't let you go even to use the bathroom".

König

If you weren't so weak from the fever, you would’ve laughed at the irony of it all. You, tied to a bed in a dark, damp basement, and he, the biggest man you'd ever seen, your kidnapper, hiding his face behind a strange looking hood-mask. And of the two of you, you weren't the one shaking in fear.

There was even something endearing about how big and scary Kidnapper was terrified of your cold. Maybe he was a germophobe and scared of catching it? Or afraid the illness would kill you and he'd have to find a new victim?

"Nein, nein, nein, mein Schatz, das kannst du nicht. Was soll ich denn tun?"* he muttered in German, walking around the room. His pacing quickly made you feel nauseous, and you sank back into the pillows, shielding your eyes from the bright fluorescent lights.

You already knew he could stay like this for hours, but you couldn't bear it. Sure, a simple airway infection could easily develop into deadly pneumonia in a damp basement without proper ventilation, but you weren't ready to give in to a bunch of germs after everything you'd already been through.

"Hey", you muttered hoarsely, but he didn't hear. You shouted louder, finally making him stop and look at you. Panic swirled in his pale blue eyes. "Hey, it's just a cold. I need to stay in a well-ventilated room, get some sleep, drink some fluids, and take some meds if my fever gets too high. It's not the end of the world".

He didn't answer. He continued to stare at you, frozen, panicking internally. Like a deer running out in front of a huge truck in the middle of a busy highway and frozen in the headlights.

"Listen to me", you said slowly, trying to sit up in bed, which wasn't easy considering your hands were handcuffed to the headboard. The bedframe creaked with your movements, and it helped bring König out of his stupor. "You need to take me upstairs now. I can't stay in the basement; the air will make me sick here".

"But you…"

"I won't run away. Tie me to the bed. I'm too weak to try anyway".

"Okay", he replied after a few minutes. "But you have to swear you won't try to escape. Because if you do, I'll have to catch you and break your legs, and I don't want to hurt you".

The threat would have been more convincing if not for his pleading tone. The only thing missing was a drawn-out "please".

After settling you down on the bed in his own bedroom, he chained you to the bed, yanking it several times with all his strength to make sure it’s properly secured. 

If someone had told you a month ago that four weeks later you'd be teaching the guy who kidnapped you how to care for someone with a cold, you’d have burst out laughing at the absurdity of the idea. But here you are. Dictating what medicines to buy, what food to cook, telling him to take you to the bathroom when you need it.

König is nearby. He's always there. He never leaves your side, shaking every time you sneeze or cough. He checks your temperature every 15 minutes and practically forces chicken soup down your throat. He just wants you to get well soon, because the mere thought of you suffering is enough to drive your captor crazy.

*"No, no, no, Precious, you can't. What am I supposed to do?"

Call of Duty Masterlist | Main Masterlist

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[livecrow]

according to some sources I have "the biggest butt of anyone!!" so jot that down

[livecrow]

The first time you leave your house in days is to get some ice cream from 7/11 at 1:34am. You need something sweet to finally wash the taste of pennies out of your mouth.

You try and ignore the gas station's other occupants posted up by the slushy machines, but they certainly aren't ignoring you. The moment you walk in the door, the two men's gaze is locked onto your face like a heat-seeking missile as they wordlessly demolish some nachos. You slink back to the freezers and spend what feels like a painfully long time staring at the frosty glass, trying to find a Ben and Jerry's flavor without chunks.

"want me t' bump off your man then?"

He asks like he's offering you a cig—tilting his head just so. Staring into you as he crunches away at another chip dripping with molten chili cheese, black N95 bunched at the bridge of his crooked nose. At that, Mohawk perks up immediately, a grin swiping away the foul look he'd been sporting as he rips open what looks to be their third or fourth package of tortilla chips.

(The swelling has gone down, but you have a huge, blotchy bruise, approximately the shape of Florida, crawling down your jaw because you got your wisdom teeth taken out 4 days ago.)

[livecrow]

have you ever been in an adhd eval and they pivot and start asking a bunch of unrelated questions after the expected ones, then follow up with:

hey...so.....have you heard of this thing, it's called 'autism'

...also not to make you self-conscious but you've been rocking literally this whole time, have you noticed that

[livecrow]

i’m in the process to changing over to some new meds and am feeling Weird and bad.

now would be a great time to get abducted, fucked, and taken care of by someone because then I might be able to suspend my disbelief for a bit and imagine that i'm loveable and desirable despite it all lol

[553580]

something something newly divorced professor price insisting on you coming to his 'office hours' at his home so he can bend you over the big leather couch (that his now ex-wife is actively trying to take) and slide his still-ringed finger in and out of your pussy as he shushes your protests of 'we shouldn't be doing this'

"won't be any trouble if you don't make any, sweetheart. nobody's got to know. now relax, need t'open up your tight little cunt a bit more so it doesn't pinch my cock right off."

[553580]

you skipped his 'office hours' one time because you found out from his t.a. that his ex wife was coming over that same night to pick up her stuff, and simply wanted to avoid any sort of scene. that earned you a 'see me after class' written on your essay in stern red ink, instructions you reluctantly followed as you hung back while your classmates filed out the doors.

he doesn't say a word to you, just glares and jerks his head in a wordless beckon, an order to follow that you comply with dutifully, even though your heart is in your throat. the echo of your steps changes in tone as you leave the classroom, go down the hallway past his office, and out into the car park where he herds you into his car.

you can't help but feel every inch the stupid, silly girl you had always feared you secretly were as you ride back to his home in silence. all you can do is try your best not to stare at him, the way the greys are scattered in his beard, the tense line of his shoulders, the glint of the gold ring he still refuses to take off. instead your eyes drift to the scenery rushing by your window, catching glimpses of pedestrians, birds, and bicyclists as they go about their days, none the wiser of the exquisite hell you've found yourself in.

when he pulls into his driveway, you follow silently behind like a nervous shadow. he's upset with you, that's all you know- and your brain is running away with theories about what exactly he plans to do about it. your rushing thoughts come skidding to a halt once you're inside and you see how sparse the place has gotten since the last time you were here. the couch is gone, for one, along the coffee table and about half the photos on the walls. the side table that used to be next to his chair is also missing, replaced by a stack of hardcover books that goes perfectly to the height of the arm rest.

"you were supposed to be here yesterday." professor price breaks the silence, his words cold and flat. he closes the front door behind you, and the sound of it makes your stomach flip.

"sorry, i got busy with other classes." you lie, and the look he shoots you lets you know you've been made right away.

"it's a long term, sweetheart. you'll need to work hard if you want to keep your grade up- and that means attending office hours." he strides past you, dropping his bag of notebooks and assignments by the sole chair left in the living room. god, she really cleaned him out, huh?

from the kitchen you can hear him pour himself a drink. he won't offer you one, you're sure of it. he never does, and you've never asked for one- everything you do here feels like an imposition somehow, even when he's filling you with cum.

price leans against the door frame, drink in hand, loosening his tie as he looks you over with a critical eye.

"strip." he orders so suddenly that you jump a little. there used to be a long side table up against this wall that you'd always put your folded up clothes on, but it's gone now, leaving only an indent in the carpet where it used to be. as you slowly, meekly undress, the chill of the air against your newly exposed skin sends a shudder down your spine. you gently place your clothes on the ground, right where the table used to be.

price doesn't bother watching you undress, instead opting to saunter into the next room, returning with an ornate, overstuffed pillow the he drops unceremoniously onto the floor between his feet as he pulls off his jacket and settles into his chair, placing his drink on his improvised table.

there's something about being completely naked in a home that isn't yours, standing next to a man who's fully clothed and paying you no mind as he unbuttons and rolls up his shirt sleeves before digging into his bag and pulling out a stack of papers. he only deigns to throw you a quick glance before sliding his readers low onto his nose, uncapping his red pen with his teeth.

"kneel." price jerks his chin towards the pillow, the stern straight line of his mouth ticking up in the corner as he observes your instant obedience in his periphery. he doesn't even look at you as he begins to read the student essays in his hands, eyes sliding across the pages and only pausing as he scribbles his criticisms in the margins.

"take it out."

he doesn't even deign to look at you as he continues, flipping a page and sniffing loudly as he concentrates on the words in front of him. with a hard swallow, you scoot forward on the ornate, navy blue pillow under your knees, leaning in closer to undo the professor's belt and fish his fat, limp cock from his trousers. it hardens a little bit under your attention and touch, but before you can get to work price reaches out and grips your chin, thumb hooking behind your bottom row of teeth.

"you're just gonna keep it warm f'now. no sucking, no muckin' about. just sit there and hold it until i'm done." he shakes your jaw a little. "hear me?"

you nod insomuch as you can with his tight grip on your chin- but you can tell he feels it when he smirks down at you, letting you go as he reclines further back into his seat, free hand reaching for his whiskey.

"go on, then."

~

it's hard to say how much time has passed with his soft cock in your mouth, forcing you to breathe through your nose as you hold your jaws apart so as not to catch him on your teeth. an ache has set in- not just in your jaw, but also your knees- and you can't do anything about without risking everything. all you have here as you kneel in silence is time to think; about your current situation, the situations you've found yourself in before, the ones you'll likely find yourself in again.

after all, price's recommendation is key to getting your dream job post-graduation. loathe as you are to admit it, that's why you're here. none of the other professors in the department will look you in the eye or speak to you, and all of them have turned you down for a recommendation- something your most paranoid thoughts suspect might be price's doing.

he still hasn't written it yet, though. he brings it up on occasion, usually when you're on your knees or stuffed with his cum, so he clearly hasn't forgotten. he's just holding it over you for as long as he can, using it like a carrot on a stick- and the most degrading part is that not only do you know that, but you're fairly certain that he knows that you know.

that was your first mistake- trusting him with your hopes and dreams. you've told him about all of your professional aspirations, and now he holds them over you, making you do tricks to 'earn' your goals. a quicky in his office for a scholarship letter, a blowjob for access to a rare reference material- you're halfway convinced he's going to require anal for the conference you mentioned wanting to attend (but can't afford).

the chime of his cell phone brings your thoughts to an abrupt halt, and you debate pulling off of him as he sets his papers down and leans to pull his phone from his bag. surely he'll want to take a call in private, r-

oop. nope. his hand is on the back of your head, holding you in place, a silent reminder that your job isn't over until he says it is. you watch him through your lashes as he sneers at his screen before tapping it with his thumb.

"bit busy." he says in lieu of a greeting, tone gruff. you can't hear the other person very clearly, but it's a woman's voice- and she sounds just as unhappy to talk to price as he is to talk to her. for the first time in what feels like ages, price looks down at you, blue eyes impassive as he watches you watch him, lips stretched around his rapidly hardening cock.

"told you just yesterday that i don't know where the bloody thing is. if i find it, i'll let you know." he snaps into his phone as his cock twitches to life on your tongue. his broad palm slides to the back of your neck- not pushing, just holding. reminding: stay. be quiet. be good. don't do anything unless asked.

"what would be the point of stealing it, cora? why? to prolong keepin' you around? joy that you fuckin' are?" he spits, sarcasm dripping off every syllable. the voice on the other end of the line says something that prompts price to roll his eyes and huff indignantly.

price doesn't even say goodbye before he hangs up and practically throws his phone in his bag. he reaches for his whiskey and drains the glass with two loud gulps and a disgruntled sounding sigh before turning his attention back to you.

"suck."

your jaw is screaming at you, aching in a way that you suspect it will take some time to recover from, but you still don't hesitate to get to work sucking down professor price's cock and taking him as deep as you can. his hands cage the sides of your head- not forcing, just holding- ready to help you adjust your speed and tempo to his liking... but at this point, you know how he likes it. you've been in this house and on your knees for him enough times to know what he likes- that's how much this job means to you. you'll do anything- including suck off an old man while he argues with his ex for it.

the phone rings from the depths of price's bag- presumably the ex to tell him off for hanging up on her- and it spurs him to hold your head still, hips jerking off his seat to properly rut into your throat. all you can do is hold onto his thighs and take it as you try to time your breathing. tears and drool stream down your face, the wet ghlk ghlk ghlk of having your face fucked echoing off of sparse walls.

"thassit, good girl, take my fuckin' cock- yeah, yeah, fuck, attagirl sweetheart. go on, grind that pretty pussy on your pillow. want you to cum with my cock in your throat. go on-" he moves his foot, shoving it under the pillow between your thighs, raising it up just enough for you to grind down on.

as if on instinct your hips start to move, sliding the plush fabric of the pillow against your cunt, seeking friction. the situation has gone from understimulating to overstimulating like the flip of a switch- the heat building in your core, the ache in your jaw and knees, the burn in your lungs and thighs, the sounds of gagging and groans echoing off the walls in harmony with your racing heartbeat in your ears and the cell phone ringing in his bag- it's almost too much. you feel feral, wild, a creature of pure instinct, humping and sucking at his cock- chasing pleasure like it's all you're made for. every lesson you've taken, every lecture you've heard, every book you've read- out the window completely. your head is empty save for two orders-

please him. cum for him.

you can feel the way your body jiggles and shakes as you hump the pillow, chasing your pleasure while trying to keep your head still enough for price to fuck. you've got the timing down now-the cant of your hips, the pacing of your breath, swallowing down around price as his cock dips in and out of your throat, threatening to make you gag. all the while, price is panting out what a good girl you are, how he likes an obediant girl, how good your big fat ass looks at this angle, how clever your mouth is, but none of it affects you like when he reaches down to squeeze one of your jiggling tits and growls out something you'll never forget:

"swallow it all and i'll get you into that fucking conference."

it's like a thousand fireworks went off in your skull, whiting out your vision and making you scream around his cock. rough hands hold your head firmly in position as your mouth fills with cum, and somewhere in the back of your cum-addled brain you remember to swallow, to suckle at his softening cock until every last drop is in your stomach.

you list to the side, cheek resting on his thigh, both of you panting to catch your breath as his dick slides out of your mouth, connected to your bottom lip by a crystalline strand of saliva.

"not done with you yet. you'll stay the night and i'll take you back in the morning." it's not a debate. it never is. you know from experience that he'll order chinese, fuck you in the shower before bed, and fall asleep with his hand up your sleep shirt, holding one of your tits.

he pats you on the shoulder, wordless encouragement to sit up so he can tuck his cock back into his trousers and order food delivery. sore as your jaw is, eating sounds like a real task- you just hope you're less achy by the time dinner arrives.

price grabs his phone and saunters to the kitchen as you slowly get dressed again, knees popping loudly as you stand. even from where you're standing, the wet stripe on the pillow is obvious, glistening in the light, making your face heat as your shoulders slowly climb up towards your ears. so fucking embarrassing.

you're just pulling your panties back on when you hear price talking through the kitchen door.

"it's john. found the bloody pillow you lost, i'll drop it by your lawyer's tomorrow. don't bother callin' back, i'm still busy."

[violentlyhedonistic]

The fun thing about a spoiled captive is how easy it makes fucking with them. Oh? I'm the monster? You have blankets that would've cost you a months salary, all your favorite books and snacks (I watched through your window to make sure ♡!), lots of room to place in, and I've never laid a hand on you. I didn't even beat you when you tried to hurt me, even though it made me so sad to see you angry at the person who loved you most. The collar doesn't count, silly! It's not my fault you tried to take if off, I told you it would shock you if you did. You should be grateful to me. I took you from a stressful job and a chaotic world and put you in a safe place. If you just start cooperating, I might let you on walks. We could have picnics and you could wear flowers in your hair and never worry about getting lost when mr. tracking chip is in your collar!

But if you insist that I'm the bad guy, I'll show you what a monster is.

[violentlyhedonistic]

It's very important to me that my pets are well taken care. If I find that one is taking poor care of themselves, I'll have to remedy that. So if I find out you've been forgetting meals, you'll find yourself cuffed or tied to a chair and being spoon fed like a child. Helpless and unable to eat like an adult, your owner slipping the spoon into your mouth and cleaning up any dribbles.

If you can't be responsible enough to take care of yourself properly, clearly you need help from your owner, and I'm happy to keep my pets healthy. If it makes you squirm or cry from humilition, well, hopefully it'll be a reminder. It'll get my cock hard, at least. Now say "Ah!" Or would you rather I go get the spider gag?

[livecrow]

I loved you housekeeper fic!!!! I actually worked as a housekeeper for a bit and it made me kick my feet imagining myself as the maid because I am petite and plus size 😂! But I would for sure not be scared of Ghost 😜 I’d be purposely bending over all the time and cleaning on my hands and knees in front of him 😈

Yes!!! Glad you enjoyed it! ❤️

[syoddeye]

thinking of soap going trail running. shirtless, sweating. he's wearing a running belt or maybe a vest loaded with water and snacks. a little clip-on speaker. blasting something fast and loud, with a high bpm and energy. maybe he's whistling along. humming. his pace is a steady and relatively smooth jog despite the terrain. he's trying to beat his pr.

and then there's you, some yards ahead, running for your life and barefoot, after this weirdo chased you out of your camp.

[corpsypher]

Soap tasting you like he's sampling cocaine, rubbing your pussy-juice on his gums while making insane eye contact…

[drgnflyteabox]

mdni 18+ // noncon

Hrmm scratching my chin... thinking about medieval fantasy... thinking about unicorn!reader, so soft living in her flower meadow :') thinking about big, mean, spiky knight ghost... hired as a mercenary by the king to find her and steal her :')

Thinking about poor soft unicorn!reader making a deal with a horrible man to stay in her little slice of paradise... </3

Yes, you'll take him as a husband. Yes, you'll spread your legs and let him bully his fat cock into your sensitive cunt :') his battleworn hands holding your thighs open, squeezing and rubbing your downy soft skin :) breeding a baby into you, moving into your little cottage, trampling your flowers. They say unicorn tears are life giving, so he licks those off your cheeks when he fucks you :'(

[553580]

anyways,

soap's favorite post-coital activity is laying with his head resting on your big, soft belly, listening to the whalesong of your guts under a cushiony layer of fat, soaking in the heat of your skin into his face and feeling your fingers card through his hair as he catches his breath and sinks into post-nut sleepiness