You know, your cat jumps up on the bed for his afternoon nap, you put his favourite blanket down and give him a kiss on his soft little head, he curls up and you give him a small gentle pat and tell him he's a good little cat, he bites the absolute shit out of you,
SO! I hit 1,200 followers today, fucking crazy huh?! Like I have said previously I am not going to be doing big full giveaways except for larger milestones, next one will probably be at 1,500 so get hyped for that! But I still wanted to do something to mark today so you all get a very special treat. My very first Danny Johnson piece! That is right he is officially on my character roster! I love him a lot and have been heavily debating writing him for a very, very long time and I am so excited to finally be writing him and posting him! Blame @polyghostfacehours for the massive Danny brainrot she has given me. So without wasting anymore time let’s get into it! I hope you all enjoy, feedback is always appreciated and here we go!
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Rating. Explicit. Length. 2.9K. Danny Johnson X GN! Reader. They/Them Pronouns. Warnings. Edging. Orgasm Denial. Rough Stuff. Manhandling. Choking. Rope Play. Toy Use. Teasing. Taunting. Praise. Dirty Talk. Degradation. Name Calling. Begging. Picture Taking. Cum Play. Cum Eating. Control. Stalking Mention. Crying Reader. Extremely Frusterated And Needy Reader.
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He is on top of you.
His weight isn't crushing but you'd be lying if you said it wasn’t extremely present, almost oppressive. Not like you were one to usually complain but it was kind of hard to not want to when it was so entirely frustrating. He knew just what to do to make you absolutely lose your mind, which to be fair you were right now, just not in the way you usually loved to with him.
“Fuck-” Hot breath fanning over your face, his hips rocking back and forth, one of his hands is gripping the headboard above you, the other on your hip as he moves "so good.”
You are looking up at him, taking in the sight of him, the wash of pleasure so clear on his face, lips parted and his eyes fixed on your face, taking in every minute change of expression. He is too damn attractive, it makes it all worse, makes the feeling worse, or rather the distinct lack thereof.
Honestly it was almost better when he wore the mask because he was distractingly good looking.
You feel unbelievably frustrated, unable to stop the whine that leaves you and he tsk’s, “Something the matter?” He knows damn well what the matter is but in typical fashion he is acting like a complete asshole about it, teasing you as if he has no idea what your problem is. “Ye-yes-”
“Oh? What is it?” A harder thrust, a grind that normally would feel fantastic in the regular circumstances, it makes you bite your lip with a groan, eyes almost rolling back and he lets out this breathless laugh that makes you clench. He leans down closer as he breathes into your ear, “Because it-ahh-feels fucking great to me right now.”
You were sure it did. He was certainly making sure that you knew how good he was feeling and you wished you were feeling the same.
“Totally soaked-” his hand on your hip tightened, you were confident when you checked in the light of a new day there would be bruises left behind. There always was after he visited and you usually loved that, if tonight kept going the way you feared it might then those marks would only serve to remind you of the all consuming need that had been plaguing your days.
“What a mess you are.” He let out this far too delicious sounding moan that made the already intense emotion swell in your chest further, how were you supposed to endure if he kept this up?
The almost panting breaths, the continued dirty talk and praise, his hand wandering up from your hip and gripping more of your exposed flesh as he continued to fuck. The sound of it certainly piled on top, wet and obscene of his cock plunging in and out. Him humming out your name as his hand finally came to rest on your throat with a strong squeeze is what made the tears well up, a shuddering breath, the need is too much, you are so pent up that you are almost crying.
You hadn’t cum in two fucking weeks. You were about to burst if you didn’t get some relief soon, you wanted to scream, to sob, just something to release some of this all consuming tension coursing through you.
You try to move, to roll your wrists or adjust but the ropes he has tied you with are too strong and placed too well. They bite into your skin in a not all entirely unpleasant fashion, you struggle a little, the ropes creak and he tightens his grip on your throat, thumb pressing in harder, stealing some breath away from you, eyes squeeze shut and the dam threatens to break, the tears still do not fall however.
The ropes are necessary for what he is doing right now, they hug so tight but even though you think you know the answer you choke out, “Can’t I hold it myself?”
That has his head falling forward with a laugh, his grip on your throat loosens, hand dragging down over your chest, rough pads of his fingers skating over your heated skin before coming to one of your nipples and giving a hard squeeze. You almost yelp at the feeling and his head comes back up as he looks down at you and says all too amused, “And risk you touching yourself?! Ha! Fat fucking chance. No way. Can’t have you ruining all my hard work. The ropes are doing a fiiiiiine job on their own.”
So what was so frustrating and unfulfilling about this? I mean you are tied up and spending the night with Danny, his full attention all on you, should be a total dream and normally it would be but there was one small issue.
He isn’t actually fucking you.
You had ropes around your wrists and upper arms, tying you to the headboard. Some wrapped around your ankles and legs and hips, those were to help anchor you to the other end of the bed but also had a far more important purpose, namely that of securely holding the fleshlight in place that he was currently balls deep in.
It was maddening.
“Poor thing.” You nearly whimper and he clicks his tongue with a small shake of his head as he coos out, “C’mon you can take it. I've put you through worse before."
Not the point.
He had been teasing you so much, it was nearly more than you could take, him choosing a piece of well lubed rubber over you. Sinking his thick cock into that as opposed to you, choosing to use this literal toy instead of using you like one which you allowed basically whenever he wanted. You were at his constant beck and call and game for anything he wanted, you were warm and inviting and could actually move, talk, contribute and give back but that isn’t what he wanted tonight, it didn’t matter how good you were normally.
What mattered right now was being a complete and total bastard to you and so far he was right on the fucking money and it was working beautifully.
Some small part of you had to shamefully admit that you found this far too hot. He was ignoring your body, primed and ready, ripe for the taking to instead jerk off on top of you while you got nothing. He set it up so you were getting just the barest stimulation possible too. Hardly anything good was even being brushed up against with how he had the rig set up. The frustration mounts further as he continues on.
Calling you a “- mmm pathetic fucking whore-” and that it felt so good he “-should have-ugh-done this a damn long time ago-”
He picks up pace and even though you know what it means he still tells you, “God-I’m gettin’ close-”
And the idea of him getting his and denying you yours, leaving you high and dry for who knows how long until he decides to grace you with his presence once more, of not knowing when you will get to cum again, finally makes you cry. A weak sob of his name from your dry lips, “Danny-”
It only makes him thrust harder, breathe louder, his face in the crook of your neck he bites and bites hard, sucks, leaves marks and hickies, rushed words spoken against sweat slick skin, “Fuck yessss, I-ohhh, I love it-when you cry.”
You knew he did, he couldn’t hide reactions when you'd get overwhelmed and start to cry. He'd hold onto you harder, practically panting as the dirty talk he'd spit at you would break apart with deep moans as his hips would roll and smack into you over and over.
"Those little fuckin' sobs you let out mmmmf-"
Almost as if on cue you do it again, a hiccupping breath that has him cursing before his hand is on your face, strong grip on your jaw as he stares you down, "M' almost there-"
A weak moan from you and his thumb pushes past your lips, pressing down on your tongue, more tears slipping down, the chance of you cumming becoming almost nil weighing on you.
"-beg for it."
Shit.
Wouldn't be the first time he had you do this and you were sure it wouldn't be the last. But to do this? Beg for him to deny you further, not even use you to dump his load in even with you right here. It was cruel.
Unfair.
And all too arousing.
You honestly kind of loved how much he got off on hurting and being mean to you. Some sick and twisted part of yourself enjoys it in a similar way that he did. So you leaned into it. Allowed another deep sob to tear from your throat, head falling back, he allowed it. His thumb out of your mouth and his hand on your throat again, strong grip but not choking you as you begged, “Puh-lease cum Danny? Pretty, fuck, pretty pleassse?”
A squeeze of your throat paired with a guttural moan from him. He got off on all of this too hard. You tied and helpless below, wanting literally anything from him to the point you were begging him to cum in a fleshlight tied to your hips for fucks sake, how much more patethic could you get? Face stained with tears and almost trembling from sheer need, he could see it painted all over your face, hope.
Hope that if you just listened and bent to his will for long enough you’d get what you’d been craving for weeks now. Your feeble and continued begging along with the look of you being so utterly wrecked all from him is what pushes him over the edge. He breathes your name and swears, hips stuttering as his pace falters before seating himself inside fully and shooting his cum into the cold unfeeling rubber of the toy he’d affixed to you. It makes your breath catch and somehow makes even more arousal light up inside of you as you watch him find his release the way you so desperately wish that you could.
He stays like that for a moment, a long exhale before starting to slide out of the toy, slowly untangling himself from you, hands off and soon sitting back on his knees between your spread legs. “Shit, that was good.”
Back of his hand wiped over his forehead as he looked you over again, your breathing was still fairly erratic but your crying was slowing down.
He gets the urge and goes with it, fingers stroke your face, dragging through the still wet tracks on your cheeks. You would have leaned into the seemingly affectionate touch if he didn’t pull his hand away to bring it up to his mouth and taste the evidence of your complete frustration from his fingers.
He breaks the silence.
“Has anyone ever told you how pretty you look with tears all over your face?”
You laugh a little, a deep breath before quipping back, “Other than you? No, I can't say I’ve received that particular compliment.”
He seemed to like that, one hand on your thigh, a soft squeeze, he always liked to be touching you when he was around, as he then says, “Ohh I’m the only one?! You really know how to make a guy feel special.”
Yeah he sure was special alright.
He pulls back further, you look over his body, lean, taking in the sight of the few prominent scars he has, the lingering sweat on his skin as he snatches up his camera that is on the nightstand.
He catches you looking and it prompts him to say, “If only you had some pictures of me for when I’m not around, hmm?”
You muse on the thought for a moment and agree. You did wish you had some pictures to jerk off to when he isn’t around. Some personalized polaroids, you could lay out for your viewing pleasure to help you along.
The first click is what pulls you out of your thoughts and you glance up to see him with the camera pointed at you. Figures, you should have expected this. He takes a few more and you are squirming again, still so unsatisfied and him taking pictures with you so open and exposed wasn’t helping at all.
With his focus on you he of course takes notice of your little predicament and he makes a sound of mock sympathy, “Awe baby.”
He snaps another picture and you almost pout.
You think back over the fact that you haven’t cum in two weeks. Over the nights spent tossing and turning almost unable to sleep from the aching need that overtook you.
Every time he has been by your place and visited you he has teased you relentlessly. He has edged and gotten you so close but hadn’t let you cum and every time you were alone and made an attempt at getting some relief at long last something stopped you, namely him, calling you up and telling you firmly in that much too exciting voice of his, “Don't.”
Somehow he was always watching and seemingly always knew when you would start to touch yourself. He essentially tells you as such, that you are on his time table and you might as well let him have control. You give up after that conversation realizing that yes it is hopeless and you aren’t cumming until he deems it’s time.
He really loves one of the pictures he’s taken and turns it around for you to see, how wet and swollen and needy you are, the look on your face, the pose you are in and how the ropes almost frame your form. “Could put this one of you next to the word desperation in the dictionary, don’t you think?”
He sounds so fucking happy about it.
Worst part was that he wasn’t wrong.
He finally says, “You’ve been awfully good. How about if you do some posing for me, let me take some good pictures then you can cum anyway you want to.”
Holy fucking shit did he mean it? It sounded too good to be true, you wanted to believe him but I mean this is Danny we are talking about here, why wouldn’t you think there would be strings attached?
And yet you jump at the chance. “You mean it?!”
So excited at the chance of relief you sound way too overly enthusiastic, he gets another laugh out of him but he does respond to you, “I do.”
You are still unconvinced so you prod further, asking, “No bullshit?”
He rolls his eyes and says with a dismissive wave of his hand that isn’t holding the camera, “Yeah, yeah, I mean it. Just give me two minutes, oh-kay?”
He starts to untie you a little and you are practically vibrating in excitement. Still even as he is loosening the ropes you cannot help asking him: “Two minutes?”
He lets out a grunt of annoyance and you know not to push further from the look he gives you, “Yes, two minutes, now do what I want before I change my mind.”
The tone he uses leaves no room for argument and so you shut your mouth before you ruin it and lose out on his oh so generous offer.
Your hands were free now, ropes still tied loosely around them but no longer attached to the headboard, you rolled your wrists and flex your fingers, still had all the feeling and while there was a little chafing from the rope you felt fine. He always knew what he was doing when it came to tying you up.
He then starts to instruct you, “Take one of those hands and spread it open, wanna see my cum spill out.”
You oblige him, hand finding that toy still tied to you and spreading it open with two fingers and you could feel the mess start to spill out and drip down onto you and you watch it happen. It makes you shift your hips, still far too worked up, you just needed to hold out a little more and the throbbing would ease, he would do whatever you wanted, hands and mouth and fuck, the ideas that were running through your head making you want time to go faster already so it could happen.
“Gooood.” He practically purred it out, camera coming back up as he started taking pictures again. An idea hits and you go with it, hoping it’ll please him, those same two fingers dipping into the messy opening of the fleshlight, rocking back and forth, fingering the false hole, the sound was wet and obscene.
He definitely seemed to like it, praising you on the initiative as you heard more clicks of the camera, and then you felt him. His hand wraps tightly around your wrist, snatching it up and he pulls your hand up to his mouth. sucks his own cum from your fingers with a hum before pulling your fingers back out.
He never shied away from his own cum and you honestly loved that. The amount of times he’d spill into you and then immediately sunk down and tasted the mix of himself and you were many and all some of your favorite memories with him.
Grade A masturbation fuel.
God, tonight was going to be so good, get so much better, finish so strong.
You needed this, you were so close to getting the reward for all your hard work and patience.
But then brings the camera back up and says casually, as if he just thought of it. As if it wasn't soul crushing for you to hear, “Three minutes.”
It takes every ounce of willpower you have to not let out a massive groan of frustration.
"Local man gifts friend expensive item hoping to deepen their bond, gets locked up and brutally murdered instead" - Thomas and Rowe from Kasia's POV (tho seriously, who used to be my best friend acts like him so much she'd probably kin him)
@damnprussia | 1816 Thread
Antonio laughs a loud, hearty and not at all healthy sounding laugh with so much strength behind it he reels back in his chair, head thrown back. Yes, he is drunk, as he usually is when hanging out with his close friend Gilbert. Still, that is no excuse for how rude and vain his words sound right now.
A better excuse may be that he is unwell. These past few years have certainly been a challenge for the Spaniard and not the least bit beneficial to one’s mental health. Feeling like he’s literally living through the end times, where his religion and worldview are constantly being torn apart in front of him, Antonio feels it a miracle that the two of them are even still here and able to share a drink together. They had just seen Francis die... only to come back crazier than before. Would it be much of a surprise to see Antonio lose it as well?
“I’m just saying, my friend...” The threat doesn’t scare him. He’s high on the recent victory in New Granada. Antonio picks up his cup and faux-toasts it towards Gilbert before chugging it down and demanding another. “My recent win is pretty impressive...” The Spaniard leans back in the large extravagant chair and puts his feet up onto the nice marble table, crossing his ankles and relaxing with a big shitty smile.
There was one thing keeping him together at the moment and that was South America. New Granada was secure once more which meant his strength was not gone at all! Maybe it was even going to grow again!! Antonio may need a reminder of the influence his friend had on that outcome’s possibility.
not to be a dumb bitch who’s brain is overridden with primitive monkey brain but i wouldn’t mind becoming a walking daycare for someone like,,micheal myers or jason voorhees or thomas hewitt or billy and stu or billy lenz or-
honestly, i don’t think cain was inherently a bad person but, he was more like conditioned to be a bad person by his father? he used to have some level of sympathy for zander right? but he got punished when he wasn’t too hard on zander and that made him become the person he is today and if his father wasn’t that really terrible person i think he could’ve grown up being a decent human being
He was conditioned by his father, you’re right about that.
His mother tried to stop that from happening, she tried to instill morals and compassion and kindness into him, and in some ways that did stick, but once he was left alone with his father there wasn’t anything that could stop him. Cain was a lot easier on Zander at first, and I think a part of him didn’t really want a pet but wished that Zander could’ve basically been a friend, and that could’ve been possible if he was better to him. Cain’s father pushed him to be harsher and harsher with Zander though, and that’s one thing on it’s own, but he also gave him encouragement and validation when he met his standards, which is something Cain had been wanting for so, so long, and if hurting Zander was the way to get that then so be it. He could’ve stopped once his father was gone, he could’ve treated him better, but he kind of held on to that being the one thing he did right in his father’s eyes.
Cain wasn’t always horrible, he was a really sweet little kid, he was a shy and lonely teenager, and due to how isolated he was it was too easy for his father to have complete influence and control over how he turned out
