i sincerely believe that jason would have extreme personality dissociative disorder considering how much shit he's gone through
The Hood - Where he uses all of his height and stands tall and proud and looks down at people to intimidate them. He only answers to Hood or Red or anything along the lines of his vigilante name.
He isn't sweet and he never laughs in this frame of mind. He's kind to children but he is still lethal to any and all threats. He shoots without question and he kills as easily as breathing.
The scars and eyes glow a green hue because his madness, his anger always just under the skin that fuels his strength. He hates Bruce with a burning rage and still blames him for his death and despises Batman for not avenging him.
Jason Todd - The sweet boy next door. He hunches when he walks, he tried his hardest to make himself small and unassuming. He doesn't understand still how come he could take so much space. He's the one that brings you flowers and laughs until his sides hurts. His eyes crinkle up every time he smiles. He still thinks he's magic and he remembers his robin days with fondness.
He helps old ladies cross the road and always tosses the ball back gently to kids.
He's kind. He's loving. And he always the shoulder anyone needs.
He is trying to be better. He's making his life work with his family. He still loves Bruce and holds him to the sky. The man is his father no matter how many arguments they have.
Jay - On the bad days, he regresses. He's no longer a man. Not the hood or jason, he's just a little boy. terrified and scared and full of nightmares.
his hands shake because he's worried his mother is ODing somewhere. his eyes are too wide because he think someone will hurt him. he doesn't understand he's a big man, build with muscle and power.
when he's jay, he's small, scared and needs someone to love him, care for him. hold him until the tears stop. whisper softly that he's safe and he'll be kept safe. the regression makes him forget that the joker ever killed him, but it reminds him of all the horrors he witnessed before
Notes: Legit imagined a dialog where Kyojuro j finally snaps and in the process of killing others, kills Y/N and now, he’s holding them in his arms. Usually Yanderes protect those they deem they love but what if in a blind rage, they end up hurting y/n instead?
“Has your hands always felt like this? Were they always this cold to the touch? Did I imagine them being warm when in reality they were always as cold as ice? I always imagined them being delicate and soft to the touch but maybe it was just my mind playing tricks on me?
Or maybe, just maybe, they were warm to everyone else but cold to me? But that cannot be possible! You wouldn’t be cold to me, your best friend and future husband! You wouldn’t purposely keep your warmth away from me, as if trying to tell me without telling me that you didn’t see me in that way, right?
The one I hold dearest to me would never string me along like that, never make me feel as though one minute I’m on top of the world and then like trash the next, right? I know that I can be a bit overprotective and sometimes snap but that doesn’t mean i DONT love you! You’re my EVERYTHING and I’m only doing this to protect you. Please don’t give me that look, Y/N! You make it seem as though I’m a monster! If only you would have listened to me, none of this would have happened! They would still be alive. YOU would still be alive!
Please don’t keep your warmth from me! You always give it to others when It was supposed to be mine to begin with and I just- even now as I hold your blood stained corpse in my arms you wouldn’t betray me in such a way, right? You understand why I did all of this, right? That it was all for and because of you, Right?”
I’m all about Lloyd rn, mean and rough Lloyd…literally doesn’t give a fuckkkkk about anything 😩
So, I kinda decided to go off again.
The Help 2
Warnings: noncon, roughness, degredation.
Even though it’s a drabble, I do appreciate any comments and feedback you have. Thanks for reading!
Part 1
🗡️🗡️🗡️
Nothing’s changed but you. It’s almost as if it never happened. As if it’s all in your head.
You quickly set down his breakfast on the desk as he stares out the window. It’s been a week and he hasn’t mentioned it. As usual, you keep to your usual rapport; yes, sir; as you please, Mr. Hansen. It’s better like that, less humiliating.
“Sir,” you say, only to let him know his breakfast is there.
He nods as his eyes remain on the yard below. You turn and go to the door.
“Ah,” he stops you with the sharp interjection. You glance back and he bends two fingers in a come hither gesture, back still to you, “I want to put my feet up.”
He finally turns and pulls back the chair. He sits heavily on the quilted leather and cracks his neck as he settles in. You don’t understand as you frown.
“Of course, sir, I’ll go grab–”
“Here,” he points in front of him as he swivels sideways.
You hesitate but only for a second. You go to him and stop cluelessly before him. He jabs his finger towards the floor. You still don’t get it.
“Down, buttercup,” he demands.
You restrain the strike of disgust, with him, with yourself knowing that you’ll do it. Your mother needs the money, your siblings too. They have nothing without you and no other household pays as well as him.
You get down on your knees and steel yourself as you put your hands to the floor. You hold yourself like a dog, feeling like one as he lifts his feet and crosses them over your back. The chair squeaks as he leans back and reaches for the tall mug of coffee.
“Ah, this is the life, buttercup,” he snickers, “you got a strong back, don’t you?” he wiggles his feet and your arms shake, his heel poking into your side.
“Sir,” you grunt as you stare at the carpet.
You should’ve known. Lloyd isn’t the type to drop the bone. No, he’ll gnaw and gnaw to the marrow. He will break the camel’s back.
“You better,” he muses.
You hold your breath as you listen to his fork clink and his shameless smacking of his lips as he eats with delight. Your eyes burn, the sensation reminds you of the bathroom, the tears that clogged your nose and suffocated you as he invaded your throat.
Your shoulder and spine ache the longer you stay there. He moves as if you are nothing more than a piece of furniture, digging in his heel as he adjusts. You hold in a yelp and bite your tongue.
“Done,” he finally pulls his feet off of you and turns to plant them under his desk, overpriced loafers meeting the just as expensive carpet. “You can take all this.”
You get up with a ‘yes, Mr. Hansen’ from your tight jaw and take the tray. As you turn, he slaps your ass and the cream pot overturns, spilling over the edge onto the carpet.
You stare down at the puddle between your shoes. Not good.
“You clumsy fucking bitch,” he snarls.
“Sorry, sir,” you utter, “I’ll clean it up.”
“Better get on it or you’ll be paying for this carpet.”
You nod and quickly flit out. You hurry down the hall, then the wide staircase. You say nothing to Elaine as you leave the tray without clearing it and rush for some rags and the steam cleaner.
You carry the steamer by the plastic handle as you trip up the stairs, almost forgetting to knock before you enter. You go in and quickly get to work, knees chafing as you sop up the excess and do your best to sop up the cream. He’s watching you as he paces around.
“I have a meeting soon,” he warns.
“Sir, I’m sorry, I’ll be quick–”
“Stop talking and do your work then,” he snaps then grumbles to himself, “quick…”
You turn on the steamer and drag the flat nozzle over the carpet. You think you’ve got to it quick enough that there shouldn’t be any to sour and cause a stench. You shut off the machine and get your feet under you, securing the hose in the plastic ring as you stand.
“It’ll be a bit wet but should be fine once it’s dry–”
“Did I ask for the details? If you do your job right, you don’t need an explanation.”
“Yes, sir,” you affirm, “sorry.”
You take a step away, eager to be away, but he catches your hand. You look him in the eye as he smirks.
“You really think that back can hold up,” he takes the steam from your hand and drops it carelessly.
You blink at him as he squeezes your hand tight. You don’t know what he wants but his eyes are smoky again, sinister. Your heart races in terror. Not again.
“Come on,” he lifts his hand to your arm and angles you towards the desk.
He pushes you ahead of him so you stumble and catch yourself against the marble top. He’s close behind as he grips your shoulders and kicks your feet apart. You gasp as he pushes you down until you're bent over it, chest to the surface.
“You always got that ass up in the air,” he taunts as his fingers flutter down your back and tugs up your skirt.
“Sir, please–” you beg.
“Please?” He slaps your ass, your tights offering little protection from the strike.
“I–” you puff and seal your lips. He doesn’t care. Whatever you can say will only make him worse. “Sorry, sir.”
“You will be,” he scoffs.
He drags his fingers down the seam of your black pantyhoses. He pokes one through, then another, then more, tearing them open. You turn your face down and shut your eyes. He steps closer and shifts as your temples pound, deafening you as places his hand on the small of your back.
“Let’s see if you got a good back after all,” he chuckles and tugs your panties aside.
He leans against you, pinning you down as your leather shoes scuff on the carpet. He rubs his tip along your folds as you hold your breath. He presses against your cunt and you let out an unthinking ‘please don’t’.
He pauses. You’re not even sure you really said it.
He slams into you in a single thrust. You cry out and lift your head as he rattles your spine. You slap your hand to the desk and whine as he rams into you again. He grabs the back of your head and forces it back down as he ruts, flesh clapping loudly as your skirt rumbles over your hips.
“You like that, don’t you, buttercup. Tell me you like it.”
You sniffle as your nerves thrum, storming with disbelief and horror.
“Say it!” he growls.
“I like it, sir. I like it… so much,” you lie, face crushed to the marble as he leans his weight onto you.
“Tell me to fuck you harder. You want me to fuck you harder, don’t you?”
“Y-Y-Yes,” you shudder, “Fuck me harder, sir.”
Your inside roil with hatred as you recite the words. It’ll be over, you tell yourself, but it doesn’t help.
“Louder!” He commands.
“Fuck me harder, sir!” You obey.
“‘Mr. Hansen, I love your dick’,” he sneers.
“Mr.--Han-sennnn,” you yipes as he rams into you particularly hard, slapping punctuating his throaty snarls, “I– lo-o-ove your…. Dick!” You nearly scream the last word as you reach back, fingertips brushing his undone pants as you try to slow him, “owwwww, it hurts.”
“Shut the fuck up,” he grips your head and grouns your face into the desk, “ruin the fucking mood, buttercup.”
He huffs as he fucks you, your hips knocking against the sharp edge as you curl your fingers around it. He has your feet nearly off the floor as he pounds into you with all his strength.
There’s a knock at the door. You barely hear it but it comes again, louder. He exhales but doesn’t stop, doesn’t even falter.
“Come in,” he calls over his shoulder, keeping his motion rapid.
The door clicks and opens. You hear the tut.
“Really, Lloyd,” the man says, “you could’ve said you're busy.”
“I’m almost done,” Lloyd insists, “tight fucking snatch about to finish it.”
“I think I’ll wait in the hall.”
“Like you never saw my ass before, Carmichael,” Lloyd guffaws, “or maybe it’s that you never saw a pussy up close.”
“Jesus,” the disgust carries across the room as the man’s footsteps fade away.
“Fucking asshole always ruins the mood,” he puts his arm across your shoulders as he bends over you and speeds up, “ah, shit, buttercup, ask me nicely and I’ll cum on your ass, how about that?”
You swallow and lift your head as much as you can. Your tongue is dry and thick with imminent tears, “please, sir, will you…” you try to wet your mouth, “cum on my ass?”
“Aw, so sweet,” he mocks and impales you completely as he stops.
He stands and slowly slides out of you. He slaps his tip against your ass and strokes himself, rubbing against your skin as he groans and grunts towards his climax. He smacks your ass and kneads it as he cums over the other cheek, quaking as hot ribbons coat your flesh and seep into the torn edges of your tights.
He lets you go and you stay as you are. You peek back as he wipes himself off on your skirt and backs away. He zips up your pants and you stand, legs wobbly and bag rigid. You bat away tears with your lashes and fix your skirt.
“Sir,” you slowly cross the room to retrieve the steam cleaner, “is there anything else?”
He laughs, “wow, got a strong back. I’ll have to try harder.”
♤ Cruella DeVille x Fem!Model!Reader- The designer wants to dress you up personally, Y/N. Be a professional- don’t get embarrassed.
♡ Lady Tremaine x (MostCertainlyOfAge)StepDaughter!Reader- The relationship is twisted but she wouldn't let you stop even if you wanted to, which luckily... you don’t.
◇ Human!Toon Patrol x Hostage!Reader- When your abductors (Who have had you for, like, a year at this point) protect you from a potential attacker, is it love you feel or Stockholm Syndrome?
Warnings: Some more really dark Disney drabbles. Lets see, this time round there is smuttiness (Drabble 1. Only hints in the others), fingering, dubious consent at best, non-con just to be safe though, manipulation through ambition, age gap (Basically throughout except the Toon Patrol one I think), step-scest? (Whatever its called when you have sexual and/or romantic relations with your step mother), abduction, totally unofficial imprisonment (Being held captive against your will), Stockholm syndrome, some more manipulation, etc
Cruella DeVille:
Innocence died screaming.
Honey, ask me; I should know. - Hozier, From Eden
You’re like 21 in this.
“Ah,” You whine, scoring through the messed-up-pleasured-fog that your brain’s being gassed with right now for how the hell you got here- bent over a stylish leather chair in your bosses office, butt naked, with her fingers buried so deeply inside your cunt that you think if she were to dig anymore, then you would spill uncontrollably all over the fur rug beneath you.
Well- you know how it happened. Truly, you remember just fine. Its more an issue with your judgement that’s wigging you out. You know you should be too scared, that you should have left the moment she looked at you the way she shouldn’t look at you, as a designer fitting a model for an outfit... But you didn’t. You didn’t and now you’re whining for an orgasm and no one will - would? - ever believe that you didn’t really want this… you didn't want... “Ahhhhh,” Your thighs grip around her wrist and you rub them together, trying to get more movement inside you. More friction. Please.
This is so wrong, you think, tears - because, by all logical accounts, you really , t r u l y, do not want this! - filling up your eyes and slipping down your face.
But there’s also how wet you are, and curiosity about why you feel this way, a fucked up lust for a scenario you absolutely shouldn't want at all, and the fucking primitive, rut-like state that your mind’s in where you just wanna cum.
You don’t dare say her name. You just moan.
~
“Are we ready in here? Oh- darling! You’ve been undressing yourself for 15 years at least. How can you be so slow?”
“Uhh... “ You look around, awkwardly. You are undressed? There are nuns in this city who would be shocked at you standing in the middle of designing shark Cruella DeVille’s stylish, cold, high rise office wearing nothing but your nice black underwear set- you are most certainly ready to be fitted for the new outfit you’re going to be modelling for. What does she mean? “All due respect, Miss DeVille, but I am undressed?”
“That’s funny, because I see two very pretty, albeit unnecessary, final items strapped to your skin that shouldn’t be. Hurry up, love, the daylight is burning.” She waives a hand, ushering you to get... rid... of... your underwear?? Immediately your face inflames and you open your mouth to argue, or maybe ask why - you’ve attended plenty a fitting before in your, yes, short modelling career. But all the same! None of them have required you to get any more exposed, then this! - but nothing comes out. The words get stuck and die, in your throat before they even get a chance to form totally in your brain.
You may still be new to the world of modelling but you do know this, and its important: Designers hate prudes. You’re useless to them if you’re shy, or in anyway hesitant. This world is fast paced and full on, and if you aren't ready to jump in head first then you lose your shot.
And this is Cruella DeVille.
Cruella. DeVille.
C r u e l l a D e V i l l e.
She’s such a bigwig in the industry, everyone knows her name, and she looked at your resume, your credits and your pictures, and decided that she liked you. Decided that you were the girl to represent her new outfits- on magazines, and TV commercials, and billboards! This is a huge deal for you, and like hell will let her down by failing at the bare minimum that a model has to do.
Before you even get a chance to relax, do your breathing exercises, Her Impatient-ness looks up from her pager and raises her perfect brows at you. Her voice is cold. “Well??? Go on.”
Despite the churning in your stomach, the sick feeling at something not being quite right about this, you reach back and are rid of your bra, first. Then you push your underwear down your legs and off your feet before placing both the items with the rest of your clothes on a stylish red leather armchair close by. Nerves worse then any you’ve experienced in the past swirl and bubble and boil in your stomach, but you relax your face and force your shoulders back.
You’re fine. This is fine. This is your job. You haven't been this naked in front of anyone that wasn't your mother or your ex boyfriend in your life... and those were both people you trusted, dearly, but... It’s fine.
And you’ll just have to try to ignore the fact that, if Cruella were a man, you wouldn’t have done it. Its a sexist and sometimes unfortunate bias, but its true. Been her a man, you would’ve left.
... But because she’s a woman... you let it happen.
Cruella looks up and you also ignore the veiled interest - Veiled, but definitely there, - in her eyes at the sight of you as she pockets her pager and peels off her gloves. Then pulls out her measuring tape. “Finally, dear. You know time doesn't grow on trees. Now- stand straight for me! Chin up!”
A sharp, black nail digs into the skin under your chin, forcing you to look up and you’re forced to ignore one more thing; Your goddamn shaking. Maybe if you don't think about it, then she wont notice. Just maybe.
This is too good an opportunity, you chant in your head, over and over in different ways as Cruella’s searing touches last too long, sit too close to places, too often, as she just tries to get a feel for you. I will not lose this chance because I’m a little bit uncomfortable.
Or... or, a lot. You think, wincing as Cruella's characteristic, fluffy coat tickles your skin.
“Oh, yes. Lovely, darling! Beautiful. I knew you were just perfect for my new line.”
You sigh, a little relieved at her words. Maybe you’re just being silly, and this is normal. I mean, she is a lot more experienced in this area then I am. Maybe you’re just being over-sensitive... Surely. For, what else could it be? A nervous smile flickers across your face. “Really?”
“Oh, yes.” She reassures you. “Definitely. I’m absolutely sure.” Her long fingered hands suddenly find your breasts, and all the almost-comfort from a moment ago slips totally away as you freeze at the foreign contact on your tits. A breathy laugh comes from her, causing your gaze to slip from the wall behind her, up to the tall woman’s face- horror clear all over yours. “Oh, darling. You haven't had this done?” Your cheeks enflame out of embarrassment - at what’s happening? Or your inexperience? You arent sure! God, the lines are starting to blur... - again. Is... is this normal? “Its a bit of an old-fashioned, hands-on practice but I find that I get better results this way.” The older women smirks, raising an eyebrow down at your big, round eyes staring so innocently back at her. Her thumbs need into your skin, slowly, and your skin squirms under them. “Don’t you, Y/N?” She’s challenging you, daring you to argue with her on this.
... You don’t. Your lips remain closed; And she just smiles wider.
This is my big chance. This is my big chance. This is my big chance.
“Very good.” You wince as her hands leave your breasts, yes, with one final squeeze but venture further down which is not at all better, mapping the skin of your sides right down to your hips. “Now turn around, darling. And be a dear and bend over for us. We need to get a good feel for your hips- find out if I need to make the pants a more elastic fabric or not, you know. We wouldn't want you to split my 4,000 dollar elephant leather pants on the runway or on live TV!;
That might be a tad embarrassing.”
Lady Tremaine:
I am no victim.
The monsters that end up in my sheets were pulled up from under my bed by ME. - Erin Van Vuren
“Uhh- Mother?” You call from the dress store dressing room, assessing yourself in the mirror. You’re wearing your corset and your skirt, and, you think you look nice. Really, nice.
Hopefully, 'mommy' agrees.
“Hm,” You smirk, setting your hands in your hips. This is going to be fun.
“Yes, Y/N? What do you need?” The edges of Tremaine’s skirt appear under the curtain that protects your modesty from the rest of the boutique and the other of the women and girls scoring fabrics and the ready-made dresses and you go to the side of the curtain to meet her, peeling it back to peak out, and up at her. Her intense lime gaze floats down to meet yours and she raises her eyebrows expectantly.
“Could you come in here and help me with my corset? I’m struggling.”
For a moment she doesn't react, just narrows her eyes... slowly. This is a classic look on her. It reads ‘What are you up to, Y/N’. You love this look on her. It makes you want to fulfil her suspicions about you and your intentions, to the highest degree.
But, for now - at least for the next moment, - you just smile sweetly and add on a ‘Please’.
The look in your wide, young eyes causes her to sigh and roll hers. “Step away from the curtain Y/N.”
“Yay!” You squee, jumping back to the mirror so she can come in and drag the curtain carefully, fully closed before she turns around. You enjoy her gaze licking up your form in your chosen outfit or lack of; Clearly pleased, even as her stony expression doesnt change- you just know. Tilting your head to the side, you grin evilly. “What do you say, mommy? Can you help me?”
Immediately she releases a huff of frustration and shakes her head, generally acclimatised where your eccentricities are concerned, but still tired. “Oh, don’t be so vulgar.”
“Mommy why do you hurt me so?” You pout.
Tremaine tilts her head forward and glares up at you from below her lashes and heavy eyelids. “Vulgar.”
“Oh, I can show you vulgar, if you really want me too.” You reply, making your voice low and husky and smirking back at her.
Honestly you weren’t sure how this plan would go. Your step mother’s a total stiffy for being proper - and getting frisky in the boutique dressing room is absolutely not included in that particular handbook, - , apart from the scheduled Friday nights when your younger ‘sisters’ are out and the two of you are alone. So you definitely expecting her to roll those beautiful eyes and leave; set that typical resting bitch face back to her features and leave you all needy and alone and ignore you until Friday, but instead-
“Fine. But because you’re being so childish, you are going to do all the work.”
“Oh, yes please.” You exclaim, excitedly dropping down onto your knees and starting to gather up her long purple skirts.
Human!Toon Patrol:
I'm friends with the monster that's under my bed
Get along with the voices inside of my head - Rihanna, The Monster
The man squints into the darkness of your room, and you’re almost able to fool yourself into thinking you’ve disappeared into the darkness and that he cant see you- that he doesn't see you sitting there on the bed frozen like a statue, weaponless and tired and exposed to any who might wonder in and want to hurt you like him. But that move never worked with Smart Ass and it doesn’t work now, with this strange man.
Who definitely shouldn't be in the house when your captors are away.
His gaze catches yours, causing a sharp pang of fear to shoot up into your chest, and for you to flinch. He leans out of the doorway and looks down the hall, to where assumedly there are buddies of his, rifling through things that aren't there's. “Hey... Rex? There’s a girl, in here!”
“What!? I thought it was just those gangsters living here?” Another voice calls back, rougher. More frustrated.
Of course they don't know about you, though. They couldnt. No one does. Your skin hasn't felt real, undiluted sunlight in years; You aren't even allowed near windows. It had upset you, at first. When you were first brought here. But... its been a long time since then, now. And you don’t even remember what you’re supposed to miss, besides- Psycho says that your increased risk of contracting heart disease at such a young age, is 'quirky'. And 'cute'.
Wheezy says it makes the two of you two peas in a pod.
So of course its a shock for them to find you here. No records have been made of your existence since you were even brought here. ‘Rex’, a big man - not in the way Stupid is big. All soft around the edges and cuddly, no. He’s sharp, and... hard. Like a rock, - with familiar orange fingertips appears at the doorway with the first man, and you watch round eyed as he peers into the dark to find you. When he does, his eyes widen and an eyebrow lifts up his forehead. “Hell... there really is a girl!”
“Yeah. So- what do we do with her? She’s seen our faces, man.”
Rex runs a hand back through his hair and breathes out slowly the air from his puffed up cheeks. “Uh, well I guess, kill her? Not much you can do. I’ll leave that to you, Oz, I gotta help Jay with the TV.” And with a final clap on the shoulder, Rex leaves the room. Oz’s eyes return to your form, something shifting beyond them that’s familiar... but somehow more terrifying then that which you’ve become used to every day.
He tilts his head to the side. “Can you talk?”
Glancing around the room for an escape that’s never been there before - why one would appear now, you have no idea, - , you nod. “Y- yeah.”
“What’re you lookin’ for? So skittish... it’ll be quick, I promise. Although,” The man tilts his head the other side, getting closer. “You are cute. If I’m killing you anyway, a little traumatising shouldn’t make much of a difference- should it? Naw... C’mere, kitten- “
WHACK!
Your eyes squeeze tightly shut, as the unknown man called Oz violently hits the floor, after Stupid’s bat came into contact hard with the back of his head. He whips around on the ground, looking up at the hulking figure that is but one of your captors, who you aren’t at all upset to see right now, standing in the doorway silhouetted by the hallway light. “What the fuck- “
“Duhh- What are you doin’ here?? I don’t know you! Oh, Y/N, do you know him?”
Shifting back on the bed, lifting your feet away from the floored Oz’s reach, you shake you head. “No.”
“’Course Y/N doesn't know him, you moron. Y/N doesn't know nobody but us. Get rid of the trespassin’ bastard already.” Smartass appears behind Stupid, slipping past him and into the room. He’s coming towards you, but stops - distracted, - by Oz’s terrified, caught form, and changes tact. He leans down towards the home invader and attempted worse, and sneers; His fury at the attempt to hurt you, bleeding through his attempted cool exterior. “Not so talkative now, aye? Asshole.”
His detour allows Greasy to get to you first, and the pervert sits down on the bed beside you, dragging your hands from your body and holding them in his lap. He leans in close to you, and you smell his horrible too-strong cologne- your nose scrunching up at the scent. Its mixed with blood, today. You hate it. But you don’t move; You know very well not to, besides, everything about him is soft right now. You wouldn't dare do anything to change that. “Cariño, amor... did this man hurt you?”
Without thinking, you admit, “He was going to.”
A deep, horrendous scowl stretches Greasy’s nose and turns the corners of his lips down. “Unforgivable.”
“Psycho, the honours?” Wheezy, coughing and hacking as usual and just getting words out around it, slips a new pack of cigarettes into his vets pocket - a brand he never uses... your thoughts wonder back to the other man. With the fingers like Wheezy’s, - and leans on the door frame just behind Stupid with Psycho- who stands, highly hee-hee-heeing on the other side of Stupid.
“Ooooooh, I’d LOVE too!!”
Then Psycho (And Stupid, who evidently didn't get the message that it was only supposed to be Psycho this time) pounce on the man on the floor and all of a sudden screams, and hitting sounds followed by snaps, and horrible gurgling noises echo around in the room and become the totallity of what you can hear, or even think about, as ‘justice’ is done. You curl into Greasy’s (Always) waiting arms and try not to cry - not from fear, not because of the horrible sounds. Because you’re overwhelmed. You're not ysed to all this sound and all this stimulation. You dont know what what else to do but clutch onto Greasy, - and peak past the green fabric to catch familiar luminescent blue eyes - through the typical, poisonous tobacco cloud, - belonging to Wheezy, staring at you. He winks.
In honor of hitting 3,000 followers I would like to do something for you - my readers. Let’s be honest this blog and the content I put out is thanks to many of you, you truly keep me going with your love, so with that being said I’ve decided to plan up worldofAUs loves you 3,000!
What exactly is WorldOfAUs loves you 3,000?
I am allowing you my followers to send me in a gif of your liking, so that I can gift you a Drabble! The catch? It has to be of an avenger or there actor! I’m open to writing for any character and any setting/AU.
It can be fluffy, it can be angsty, it can be smutty, it can be dark, there is no limit to what you send in along with that gif of your choice!
Also, be descriptive! Tell me what you the reader want to see what you would like to happen again, possibilities are endless but give me something instead of nothing!
Little disclaimer: All my other requests waiting to be written are being worked on so for those of you waiting for a request from me fear not yours is on the way to being released Drabbles just come easier in this case.
I can’t wait to see what you submit - if you submit NO PRESSURE!
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You squirmed, swaying slightly as you twisted in your restraints. A light sheen of sweat blanketed your skin, causing chills to run rampant over your naked body. The head between your thighs, however, had heat rapidly chasing them. You choked back a whine as you inched closer to climax, that sinful tongue of his flicking and swirling, probing every sweet spot he could find.
You stared up at your bound hands, eyes occasionally following the rope to the ceiling and the hook it looped around. You had just enough slack for the balls of your feet to touch the floor, nothing else. At least, you did when he allowed you to stand.
Your legs had been over his shoulder for hours now, his fingers sunk into the soft flesh of your hips as he held your lower half still.
“Fuck, you taste so good,” he growled, fingertips pressing harder, leaving evenly spaced bruises as testament to whom you now belonged. “I can’t believe I never tapped this before.”
You let out a sharp cry, body going rigid as he slapped your ass, the brief spark of pain pushing you closer to the threshold. You bit down on your lip, fighting the urge to let him take you over it, knowing he would deny you the pleasure anyway.
You weren’t certain if he was trying to break you or was simply proving a point, licking and sucking, teasing with that perfect mouth of his, bringing you to the brink of insanity with how much you wanted it. You hated this version of him, hated and burned for it, every wicked fantasy crossing your mind of what else he would possibly do to you that Dean never had considered.
“I don’t know what’s more delicious, your pussy or your resistance.” His hand slid down the curve of your backside, cupping it as his thumb brushed along the length of your slit. A moan slipped past your lips, your traitorous hips arching into him before you could control them again.
He paused long enough to give a cocky tsk. “You realize the more you fight me, the more I’ll just toy with you.”
The pad of his finger fluttered over your folds, his tongue continuing to trace patterns over your clit. Despite how much you held back, he was already an expert on which motions had desire soaring the fastest. His other hand found your breast, fingers pinching at a taut nub.
Unable to fight it any longer, you relaxed, about to allow him to take you into freefall when he suddenly stopped. His hands returned to supporting your weight, his head drawing back to your knees, pulling a frustrated noise straight from your chest.
Oh you his face relayed, as he mocked you. “Now that was a close one.” He turned his head, rubbing his stubble along the inside of your thigh, intent on leaving his mark there as well. “No need to keep playing coy, darlin’,” he reached up to cup your breast, the tip of his thumb dragging lazily over your nipple, sending sparks of pleasure through you once more. “We both know you’ve wanted this for years now. The only difference is, I’m finally man enough to claim what’s mine.”
You hissed, sharply sucking in air as he sank two of his fingers into you. Your entrance was slick, giving minimal resistance despite the sudden stretch, and while there was a momentary burn, any discomfort was forgotten the moment he crooked his fingertips just right and tapped.
Who were you kidding? He was right. You were his, whether he was himself or a demon. You just weren’t ready to admit that yet.
He began to tease his fingers in and out of you, mouth closing back over your clit.
“Why don’t you just get it over with?” You demanded, feeling another link in your resolve snap.
He smiled deviously up at you, eyes going black. “Because I want to hear you beg for it first.”
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