⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ mr jack o'connell masterlist ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
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link here link here link here kinktober here
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ random fandoms masterlist ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
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⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ abandoned works & fandoms ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
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⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ tips n' tricks ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
Note! These are just some of my personal tips and tricks that I used often and found super helpful to me and my work. They may not work for you and that's totally okay!
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⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ all rights are reserved! Please do not copy or reupload my work(s)!
hey i’m looking for a deleted jimmy ink x reader fic on ao3, it was about ink really wanting a baby but reader insert doesnt want to. this is a random ask but im wondering if you remember it I cant find it anywhere ahhhhh
AHH, I REMEMBER THAT FIC!
But, no, I think they deleted it all together. I had it bookmarked on my a03, and the account is gone and so is the fic. I'm sorry, hopefully someone else will find it. Or they will re-upload it as an orphan account / fic.
My blog name / user has officially been changed from @/iamyourdailydoseofbi to @/theladyoftheunderground here on tumblr! It finally fits the vibe of the rest of my socials now ( all goddess themed )! Victory!
TASTE'S LIKE SHE MIGHT BE THE ONE, YEAH. ( PORNSTAR AU! Paddy Mayne x Reader )
WARNING! This will contain ( DUB-CON, CURSING, DACRYPHILIA, P-IN-V SEX, CHOKING, SPIT / SPITTING, NO USE OF CONDOM, BREEDING, THREAT OF GETTING PREGO., SEX WORK, SLIGHT BONDAGE, USE OF A SPREADER BAR, THREATS OF VIOLENCE, AND MILD USE OF ALCOHOL. ) DO NOT ENGAGE IF YOU CANNOT HANDLE DEAD DOVE / DO NOT LIKE THIS / WILL BE TRIGGERED!
AUTHOR NOTE! The JOC discord gave me soooo many juicy ideas on this AU, so to everyone in the thread / discord, I give you fully credit for this! Also this is for Jack's birthday 🎂 <3
pairing: Pornstar! Paddy Mayne x Pornstar! Reader
prompt: It's your first time filming with him...
word count: 1,000+ words
keywords: ( PS/n ) = Pornstar Name
WARNING! This will contain ( DUB-CON, CURSING, DACRYPHILIA, P-IN-V SEX, CHOKING, SPIT / SPITTING, NO USE OF CONDOM, BREEDING, THREAT OF GETTING PREGO., SEX WORK, SLIGHT BONDAGE, USE OF A SPREADER BAR, THREATS OF VIOLENCE, AND MILD USE OF ALCOHOL. ) DO NOT ENGAGE IF YOU CANNOT HANDLE DEAD DOVE / DO NOT LIKE THIS / WILL BE TRIGGERED!
Paddy Mayne, the dark stain on the porn industry.
You had heard of him before, never positive. It was either an insult or denouncing his work in the industry. Everyone you knew had a horror story about working with him⎯production staff, other actors, even the janitors had horror stories about him. Nobody wanted to work with him. Nobody. He was practically blacklisted because of his shitty temper and outbursts. So it was surprising that your agent would allow you to film with him. Most girls who filmed with him either got blacklisted, or made a quick shift to only doing cam girl and Onlyfans stuff. But, the pay must be good enough to look past all of Paddy’s…unfavorable habits. Or perhaps, they saw the traction that it would bring to you and it was worth the risk of just filming one stupid video with him.
Wrinkling your nose up in disgust, you cringe at the thick layer of setting spray sprayed over your body, the body glitter was stupid but supposedly going to look good on camera. Coughing as they spray up to your neck, you wave a hand, trying to clear the air. Ugh, you didn’t need stupid body glitter. Using some watered down baby oil would’ve had the same effect on camera. Hearing the back door slam shut violently, the make-up artist jumps up at the sound, her face scrunching up in thick tension. Furrowing your brows at her sudden shift from calm to tense, you glance from the corner of your eye, watching as Paddy walks in. His cheeks a bright pink from what you were almost certain was anger, a cigarette hanging from his bottom lip.
“What the fuck is wrong with him?” You mumble, flicking your gaze between him and the rest of the production crew.
“That’s just…kinda how he is.” She weakly explains, fiddling with the setting spray bottle.
“You’re kidding.” You scoff, rolling your eyes hard as everyone in the room tenses as Paddy walks past them.
“No..” She whispers back, avoiding eye contact.
God, he was so unprofessional.
If you had dared to act the way he does, Twitter would have a field day in cancelling you before your career could take off. Putting the can of setting spray down, the make-up artist grabs a can of hairspray, not warning you before spraying your hair. Coughing as a cloud of hair spray hits you right in the face, Paddy glances over his shoulder to you, brows raising up at the sight of you choking on hair spray. Turning your head away from the cloud of hair spray, you wave your hand around, attempting to disburse it to be able to breathe. You didn’t really know why you needed to be covered in body glitter or caked in pounds of make-up or have your hair curled like you were starring in an old Hollywood film and not porn. It was all going to get ruined anyways.
“Christ, trying to kill me before I have to film?” You joke, grimacing as you can taste it in the back of your throat.
“Sorry.” She apologies, looking like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole.
“Hey, it’s fine.” You joke bitterly, putting on an overly fake grumpy face. “I would rather choke on hair spray than a dick.”
“I bet.” She weakly jokes back, weakly smiling at your attempt to cheer her up.
Flicking her eyes over your shoulder, she tense up instantly, looking like she had just seen a monster standing behind you. Hearing the chair beside you scuff against the floor, you turn your head to find Paddy sitting there, staring you down intensely. You didn’t know why he was staring, it could've been an intimation tactic or that just that he had staring problems on top of his other problems. Either way, it was stupidly childish. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes at the stare, you look him up and down slowly, taking a moment to really look at him. He was smaller than you had originally imagined, the camera’s always made him look like this monster. But, he was handsome.
Streaks of blonde blended in with the dark strands that were slicked back. Piercing blue eyes that felt like they were inspecting the darkest parts of you. A slightly crooked nose from you had a feeling was from getting his ass handed to him for being such a dick. Letting out a low hum at the sight of him, you turn your head back to the make-up artist, watching her try to shrink into herself. Paddy wasn’t even that intimidating. Besides, he seemed like the kind to feed off of people being all scared of him. He continues to stare you down, not making a single noise. Not a huff or grunt. Slowly exhaling, he blows some smoke in your direction, making you glare.
“I am going to assume that you’re staring at me because you can’t remember my name and not because you’re a massive dick who lacks professionalism.” You cut the silence short, patience already wearing thin for him.
“Sure.” He grunts out, eyes narrowing on you.
“It’s ( Y/n ), or ( PS/n ).” You force a professional smile on your face as you look at him, “It’s nice to meet you officially, Mr Mayne.”
He doesn’t respond back, just narrows his eyes further.
Gritting your teeth tensely at his silence, you tried to be as professional as possible, to just shrug all this bad behavior off. But, god was it really fucking hard. He was a grown ass man, and incapable of being professional about this. Taking a sharp breath in through your nose, you turn your head away, looking at the make-up artist to finish up your hair. The sooner you got ready, the sooner the two of you could film and then go your separate ways. Throwing the cigarette between his teeth on the ground in front of you, you narrow your eyes hard, watching as he just lets it burn. Asshole. At least have the decency to put it out. Stretching your leg out, you crush it with the bottom of your flip flop, barely resisting the urge to shoot him a glare for being such a dick.
“Remind me again why I agreed to this?” He huffs, making you raise a brow as you catch the distinct barking Irish accent he had.
“You’re kidding, right?” You raise a brow, chewing on the inside of your cheek.
Nice accent, was on the tip of your tongue. But, you stop yourself from saying out loud. It might just give him an ego boost, and the last thing that you needed was a cocky Paddy Mayne before you both filmed. You had made that mistake once and learned the hard way.
“No, I am not.” He grumbles, acting like talking was as painful as pulling teeth.
“Because you’re blacklisted, Paddy. You can either film with me or jerk off alone in front of the camera like a total cuck. Which we both know, won’t sell. You’re not that interesting.” You argue, not bothering to sugar coat your words.
He doesn’t respond, looking you up and down condescendingly.
“That’s what I thought.” You scoff, “Look, we’re getting paid ten thousand pounds for this stupid video, just shut up and film it so we can go our separate ways.”
“You’re a bitch.”
“And you’re not?” You snap back sarcastically, “Do excuse me for not kissing your ass, Paddy. I’m being paid to fuck it, not kiss it.”
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ » [ Mayne meets his match in Industry Brat ] « ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
Chewing on your bottom lip in fake innocence, you stare at the camera lens, putting on your best look of sultry innocence. The air in the room felt sticky hot, and the leather of the couch was sticking to the back of your thighs uncomfortably making a sickening pulling sound each time you shifted even the slightest. There was nothing sexy about how you were feeling, but what the fuck could you do? There was no air conditioning in the stupid building and you couldn’t push back filming. Slowly lowering the camera from your face down to your feet, you tilt your head to the side, pretending like you were enjoying every second of this. You were a professional. You had worked in far worse conditions and could handle some minor discomfort for an hour.
“State your name for the camera, sweetheart.” The cameraman questions, a dead professional look on his face. “Don’t be shy.”
“I’m not shy. As for my name?” You let out a ditzy giggle, “I’m ( PS/n ).”
“Are you excited for today?”
“What’s today?” You fake a pout, pretending to be confused.
“Don’t act coy, sweetheart.” He fakes a chuckle, sharing a knowing look with you.
Ugh, god you hated this demeaning ditzy “Oh, I’m just a girl” persona. But, horny suckers paid premium for it. Rarely did you get to be the dominant one in your films, always ditzy or the ditzy brat. But, then again, it was porn. So it wasn’t like you could play a philosophical character. Lifting the camera back up your legs, the cameraman zooms in on the lace of your garter belt, nodding for you to tug at them. Understanding what he was asking of you, you teasingly trail a hand down your hips to your thighs. Hooking a finger against the garter belt, you pull it back teasingly, then let it go so it snaps back against your skin. The skin reddening from the impact.
Nodding his head in approval, he flicks his eyes between you and the lens, making sure that it was picking up everything that was needed. Spreading your legs teasingly slow, he zooms in on the body glitter just above your navel, the dim lighting giving it a glow. Resisting the urge to check the monitor off to the side to see how it looked, he tilts the camera lower, only capturing the lower half of your body and hands. Taking advantage of your top half not being in camera, you glance at the monitor mildly surprised at how good the body glitter looks on camera. If this wasn’t porn, you’d have thought that it was a cool camera effect for a movie. But, this was porn so it was..decent.
“Do you like how I look?” You tease, eye twitching at how corny the line sounds outloud.
“Mm-hm, you look so pretty.” He chuckles, looking like he was ready to clock out.
“Yeah? But, just pretty?” You giggle, mimicking his check out expression.
“Stunning.”
God, doing this stupid fan service stuff was soul draining.
Rolling your eyes hard at how cheesy the script was, you glance away from the monitor, locking eyes with Paddy. Shamelessly leaning against an empty chair, he doesn’t even bother to hide his nakedness, watching you and the cameraman with an amused expression like he was trying not to crack up at how horrid this script truly was. Unable to resist the urge, you steal a quick glance over him, surprised that he was shamelessly naked. He didn’t need to be naked just yet. But, he didn’t seem to care in the slightest about that in true Paddy fashion. Letting out a low chuckle at your reaction, you wrinkle your nose up at the stark tan lines and hair on his chest. It wasn’t gross, it was just hair after all. It was just…surprising to see it on him. Most men in porn were clean shaven and with perfect fake tans. But, Paddy was different. He was wild..He…He didn’t give a fuck about it.
“You still there, sweetheart?” The cameraman snaps you out of your daze, “You’re all quiet.”
“Sorry..just..taking it all in.” You lie, trying to get back on track.
“It’s a lot, isn’t it?” He shoots you a look, motioning to keep your focus.
“Yeah.” You nod.
“But, you’re no virgin, right?”
No shit, asshole. Lifting the camera up to your face before you could respond back, you quickly snap back into character, fluttering your lashes at the lens seductively. You wanted to be snarky about the stupid question, but refrained from doing so. Chewing on your bottom lip softly as he begins to slowly circle, you let out a fake giggle, turning your head to follow it. Your thong goes up your ass uncomfortably, the urge to pick it free high. Stupid fucking lingerie. Shit didn’t cover what it needed to and always found a way to be uncomfortable. Hearing a low snort off camera, you glance away, finding Paddy cracking up at the cameraman scrambling to record every inch of you.
“( PS/n ), you like leather?” The cameraman asks, making you raise a brow up.
“Mm-hm, why?” You nod.
“Then, you’re going to love knowing that we’re gonna tie you up.”
Wait…what?
Your face falls before you can stop it, the answer on the tip of your tongue dying as you scramble to remember if that was in the script. The more that you think, the more that you just know that it was not script. You had read it thoroughly, it didn’t mention any bondage. Hell, that shit was on your lists of ‘will not film’. Along with choking and hair pulling. Opening your mouth to argue back, nothing comes out of your mouth, too shocked by his words. He was fucking with you, right? It was just going to be you and Paddy fucking on the couch, there was no bondage. Digging your nails into the leather of the couch, you shift your eyes between the lens and the cameraman, waiting for him to start laughing and saying how he had got you good with his joke.
He doesn’t laugh, just stares at you.
“You’re fucking with me?” You ask, knowing that this was probably totally off script and would earn you a scolding for ‘ruining the vibe’ of the film.
He doesn’t respond, and that only makes things worse.
“Cut the shit, you’re joking, right?” You press, your face turning serious as no one on set cuts you off. “Don’t just fucking stare at me, answer me. That’s not in my contract.”
Still, he doesn’t respond.
Clenching your jaw tightly as the silence drags on and on, the shock slowly morphs into burning hot anger, your nails digging harder into the couch cushion. Seriously? They were going to try to sneak this shit on you? That was fucked up, and that was saying a lot. But, then again, that is how this fucked up industry worked⎯loopholes in contracts so that they can exploit you. This just like all those other times you had things thrown at you the day of filming. Jolting as a hand suddenly grabs the back of your hair, your head is pulled back, forcing you to look at Paddy upside down.
You could smell the cigarette on his breath and something spicy⎯a scent that you knew well from assholes who would show up drunk at work⎯Irish whiskey. Looking over your face slowly, you shiver at his intense stare, almost forgetting for a second that the two of you were filming. This was the Paddy Mayne that you knew of⎯the one who made girls switch to live streams. The one that was blacklisted from the industry. Swallowing the dry lump in your throat, you shrug his hand off, suddenly aware of how trapped he had you. Not just physically, but contractually. If your agent didn’t catch this little bondage slip, what else was snuck into there?
“Should’ve read the fine print.” Paddy taunts, shaking his head with a snicker.
Letting out a choked gasp at the hard squeeze to your throat, you dig your nails into the leather cushion of the couch, your legs aching from the restraints. The leather is sticky from sweat, only adding to the uncomfortableness. You should’ve fought harder⎯bitten at him, scratched at his eyes, pulled at his hair, twisted his balls until they turned a ghastly purple color⎯something more than what you had done. You should’ve forced the crew to interfere before it crossed into a dangerous work environment. But, you didn’t. You just froze up, not believe that Paddy would actually be that fucking stupid. And look where that got you…bent over the armrest of the couch with a stupid spreader bar digging into your ankles, like some stupid breeding sow.
Tears involuntarily stream down your flushed cheeks, your lungs burning as he keeps the hard grip on your throat, denying you a breath. Eleven…Twelve..seconds now. Not long enough yet to make your vision blur and black spots to float around, but enough to make it really hurt and linger⎯to silently remind you who exactly had the upper ground right now. Him. A stubbornness in you remained unbroken, refusing to let Paddy Mayne, of all fucking people, be the one to break you down. You would not allow it. He may have overpowered you physically, but he would not break your spirit. Pressing more of his weight on your back, it forces you deeper into the couch cushion, straining to stand on your tippy-toes. Your nails drag against the cushion, trying to wiggle free.
“Stubborn little thing you are, I like that.” He purrs, enjoying getting a rise out of you.
You don’t respond, spite and a lack of air keep you silent.
“Oh, cat your tongue…or rather, old Paddy got your breath?” He snickers, finding amusement in his own stupid jokes. “Look at you..turning all red.”
Cunt.
Finally releasing his grip on your throat, you sink harder into the couch cushion, gasping heavily as you swallow as much air as possible before it gets taken away. Trailing his fingers down the column of your throat, he grabs a handful of your breast, thumb flicking over the remains of what once was a bra. He hadn’t removed any of it, just tore holes in them⎯a clear way to humiliate you. You weren’t worthy of being undressed, of basic respect. Pressing himself harder against your ass, you sneer as the head of his cock slaps against your inner thigh, sticky and leaking pre-cum. It was revolting. He hadn’t stuck himself in you..yet. It felt like a mind game with him, just dragging out the minutes with “will he” or “won’t he” kind of game of when he’d finally push in.
“That’s it.” He coos, voice surprisingly tender as you cough violently. “Breath it all in.”
No shit, Paddy.
“Go on, cry if ya’ need to.” He mumbles, “Weren’t breathing for a while.”
Because you deprived me of air, you wanted to snap back.
Shutting your eyes softly, you choke a couple of times, a mixture of spit pooling in your mouth and a desperate need for air clashing together. Your lungs hurt. Your legs hurt. Your lower back hurt. Your head hurts. Your…Your everything hurts really. You could only amuse that it had been hours since you had been trapped like this, it would explain why your body was aching so much. Trying to shift your hips to ease some of his weight off, the spreader bar keeps your feet trapped in place, the thick metal digging into the skin. Letting out a low grunt of pain at the sensation, you try again, but the spreader bar was firm in keeping you trapped in an awkward position.
Clicking his tongue scoldingly as you squirm around, you turn your head to the side, your cheek pressing against the cushion. Sweaty strands of hair fall in your face, but you peek through it to find the production team still filming. They didn’t look concerned, or interested really. They looked bored, like it was another day in the office. Glaring daggers at everyone of them that you could find, he trails his hand down from your breasts, feeling the thin layer of sweat on your skin. Hiding his face in the back of your head, he rubs soothing circles over your sore hips, confusing you further. One moment he was degrading you, now he was comforting you. Was this a part of his trick? To make you lower your guard down?
“Shhh, there is a good girl.” He whispers, tenderly rubbing at a bruise on your hip.
“What the fuck was that for?” You grit your teeth, trying to push him off.
“What was that for?” He chuckles, pushing you back down onto the couch firmly.
“Yes.” You sneer, trying to shrug him off.
“You think that you can talk shit about me before filming and I wouldn’t think about it?” He whispers, some spit hitting your cheek. “That I would just let it go?”
“You’re unprofessional and⎯”
“Me?” He mocks, “Says the brat who had to be tied up cause she tried to back out of her contract.”
A snarky comment was on the tip of your tongue, just itching to unload on him and the rest of the crew. You were so going to review your contract then sue the fuck out of each and everyone of them. Their children’s children would die with the debt you would put them all in. Straining to stand on your tippy toes, you swing your legs back, using the spreader bar as a weapon to whack his calf. Cursing lowly at the whack, he lets go of your hip, grabbing the back of your neck to smush your face into the couch cushion. The gentleness from before, gone in an instant.
Was it stupid of you? Yes. But, this fucker had kept you bent over for hours with the stupid spreader bar digging into your skin. You weren’t going to be on your best behavior,and he was stupid if he expected that. Spitting a fat glob of spit in your face, you clench your jaw tighter, cheeks flushing red at his attempt of humiliation. You did porn for a living, a little spit was nothing compared to shit you go on the daily. Tangling his fingers into your hair, he pushes your face harder into the couch, using the cushions to smother you for a moment before letting go.
“I swear to god, I’m gonna fucking cut your brakes in the parking lot and watch you crash into on-coming traffic.” You sneer, not caring if the cameras could pick up on your threat.
“Then, I guess I should leave you with a parting gift.” He clicks his tongue, “Yeah, yeah, should knock you up and make you live the rest of your life with a piece of me forever at your side.”
“I’ll take the morning-after pill.” You argue, raging at his threat.
“I’ll keep you here for the night. Nah, maybe I’ll just extend the contract, make you film for seven days back-to-back.” He rambles, “You’d like that huh? Seven days with old Paddy.”
Maybe if he was the one tied up and in agonizing pain because of the stupid spreader bar, you would enjoy it. But, considering you were the one tied up, not likely. Not fucking likely. Digging his nails into your scalp, he drags you off the couch by the hair, throwing you roughly onto the floor. Your hip smacks hard into the armrest of the couch before pain flares up your legs. The metal spreader bar digs deep into your skin, feeling like someone had just poured lava on your skin. The leather strap that was supposed to protect your skin from damage did nothing, it was as useful as putting a piece of tape over a broken pipe gushing water. Fuck useless. Kinda like the crew.
Hitting the ground with a pained wheeze, you wrap your arms around your head, tensing up in anticipation of a kick. But, the kick never comes. Peeking through the gaps of your fingers, he just towers over you, taking in every reaction like this was a sick game of chicken. Casually crouching down to your level, you tense up further, recoiling back from him. Clicking his tongue scoldingly at your reaction, you try to curl up in a ball, but the bar keeps your legs forced open. Kicking at the bar in a weak attempt to remove it, it clatters around, digging into one ankle then the other. Letting out a chuckle at your reaction, he grabs a handful of your hair, dragging you across the ground.
“You keep on fighting and I’ll do worse than I already did.” He mocks, clearly attempting to rile you up.
“Fuck you, you potato fucking irishman.” You snap back, trying to grab onto the leg of the couch to stop him from dragging you any closer.
“You already are. You know, maybe I will extend the contract. Sperm can live up to seven days in the cervix. That’s all the time I need with you.” He chuckles condescendingly, his last comment making your stomach drop.
Pressing his thumb harder into your mouth, you gag slightly as he forces it a little further down your throat, your eyes watering up. Fucking bastard. Smirking even more at your gagging, he picks up his pace, practically battering your cervix with the head of his cock. The stretch burns, nothing could’ve prepared you for the sheer girth that was Paddy’s cock. The camera’s didn’t do it justice. Clawing at the carpet with your nails, he uses his free hand to lift your legs up, the stupid spreader bar still in place. It was humiliating the way that he kept it on, forcing your legs open. Growling lowly to hide his trembling breath, you let out a choked noise, trying to spit out his fingers.
Removing his fingers from your mouth, he hooks both of his hands under your knees, forcing your legs up higher. He'd be able to hook them over his shoulders if it wasn’t for the spreader bar, and it seemingly starts to realize it too. Gritting his teeth in annoyance as the spreader bar gets in the way, he adjusts his grip on your legs, awkwardly holding them up in the air. You’d laugh in his face if it wasn't for the fact that your legs were numb. Punching out sobs from you with each hard snap of his hips against the back of your thighs, you choke on a breath, eyes rolling into the back of your head. You hated him, but, fuck was he acutally really good at this.
“Look what happens when you behave, love.” He chuckles, sweat trickling down his brow. “Feels nice, eh?”
“F…Fuck…Y…God, fuck you, Paddy. You bastard.” You stutter out, forcing yourself to get the words out.
“Say that without moaning, love.” He mocks, “And I might just take you seriously.”
Opening your mouth to argue back, he cuts you off by shoving his thumb further down your throat, choking you once again. What the hell was his deal with choking? Gagging again as he pushes them further back, you try to spit them out, drool pooling out of your mouth and down your chin. But, it only fuels him further. Spitting a fat glob of spit into your mouth, you swallow instinctively, body reacting before your mind can tell you to spit back at him instead. Letting out a soft hum of approval as you swallow, you turn your head away, not wanting to meet his eyes. Clicking his tongue in disapproval, he curls his thumb to gather as much of your spit as possible, smearing the saliva across your cheeks like it was a face cream. Your cringe deeply at the sensation.
“Stop being dramatic about some spit.” He shakes his head, “You’ve taken worse.”
“It’s fucking gross.” You argue, spitting in his face.
“And the video of you taking it up the ass, isn’t?” He scoffs, wiping away the spit from his face.
His pace stops abruptly, and for a moment you think that he might pull out. Taking a sharp breath in through his gritted teeth, he digs his nails into your legs, making you cringe at the stinging sensation. Please, just pull out. Staring at you blankly, it was more unnerving than any glare or biting insult he could shoot your way. Opening your mouth to scold him, he shuts you up with a hard thrust, your eyes rolling the back of your head. The torturous drag of his cock inside you makes your brain swirl. It was a delicious torture that only made you unbelievably wet. It should be a crime that he was capable of making you feel so good⎯he was an asshole.
“You like that?”
You don’t respond, fearing the only thing that would come out is a moan.
“Of course you are, old Paddy is giving it to you good.”
Tearing up at his words, you bite hard on the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to focus on the pain instead of the thickening lump in your throat. You hated him. You hated the crew. You hated everyone behind this. But, there was a sick and twisted part of you that liked this. You liked the way that he touched you, like he hated you. You liked the feeling of his body pressed tightly against you. You liked the feeling of his cock inside of you. Licking away some sweat from his top lip, he keeps a straight face, his brows furrowed together in focus. Tightening his grip on your legs, you squirm at his grip, your legs straining from the spreader bar. God, you wanted to burn this shit.
“Do that again.” He whispers, wiping away some stray tears from your cheek. “Cry again for me, you look so pretty when you cry, love.”
“You’re a sick fuck.” You argue, struggling to maintain a sternness.
“Don’t lie, a little part of you is liking this.” He argues, “I can see it in your eyes. You can lie to the camera, but I know.”
“I don’t⎯”
Digging his nail hard into your skin, he picks up his pace, punching out air from your lungs with each thrust. Nipping at your calf with his teeth, you blush a bright pink from embarrassment, hating yourself for not being strong enough. Hating him should be easy⎯it was. He tricked you. But, he also made you feel good. The first time where you didn’t have to fake moans and play the bimbo nymphomaniac. The filthy sounds of wetness squelching filling the air. Lifting your legs up a little higher, you ass lifts off the ground, earning a strangled moan from you at the deeper angle.
“Paddy⎯”
“That’s the spot?” He chuckles, “Only took an hour.”
“Don’t⎯” You try again, but he cuts you off.
“Don’t?” He mocks, “At least try to sound convincing if you’re gonna tell me to stop.”
Biting harder on your bottom lip, it takes everything in you to not shove him off, to try to strangle him. Or maybe you would try to ride him as best as you could with the spreader bar. God, if only it weren’t for the fact that Paddy had twice your strength. Smugly smirking at your growing frustration, he slowly rolls his hips, dragging his cock along your walls. Slow. Agonizingly slow and cruel. Trailing his lips down your calf to the strap of the spreader bar, he switches between biting and sucking dark marks into your raw skin, lingering on the marks already there from hours ago.
Sweat trickles down your forehead, your body jerking involuntarily at each torturous slap of his hips against your hips, forcing you pleasure against your better judgement. Hiding his face in the crook of your neck, he digs his nails deeper into your skin, making you wince in pain again. The sound of your wet, sloppy fucking echoing off the walls. It’s horrid. It’s sickening. It’s cruel. It’s worse knowing that the camera was filming it all. Nipping at your inner ankle, he reaches down with his free hand, rubbing face circles over your swollen clit. It sends heat down your spine.
“I want you to look at that camera.” He whispers, “I want you to look at it and remember this, no matter how much you squirmed and cursed and fought. It didn’t matter.”
You don’t respond, not trusting your voice.
“Because you ended up exactly where whores like you always do, on your back.”
Biting down on his bottom lip hard, he thrust on last time before tensing up, his cheeks flushing a bright red as he finally cums. That familiar heat between your legs comes back, the one you felt every time you filmed with someone. The orgasm that had been building up dying in a cruel second, leaving you overly sensitive and frustrated. It felt like you were going to burst at any second and he just took that from you. Selfish. Incredibly fucking selfish. If he was going to put you through hell for hours, the least he could do was finish you off properly.
Taking a sharp breath in through his nose as he rides out the waves of his orgasm, a sickening wet squelching sound fills the air as his hips jerks forward, pushing more cum inside of you. Staring up at the ceiling in a daze, you wonder if it was finally over. Normally whenever the guy cums, the production crew ends filming. Was this it? Was it finally over? Could you go home now? Taking a second to catch his breath, he grinds against you, making you hiss at the overstimulation. Your clit burns, the grinding torturous. But, then again, it was in true Paddy fashion to inflict that on you.
“You didn’t think this was over, did you?” He chuckles at your hopeful expression, “Still got half an hour.”
Staring at the key light off to the side, you bite back a hiss as Paddy unstraps the spreader bar, the skin around your ankles raw. You don’t dare to look at them, dreading the sight. It was probably bruised, at best. At worst, it was so red and raw that you would need to go to urgent care to get it tended to. Curling your nails into the couch, you flinch as he rubs at the skin, surprisingly gentle despite moments ago. That switch from gentle to cruel was like whiplash. You’d have preferred him to just stay cruel, it would make it easier to hate him. But, the sudden switches kept on giving you false hope that he’d snap out of it and release that he was crossing a thousand lines.
Then again, this was Paddy Mayne. There was no getting through to that man, not unless you were his stupid agent⎯Eoin McGonigal. Pressing a kiss onto your shoulder blade, you grind your teeth together, stomach churning. Finally pulling himself away from you, you kick him away roughly, scrambling to the other side of the couch. The soreness in your legs and between your thighs was killing you. You needed some pain killers, a hot bath, and to get far far away from Paddy Mayne. Tucking your knees up to your chest for comfort, you don’t cry, refusing to allow yourself to. You would not cry, not on camera. Swallowing the thickening lump in your throat, you tense up as Paddy sits beside you, casually pushing back sweaty strands of hair from his face.
“How do you feel, sweetheart?” The camera man asks, his voice cutting through the tense air.
You don’t respond, trying to piece yourself back together.
“( PS/n ), how are you feeling after that?” He asks again, making your anger spike up.
It was shit. What else were they expecting you to say? Some bullshit like, “Oh, I am so happy and enjoyed being lied to! I loved being tied up and my repeated protests ignored! It just gets me so wet!”.
"Answer." Someone off camera hisses, making your jaw clench.
"Answer him, ( Y/n )." Another adds, only adding more to your anger.
What. The. Fuck. If everything had gone the way it was supposed to, you would be able to say that it was nice. But, the fact that everyone knew that they weren’t going to follow the script that was sent to you, was beyond fucked up. They had exploited you. They used you. They lied to you. Clearing his throat sternly to get your attention, you refuse to look at the camera, staring down at the nail polish on your toes. The sparkly iridescent purple brings you little comfort.
“Answer him, love.” Paddy demands, wiping a glob of saliva from your chin with his thumb.
“Answer him? You want me to answer him, Paddy?” You scoff, unable to stop yourself from responding snarkily.
“Don’t be difficult, love. You don’t want me to have to remind you what manners are, do you?” He warns, the underlying threat clear in his words.
You don't answer back, biting on your tongue hard.
"( PS/n )." Paddy repeats, leaning his face in closer to intimidate you into submission.
Smacking his hand away from your face roughly, he shoots you a warning look, but restrains from retaliating back. You didn’t fear being hit. Being hit was far kinder than what he had done. Sure, you had consented at the beginning to all of this. But, that was before they changed things. You were angry. You were hurt. You wanted to go home and cry. Grabbing onto your chin firmly, he forces you to stare at the camera, the blinking red light staring right back at you. Your reflection makes tears bubble up in your eyes. Your once pristine curls are ruined and greasy. The make-up and body glittered so smeared on you that you looked like one of those zombies from a horror film.
“Answer him.”
"I heard." You pipe in, finally responding.
"Then anger him, don't be difficult." He presses his thumb harder into your chin.
"I'm not." You argue, lowering your gaze down as a few tears bubble in your eyes.
"You are." He argues, shaking his head.
“Okay, I’ll answer.” You hiss, staring back at your reflection. “Hope you got a good lawyer, cause I'm about to make you my bitch.”
I am already working on my kinktober stuff, because my dumb ass is for sure gonna forget about it until it's far too late to do anything about it. ( That Fem! Remmick smut I wrote, is proof of that because I didn't post until the last day of Pride )
mini spoilers of who is gonna be in this kinktober! It is gonna contain :
Remmick - drabble - ( ready to post )
James Cook - long fic - [ in progress ]
Paddy Mayne - drabble - ( ready to post )
Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal - drabble - ( ready to post )
@/the anon who mass sent those messages to multiple joc writers telling them to stop writing noncon otherwise they'd get reported like a glorified hall monitor lmao
full and all credit goes to @thlaylisden ( the og creator / mastermind of Knight! Remmick & Older Knight! Remmick )
WARNING! This will contain ( DRY HUMPING, DEGRADING / BULLYING THE HELL OUT OF REMMICK, HAIR PULLING, AND MENTIONS OF CUMMING IN PANTS. ) PLEASE DO NOT ENGAGE IF YOU CANNOT HANDLE SMUT CONTENT / DO NOT LIKE THIS / KNOW THAT YOU WILL BE TRIGGERED!
have you ever tried this one..?
Letting out a low chuckle at the whimpering mewl he lets out, you grind yourself harder against the bulge of his pants, chewing on your bottom lip to hide your smile. There was a thin layer of sweat on his forehead, his cheeks flushed the brightest shade of red you had ever seen. He was trembling⎯violently underneath you, and it was the most amusing thing you had ever seen. He was so worked up over a little bit of dry humping. Sure, if you were giving him a blow job or actually riding him, you could understand his reaction. But a little bit of dry humping? Where was the self control that he liked to brag so much about? He was a thousand year old vampire. Surely he could handle a little bit of dry humping. Bucking his hips up in need, you smile shamelessly at his reaction, flicking the tip of his nose with your finger.
“Cruel temptress.” He whines, “Do not deny me.”
“Stupid pup.” You counter back, clicking your tongue scoldingly.
“You mock me?”
“I mock how needy you are.” You argue, chuckling at the pouty look on his face. “A thousand years to build resistance to such touches, but you did not. You call yourself a knight?”
Opening his mouth up to argue back, you laugh in his face, watching the way his face flushes even brighter from embarrassment. Slowly tangling your fingers into the greying curls sticking to his forehead, you gently pull his head back, licking some of the sweat along the column of his throat with your tongue. The mix of salty sweat and the taste of cologne that he had smothered himself in to hide the stench of blood that lingered on him. You would bite if you could, but human teeth could only do so much against stubbornly resistant vampire skin. Digging his nails into the fat of your hips, you chuckle again at the whine he lets out, ridiculously pathetic and needy.
“Please…”
“No.” You argue, pressing soft kisses along his jawline.
“You haven’t touched me in days.” He complains, laying it on thick.
Letting out a low huff of annoyance at his dramatics, you wanted to argue back that it had only been one day that you hadn’t touched him, and that was only because you felt. Digging his nails painfully into your hips, you grit your teeth as they pierce the skin, sending a stinging pain down your spine. Pulling your lips back abruptly from his jawline, you stop grinding against him, narrowing your eyes hard at him. For a man who had been alive for as long as he had, he should’ve learned restraint by now. Opening his mouth up to complain again, you cut him off, yanking his head back roughly. You force him to stare up at the ceiling, mouth open in pain.
“Watch those hands, I’ve got work in the morning and I won’t be going in with your marks.”
“But, why not?” He blubbers, tripping over his words.
“You think I wanna be seen with you?” You sneer, “Think I wanna be known as the girl with the old man for a lover? You’re an embarrassment.”
Perhaps it was cruel to say such things to him. But, he always did like it when you were rough with him. Watching as his pupils dilate at your degrading words, you click your tongue scoldingly, feeling him stiffen underneath you. Furrowing your brows together at his reaction, it wasn’t what you had been expecting, your lips curling into a thin line. Then, you feel it. The wet warmth between your legs that seeps into the fabric of your pants. Did he..Did he just piss himself? Letting out a low scoff at the feeling, you lift yourself up slightly, glancing down to find a wet patch in his pants. Out of nowhere, he tries to shove you off, turning his head away. It takes a second before it clicks in your head⎯he had just cummed in his pants. Your lips curl up into a big teasing smile.
“I⎯I didn’t!” He blubbers, his face full of embarrassment and mortification.
“Oh, the old man cannot even handle a little talking now?” You mock, “I didn’t even do anything this time and look at you, cumming in your pants like a virgin.”
“I didn’t⎯”
“Oh, but you already did.” You pull his head a little further back, “You’re so fucking pathetic, Remmick. You call yourself a man?”
“I am.”
“Not much of one if you can’t handle a little dry humping.” You shake your head, using your free hand to trace over the scar on his chin.
AUTHOR NOTE! Not gonna lie, but I got the idea from a tiktok edit, lol.. <3
pairing: Paddy Mayne x Nurse! Reader
prompt : All you wanted to do was go dancing...
word count: 1,000+ words
One of the boys had mentioned the Empire Club to you in passing, an offhanded comment about cheap ‘real’ liquor and the live band they had. You hadn’t thought much of it. You had other priorities to focus on⎯adapting to the harsh climates, tending to injuries, helping Stirling build a somewhat stable system for the platoon to function with, rationing medical supplies. The idea of going dancing or having a drink was pushed to the back of your mind. But, it didn’t mean that every once in a while it did pop up in your head when things were quiet. Though, it was not like you would be able to go anyways. Stirling wouldn’t approve of your leave, normally.
Furrowing your brows together in confusion, you stare at Stirling, unable to process his words. He had approved your leave. No arguments. No blunt dismissal. No reminders of your importance. No lectures. He just signed off on it..willingly. Tightening your grip on the piece of paper, you close your mouth, unable to piece together the right words at the moment. You were thrilled, yes. But, also highly confused. You had sent that request two months ago, and he was barely getting back to you now. It was unlike him. Letting out a low snort of amusement at your stunned expression, he leans back in his seat, propping his foot up. That stupidly smug grin spreading on his face.
“I’m sorry..I just..” You sputter, finally managing to gather yourself. “You’re approving my leave?”
“The whole platoon is taking a leave, just for a few days.” He waves his hand dismissively, as if this wasn’t out of character for him to approve a leave for the entire platoon.
“Because..?” You press, trying to get a clear reason out of him.
“No reason.” He shrugs, “Just felt like it.”
“I don’t believe you, you’re never generous.” You narrow your eyes suspiciously, your lips curling into a thin line. “What’s the real reason, David? Who threatened you into agreeing?”
“No one did, ( Y/n ). You know, not everything has to have some kind of reasoning behind it.” He huffs, rolling his eyes hard at the accusation.
Bull⎯fucking⎯shit.
Looking for any hint of deception in his face, he only looks at you annoyed, as if you not jumping for joy about this leave was such a horrid thing. You were happy about it. You were. It’s just that it was just so suspicious, and the fact that it was for the whole platoon didn’t help either. Getting a leave approved was rare. Getting a leave approved for the whole platoon was like seeing Paddy smile and dancing⎯fucking impossible. Placing your hands on your hips, you begrudgingly let out a sigh, shoulders easing slightly. You would get the bottom of this, eventually. One of the boys would eventually crack when you asked.
“Can’t you just be happy about having a few days off?” He questions, cocking his head to the side.
“I am, I am happy. It’s just so unlike you to approve of my leaves.” You argue, “You wouldn’t even allow me a leave when I got a telegram informing me of my sister’s pregnancy."
“Well, I couldn’t back then. We had a few missions planned and I needed a competent nurse on staff.” He straightens up in his seat, nose wrinkling up.
"Are you sure there is no other reason⎯"
“Look, just accept it like the rest of the lads already have. Go dancing..have a good fuck, god knows you need it.” He cuts you off, rolling his eyes hard.
A good fucking?! A good fucking?! Flushing a bright pink from anger at the insinuation that you needed to get fucked, you slap him hard on the arm, earning a loud yelp of pain from him. The palm of your hand stings from how hard the impact was, and you were sure that he'd have a mark. Rubbing the now throbbing spot on his arm, he scoots back in his seat, putting a small amount of space between the two of you. A good fucking?! Oh, you should beat him until he was black and blue for that. Raising your hand up to give him another smack for the comment, he holds his hand up in surrender, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. You did not need to be fucked. Yes, you might have not had sex with anyone for a while now. But, it didn't effect you like the rest of them. You were a professional, and you could handle not having sex for a while.
“I do not need a good fuck, I am perfectly fine as I am, David.” You snap back, shooting him an icy glare for the crude comment.
“Bullshit." He scoffs, unable to stop himself from making the comment.
"David⎯" You threaten, leaning forward to smack him again.
"We all know you’re not fucking anyone, so you’re as pent up as the rest of us.” He argues, “Go to the Empire Club, find some lad and have fun for the night. I guarantee you the rest of the lads will be fucking their ways through the streets of Cairo.”
“I do not need that image in my head.” You scoff, wrinkling your nose up in disgust at the image of the platoon fucking their way through Cairo.
“Too late..” He snorts, digging into his pocket and pulling out a few dollars. “Get yourself a dress, a real one. Have fun.”
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ EMPIRE CLUB, 1940.
Have fun. Have fun. Yeah, easier said than done, Stirling. Swallowing the dry lump in your throat, you anxiously fix the hem of your pleated skirt, not used to wearing a dress after switching to pants and shorts months ago. You had forgotten what it was like to wear something so loose and flowy..and exposing. Letting out a shaky breath, you hold your head up high, mustering up all of your courage. These were the same idiotic men that you had spent months with. The same men who’d tease and pester you because they needed a good laugh. The same men who you had to baby whenever they got hurt. You had no reason to be so worked up about this. It was only a dress. If you could survive gunfire, you could survive wearing a dress for a few hours.
Looking over your appearance once last time in the mirror on the wall, you turn to your side softly, the pleated skirt swishing with you. The pale periwinkle fabric clashing with the rich red of your lipstick. You looked fine. Sucking on your bottom lip, you resist the urge to fret over your pinned up hair, knowing it’d only make you stay longer in the bathrooms. First it’d be your hair that you stressed over, then it would be your heels. Snatching your purse off the sink, you push open the doors to the restroom, making a swift beeline for the bar. You needed a drink. The familiar sight of khaki British officer uniforms scattered around the club makes your pace slow. Some were dancing. Others nursing drinks at tables. You could only wonder if Paddy was amongst them.
“( Y/n )?” Someone calls, making your freeze mid-step.
“Where?” Cooper questions, raising a brow.
“Bloody hell, is that her?” Fraser snorts, “I didn’t recognize her.”
“Fuck me..” Seekings mumbles, shifting in his seat.
“Nah, I rather fuck her if Paddy wouldn’t have my balls.” Kershaw snickers, taking a slop sip from his glass. “Can only dream..”
Ugh, you could hear them. Were they not aware of them?
Slowly turning on your heels, you lock eyes with the group of tipsy men, a slow mortified feeling going up your spine. It felt like when you awkwardly see an old lover again. Letting out a low flirty whistle at the sight of you, you stand up a little straighter, your grip tightening on your purse. God, it was just like getting cat -called back home. Only you knew these idiots. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you let out a tense chuckle, awkwardly smiling at them. You’d remind them when they were sober of how much of an arse they were acting. For now you’d just bite your tongue and be polite about it.
“Fucking hell, ( Y/n )..” Seekings compliments, nodding his head in approval.
“Boys. Having a good night?” You stiffly nod, pretending like you hadn’t heard them.
“Better now that you are here. Is that a new dress you are wearing?” Fraser questions, more subtle in his shameless ogling than the rest of them.
“Yes, it is.” You flash him a half smile, “Stirling paid for it actually. He told me to go and have fun, so..I got myself a dress, a real one.”
“Looks lovely on you.” He nods, stealing a quick glance down.
“Give us a spin, eh?”
Perking at the familiar sarcastic voice behind you, you sharply turn on your heels, finding Paddy standing there. Grinning brightly at the sight of him, you steal a quick glance over him, chuckling at his appearance. His hair slicked back from his face, beard actually groomed for once. Uniform all ironed and pressed. You had almost forgotten what was under all that beard and sand. Looking you up and down, he raises a brow at the sight of your dress and heels, a low chuckle escaping his lips. It wasn't cruel. But, the voice in the back of your head told you that it was meant to be cruel. The tiniest bit of insecurity bubbles in your stomach, fearing that he thought that you looked stupid in your heels and dress. It was taking a lot out of you to keep wearing it. You felt so..naked without your pants and baggy uniform shirt. Like a woman once again, not a nurse who had survived the front lines of war.
“Paddy! I didn’t think you’d be coming today. Had half expected you to stay buried in the sand dunes." You joke, cracking a small smile.
“Needed a drink.” He lingers on the lipstick you're wearing, “I see you got yourself all dressed up. Don’t think I’ve ever seen you wearing something like this before.”
“Well, I wanted to go dancing.” You explain, cheeks flushing a hot pink from embarrassment.
“Dancing?”
“Well, yes, I used to go dancing all the time back home with the girls.” You shift in place, “I haven’t been dancing since then. Why else would I be here?”
“For a fuckin⎯” Kershaw pipes in, breaking your conversation.
The sound of a slap recounts in the air, Kershaw rubbing the back of his head as Fraser shoots him a glare to stop talking. Shooting him an icy glare for the crude comment, he promptly shuts up, staring down at his glass of whiskey like it was the most fascinating thing ever. You weren’t in need of a one night stand, not like the rest of the boys did. You were perfectly content with just dancing the night away. It had been too long since you danced and found fun in ways outside of tending to wounds.
Shifting his gaze back onto you, Paddy opens his mouth to respond, but stops himself at the last second. Raising a brow up in confusion at his silence, it was unlike Paddy to be quiet. He'd have blurted out some kind of sarcastic comment by now. Opening his mouth back up to speak, he promptly shuts his mouth softly as if realizing that whatever he was gonna say is gonna piss you off. Good choice.
“Would you like to dance with me, Paddy?” You offer, grip tightening on your purse.
“Aye..go dance with her, Paddy.” Kershaw snickers, earning another slap from Fraser. "Twirling around like a fucking idiot."
“I don’t dance.” Paddy argues, shaking his head.
“Neither did I until I started.” You argue, trying to convince him.
"I don't dance, ever." Paddy corrects, a deadpan expression on his face.
"No one will judge you for not dancing the best, Paddy." You nod towards the dance floor, “Just one dance, please? I’ll buy you a bottle of rum for daring to interrupt your brooding for the night.”
Narrowing his eyes hard at your words, he glances over to the dance floor, staring at the couples dancing around the lively beat. Digging your nails into the strap of your purse, you shift from side to side, hopeful that he would accept. You wanted to dance, yes. But, you wanted to dance with him. He always seemed so tense, like his mind was trapped in place no one but the great poets could. His face sours the more he watches the dance floor, like he had downed a glass of purse lemon juice. Your stomach drops at the sight. Swallowing the dry lump in your throat, you hold your hand out softly to him, still hoping that he could accept your offer. Staring down at your outstretched hand, he stiffens up, his jaw tightly clenching. Your stomach drops more and more.
"No." Paddy shakes his head.
"Paddy go dance with her." Fraser encourages, nodding towards the dance floor. "No one will care if the two of you dance, they're too busy getting knackered."
"No, it's fine." You argue, trying to act like it didn't sting.
"Fuck sake's, Paddy! You fucking gunned down Germans for fun, but can't do a little dance?" Kershaw scoffs, "Did you leave your balls back in the sand?"
"Kershaw.." You warn, shooting him a glare for the comment.
"Left my balls?" Paddy repeats, shooting him a icy glare.
"Aye." Kershaw nods, "You bloody loom over her like your her husband and won't let anyone touch her, and now you can't even take her dancing? Fucking take her or let someone else do it."
Grinding his teeth together in anger at Kershaw’s words, you prepare for Paddy to swing at him, to rant and rave about Kershaw ‘getting his goat’. But, he doesn’t. Staring Kershaw down with a darkening look, Paddy does something surprising, taking your hand in his softly. Dragging you to the dance floor, you stare at him with wide eyes, cheeks flushing a bright pink from embarrassment. He was actually taking you to dance. Paddy fucking Mayne was taking you to dance. Standing awkwardly in the middle of the dance floor, he stares at you, broad shoulders tense from not knowing what to do next. He hadn’t thought this far, but neither had you.
“What do I do?”
“I..” You freeze, shocked that he would actually follow through.“You put your hand on my waist and hold my hand.”
“Then?” He tensely places his hand on your waist.
“You just sway to the music and lead me.”
He nods, awkwardly leading you around on the dance floor.
You could practically smell the tension in his body, oozing out from his pores. He didn’t know how to dance, or what to do. Yet, he still tried. It was endearing in a way. Placing your hand on his shoulder softly, you take the lead, slowly guiding him into a simple sway from side-to-side. It didn’t look like he’d be able to handle swing dancing. Clearing his throat softly, he relaxes slightly as he gets the hang of the simple sway, no longer moving like a stiff mannequin.
“You didn’t have to..”
“I know.” He mumbles, “But, Kershaw had a point..the least I could do was give you one dance after all the times you’ve patched me up.”
“You don’t have to⎯”
“I am, I will.” He cuts you off, shaking his head. “It’s not that bloody hard.”
if you take multi-character requests, could you do one with the jacko characters (any of your choosing) and how they would be with a girlfriend that literally lights up whenever they walk into the room and always greets them with an excited “HI BABYYY”, like a partner who’s always happy to see them no matter how long their time apart has been? sorry if that came out confusing😔
yes, i do! and this didn't come out confusing, i get it and i love it!
Roy Goode ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Seeing him after a long day on the ranch.
Slowly sinking down into the tub of hot water, you let out a low moan of pleasure at the hot water on your aching muscles, eyebrows unfurrowing. You hadn’t seen Roy since breakfast, too consumed with repairing the warped wood of the front porch before someone fell through it. Now, the hours of being hunched over as you had to pull out rusted nails one by one, was finally catching up to you. Shutting your eyes in bliss, you rest the back of your head against the rim of the bathtub, absorbing as much of the hot water as possible. Soon it would be cold and you’d have to get out and deal with the uncomfortableness of sore muscles once again.
Hearing the screen door creak open, you raise a brow at the sound, waiting for the howling of wind to follow. But, it doesn’t. Normally the wind would swing the door open and rattle with the breeze. This wasn’t wind. It was a person. Opening your eyes up slowly, you inch towards the side of the tub, eyeing the pistol laying on top of the pile of dirty clothing. Paranoia nipping at the back of your mind that it wasn’t Roy, but Frank and his gang coming after you. Pushing open the bathroom door slowly, you jolt at the sight of Roy, heart leaping at the fright. Your hand stills, resting on the rim of the bathtub. No longer needing the pistol.
“Bathing without me?” He teases, throwing his hand onto the pile.
“Roy!” You grin, leaning over the rim of the bathtub to reach him.
“Woah, woah, gonna spill the tub.”
“I can always get more water, Roy.” You roll your eyes playfully, “Almost forgot you were here.”
“Yeah? Guess, we both were busy today.” He chuckles, unbuckling his pants.
Watching him slowly undress himself, you resist the urge to make a joke, knowing that it would only make him threaten to stop. Trailing your eyes down to the sun tan on his forearms, it was light, but still a little noticeable. All the hours he had spent with the sleeves rolled up had given him a proper tan. Scooting over in the tub, you tuck your knees up to your chest, making room for him to sit across from you. As much as you would have wanted to sit on top of him, the water would spill out the edge and ruin the floors. Then, you’d have to pray that the wood didn’t warp.
Dipping a toe into the water, he jolts at the temperature, looking like a spooked cat. Gritting his teeth, he slowly steps in, the water level rising slowly the more that he sinks down. A few droplets manage to roll down the side of the tub, puddling slightly. Shifting in the tub, you reach over the edge, moving your dirty skirt to absorb the water. Feeling his gaze on the side of your face, you raise a brow, your lips quivering up in amusement at his stare. Slowly looking at him, you raise a brow up at the dopey look on his face, a mix of love and something serious.
“What?”
“Astounds me how you can be so happy seeing me." He mumbles, eyes flickering down your face.
“How can I not be happy to see you?” You snort, shaking your head.
“I ain’t no Saint, sweetheart.” He argues back, a seriousness in his tone.
“You ain’t evil either, Roy.” You argue, “You’re a good man. A little smelly, but still good.”
Kyle Budwell ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Seeing him after waking up from a nap.
Groggily shifting on the bed at the sounds of the apartment door slamming shut, you force your eyes to peel open, a tiny part in your brain telling you to check that it wasn’t someone breaking in. Though, who the fuck would break into your apartment? It’s not like you lived in an outstanding neighborhood and had stuff worth stealing. Letting out a muffled yawn into your pillow, you could faintly see a dark figure moving around, dropping something on the couch. Furrowing your brows in confusion, the familiar loud clearing of a throat wakes you up more clearly. Kyle. Your sweet Kyle. Rolling onto your side, you rub at your eyes with the back of your hand to clear your vision, forcing yourself to sit up on the bed. You probably looked like something out of a creepy horror movie, but all you could focus on in your half-awake state was the fact that Kyle was finally home from work.
“Hi baby.” You lazily grin, blinking away the lingering sleep in your eyes.
“Oh shit!” He curses, jolting at the sight of you awake.
“Good mornin’..” You hum, motioning for him to come join you in bed.
“Fuck, I didn’t mean to wake you up.” He sighs, “Was trying to be quiet, really.”
"It's okay." You brush off, not caring in the slightest.
"I'm sorry, baby." He mumble, "I didn't mean to wake you all up."
Brushing off his sheepish apology, you reach out for him, sleep still making your mind fuzzy. But, one thing was clear despite how exhausted you were⎯you wanted Kyle. You wanted to cuddle him and hear about his day before having to get up and make dinner. Kicking off his shoes, he lets out a soft huff as he slips his jacket off, it landing somewhere on the bedroom floor. Dragging himself to the side of the bed, he bends down, slowly throwing himself on top of you.
Letting out a hum of delight at his crushing weight on top of you, you wrap your arms around him, enjoying the faint scent of his cologne wafting off of him. The comforting musky scent of sandalwood and pine needles. The same scent that had been slowly fading from the bed as the hours tickled on by. It felt so nice to have him home again, even better to be greeted by him after waking up from your little afternoon nap. It was like getting a delivery early.
“I don’t know how you can be so happy to see me.” He grumbles, trying to lift himself off to peel away the bed sheets.
“I missed you.” You mumble back, the lazy grin on your smile growing.
“I was only at work.” He argues, shrugging.
“Hours away.” You counter back, "Practically forever."
"Eight hours." He chuckles, lips quirking up into a smile.
"Eight hours of hell, I like having you home.” You argue, fingers tightening on his shirt.
He doesn’t respond at first to your words, silence lingering for a beat.
Lifting up the bed sheets, he slips underneath them, dragging you to lay on top of him. Wrapping his arms tightly around your waist, he stares at you for a long beat, eyes flicking from your sleep tousled hair to the droopiness of your eyes. God, you were fucking pretty like this⎯half away and so in love with him. He'd keep you like this all day if he could. No work. No responsibilities. Only loving him.
“I like being home with you too, sweetheart.” He whispers, pressing a kiss onto your temple.
"I like it more."
"Impossible." He argues, "Fucking look forward to this part of my day."
"Even more impossible, because I count down the hours until I get to have you again." You argue back playfully, poking at his cheek.
"Even more more impossible cause this is all I think about when I wake up, seeing you again and getting to love you." He counters back, smiling as you giggle.
"That doesn't make sense."
"Maybe, what does is that I love you." He smiles, eyes softening.
(credits to whoever edited the jacko pic idk i found it on pinterest)
no pressure tags: @bloodsuckingfiends @jimmythecookiemonster @quietchaosclub @xxxsl33p-l0vr and anyone else who wants to!! (sorry for any unwanted/repeat tags)
you shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have stepped foot inside this house.
it was supposed to be an easy gig, in and out. the man was blind, for god’s sake. rumors said that he was an ex-cult leader, crazy as hell.
you were always a rebel, a delinquent so to speak. your mother always said that you’d never become anything. well, maybe she was right. you’ve been robbing houses since you were a teenager.
this one... you were supposed to rob him nice and easy, he wasn’t supposed to put up a fight.
but he did.
your head still hurts from being knocked out. you slowly open your eyes, finding yourself sprung from the ceiling, legs spread with restraints.
you try looking around, and realize that you’re in a basement. you can hear the man doing something out of your view.
"hey!" you yell, trying to get his attention. "wee bonnie’s awake?" the man chuckles, stepping into your view. he’s holding something, a turkey baster with a white, thick liquid inside.
your whole body freezes in terror. "no, no no.. you can’t do this!" you sob. "there’s nothing a man cannot do when he accepts that god has no power over us", the man says. "it’s the devil that controls us", he adds. "old nick.. he promised ye tae me", he continues his delusional rambling.
he takes scissors, feeling your hips, searching for the right spot. he brings the scissors to your crotch, cutting a hole in your pants and panties.
"ye oughta know me name", the man says. "i’m jimmy", he adds. "i used tae be a handsome young lad", he chuckles. "now i’m old and grey.. but i still crave the touch of a young woman", he murmurs.
"stop!" you cry. "shh, bonnie, ye’ll be a good mother", the man coos. "i’ll even give ye pleasure after the seed has taken its place", he says. "ye’ll be me wife", he adds with a smile on his face. his eyes are white, empty, cold.
"i cannae see ye, but i can tell that ye’re beautiful", he says, taking the turkey baster, rubbing it on your entrance.
"no!" you scream, tears flooding out of you eyes.
but he slowly pushes the turkey baster inside you, all the way, until it reaches your cervix. you cry out from the pain. it feels warm.
"now.." the man murmurs, pushing his sperm inside you.
you cry as the warm liquid floods your cunt, filling you up, reaching your cervix.
he pushes every last drop inside you, then he withdraws the turkey baster from your cunt.
"ye’ll stay like this fer a while, let the seed do its magic", jimmy says, tapping your thigh.
"and afterwards i’ll make love tae ye, i still have it in me", he says, gently stroking your foot.
"you have to let me go!" you sob. jimmy chuckles. "nay, ye’ll stay here", he says. "be mine, an’ i’ll be yours", he says.
Look at what Mother made for dinner! I shall not starve this brutal winter..Jk..
Seriously, show this girl some love, her stuff is amazing! And she is the reason why I started writing smut more confidently / dead-dove smut ( thnx Incel Jimmy for that )!
for my favorite slut @lulaaaaaaw
WARNING! This will contain ( NON-CON, P-IN-V SEX, SPIT / SPITTING / DROOL, AND CHOKING. ) PLEASE DO NOT ENGAGE IF YOU CANNOT HANDLE DEAD DOVE CONTENT / DO NOT LIKE THIS / KNOW THAT YOU WILL BE TRIGGERED!
it's filthy, disgusting...
Wrapping his hand around your throat tightly, you gasp instinctively, choking for air as he squeezes hard. You’d fight him off, if you weren’t so exhausted. He had let you run away, knowing that sooner or later you'd need to stop for a breath. That sooner or later, you'd fall back into his ringed fingers. Tightly shutting your eyes in pain as he squeezes harder, you pray that this was the end, that you’d die in peace. That it would let you forget the stench of his breath fanning against your face. Or the weight of his body pinning you down in place, forcing you to take each thrust of his hips. Catching the way you tried to disassociate from everything, he releases his grip on your throat, allowing you to breathe in again. You don’t want to, but your body moves instinctively.
“Open them.” He demands, some spit fanning your face as he tries to catch his breath.
You refuse, not wanting to have to look at him.
“Fuckin’ open them or I’ll glue em’ open.” He threatens, choking you suddenly.
Forcing yourself eyes open as the air is suddenly stolen from you again, you claw at his hand, lungs burning like lava. The switch from finally being able to breath and not was making your head spin. Watching the way your eyes bubble up with hot tears, he pauses for a moment, his hips stilling. He stays silent, just watching you. There was something beautiful in the way your teary eyes filled up with so much fear. Tilting his head to the side, he lets out a soft hum as your eyes start to roll into the back of your head, the lack of oxygen making you start to seize up.
“You’re so beautiful when you cry.” He whispers, finally releasing his grip on your throat.
You choke, spitting up some saliva.
“Don’t be dramatic.” He huffs, rolling his eyes hard at your reaction.
Oh yes, because you were just being dramatic about it. It was not like he was choking you just moments ago. You’d roll your eyes hard at him if you didn't need air so much. Turning your head to the side, you let out a soft sob at the burning in your lungs, aching in ways that you had never thought was possible. Rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip, he collects the saliva, smearing it up until it leaves a wet trail under your eyes. It was beautiful. You were beautiful, so beautiful like this⎯drenched in your own spit and split open on his cock. Unable to resist the urge, he spits in your face, watching the fat glob slowly drip down your cheek until it pools under your chin.
“It didn’t have to be this way.”
You don’t respond because you know that if you do, you’d say some cruel things back to him and earn yourself a far worse punishment than this⎯which was saying a lot.
“We could've been happy together, but you just had to be difficult about this and fight me.” He mumbles, scolding you as if you were the problem here and not him.
Fucking psycho behavior.
Trailing his fingertips down your cheek to under your chin, he copies the trail of the spit, smearing it deeper into your skin⎯as if he was wanting to engrave the scent of it in permanently. He wanted you to smell of him. He wanted it to linger so much that not even scrubbing your skin raw would remove it. He needed it. He needed you to be marked by him. He needed it more than anything because it sent a wave of heat down him at how broken he could make you. You were his. His to fuck. His to fix. His to ruin. No one would be able to save you. No one would be able to undo the things that he had done to you. He would always be there, embedded deep within you.
“Tell me you love me.” He demands, his voice cutting through the air.
“No.”
“Tell me or I am not gonna stop.” He argues, “I’ll keep you here all night.”
You don’t respond at first, afraid that this was some kind of trick.
It wouldn’t be the first time that he had tricked you. That’s how you got in this situation in the first place, he had tricked you into trying to make a run for it. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, fresh tears begin to bubble up in your eyes, dread coiling in your stomach. What if this was another trick? A way to give you false hope just before he tore it down again? Narrowing his eyes hard at your silence, he wraps his hand hard around your throat, not quite choking. But, just enough to remind you that it wasn’t beneath him to choke you again. Still you don’t respond, searching his icy blue eyes for some hint of this being a trick. Death would be kinder than this⎯than him.
“Tell me.” He demands, his voice turning serious.
“I love you, Jimmy.”
He doesn’t respond, just releases his grip on your throat.
His hand rests beside your head, and for a second it looks as if he was going to actually go through with his promise and stop. Clearing the back of his throat, he suddenly spits on you, a mix of saliva and mucus disgustingly landing in your open mouth. Gagging in disgust as you accidentally swallow some of it, he suddenly thrusts forward, the bulbous head of his cock hitting your cervix painfully. The hours of running and being trapped underneath him making even a simple thrust feel like a cheese grater was being taken to the cervix. Sobbing in pain at the sensation, you try to squirm away, earning an ear ringing slap to the temple. Your head throbs, but not as much as between your legs as he suddenly sets a hard pace⎯forcing his cock deeper and deeper inside of you.
“I love you too, that’s why I do this.” He whispers, stroking your spit covered cheek with the back of his hand.
full and all credit goes to @thlaylisden ( the og creator / mastermind of Knight! Remmick & Older Knight! Remmick ).
nothing more romantic like hiding a body under the moonlight...
Gritting your teeth together at the dead weight, you try to lift with your feet as Remmick had told you to, but the corpse was far too heavy for you. Sure, you had lifted heavy things before⎯sacks of grain and sometimes Remmick’s armor whenever you undressed him. But, never something like this. Letting out an irritated huff through gritted teeth, your grip on the corpse slips, the blood coating your hands making it slippery. It was like trying to catch a fish while your hands were drenched in oil. Digging your nails into its forearms, the body falls out of your grip, landing smack on the ground. The sickening wet sound fills the air. Wrinkling your nose up at the disgusting sound, Remmick lets out a yelp as the weight falls onto him, making him stumble backwards.
“Lift with your legs.” He grunts, struggling to hold onto the other end of the body up.
“Lift with my legs?!” You scoff, keeping your voice down to not get caught. “How the hell am I supposed to lift with my legs when my hands are covered in blood!”
“Then clean them!” He argues back, shooting you a cranky glare.
“Well, maybe I would not have to clean them if you hadn’t ripped out this throat like a bloody leech!” You snap back, shooting back a glare at him.
Going deadly still at your words, he takes a sharp breath in through his nose, his lips curling into a thin line. Letting go of his end of the body, he lets the body down on the ground with another sickening thud, placing his hands on his hips. Was he being serious right now? This was not the time to be acting so petty, you two were trying to not get caught for a reason. Narrowing your eyes hard at his pettiness, you mimic him and place your hands on your hips, your lips curling into a thin line. Fine. Perfectly fucking fine. If he wasn’t going to move, neither were you.
After all, you weren’t going to be the one in trouble here, it would be him. He was the one who had attacked that Lord like a starving little rat with no self control. You had warned him of what would happen if he kept on starving himself. But, he didn't listen to you. He kept on eating rats to substitute for blood until the King's next tourney⎯to wait for his ‘reward’ after winning. Clenching his jaw tightly, he narrows his eyes even more, as if thinking that would be enough for you to snap out of it.
“I was hungry!” He grits his teeth, the mix of offendedness and annoyance thick in his voice.
“I told you to stop eating rats, they don’t fill your stomach and make you cranky.” You argue, “I warned you and you did not listen and look where we are now Remmick!”
He goes silent, glaring at you in silence.
“Now that you’re done throwing a tantrum, grab his fucking legs and let’s dump the fucker in the Thames so we can go back to bed.” You order, wiping your hands clean on your skirts.
The once pretty navy blue fabric turned a ghastly black. Taking a sharp breath in through your nose at the ruined fabric, you grab onto the sleeves of the Lord’s doublet, trying to get a more firm grip of him. Letting out a low grumble under his breath, he begrudgingly complies, grabbing onto the Lord’s legs. Digging his nails into the fabric of his breeches, he looks at you, waiting for you to signal to lift. Nodding your head softly, you begin to lift up, gritting your teeth tightly as you struggle to carry his weight. God, you should have used a horse or carriage to move him instead.
“You’re a bloody idiot, you know that, right?” You scold, trying to not lose your grip on it again.
“Yes, we’ve established that, love.” He mocks, sarcasm dripping heavily in his tone.
“Could you not attack a horse? Or a rat?” You huff, your lower back pinching. “Or better yet, attacked a bloody fisherman so it’s easier to get rid of it?”
“I was hungry, didn’t really think about it.” He argues, rolling his eyes.
“Clearly.” You scoff, rolling your eyes hard at his stupid answer.
Catching a glimpse of plague cart near the gate, you let out a soft whistle, nodding your head in its direction. It wasn’t the most ideal. But, at least it was an easier way of transporting the body and less suspicious than the two of you just carrying it around to the Thames. Furrowing his brows together at your nod, he turns his head to look over his shoulder, catching the glimpse of the plague cart. His face brightens up, seemingly catching on to what you were trying to insinuate. Speed walking to the cart, you lift the body as high as you could to place it onto the cart, muscles straining at the dead weight. Christ almighty, never again were you going to help him do this.
“It’s quite romantic, isn't it?” He snickers, “Hiding a body together.”
“You’ve made me an accomplice to your crime, Remmick. That’s not romantic, at all.” You scoff, shooting him an icy glare.
“It can be.” He winks, pushing the body further into the cart.
“Oh yes, so romantic! Let’s fuck on top of a corpse, Remmick.” You mock, sarcasm heavy in your tone. “Do you see how stupid you sound?”
“It didn’t mean it like that.”
“It’s exactly what you meant, you are not the brightest.” You point towards the corpse, “Clearly.”
MAKE U CUM PT 2. ( Incel! Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal x Reader )
WARNING! This will contain ( NON-CON, P-IN-V SEX, RIMMING, FILTH / LACK OF PERSONAL HYGIENE, INCEL MINDSET, SOMNOPHILIA, DACRYPHILIA, AND MENTIONS OF MOMMY KINK. ) DO NOT ENGAGE IF YOU CANNOT HANDLE DEAD DOVE / DO NOT LIKE THIS / WILL BE TRIGGERED!
AUTHOR NOTE! credit goes to @lulaaaaaaw ( the nasty yet sexy slut who gave me this idea ) . She has me locked in her basement and is forcing me to write this, save me plz <3
pairing: Incel! Fat! Jimmy Crystal x Retail Worker! Reader
prompt : Jimmy makes due of his promise to keep you forever..
word count: 1,000+ words
part one can be found here
WARNING! This will contain ( NON-CON, P-IN-V SEX, RIMMING, FILTH / LACK OF PERSONAL HYGIENE, INCEL MINDSET, SOMNOPHILIA, DACRYPHILIA, AND MENTIONS OF MOMMY KINK. ) DO NOT ENGAGE IF YOU CANNOT HANDLE DEAD DOVE / DO NOT LIKE THIS / WILL BE TRIGGERED!
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ EDINBURGH, SCOTLAND.
Letting out a soft giggle as he presses a kiss onto your inner thigh, you shove him back by the head, his dark eyes focused on you. God, he was beautiful. Playfully blowing a raspberry on your inner thigh, you squeal at the ticklish feeling, lips curling up into a bigger smile. Wrapping his arms securely around your hips, he drags you to the edge of the bed, plopping himself on the floor. He mumbles something under his breath, but you don’t catch it. Pressing a loving kiss on your navel, he slowly trails his tongue down onto your clit, sending hot jolts of pleasure down your spine. Humming in delight at your reaction, he slowly swirls his tongue over your clit, the slow drag of his tongue and vibrations of his humming nearly sending you over the edge too soon.
“Brad⎯” You moan, hips bucking up off the matress.
“Mmm..”
“Brad, I⎯” You warn, the rapid flicking of his tongue growing into too much.
You didn’t want to cum just yet. Groggily opening your eyes up, you barely register the head of blonde hair behind your thighs, mind still fuzz from sleep. He looked so pretty in between your thighs. And his tongue? God, he was even better than you could imagine. Digging his nails into the fat of your hips, the sting from his nails sends a shudder down your spine. The mix of pain with his tongue was a heavenly combination. Opening your eyes again as he hums in delight against your tongue, you tangle your fingers into his hair, the greasiness of his hair making your cringe for a moment. Greasy hair. Why did that feel so familiar to you? No, it was just sweat. He was sweating a lot.
Brushing it off as nothing, you glance between you thighs, tugging at his hair. Humming softly, you buck your hips harder for more, his face completely hidden by your thighs brackening on either side of his head. Sloppily slurping up your wetness, you shut your eyes, ignoring everything but the way he sloppily slurped you up. Perhaps, you should let him do this to you more often. He was so good with his tongue. Lifting your hips off the mattress, you tug harder on his hair, earning another muffled moan of pleasure. Shaking his head from side to side like he was motorboating you, you let out a hiccuping moan, body twitching and jolting involuntarily. You really weren’t going to be able to hold back if he kept that up.
“Brad⎯”
“Stop calling me that, I’m not fuckin’ Brad. I’m Jimmy.” A familiar voice complains, instantly snapping you out of your pleasure filled daze.
Jimmy.
Him.
Snapping your eyes open instantly, you stiffen up instantly, feeling as if someone had just poured a pot of boiling water in your face then a pot of cold water. Your gut churns, dreading looking between your thighs again. It wasn’t Jimmy. It wasn’t Jimmy. It was Brad. Brad was between your thighs, not Jimmy. Digging your nails into his scalp hard, you pull him away forcefully by the hair, coming face to face with Jimmy. His chin was covered in your wetness. His blue eyes full of sadness as you forced him to pull away from you. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my fucking god. A blood curdling scream escapes your lips as it processes in your head what was just happening.
Jimmy had just..
He was..
He had been..
Kicking him away forcibly, you scramble to put some space between the two of you, the conflicted mix of throwing and scrubbing your skin raw bubbling in you. He was just giving you head. That wasn’t a dream, that was fucking Jimmy. Jimmy and his filthy fucking STD riddled mouth was touching you. Clutching his throbbing nose, he falls back on his butt, his bottom lip bloody from biting down on it accidentally. Gagging violently as your mind kept on repeating over and over that it was Jimmy had just given you head, you shake your head, tucking your knees up to your chest. The scream drags on and on until your lungs burn and force you to breathe once again.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
“You hit me.” He frowns, his eyes watery from the kick to the nose.
“Get the fuck away from me! Get off!” You shriek, kicking as he reaches out for you again with his free hand.
You swear that you hear a sickening crack when your heel connects hard with his nose again. Falling back on his ass, he lets out a loud sob of pain, the blood seeping through his fingers thicker and more frequently. You must’ve broken his nose. Pulling his hand back from his face, he stares at his bloody hand, teary eyes widening with panic at all the blood. Letting out a panicking sob, you look over his face, his once slightly crooked nose now drastically crooked. Surprisingly, it made you feel guilty. If this was a victory, you never wanted to win again. Tucking your knees up to your chest, you try to take as little of room as possible, not wanting him to get a chance to grab you again. Taking a hiccuping breath in, he blinks back tears, nose still gushing blood.
“Why⎯Why would you hit me? I⎯I didn’t do anything wrong!” He sobs, his words quickly snapping you back to reality.
“Are you fucking serious?!”
He doesn’t respond, only sobs heavily at his bleeding nose.
“You fucking rapist piece of shit!” You shriek, throwing whatever was within reach at him. “You fucking fat fuck! You fucking pervert! Don’t you ever touch me again, I’ll fucking kill you!”
The crusty pillow smacks him in the face, only worsening his sobs. Watching him wail and blubber out snot, you can’t help but stare at him in pure disgust, your nose wrinkled up and lips curled down firmly. It was pathetic, truly fucking pathetic. He was a grown ass man⎯god knows how old really⎯sobbing about you kicking him in the face after he had just raped you. What the fuck did he expect? For you to thank him for once again assaulting you? To giggle and smile and ask him for more? To twirl his hair with your hand and smile at him like he was the love of your life? When in reality you really wanted to kill him.
Taking a hiccuping breath in, he reaches out for you again, clearly hoping for some kind of comfort after what you had just done. It only worsened your anger. Wrinkling your nose up even more, he manages to latch onto your ankle firmly, the stupid rings on his fingers pressing hard into your skin. Surely, adding more bruises to the collection already on your skin from last night’s assault. Kicking at his hand with your other foot, he drags you roughly to the edge of the bed, tears stopping for a moment. It was like a switch had just flipped in him. One moment he was sobbing, the next staring at you with a cold expectancy for obedience.
“You’re supposed to comfort me.” He states, as if it was the most obvious thing ever.
“You fucking raped me.” You argue, unable to stop yourself.
“You promised me that you’d be my Mummy, that you’d take care of me.” He states, voice raising slightly as you continue to not obey instantly.
Yeah to stop you from raping me, asshole.
The words were on the tip of your tongue, threatening to spill out. But, you stop yourself at the last second. You just let him rant and rave some more, hoping that it could buy you enough time. Time for what? You weren’t sure just yet.
“Stop being such a frigid bitch like the rest of them. You’re supposed to be different. You are different! Just stop! Fucking stop!” He rambles on, “You broke my nose, so you need to comfort me. You promised you’d take care of me, so take care of me.”
“I don’t owe you jackshit, let alone being your fucking Mummy. You fucking raped me, you fucking rapist piece of shi⎯” You argue, but a hard slap to the face cuts you off mid-sentence.
The room goes deadly silent. It takes you a solid second to process what had just happened, the pain of his ringed hand connecting with the side of your face trickling in. He had just slapped you. He had just fucking slapped you. Blinking back the tears that bubbled in your eyes from the pain, you lift a hand up to touch your cheek, regretting it instantly at the throbbing that shoots down your spine. Reaching back out for you again, you flinch at his outstretched hand, just waiting for a second hit. But, it doesn’t come. Grabbing your chin firmly between his thumb and pointer finger, he forces you to maintain eye contact, his foul breath fanning against your face. It was sour and rotten. Smelt like something that would give you some kind of disease if you kissed him.
“Comfort me.” He demands, pressing his thumb hard on your bottom lip.
“You raped me. I’m not gonna fucking comfort my rapist because I broke his nose for raping me. That’s not how this works.” You argue, shaking your head in refusal.
“You were wet.” He argues, as if that justified it.
“Doesn’t changed what you fucking did to me.” You argue, standing your ground against him. “It’s still rape. You raped me.”
It was stupid. It was really fucking stupid. You knew that deep down, but stubbornness kept your spine extra straight. Narrowing his eyes hard at you, his nose twitches from anger, nostrils flaring up as he takes a sharp breath in. For a moment, you think he’s going to slap you again. That he's going to make you regret talking about to him. But, he doesn’t. Licking away some of the blood on his top lip with his tongue, he blinks back tears in his eyes at the bitter metallic taste, the dark look on his face slowly falling. Staring at you with a pathetic expression, he lets out a soft sob, shoulders wracking up and down again. Another round of tears, wonderful. Fucking wonderful.
Biting back a scoff at the sight of him wailing like a child, he lets go of your chin, dragging you into his arms abruptly. Roughly burying his face into your breasts, your face curls up in disgust, your body tensing up at his tightening grip on you. He was like an overgrown child with his clinging⎯his stupid demanding for care and comfort from you. Digging his nails into the fat of your hips dips, he nuzzles his face deeper into your breasts, his chin pressing hard against your under boob. Gritting your teeth in pain at the pressure, he nips at your breast with his teeth, blindly feeling around to find your nipple.
“What the fuck?!” You shriek, trying to shove him off but he’s latched on tight. “Get off of me!”
“Mummy..” He whimpers, suckling on your nipple like he was some baby.
“I’m not your fucking Mummy, you sick fuck!” You grit your teeth in anger, “Get off me!”
“Mummy..”
He sucks harder on your nipple like he thought that if he did it hard and long enough, milk would eventually come out. It was disgusting. Sure, you knew a few guys with Mommy kinks. But, it was always hot stuff like, “You ride me and call me a good boy” or “Dom me and treat me like I’m beneath you”. Not actually trying to breastfeed from you. Grabbing a handful of his greasy hair, you try to peel him off of your breast, but it only makes him suck even harder on your nipple.
Letting out a yelp as he clumsily nips at the tip of your bud, it’s clear that he doesn’t know how to properly suck on a nipple, and that only makes it worse. It’s just sloppy and downright painful from how overly eager he was to be touching you, like a stabby toddler on a sugar rush. Giving another hard nip on the areola, you hiss at the painful flick over the tip with his bottom teeth that follows, feeling almost the same as getting a cervix scrape done with a cheese grater.
“Get off of me, you fat pig!”
“You’re being mean, Mummy.” He mumbles against your nipple, more tears streaming down his face at your harsh words.
“Stop fucking calling me that! I’m not your god damn Mummy!” You ramble on, “And I will never be no matter how many times you say it!”
“You promised me⎯”
“That doesn’t mean jackshit! I don’t fucking like you, and I never will! You’re nothing more than a fat fucking creep from the mall to me!” You cut him off, unleashing the anger that had been festering in you since all of this had begun.
Stopping sucking on your nipple for a second, he stares at you in dead silence, and you think that maybe⎯just maybe you had gotten some sense into him. That he’ll realize everything he had just done to you. But, then he sniffles as more tears bubble up in his eyes. Your words seemingly trigger an even bigger age regression in him. Pawing at your hip dips, he resumes sucking on your nipple, teeth dragging painfully over your throbbing areola. Giving his hair another painful tug, he releases your nipple, only to latch onto the other before you could stop him. Pressing his chin deeper into your underboob, your nipples felt sore and raw, and god knows what they look like.
“Jimmy, get the fuck off of me.” You demand, trying to find some way to peel him off.
He doesn’t listen.
“Jimmy, your Mummy is telling you to get the fuck off of me. Listen!” You try again, hoping that half-play into his twisted fantasy would get through to him.
Again, he doesn’t listen to your demands.
Letting out a harsh noise of frustration at his refusal to get off, he bucks his hips at the rough tugging of his hair, grinding himself against the edge of the bed. The sight of his growing boner only makes you even more disgusted and fearful. A tiny voice in the back of your head fuels your fear, What if he got horny again? What if he tried to stick that disgusting little dick inside of you again? You didn’t have a bathroom to clean up in. You still felt so revolting from last night, like a thick layer of filth had managed to glue itself onto you. God, you wish that you could forget what happened last night. But, your mind was not kind enough to allow you that privilege.
You could still feel the way that he rubbed at your clit with his hand, the damn thing feeling like it was made of sandpaper. The way his weight crushed you, forced you down on the crusty bed sheets. The way you had tried to fight back against him, only for it to fail. The way you eventually had to just accept it and count the seconds until it was finally over with. Digging your nails harder into his scalp, you pull him off with all your strength, shrieking in pain as he pulls at your nipple with his teeth. Slamming the bottom of your palm against his bleeding nose to keep him off, you scramble off the bed, desperate to get as far as possible from him.
“You sick fuck! What the hell is wrong with you?!” You hiss, clutching your aching nipple in your hand; far too far to look at the damage done to it.
“Why do you keep hitting me?!”
You don’t respond at first, too shocked by just how stupid he truly was.
“Answer me!” He demands, pointing a threatening finger in your face.
“What part of you raping me is not kicking in that stupid bottle blonde brain of yours?!” You snap back, stumbling over a pile of clothes on the floor.
God, he really was stupid…or delusional...or both.
Flinching as your back hits the wall hard, he has you cornered once again, this time the door far too out of your reach. You’d have to jump on the bed to try to reach it, but even then you’d have to find some way to unlock it. Swallowing the pit of defeat bubbling up, you try to stay strong, to keep up the fight just as so many girls did in the true crime documentaries you’d seen. Sooner or later, someone was going to notice that you were gone. Sooner or later, someone was going to notice something was off with Jimmy's house. Sooner or later, Jimmy was going to slip up and you needed to be ready for it. You just…You had to wait, no matter how painful that was.
Taking a moment to really gather yourself since waking up abruptly, you wrap your arms tighter around yourself, realizing that you were only in your socks. Your uniform shirt and bottoms ripped last night during the first assault. Staring down at the ground, you cringe at the stains on the carpet, the cute design of your tellatubbies socks coated with blood clashing against it. Your hair was knotted, could’ve been from last night or from how you slept. It didn’t matter. Your legs had marks, bruises and scratches⎯from his hands, his teeth, his crushing weight. It didn’t hurt, or maybe it didn’t hurt because you weren’t thinking about it too much. He takes a step closer towards you.
“Stop being a bitch.” He warns, “If you keep hitting me, I’m going to treat you like how foids should be.”
“I won’t stop fighting.” You argue, shaking your head.
“Then I’ll have to beat it out of you, bitch. You promised to take care of me, you don’t get to take those words back. You don’t get to leave, no one is waiting for you out there..” He argues, poking roughly at your temple.
“That’s not true, someone will come for me.” You argue, a lump thickening in your throat.
“No one gave a shit about you at work.” He argues, “You think you’re that fucking special, huh? That someone gives that much of a shit if you show up or not? They're not your real friends, they don’t care about you. Not like how I do.”
Fresh tears bubble up in your eyes, the lump in the back of your throat thickening more and more as your bottom lip quivers. He was just being a dick, trying to break you down so that you became compliant with every demand of his. Someone was going to notice that you were gone. Your friends. Your co-workers. Your neighbor down the hall who always stole your parking spot. The security guard who did rounds in the staff parking lot. Someone. Brushing his fingers down your temple to your jawline, you flinch at the touch, back pressing harder against the wall like it would somehow move so you could escape him. Narrowing his eyes hard as you try to move away from him, he grabs onto your jaw tightly, forcing you to maintain eye contact with him.
“No one is coming for you. No one cares about you, not like I do.” He argues, “Stop waiting for someone to come, because they aren’t. It’s just going to be me and you, and that’s going to be enough.”
“Stop saying that⎯” You argue, but he cuts you off.
“It’s the truth, it’s the fucking truth and you know that deep down, ( Y/n ). You’ll learn to accept that..” He trails his eyes down your face, then lingers on your body for a beat too long for your liking. “Sooner or later.”
You don’t respond, biting down on your tongue hard.
“Let me take care of you, ( Y/n ), please. Please, let me.” He whispers, his voice dropping to a sickening soft one. “I don’t want to hurt you, not anymore. I don’t.”
Liar. Tightly clenching your jaw at his words, you bite harder on your tongue, the faint taste of blood flooding your mouth. Pressing his thumb harder against your bottom lip, he stares at your breasts for a dragged out moment, making you wrap your arms tighter around yourself. Your stomach was bubbling up like you had a nasty case of food poisoning⎯your mind telling you to make a bolt for it. This was the thing of horror movies, you were naked. He was naked. Stuck in a room. Together. He did it once before, he could again. He would again. Tightening his grip on your chin, he forces your head back, refusing to let your eyes wander away from him again.
“But, you keep forcing me to.” He frowns, his rotten breath fanning against your face.
“Just let me go.”
“Stop saying stupid things like that. You're home, ( Y/n ).” He argues, “There is nowhere else for you to go. This is your home now, I am your home now.”
“Then, let me go to the bathroom.” You try, already knowing that he’d refuse to let you.
“So you can try to escape? Again?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes hard at your words.
Yes, you could find a razor blade..or a window..or a vent..something..anything to help you escape him. Grinding your teeth together at his words, you open your mouth to argue back, but he cuts you off. Trailing his hand from your chin to your throat, he suddenly smashes the back of your head into the wall, a violent wave of nausea fills you instantly. You lose feeling in your fingertips, black spots floating around in your vision. He had smashed the same spot from yesterday, the one that had finally stopped feeling so tender. You had just been feeling good⎯or as good as one could be after being kidnapped and raped. Retching violently, your throat burns as stomach acid goes up.
Throwing you onto the ground hard, you wheeze in pain as your temple smacks against it, waves of pain shooting down your body. Reaching up to protect your head with your hands, you try to roll over on your side, brows furrowed together. Smacking the back of your head hard with his ringed hand, he forces you to lie on your back, staring up at him. The pressure of the floor on your throbbing head makes you squirm in place, trying to get away. Plopping himself down on his knees, he cages your head in between his thighs, forcing you to come face-to-face with the thick blonde hairs on his balls and ass. The stench of what you know is unwashed ass filling your nose.
“What the fuck are you doing?” You panic, fearing that he was going to try to throat fuck you.
“You don’t need to breathe, just lick.” He states, as if it was the most normal response.
“Don’t you fucking dare⎯”
Putting all of his weight down on your face, you take a sharp breath instinctively, nose pressing deeper into his balls. The coarse hairs scrape against your skin just enough to make it itch. The stench of sweat and unwashed piss being shoved down your nose. You would gag if it wasn’t for the fact that you couldn’t breath. Angling himself just enough to let you breath again, you gasp deeply for air, the shock of being smothered under his weight making your lungs burn. Gagging at the stench wafting off him, your eyes water heavily, not sure if you wanted to hurl or cry or gag some more for air at this moment. Clawing at his thighs to try to move him, he sinks back down on your face, smothering you once again. The stench of him overwhelming and drowning you.
“Fucking lick.” He demands, grinding against your face.
Not a fucking chance, you wanted to shout back.
“Fucking lick it, or I’ll fucking piss on you, foid!” He shouts, the boom of his voice making your ears ache.
Not a fucking chance, asshole.
Clenching your jaw tightly in refusal, he grinds harder against your face, shoving your nose deeper between his ass crack. You can feel the coarse hairs rub the skin raw, feeling like sandpaper. A pathetic noise escapes his lips, almost like a squeak and a moan. Bucking against your nose desperately, you dig your nails into his thighs, feeling the muscles tense with each needy jerk of his hips. Despite how fat he was, the muscles of his thighs were still straining and flexing hard. Retching violently as you swear that you feel something wet smear against you, you thrash against him, his weight unbearable⎯everything about him was so fucking unbearable.
Blindly feeling around for something to use to get him off, your hand latches onto what feels like an action figure, a sticky plastic that feels a lot like a sword. Curling your fingers harder around it, you smash the figure into his thigh with all of your strength. Letting out a blood curdling scream, he abruptly jumps off of you, collapsing onto the floor beside you. Clutching this bleeding thigh in pain, he looks like he’s seconds away from bursting into a fit of tears again. Gulping in as much air as you can before it’s gone, you find that it was some anime figure, plastic sword red from his blood.
Sitting on the toilet in silence, you cringe at the burning sensation as you pee, digging your nails into the palms of your hand. Shoving a cheese grater up your vagina was more pleasant than this feeling, and that was saying a fucking lot. Tightly shutting your eyes in pain, you squirm on the toilet seat, teeth biting hard on the inside of your cheek. You most definitely had a UTI, or some other kind of infection. Which wasn’t surprising considering how fucking filthy Jimmy’s dick is. But, also a little considering you barely had it in you yesterday and a fucking UTI took days to form. The power of Jimmy’s filth…so amazing. The rotten cherry on top of your shit sundae.
Taking a sharp breath in through your nose, you let out a soft grunt, the feeling worsening as you accidentally close your legs too much. God, you needed a jug of cranberry juice and the most expensive pharmacy UTI treatment kit that money could buy. Peeling open your eyes, you grab the roll of toilet paper, dreading having to wipe. You had to do it. But, it already hurt so fucking much. Letting out a whiny little grunt, you shake your head, trying to hype yourself up to wipe yourself clean. Just do it quickly, like ripping off a bandage. Chewing harder on the inside of your cheek, you wipe as quickly as possible, the touch of the toilet paper feeling like sandpaper.
“Son of a fucking bitch!” You hiss, barely resisting the urge to scream at the top of your lungs.
“Does it hurt?” Jimmy asks, the stupid question only worsening your anger.
“Shut the fuck up!” You sneer, gritting your teeth tightly in pain.
“You’re in pain.” He frowns, as if barely coming to the realization.
No fucking shit, Sherlock.
Patting yourself dry with another piece of toilet paper, you flinch at the touch, regretting it instantly. If Jimmy hadn’t fucking touched you, none of this would have happened. Hell, if your stupid co-worker hadn’t asked you to take out the trash, none of this would have happened. This was all of her fault. Throwing the toilet paper into the toilet bowl, you slowly stand up, even just moving sends jolts of hot pain up your spine. It felt like if you breathed wrong, it would somehow travel down to your vagina and hurt. Grabbing onto your ankle, you watch in disgust as he presses a sloppy kiss on the skin, as if that would somehow magically get rid of your raging UTI.
“Fuck off.” You hiss, shaking him off.
“You’re all bruised up and hurting.” He states, pouting deeply.
“No fucking thanks to you!” You snap back, “Now fuck all the way off, Jimmy!”
“I wanna take care of you..”
“Then, take me to a god damn hospital! I’ve got a fucking UTI or something because of you!” You snap back, “Better yet, let me the fuck go and kill yourself, you rapist piece of shit!”
Pouting even deeper at your words, he grabs onto your ankle firmly, his nails curling into the sticky skin. Hot rage bubbles up in you, wanting nothing more than to drown him in the toilet bowl filled with your piss. First, he kidnaps you. Then, he assaults you. Now, he wanted to comfort you? To act like you two were fucking dating? Like all of that was in the god damn past? Not a fucking chance. No matter what he said or did or how much time passed by, you wouldn’t forgive or forget. Lifting your leg up, he has your foot rest on his shoulder, pressing sloppy kisses down your ankle to the tips of your toenails. Wrinkling your nose up in disgust, he starts to suck on your big toe, maintaining eye contact in what you think is an attempt to be in a sexy way.
“Get the fuck off me!”
“I let you go to the bathroom.” He argues, as if that justified it.
“You want a fucking prize for that?” You scoff, yanking your ankle free.
“I do.” He nods.
“You fucking kidnapped me and raped me, you think that you desreve a fucking prize for letting me use the restroom after that? Huh?” You argue, unable to help yourself.
He doesn’t respond, just blink blankly at you and somehow that’s worse than his stupid attempts to justify everything. At least then, you’d know what was going on in that fucked up head of his.
“I don’t want to be touched, not by you.” You add, “Never a fucking again, and don’t ever call me Mummy again.”
Blinking slowly as he takes in your words, he lunges for you suddenly, grabbing a handful of your hair. Thrashing against his grip, you claw at his forearms with your nails, kicking at whatever part of him you could find in reach. Dragging you into the doorway of the bathroom, he smashes you against the wooden frame, purposefully hitting the back of your head against it. A wave of nausea hits you violently, some stomach acid managing to spill out of your lips onto the floor. You were getting real fucking sick and tired of him hitting you there. Throwing you against the porcelain floors of the bathroom, you curl up in a ball instinctively, wrapping your arms around your head to protect it from further hits. A sob escaping you at what you were sure was another round of abuse.
“Stop being such a foid, ( Y/n ).” He scolds, “You’re supposed to shower me in kisses for letting you go to the bathroom instead of pissing in the bed.”
You don’t respond, knowing better now to just shut up. A little too fucking late, but still..
“I don’t like hurting you, I don’t. But, you just keep on being such a bitch!” He huffs, “Must be your period or something, girls always act like bitches when it’s their time of the month.”
It’s not, you weren’t due until a week from now. But, still that wasn’t why you were fighting against him. He just didn’t seem ready to accept the cold hard truth⎯you were never going to love your kidnapper and rapist. You could die tomorrow and still hate him with a passion. Dropping to his knees with a soft huff, he grabs onto your thighs, forcibly prying them apart. Another sob escapes your lips, dreading what was to come. You couldn’t even pee without it feeling like hell. God knows what this would feel like. Blowing a strand of greasy blonde hair out of his face, he reaches between your thighs, rubbing the oozing head of his cock between your folds.
Slapping the head against your clit, you jolt at the feeling, chewing hard on your bottom lip. It felt even worse than peeing, like sandpaper and a cheese grader had a baby and shoved itself inside of you and was now dragging against your inner walls. Lifting your hips up a little higher, he slowly presses the head of his cock in, slowly easing the head in down. Choking on a moan as you clench instinctively around him, he bucks his hips upwards impatiently, pushing another inch in. The sensation makes your back arch, a loud wail escaping your lips. Digging your nails into his chest, you try to squirm away, to force him to pull out. But, he only crushes you under his weight.
“Stop it.” He demands, “It’s not even that bad, you’re just being dramatic now.”
“Pull out! Fucking get off!”
“I’m gonna take care of you now.” He shakes his head, pressing a sloppy kiss onto your cheek.
Hunching himself over you, he forces himself in all the way without warning, a thin layer of sweat glistening on your skin at the intense stretch. It burns, the lack of foreplay and your UTI killing you. Shifting uncomfortably, you arch your back softly, trying to find a position that would ease the burn. But, it doesn’t work. You could still feel the burn from it. How could you not? It was practically in the back of your eyes at this point. Leaving welting red marks on his chest, he reaches up to grope and knead at your breasts, flicking your raw bitten nipples with his fingertip.
Taking a sharp breath in through your nose, you shift again, feeling the coils of his pubic hair against your thighs. It burns just like the rest of it does. Sobbing as the burn grows as he starts to thrust into you, he places both hands on either side of your head, smashing his lips against yours in a filthy kiss. His tongue and teeth devouring your mouth like it was his only way to heaven. Your lungs burn almost immediately, his foul breath being forced into you. Breaking the kiss, you gag at the lingering taste of him in your mouth, a string of saliva connecting to both of your lips.
“I’m gonna take care of you now, ( Y/n ).” He coos, “You just need to let me. It’s the man’s job to take care of his woman, and that’s what you are.”
You didn’t fucking want that, and you weren’t his.
“Just stop being so difficult about all of this. I know you like doing things your way, but you’re in my house now. And as the man of the house, what I say, goes. If I want you to bend over, you do it, or else I’m gonna choke you until you're blue. And don’t think I’ll let you die, I know CPR. I’ll bring you back.” He rambles on, each word worse than the other.
Hooking your legs over his hips, he uses the leverage to fold you in half, changing the angle of his thrusts. Punching out sobs from you with each hard snap of his hips against the back of your thighs, you choke on a breath, eyes rolling into the back of your head at the searing pain. Death would be more merciful than this. Drooling at the sight of your face, one hand snakes down to rub tight circles on your clit, earning another sob of pain from you. If God was real, he was fucking cruel. What sin was so bad that he justified this? Gossiping with your girls? Talking shit about the creeps in the mall? What was so fucking bad, huh? What was the reason? What?
“I can’t wait to see what our children look like.” He babbles on, head throwing back in pleasure.
What. The. Fuck.
“I hope they have your eyes. No, no, I want them to have your smile! You have a pretty smile.”
You don’t respond, no matter how much you want to. ‘Not a fucking chance will I get knocked up by you’ was on the tip of your tongue, just threatening to spill out at any second.
Letting out a pathetic whimper as you don’t respond, sweat drips down his forehead, his body trembling as he battles between trying to get you to respond and just saying fuck it and cumming. Growling lowly as you still refuse to respond, he grips onto your hips, lifting your legs higher on his hips. The awkward angle sends a pinch down your spine, only worsening the pain that fills your entire lower half. Hiding his face in the crook of your neck, he thrusts into you hard and suddenly, stealing the breath from your lungs. The bed creaks under the force of his movements, the sound of your wet, sloppy fucking echoing off the walls. It’s horrid. It’s sickening. It’s cruel.
Biting down on your throat hard, he thrust on last time before tensing, drool leaking from the corners of his slack mouth as he finally cums. That familiar disgusting heat between your legs comes back. He had came in you twice now. Collapsing on top of you like a dead weight, you wheeze as the air is knocked out of you, face turning red from a lack of oxygen. Whimpering lowly as he rides out the waves of his orgasm, a sickening wet squelching sound fills the air as his hips jerks forward, pushing more cum inside of you. Staring up at the ceiling in a daze, you pray that you actually do suffocate underneath him, that this being your escape from him.
“I am going to make you so happy..” He whispers, sucking on the side of your neck to add another mark on your bruised and battered body.
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