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pupcuck · 2 months

Text

BOILING POINT !

ft. kishibe x fem!reader

tags. he puts his cigarette out on ur tits, degradation, public sex, a little voyeurism, idk he uses you as furniture, painal duh, reader is a dummy ngl, cockwarming

note. COMM FOR @d10nyx LOVE U NYX MWAH!!! love u sm sorry I didn’t get to post this for ur bday and that I took so fucking long but omg I hope u like it and i didn’t go too far with it :3 ignore any mistakes :3 feedback n rbs always appreciated .. praying this gets put in the tags :3

The thing is, Kishibe is fond of women. All women are beautiful unless they come in the form of carnivorous beasts. He likes a classic red lip, soft thighs, nylon stockings and heels. He likes Quanxi because she’s strong and it’s as simple as that. She wouldn’t go dying on him. Kishibe dislikes girls who play pretend. For example, the intern, a sad pillowcase of a girl who lacks savoir-faire. What a joke, and to place her in his division, under his care— It’s just offensive.

You put on an act, put on that ugly suit - it drapes over your form as if you’re more of a clothing hanger than a human. Shapeless and inelegant like you’ve gone and dug out your father's suit. The Public Safety uniform does you no justice, a skirt would be better. One that violates the dress code by an inch, but you slip past the radar ‘cause you’re so plain.

You’re of no use to Kishibe, he has no qualms saying it to your face. To your credit, you beg real pretty, beg like you’re begging for your life. That you’ll do anything. Anything, sir! Anything to keep down this shitty job!

Women are sluts when you force them to be sluts, but you don’t even need the slightest push. He knows your type. Show a girl like you a nice dick and you’re all over it. Not cut out for work, not cut out for anything exerting, not Public Safety of all things in this piece-of-shit world. You’d make a nice footstool, or better yet, an ashtray.

So he makes you exactly that.

Aki deposits a pile of paperwork onto his desk, didn’t have the courtesy to knock, just entered. Politeness is null and void it seems.

“What’s wrong with you?” He asks flatly.

“New intern.” Kishibe makes an abstract gesture to where you’re standing at his side trembling and draped in only his trench coat. Organic coat rack. Cute, right? “Thought I’d make use of her.”

“You’re messed up,” Aki says, expression-wise he's indifferent.

He stubs his cigarette out on your tit. Look at that. Built-in ashtray. You whimper, of course you whimper, it hurts. Skin charing off in flakes, blistering in grotesque bubbles when he tosses the butt into your awaiting palms. His mark is indelible, one of searing discomfort that settles in the depths of your being, it crawls beneath your rattling bones to wear your skin.

“Huh, that’s funny, I must be hearing things.” Kishibe lights another, the flame glows yellow like tiger eyes. “Even the walls talk in this place.”

Aki’s delicate distaste is thinly veiled, a shudder courses through his frame, starting with the jerk of his head and ending with his clenched fists. He turns swiftly, the door thudding behind him, absence suspending the room in a momentary vacuum. The silence is profound.

“Friendly guy.” Kishibe’s getting too old, talking to coat stands. He’s not much of a chain smoker, but today he is. No particular reason. Just felt like it.

The ember is rounded and tiny, the flame licks at the edges of your consciousness until you see black. It’s a uniquely insidious pain, one that consumes your body in a sweeping inferno, the ache will linger - a testament to your time with Kishibe. Lucky you. By the fourth, the floodgates of restraint collapse, you could only hold on for so long. Your body surrenders to gravity, stumbling forward as you clutch at the sturdiness of his mahogany desk. Crumpled neatly like you’ve been put through a waste compactor.

Kishibe sighs. “What a shame.” His gaze is vacant as he gives you a once-over. “I should kick your teeth in for that.”

It’s as if the sparks from his cigarettes have gone to your head. The whites of your eyes barely visible as they widen like two shiny buttons, struck with a sudden clearheadedness.

“You can do that, sir.” It’s not an offer to accept or deny, but an open-handed invitation signed off with an RSVP that reeks of desperation.

“You’d like it too much.” His hand passes over the back of his rumpled jacket, it slips from your shoulders and falls with a muted thud. Truly, you’re useless. Nothing more, nothing less. There’s nothing less than useless.

“No, sir, I wouldn’t.” You shake your head so fast his vision blurs. Starts seeing double. The prospect of more than one you has him reeling. What a nightmare.

“No?” Kishibe cocks his head to the side. “I don’t think you could handle it.” He waves his hand dismissively as if you’re a cloud of smoke or a hallucination, a bad dream he’d like to get rid of.

“I could, I can, sir, please.” Your hands are clasped together in a prayer. “I can take it, promise.”

“Either way, I don’t think you deserve it.” He eyes the rawness of your burns, otherwise smooth skin raised in nasty bumps. You reach out to touch him, fingers outstretched as you trace the column of his neck. He doesn’t know what you’re so enamoured by. “Down, girl.”

“Sorry, sir.” You’re not sorry, chapped lips pressed together to hide a giddy smile.

The paperwork is set to the side, desk cleared as he sits you down. It’s not urgent, but then again, neither are you. Pussy is always a nice treat though. Kishibe thumbs the seam of your cunt and your puffy lips part. You sure know how to make a guy feel special. God, you’ve got him feeling like Moses down here. Parting the Red Sea or some shit. He’s clinical about it. Inspecting your pussy like he’s getting paid for this.

A pleased sigh is let out from above, your jaw slackens as he brushes over your swollen clit. “I like you, sir—“ you say between stuttered breaths, “I think y-you’re real— really handsome.”

That’s a new one. Grizzled and weathered and scarred. Nothing handsome about that. It doesn’t exactly bother him. It’s just objective. “Right.”

“It’s true.” You gasp when he flicks your clit, toes curling in your black socks. “And you smell nice.” Indecent fingers wriggle and curl around his wrist, trying to get him to dig deeper. “I want you in me.” Then as if clarity hits you, a feeble Please, sir.

He snorts. “Fat chance.” Kishibe draws his hand back, your slick webbed between his fingers.

“Why?” You whine, trembling at the loss of his touch. “Sir, I’ll be quiet, I won’t say a word, I promise.” Your voice is grating on him. “Pinky promise.”

“Stop that.” Kishibe wipes his fingers on your pout. “Looks stupid.”

“Just my face.” Your frown deepens.

“Well, you should fix your face, kid. Why don’t you try smiling.” A command, not a question. “Much better,” Kishibe hums, “keep smiling and you might get something out of me.”

(You really won’t. Kishibe just gets off on this. It’s kinda funny how willing you are to bend to his every need, not quite needs but wants.)

More cigarettes. Circular intrusions left on the flesh of your thighs, he’d like to put one out on your clit. You’d feel hot-white, see hot-white, taste hot-white. Might meet God. Or a devil as he cauterises your weeping cunt. Maybe he’s going to meet both the Genital Mutilation Devil and his timely end.

Lunchtime rolls around, he empties a flask of whiskey into his coffee to beat the sluggish midday heat. You’re tucked beneath his desk now, pressing your nose between his thighs, sniffing around like a police dog on the right track. Kishibe lets you because it’s not much of a bother. “Might as well put that mouth to work.”

“Really, sir?” You ask, eyes like twin beacons.

“Yeah, go on then.” He pats your head. “No hands,” Kishibe adds, and they drop to your side instantly, teeth clasping onto his zipper and tugging it downwards in a jagged procession.

This is the most lackadaisical approach to cocksucking Kishibe has ever seen. And trust him, he has thirty-odd years of experience— This takes the cake for the worst. What you lack in technique you do not make up for in enthusiasm. It might just be ‘cause he’s soft, his mind detaches from the notion of anything inherently sexual. He’s thinking about what he should have for dinner tonight. If there’s anything in the fridge. That fat cat he has to feed.

There’s gagging, spluttering, a lewd pop! A sad and sorry end to a sloppy blowjob. You cough. A wet rattle deep in your chest.

“Not your strong suit,” he muses.

“I need your help, sir.” Your lips are swollen, spit-slicked. “Can’t do it on my own.” It begs the question, what are you good at? What can you do on your own?

He sighs for the nth time, takes his shaft in his hand and guides it past your parted lips, a messy ordeal, teeth scraping over the velvety skin of his cock, spit pooling in your mouth and dribbling down your chin when his cock rests weighty on your tongue.

It’s big, your cheek bulges when the tip nudges the inside of your mouth. Kishibe shifts course, pushes his cock so deep it hits the back of your throat, and your nails ziiip against the leather of his office chair.

“Is that too much?” He asks, making no move to ease up on the windpipe abuse. Your lips have stretched so far the corners of your mouth might split, you let out a noise of discomfort. Kishibe pays it no mind, his dick only gets heavier the moment it begins to harden. He places a hand on the back of your head, forces you to take his cock right to the base by pinning you into place. You swallow around him, and it’s the only good thing you’ve done since you got here.

There’s the garbled complaint of your jaw aching. “I don’t know what you’re saying,” Kishibe tells you, the derisive curl of his lip draws a soft whine from the back of your shredded throat. On his terms, you’ll last until the end of the workday. That’s what you’re here for, right? A job. He��s given you one and you’re not even doing it well. Sucking dick is second nature to women. Evidently not you.

You last till the end of his shift— Barely. Hanging on by a thread. Most of your lipstick has rubbed off on his dick, splotches of red deep in the creases of your dry lips. The fatigue of being cramped beneath his desk for so long weighs your body down, languidly shrugging on your jacket, your white shirt gaps when you button it up. He hadn’t noticed that before, but he does now.

“I’ll be better tomorrow,” you promise.

“Alright,” he says, noncommittal.

“Not tomorrow— I’m not in tomorrow actually so on Wednesday. I’ll be better on Wednesday.” You take hold of his arm and for some reason, he lets you. Human connection is not something he values especially, but sometimes it’s nice.

“Sure.” Kishibe shrugs. “I’ll hold you to your word.”

The commute to and from work is endless. This time it’s particularly endless, the outside world blurring into monochromatic plains as the train follows its usual path.

Sometimes you wish for it to derail and throw your body into the atmosphere. Just for fun. Anything to break up the mundanity of slate-coloured metropolitan life.

The confined space in the carriage has Kishibe’s front curved into your back, his hands in his pockets. An attempt at small talk fails to bridge the gap between the two of you. He’s so disinterested. Aren’t old men meant to like young girls? Are you really that ordinary? That even men one orgasm away from a heart attack are totally unbothered by the swell of your ass pressing up against their clothed dicks? Like, um, hello!

“You’re pushing it, you know that?” His breath is hot on your skin, he’s tall enough to obscure you from the view of any onlookers as you grip the metal pole. A few briefcases click shut, patent leather dress shoes scuffing across the flat floors as the train nears the next station.

Empty seats outnumber occupants by this point, there’s no need for Kishibe to be so close, but he is and that makes you happy. Makes your pussy happy too. Throbs like crazy. If you’re going to work alongside him, you’ll need to bring a change of panties in your handbag. ‘Cause you’ve been wet since he first entered the room.

He’s more rugged than handsome, but that’s what makes him hot. You see the start of a pretty face under the thickness of his worn and torn skin, it’s undercut by his square jaw, the skin under his eyes seems to burrow back into his face with how deep those bags are. God, you need him. Stat. Now if you don’t mind, sir.

When you exit, you don’t expect to hear heavy footfall right behind you. For a moment you think it’s the echo of your shoes in the derelict station, it’s like a gaping cavern, but you’re light on your feet - learnt to make yourself scarce.

Taking a peek over your shoulder would ruin the surprise. If it’s not Kishibe you might throw a fit. Unless whoever’s following you is, like, Kimura Takuya. You wouldn’t mind that at all. What a dreamboat. Still, there’s not even a 0.001% chance it’s him (you don’t exactly remember seeing him on the commute). There is a 99.99% chance it’s Kishibe. So you’ll go with the latter.

You duck into a nearby alleyway and he does too. Well, it’s an assumed he. If it’s a she you hope it’s the busty chick with the eyepatch that made eyes at you in the hallway as you tried to match Miss Makima’s brisk pace.

“I told you not to push it.” It’s Kishibe.

Yay! You internally cheer as he pushes you into the crumbling brick wall, your handbag drops onto the ground as your fist unfurls. Palms flat on the burnt clay, your breath hitches when he makes quick work of your pants, thick fingers forcing their way beneath the tight waistband. They’re perfectly fitted so there’s not even an inch of space, no room for lunch when you’re wearing these. The button pops and you mourn the loss of your nicest piece of clothing. Nothing a big dick can’t fix.

(Dick can’t fix the pants though. Duh.)

“I should teach you how to keep your hands to yourself,” Kishibe says lowly. His apathy is unfortunately really fucking hot. And it has to be front. It has to be. Or he wouldn’t have gone through the effort of disrupting his usual route home. You must’ve gotten him hot and bothered. His dick is hard. So there’s that.

He spits on your ass, it trickles down your crack and does a shitty job at lubing anything up. Your pussy is so wet you could take two or three dicks with ease. Kishibe doesn’t have to waste precious, precious spit that should be dripped down your throat like ambrosia. He spreads you wide, big hands grabbing handfuls of your soft ass. When you close your eyes, you see his cock, it’s tattooed on your eyelids. Seriously. His shit is big, and you wouldn’t expect anything less from a man of his size. The tip is dark, uncut on the fat, his balls hang low— Oh, he’s putting it in your ass, you realise a moment too late.

Suppressing a soft cry, your head drops forward as the pain splinters through your body with each agonising inch of his fat cock in your tighter hole. “Daddy,” you whimper, nails fighting to stay on your nail beds as you scratch at the wall.

“Don’t call me that,” Kishibe says, and his dick gives one last punishing push as he sinks into you fully.

“Sorry, sir.” Your sniffling is cut short by him shoving his fingers into your warm mouth. His dick is mean. You’re all like uh, uh, unfff, uh! You sound pretty fucking stupid, but he is practically punching all those noises out of you. It feels nice to be split in half. When you ignore the sickening spark of raw pain in your gut that is. He’s whisking your guts into a mixture of acid and bloody chunks.

Kishibe’s fairly quiet, the occasional grunt when he draws his hips back so the tip is in your fluttering hole, only to slam back in and knock you forward ‘cause you’re a klutz and dick in your dry ass is sorta disorientating.

“I love it, sir,” you tell him anyway. You’ve always been a bit of a bootlicker. Relying on flattery to get you into people's good books. It’s worked up until now. Kishibe is a nut you can’t even crack with a nutcracker, or a paring knife, not even with a goddamn hammer. “I love it so much, I love—“ His fingers run over your gums, pulling on your tongue for only a second before he takes them out to wipe on the back of your white blouse.

When he cums, you smell the whiskey on his breath as he rests his head on your shoulder. “Thank you, sir, thank you so much—“ You turn your head in search of his lips, he taps your cheek sharply and zips his slacks up in typical Kishibe fashion. Unhurried, slow, doesn’t really care about being caught with his pants down. A cigarette is lit, the glow of the ember reflects in his charcoal eyes like liquid gold.

Put that out on my clit, sir. Obviously, you don’t say that in fear of your clit never ever working again, and you quite like your clit to be honest. She’s gotten you through a lot of stressful situations.

His load has started to leak out of you, drying on your skin. Thick and sticky and heavy like his dick. Your cunt still throbs when you hold your ruined pants in place, they’ll be slipping down for the remainder of the walk home. Kishibe didn’t let you cum. He hasn’t let you cum all day. How selfish. You’ll rub one out when you get to your place. Christ, you think you love him.

#csm smut #chainsaw man smut #kishibe smut #kishibe x reader #kishibe x y/n #kishibe x you #csm x reader #chainsaw man x reader

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saltydumplings · 7 months

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Can I request a vampire and a werewolf hanging out, talking about their terrible and eternal curses that robbed them of their humanity?

Request #31

I feel like this turned out a lot cuter than the request suggested, lol.

"I miss the sun," the vampire started. They were sat on the porch steps of a cabin, staring out at the dark woods around them. "I feel like my world is missing colour. Like the second I got bit my sight switched over to grayscale."

Beside them, following their gaze, the werewolf could almost understand that. The forest looked so vibrant during the day: glowing green in amber light, speckled with the red and brown of mushrooms and the white of clustered flowers; there were pink blossoms in spring, and in the fall the valley was overcome with orange - that single colour sweeping through everything in its path without remorse or signs of stopping. The moonlight ruined that though. It washed it out, and the shadows dulled whatever remained.

"I can understand that," the werewolf said after some consideration. "It must be hard, only ever seeing half of what the world has to offer."

The vampire hummed. "Warmth too. I miss days when I could just lie in the sun."

The werewolf took the confession as an invitation to move closer. They repositioned themself behind the other's back, arms encircling the vampire's waist whilst their nose nuzzled against their neck - taking in their scent slowly.

"I miss my control," the werewolf admitted. "I hate having days that I don't remember. Days that could change everything for me - and usually never in a good way."

Nothing was scarier than waking up in the middle of nowhere, alone, not knowing what had come before that. Sometimes they'd find blood under their fingernails or fresh injuries like something else had tried to mawl or ensnare them.

"Perhaps I can remember those days for you," the vampire offered. "To the best of my ability - if you like."

The werewolf paused, a little taken aback. "You would do that for me?"

The vampire leaned back into them, turning to place a kiss against the werewolf's forehead. "Of course I would. It's the least I could do."

In response, the werewolf let out a small rumble of a sound as they returned the affection, first kissing the vampire's lips and then their neck - pulling them in closer still.

"Maybe I can return the favour: provide enough shade for a sunset. Sunrise, even, if you're feeling brave."

The vampire chuckled, hands locking around the werewolf's own. "Brave? I think you have me mistaken for another vampire."

"Hmm, well, certainly brave enough to share a bed with a wolf."

"How else would I stay warm in winter?"

"Ah, so I'm just a glorified radiator now then?" the werewolf asked.

"Yes, amoung other things..." the vampire teased.

"Other things?" The werewolf let out a low growl, tail wagging behind them in a playful manner. "You want to expand upon that?"

All too happily their partner complied. "Well, you're also a spectacular pillow. Very comfy. Not to mention a pretty reliable chair - sometimes even a footstool when you're in one of those moods where you just like to curl up on the floor and--"

"I'll show you who's a footstool!" the werewolf declared suddenly, standing and taking the vampire with them as they turned back towards the cabin.

The other let out a startled yelp that broke into giggles, struggling lightly as the werewolf threw them over their shoulder. "Werewolf, no! D-Down!"

"Down?! Oh, you're in trouble now!"

They went inside, laughing, closing the door behind them softly with the vampire tucked tight between their arms.

The curtains closed soon after.

An hour later and pink light was spilling across the sky, the werewolf peeking out at it whilst their partner slept contentedly on the bed - lovingly bundled up to their chin in blankets.

One day, the werewolf thought. One day they could share this.

But not just yet...

#writing snippet #monster x monster #vampire x werewolf #werewolf x vampire #werewolf #vampire

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yaut-jaknowit · 2 months

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Allergies. A male reader who absolutely SUFFERS during spring and summer, constantly using eye drops, nasle sprays, and even pills if it's bad enough. But is always too stubborn to take it. And it's like "oh I'm fine." Or "this is nothing I'm okay I promise" shit. And their partner has to force him to take them, and they admire the humans fight, but in the end. They end the human takes the medicine✨️

It's fine if you don't write this. I just really love your writing frfr

Allergies

Pairing: Wolf (Male Yautja) x M!Reader

Word Count: 1716

Summary: It's unfortunate that males trees are sought over than female trees. Because that leaves a good portion of the population to suffer during the spring time. Wolf knows a simple pill could relieve you of this agony and fetches the needed box. Yet, you brush it off. This is a hunter we're talking about. He doesn't get 'brushed off'.

Author Note: I've been blessed to not have allergies, not that I've noticed at least. That says something living in a place full of dust and wind storms.

Masterlist

Ao3

A fun fact you learned back in high school has always haunted you. Most trees that are planted in cities and the such are male. Female trees are known to produce fruit and flowers. Such things would create an unnecessary messy on sidewalks and roads. So, city planners decided to plant male trees instead to reduce the mess those trees would create.

They did not take in account the fact male trees produce pollen. The very thing causing you weeks of misery during the spring and summer. You can’t breathe right. Your eyes water constantly, blinding you at points.

It’s life though. You’ll live. Just got to grow some balls and power through.

Here you were, sitting on the porch of your apartment that faced the forest. A steaming cup of coffee in hand. Said drink gracious concocted by your loving partner. He was back inside after mumbling about grabbing you something that you didn’t quiet catch. You happily sipped away at the coffee held in your hands and looked out at the forest.

The sliding glass door behind you squeaked its call. Out stepped your hunk of a mate: Wolf. You smiled and leaned back in your chair, head tilted backwards to look at his towering frame. “Hey, love,” you greeted softly, voice a bit hoarse. You sniffled and rubbed at your running nose with the back of your hand.

Wolf scoffed and stopped shy of your plastic lawn chair. In his hand, he held out a box. You gave another sniffle and looked down at the small paper box. Allergy medicine. You huffed and rolled your eyes. “Wolf, I’ve told you. I’m okay,” you disregarded him and kicked your legs up on the footstool across from you.

There was a grunt behind you before the large Yautja moved in front of you.

Luck was on your side when you first moved into this little one-bedroom apartment. With the forest being your backyard on the second floor, you didn’t fret if anyone could see your mate. Neither did he attempt to conceal himself. There was no reason to. Which allowed him free roam of your apartment, including this dinky little balcony that’s offered to you.

Playfully, you smiled up at your lean mate. He threw one leg over your crossed limbs and stood tall. You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled in your chest at the sight of him. The male was being stoic and stern with you.

After breaking away the outer, steel edge of his personality, you learned how soft he was on the inside. Ready to swoop in and protect you at a moment’s call. You would never trade him for anyone or anything.

A brow was raised due to his antics. “Love, I’m fine. This is nothing. I’m okay, I promise,” you cooed to Wolf. Yet, the Yautja wasn’t convinced. You sniffled snot back into your head and grinned a toothy smile at him. He grunt again and leaned down, fully getting into your face.

Those bright eyes on you weren’t anything like the predatory gaze he was attempting to use on you. You reached out and cupped his jaw, stroking his cheek with a thumb.

The box was offered, more like shoved into your face, again. Another roll of your eyes. If you had to name one thing about Wolf, it would be his persistence. The corner of your smile tilted up further.

You grabbed the box out of his hand. Hope grew in his eyes. He settled for the fact he had won. Then, you placed it on the side table and returned to sipping away your coffee. It was nearly gone at this point. “I told you, Wolf. I-“ you reeled your head back and sneezed into the crook of your elbow. The snot was wiped away with your shirt. “All good, see?”

Wolf groaned and let his head rolled forward, nearly smacking you with the large dome portion of his head. You placed a kiss there. “There, there,” you consoled at his lost. He huffed and pulled away.

Something alit in his eyes. The Yautja dipped his head, turned on his heel, and leapt down from the balcony.

Earlier in the relationship, you would’ve scrambled to see if he had made it safely. Knowing now how nimble and agile this hunk of muscle is, you stayed rooted in your chair.

He had something planned. You didn’t want to get wrapped up in it.

Despite the fact you knew late at night you would wake to regret this decision, you left your bedroom window open all night. With it being spring, the weather was perfect to allow the outside air to mingle with the indoor air.

Only for you wake to a completely stuffy nose. Your eyes watering so much you couldn’t see clearly to walk to the bathroom for tissues. You did stumble your way to the sink while gaining a couple new bruises along the way. You found yourself leaning against the counter with snot and tears dripping down your face.

A groan sounded from your scratchy, dried throat. This was a completely, horribly mistake on your part. You should’ve taken one second to even think of how you were going to wake up. Worst of all, you had work later today. Eight hours of dealing with stupid people like this. You groaned and rested your forehead on the cool laminate counter.

Today was going to suck.

After taking ten minutes to clean your disgusting face and orifices at the same time, you lumbered into the kitchen. The smell of fresh, brewing coffee wafting past the hardened snot still plugging your nose. You smiled softly to yourself and spotted a newly poured cup sitting on the kitchen counter, right in sight. Thank whoever brought Wolf to you.

Mentioned Yautja was standing at the kitchen table, hunched over while reading something. His gauntlet sat on the wooden table top, a screen hovering above the device. You walked over to him and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Morning, Wolfie.” You got a grumble both at the greeting and the name calling. If it was anyone else saying that to him, that person would no longer live.

You happily picked up the cup and leaned against the counter. From your spot, you admired Wolf. From what little he’s spoken about, he’s a highly ranked hunter on his planet. Something you liked to tease him about how your Wolfie is such a big bad predator. What ever did you do to do deserve a man like him? Well, whatever is it, you’re thankful to have done it.

Wolf pulled himself away from his work and took the two steps to crowd you against the cabinets. Not an ounce of fear entered your veins at the sight. No. Instead, a smile spilt your face as you gazed up at your man.

With your chest to his stomach, he pinned you there. You sniffled a couple of times during the silence and continued to drink away at your coffee. You already knew what he was trying to do without him showing his cards.

Persistent.

The box was pressed to your chest. Wolf leaned down and got into your face. “Take it,” he rumbled and stared directly into your eyes. You leaned forward and kissed the space between his mandibles.

“No.”

“Take the pauk-de medicine.” Oh, he growled this time!

Your pointer finger hooks on one of his bottom mandibles and gave it a tiny tug. “You’re cute when you get all demanding,” you cooed to the hunter. Wolf groaned with exasperation.

A light bulb appeared over Wolf’s head. Your eyes narrowed on him while watching him carefully. He raised one of his upper mandibles in an alien grin. Uh oh.

One moment, your coffee was resting in your hands. Then, it was gone! You whined as Wolf held it high above your head. You attempted to jump and take it back from your rude mate but he kept you trapped to the cabinets. The box still pressed to your chest.

“Take it and you’ll get this horrible tasting liquid back,” he argued and dipped his head down at the medicine he was holding to. Wolf knew your weak points. He did this on purpose! Being all sweet, making you coffee for every morning for the last year, just to do his bidding! You huffed and leaned far enough away to cross your arms.

“You’re so mean, Wolfie,” you mumbled and glared at the floor. You wiped at your leaking eyes. “Can’t believe you mess with a man’s coffee. You know nothing of human culture.”

All he gave you was a deadpanned look, face going slack. He tapped a claw against the box, creating a clicking noise. You huffed again, looking into bright eyes to see if that would get him to relent first. Yet, with the threat of your coffee being taken, you sighed and tilted your head back. You flipped your hand, palm up, waiting for the box to fall into your hand. “Fine,” you relented and dragged out the word. “Give me the damned box.”

A large smirk graced your mate’s face. The medicine was dropped into your open palm. A chaste, closed mandible kiss was pressed to your cheek. Wolf stepped back but kept the coffee out of reach. Smart little sucker.

You grabbed a glass then filled it up with just enough water to down a pill. A pout clouded your expression as you looked upon Wolf. “There, happy?” His grin had yet to fade.

Wolf leaned in and rubbed his forehead to your temple with a purr beginning in his chest. The sour expression soon fell away to a soft smile. “Alright, alright, you big teddy bear,” you laughed and patted cheek. “I’ve got work later tonight so I’ve got a few things to accomplish beforehand. Give me my coffee back.”

The cup was returned to your hand. “Don’t know how you can drink that c’jit,” he rumbled with a sneer.

“You don’t know what you’re missing, love. Now, don’t mess with a man’s coffee again,” you threatened your mate with a grin. He chortled gave a final purr before stepping away.

“Oh, hey. I can breath again!” There was a grunt of exasperation.

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #alien vs predator #predator x reader #yautja x human #predator x you #predator x human #x reader #Wolf

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yandere-toons · 1 year

Text

OSWALD COBBLEPOT

Platonic & Romantic Headcanons – Yandere

WARNING: strong and bloody violence, guns, stalking, alcohol use, references to torture, death, undeath, desecration of corpses, abduction, psychological manipulation, toxic mindset.

PLATONIC:

From his days of spying and backstabbing as a human footstool for Fish Mooney, Oswald has understood that most relationships are transactional and devoid of real intimacy. Hence, he becomes so readily attached when someone goes out of their way to make his time on this earth a little easier.

In this person, whom he now wishes to have as a lifelong friend, Oswald sees a shining exception to human ugliness, for whose sake he is willing to break laws, spend vast sums of money, and take lives to keep with him.

The late Gertrud Kapelput taught him that one must give everything to those dearest to one's heart, a lesson Oswald will honour for the rest of his life.

In addition to assassinating people on his friend's behalf, this devotion translates to buying out entire inventories of jewellery and clothes for them. He offers free drinks at his nightclub, guarantees protection if they operate a business, and provides super-secret special access to all his mother's recipes.

Being sentenced to Arkham or Blackgate is no matter when Mayor Cobblepot is eager to finagle the early release of an old friend. He will blackmail, intimidate, and coerce all the appropriate offices until the person he wants is back with him.

Oswald becomes exceedingly irritable and anxious if separated from his friend for too long.

He relies on them to lend him an ear whenever he needs to castrate a rival verbally. Although he is not the most cooperative, Oswald is sensitive to any advice from his friend, a sensitivity that doubles if they tell him he is a good man.

As soon as they are more than a few hours late for a meeting and have not contacted him with an airtight explanation, Oswald is howling at his goons to find them and phoning the GCPD to babble about filing a missing persons report. He refuses to sleep or stop pursuing their alleged killer after his worried heart tells him they lie dead in an alley.

Oswald is drowning in grief and hysteria, attacking anyone who delivers bad news about the search when his friend returns to him alive. He collapses into their arms and rejoices that he can delay learning how it would feel to live without them a bit longer, at which point he begs them to clear their schedule in favour of accompanying him through his day.

If anyone dares make a laughingstock of this relationship and, by extension, him, Oswald paces up and down his home while guzzling wine and ranting about how he will roast these people's entrails like chestnuts over an open fire.

Practising emotional honesty for something other than anger takes every courage Oswald can summon. It is safer for him to live out his days half-satisfied and fantasizing than to put his hopes to the test and risk terrifying rejection, so while he is weighing the pros and cons of coming clean, Oswald awaits a sign that the attachment is reciprocal.

In his ideal world, he lives in his father's mansion and drinks tea with his mother and friend while everyone talks about how he proved the critics wrong and became a great man despite everything.

This dream will never come true for various reasons that keep Oswald awake at night, so he persuades his friend to take one of the guest bedrooms and dispatches those who might threaten his monopoly on their attention.

He does much to sweeten the deal, which, when broken down to its most basic elements, is a request for his friend to devote themselves to him, as Gertrud did and as he says he did for them.

A gourmet breakfast and dinner from Olga every day are a given, but the only item on which Oswald will not make concessions is permission to leave Gotham.

Suppose his friend chooses a life of crime. Oswald considers himself their proudest and most adamant supporter. If they are arrested, he will burst into the police station with an army of sycophants - if necessary, an angry mob of misguided citizens - and demand that all charges be dropped.

If the GCPD resists, he will send Victor Zsasz to raid the precinct in a hail of bullets or turn the case into a political issue for the cameras and journalists to shame the police into submission.

A constant sense of danger looms over the friendship, like wolves over a sick deer. Oswald sees it every day in the crowds wishing him to suffer, in the way his heartbeat jumps and pushes him to lash out each time someone approaches his friend with a suspicious look.

This hypervigilance may one day prove too stressful, and Oswald decides his best course of action is to fake his friend's death and sequester them in a safe house until he rules Gotham's underworld with absolute power.

If they do die, Oswald embraces their corpse and wails like a lost child until he has to retreat to survive or gets a chance to mangle the one he thinks is to blame. Afterwards, he is subject to fits of rage and melancholy when reminded of his departed friend and enlists Hugo Strange to revive them.

Operating under a fat paycheck and the threat of torture if he fails, Strange is cleared to sacrifice as many people and make as many monstrous modifications as necessary to succeed.

Driven mad by loss compounded, Oswald finds scarcely a price not worth paying if it allows him to have back one of the few bright spots in his life.

ROMANTIC:

In terms of relationship security, Oswald experiences some cognitive dissonance. He wants to believe that his partner will never abandon him, but at the same time, he fears losing them to anyone with a pulse.

Oswald, pathologically insecure, suspects his partner of finding a replacement for him after one ill-timed joke, one misunderstood smile, or one rejection of another's flirtation that he does not feel was direct enough. He flies into a tirade about how they lead him on and play with his emotions to leech off his wealth and influence.

This explosive tantrum sends his every minion scurrying far away, for whichever lackey is standing closest to him at that moment will be stabbed in the neck with a broken bottle or beaten senseless with a fire poker, depending on the setting.

Even though the physical aspects of his rage never touch his partner, the threat of what he could do to them is present evermore.

Throughout his life, the only people who have invariably been kind to him without ulterior motives are his parents, especially his mother. Therefore, a genuine compliment from his partner overwhelms him with the feeling of being wanted and makes him grossly overestimate his importance to them.

If someone claims that his partner has been disloyal to him, Oswald disregards any evidence as forged and maims the messenger for, in his eyes, being a filthy liar.

The only way he would believe such a thing is if he uncovers the evidence himself, in which Oswald would rather blame a third party for forcing his partner's hand than let go of the comforting delusion that this relationship is meant to be.

As his rise to power destabilizes him mentally and puts a glaring target on his back, Oswald fears leaving his partner alone, even for a minute.

His paranoia spirals out of control until he becomes obsessed with the possibility that enemies he knows too well and those he has yet to discover will come to murder or kidnap and torture the last good thing in his miserable existence.

Oswald assigns Victor Zsasz to keep vigil over his partner day and night for the foreseeable future, giving Victor—who in turn gives his henchwomen—strict shoot-on-sight orders for any visitors not on his list.

The list is shorter than a pig's tail and consists of Oswald himself, Victor and crew, and as an on-again, off-again member, Edward Nygma.

In his deranged mind, not even Jim Gordan has business speaking to his partner without him there to monitor the interaction.

Suppose Oswald gets the impression that someone is trying to wheedle information out of his partner or bully them into betraying his trust. In that case, this interloper is slain with extreme prejudice at the earliest opportunity.

Suppose a friend or family member decides to come over unannounced and receives a bullet to the brain, que será, será. Oswald has convinced himself that all the others in his partner's life are traitors waiting to happen, or, if not traitors, vulnerabilities that his enemies will use to lure his partner away from the safety of his watchful eye.

Acts of disrespect towards those he cares about make Oswald apoplectic, so if he hears anything about anyone accosting or assaulting his partner, someone is getting an umbrella crammed down their throat.

Whether he beats the culprit to death with a baseball bat, lets Victor have fun with them, or mounts their severed head on one of his end tables and calls it a decoration depends on the severity of his partner's distress.

If tears are shed, and blood is bled, whoever caused them this pain is hunted like an animal and reduced to meat paste.

Through mass execution and permanent disfigurement, Oswald makes it clear that his partner is off-limits to Gotham's underworld, even to those members who have been licensed to do wrong by the Pax Penguina.

Anyone still holding them at gunpoint loses an arm and then a life, and Oswald insists that he take that life himself because everything that threatens his partner threatens him, too.

If in Arkham together, Oswald deems himself far more honest than the rest of these ruffians and thus makes a promise. Any violence against his partner will be inflicted tenfold on the perpetrators, whom he adds to his big book of names to disappear once he regains his status as King of Gotham.

Locked alone in the asylum, Oswald worries that his partner will leave and forget about him. Once free, he tracks their current address by any means necessary and seeks confirmation that they have not forsaken him.

This absence has so reinforced his inability to separate that the appearance of a new person or a request to distance himself from them is perceived as a betrayal.

Although Oswald will always forgive his partner, he will not quit plotting revenge against those who gave them these terrible ideas. The day of reckoning for these pond scum will come when and how he pleases.

In the meantime, he would like to share a ribeye steak with his partner while everyone else in Gotham starves.

Do anything you want with my work, but never make me boring!

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athanasius-symposium-of-writings · 3 months

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Ok ok…I gotta know…what do you think the IDV characters kinks are?

I feel like Orpheus would have a thing for role-playing and Norton would have a breeding kink…but not bc he actually wants children 💀

Tbh idk I kinda just write what my kinks are and see how to many it work for a character.

Orpheus he def writes role-plays between you and him to figure out what he can do. I feel like he also would be into writing on you (thank my friend for that one life changing lol) and in force praising (basically making you praise yourself). He can degrade but he rather see you get flustered trying to praise yourself (again shout out to friend for that). Knifeplay, daddy kink (you can call him daddy but sir is hotter for him). Brat taming. Drugs use (no surprised) trust me you would have to bring that up tho. He likes the risky ones too but he will never outright say it.

Norton def is into edging (fool's gold esp), idk about breeding cuz he doesnt seem like the type to even consider having a family (look at his life he prob like i can support myself much less a child) someone needs to write that before i can consider it idk. Loves to mess around with his s/o is wearing a skirt though (he is a simple man let him enjoy himself). Choking lightly, like the power it gives. 100% powerplay let him be in control he needs it. Dont be a brat with him trust me he will break you (esp fool's gold he would mindbreak you). Pet play (fool's gold) aka bark for him like the simp you are (100% laughing at you).

Naib, i bet yall think he would be into petplay but he prob be into the very mild VERY mild form of it and tbh you gonna be explaining half of what the kink is before he will agree to it. I want to say calling him 'sir' could get him going but only if you are been very bratty/cheeky about it. Also brat taming

Fredrick foot fetish (lol turbulentscrawl did that thts the friend), i think he would have to be shown how hot it is giving him a blowjob while he plays the piano. Handkink because i think thts his fav part of his body and seeing them get you worked up is hot af for him. Now 'Human furniture' could work for him too and very much is into cockwarming

Wu Chang is into mirror sex. Shibari but in the art form more than just railing, you are beautiful. Brat taming and dressing you up, also would like doing makeup on you just to ruin it. Semi public play (black guard). Strip dancing (white guard) again you are a walking masterpiece, body worship (both to you and to him).

Joesph degradation, pet play (i mean the degrading way as you are nothing but a pet for him to use and please him), watching you masturbate (put on a show for him while he sits there and tells you to edge yourself). Also into 'human furniture' using you like footstool or a holding his tea while he hits it from behind. powerplay also call him Monsieur or speak dirty words to him in french (dont expect to walk)

Again idk just write what i like and see who it fits vfnjfvonfvnnjv

#anon ask #nsft #reader insert #idv #identity v x reader #idv x reader #identity v #idv x you #idv x reader headcanons #identity v x you

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ofallthingsnasty · 4 months

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Scenario where Arlongs human pet falls pregnant 👉👈

oh, anon, you're so evil... i love it 😔💕

references this post

tw.minors dni, forced pregnancy, noncon, dehumanization, mutilation mention, read the tags and read them twice

It's simultaneously the best and worst thing that can happen to you in this situation.

The best because it provides you with a breather of sorts - and the worst because well, you're pregnant with that man's child. You might think he’d be angry with you - far from that, actually. The moment he catches on, he’ll be nothing but thoroughly pleased with himself. It means that he has fully tainted you, claimed every inch of your body. Of course you'd get knocked up, he'll say, how could your little human womb ever withstand his seed. And if he hasn’t called you his little cow before - he’s definitely going to, now. As utterly humiliating it is to have him smile down at you with nothing but smug malice, it also elevates your status significantly. Suddenly there is a place to sleep for you, even regular meals. No more crawling around on all fours to amuse him or the crew, no more heavy feet on your back when he decides he’d rather use you as a footstool, no more hands all over your body, pinching, groping, slapping you - and, most importantly, no more impromptu violence, at least to the extent you experienced beforehand. That little thing in you is far too valuable to torture its vessel over and risk losing it. (And he’ll tell you all about it - that he’s only being so nice to you because you’re carrying his child.) Does it mean that you’re suddenly living an almost normal life despite the circumstances? Absolutely not. You’ll still need to make yourself useful to him - you’re still their little maid-servant and work from dusk to dawn, still have to serve Arlong to your best abilities - but the abuse shifts from physical to verbal. It’s still hard, but with a full belly, a decent place to sleep and without the looming threat of getting drowned just for fun, harsh words are way, way easier to withstand than before. He is obsessed with your bump - he definitely makes you wear clothing that emphasizes it the moment you even start to remotely show. It’s the deepest form of branding to him and he develops a sick pleasure in showing you off to your old friends and family in the village that you used to call your home. He parades you around like he just bred his pedigree dog, talks on and on about how you’ve finally fully submitted and saw the light, saw what’s best for you, how you know your place - all to the mortification of the people you used to know. He’ll make a whole show of getting you examined by your old town doctor, makes sure you’re at every check-up, each time a little fuller than before, showing off your progress. (And god have mercy on them if they try to help you get rid of it because it’s an open secret that this pregnancy is entirely unwanted. He’ll slit them open top to bottom on the town square and threaten to cut your feet off - if you dare to kill his offspring he’ll simply fuck another one in you, he’ll say, expression beyond good and evil. You’ll lose a finger for the attempt; if you try again, it’ll be a limb.)

Not to mention that he’s ravenous. It’s like a switch has been flipped in his brain - where he has forced himself on you in the past to get his dick wet, to get some use out of you, he suddenly can’t keep his hands to himself because of some new-found attraction. And the more you’re showing, the worse it gets. He’ll fuck you until the day you’re due, no matter how much you complain or how straining it is for you. It’s something he retains until after you’ve given birth - from that moment on, you’ve gone from the human toy to his little breeding stock and he’ll make sure to put you to good use. You’ll never be empty again if he can help it - he’s found a new ‘feature’ of yours to exploit and he’s going to keep at it until you’re a shell of your former self, until you collapse.

And you better hope the baby takes more after him than you - he’s not going to be kind to a little half fish-man who looks more like a human than him. That poor baby has a beyond bleak future in front of them. (Don’t even think of trying to escape with your child - he’ll make you regret it every single day of your remaining life, that’s for sure.)

#/arlong #/one piece #tw.forced pregnancy #tw.noncon #tw.violence #tw.dark content #arlong x reader #one piece x reader

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