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slasherholic · 3 years

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MADDIE... DEATHSLINGER GUNPLAY...

OKAY

synopsis: you deepthroat an evil cowboy so he doesn’t blow your brains to smithereens

warnings: dubcon/implied noncon, threats of violence

The Deathslinger x Reader | Gunplay + Blowjob

Just a few more inches. Just a few more inches. Just a few.

You reach out in front of you again, fingers splayed as they meet splintered wood, huffing as you drag yourself another inch across the floor of the Saloon. Your eyes flutter closed as puffs of unsettled dust swirl around your face. A tickle builds in your throat and you can’t stop it—pain screams through your shoulders and swells in your chest as your body seizes with a cough. The warm red seeping from your abdomen glistens like rubies on the floorboards and in the dirt. The smell of your own blood is nauseating.

Reason tells you that in fleeing from him, you are only prolonging your own torture; but your body, stubbornly, refuses to roll over and die. And so you crawl.

You tell yourself things as you crawl. Hopeful things. Maybe if you can just make it around the corner of the bar, or wedge yourself beneath the table, your death will be swift. The Entity will take you in a sharp, sudden pain—impersonal, merciful—and that will be it. You won’t be left with one more nightmare to bear at the campfire.

Your face pulls into a grimace as your fingers meet wood again. All your muscles flex as you prepare to pull yourself along across the filthy floor, just a few more inches...

...you can’t.

You can’t because your shirt has snagged on a nail jutting out from between old splintered floorboards. Fate has damned you to this spot.

Letting your head thump against the wood, you stare with glassy eyes up at the piano plucking along without a player. Its ghoulish, heavy notes flood the saloon, unnatural in a way that churns your stomach.

You are already beginning to fade when you hear his boots clacking up the stairs outside the Saloon. Somewhere behind you, rusted double-doors squeal open.

The clacking stops and his shadow engulfs your body. He clicks his tongue dryly. You wince and choke back a sob when his bootheel comes down between your shoulders, digging in deep.

“Reckon it wouldn’t ‘ave been so hard to stay put right where I left you,” Caleb jests, beginning to reload his gun, slow and deliberate. “‘stead of snakin’ around the whole place.”

His voice is gravelly, cruel as a knife. You’ve heard him speak once or twice before but his words are always overshadowed by his other sounds; the explosion of a musket, the whizzing of a deadly bolt tearing through the air—and that dry, mirthless laughter.

You’ve come to accept a harsh truth in the Entity’s realm; some killers carry out their task mechanically, impersonally, as though running on a program. Other killers enjoy watching you bleed and die.

It became apparent very quickly which breed of murderer Caleb was. You carry his vicious laughter in your mind even when you sleep.

When Caleb speaks again, something in his voice tells you he’s talking at you, rather than to you, like a hunter studying a lifeless buck.

“Impressive y’even managed to get as far as ya did, considerin’ how much yer leakin’.”

He prods you suddenly with the bayonet tip of his gun, just beneath your ribs—right where he shot you. You cough hideously, writhing beneath his boot. He presses down harder until you lie still.

“Was proud of that shot.”

Go to hell, you want to spit at him. You might if you were braver. This is not a man whose mercy you want to test. Instead, you pray that when his gloating is finished, he fires that bolt straight through your head.

“But, seein’ as you got some fight still left in you,” The pressure in your back ebbs as Caleb lowers the gun. “How ‘bout an offer.”

You are far too weak to be surprised by his words, far too tired. It is obvious from just his tone that the “offer” is not really an offer. Whatever he has in mind, you are going to participate.

“Now, a man has certain needs, and not all of ‘em he can provide on his lonesome, try as he might.”

A short, dry chuckle builds in Caleb’s throat. Your world dips in and out of focus, the playerless piano now a hazy blur of black and white. You consider his meaning; certain needs. Alright, you understand. You know what he wants. And you are certainly not above whoring yourself out to a murderer for the promise of an easy death.

“Get up on your knees.” Comes the demand, gruff and sudden, any hint of that false laughter sucked dry in an instant.

“And turn around so I can look atcha.”

You suck a deep breath into your lungs before you comply. You grunt hard as you push yourself up on your knees, shuffling slowly around in a circle until you face him. Tears spring to your eyes. You don’t want to look up at him; you do anyway.

Caleb wears the grin of a fox. His face bears cunning, vulpine features. The brim of his hat dips low over his brow and nearly shades his eyes from view in the dirty light of the saloon—but you can just see them, can just make out their sinister white glow. The effect is utterly inhuman.

And yet, clearly, this man is not without human urges.

You can’t help it when your eyes stray to his groin. His arousal strains his trousers. You want to be sick, but can’t quite muster the strength for it.

“Course, you already know what you’re gonna do, dontcha?” Caleb mutters, seeming to notice where your attention has drifted. Your eyes fall to the floor.

“There’s a clock on the wall over there.” He gestures his gun to the far wall of the saloon.

“Don’t know if it works quite like where I come from—lots o’ things don’t seem to work right in this place, but ain’t none o’ my concern. You got ‘till that little hand strikes three to get me satisfied.”

He settles the spear of his gun against your forehead. The tip digs sharply into your skin, wetting you with fresh blood.

“Else I pull this trigger.”

You see it happening in your mind, so vividly—your skull splitting like an eggshell, your brains spraying out the back, staining the bar behind you with chunks of pink and red. Your vision swims.

It doesn’t feel like you should be speaking to Caleb. It feels wrong on the most primitive level. You lick your dried lips and force the words out anyway.

“What do I get?” You rasp. “If I do?”

Caleb stares at you from beneath the brim of his hat, almost caught off guard. Then, something sinister curls across his face.

“What do you get?” He laughs again. It’s not as dry this time—there’s a hint of genuine amusement. “Well, that hatch o’course. I’ll take you straight to it.” Your mouth twists with disbelief.

Caleb’s hand flies from the barrel of his spear gun, gripping your chin harshly. He tweaks your jaw until you look him in the eye.

“What—think I’m lyin’?”

Your silence speaks a thousand words. The tears tickle as they slip down your cheeks. Of course you don’t believe him; you aren’t stupid.

Caleb shakes his head, rapping your jaw with his index finger.

“I’m a man of my word. But I s’pose you’ll just have to trust me, seein’ as that clock is already tickin’.”

When those words leave his lips, the decision is easy, and you hate yourself for it. You’re going to suck this vile man off like you god damn mean it.

Your fingers tremble violently as you reach forward to scrabble around the leather of his belt. Undoing his pants, you pull the last button so hard that it rips from its fabric, rolling away across the floorboards.

Caleb’s dick is long, the base of it completely unshaven. The flushed head already beads with pearlescent precum—he’s enjoying this.

You turn off your thoughts as you grip his hips. Dipping forward, trying to ignore the barrel of the gun pressed damningly against your forehead, you wrap your lips tight around the tip.

Caleb grunts. He throbs against your tongue, filling you more than you were prepared for. You choke back a tearful gag and begin to suck obediently, bobbing your head back and forth. The man above you lets loose a hard breath. Widening his stands, he slants his hips impatiently forward, pushing more of himself into your mouth. Your eyes begin to water fiercely; the point of the gun against your skull is a dull numb ache now, secondary to the pain of breathlessness. Caleb seizes a fistful of your hair, forcing you to be full of him. Spit begins to drip down your chin. He holds you in place while you choke on his dick.

With a throaty growl, his hold eases. You cough violently as you pull away from his groin. Glistening saliva strings between his shaft and your lips. Taking him in your mouth again, you swallow down his cock until it bulges in your throat. He fists your hair in one hand, muttering curses.

“Deeper.” He snarls, fingering the trigger of his rifle. You obey. Your chin meets his balls, wet and warm with drool. You bob on him breathlessly. In and out. In and out. If the playerless piano still hammers away, you can’t hear it beyond your own ugly gagging.

Caleb growls suddenly, deep and low in his chest. The fist in your hair snaps painfully shut. Before you realize what is happening, he has taken his release into his own hands, ramming you along his shaft. Your head jerks violently as he fucks your face. Your throat is full of him again and again.

Caleb spits out a sudden hoarse “fuck.” Hotness floods your mouth. He pulls out to gush along your tongue. You gag at his bitter taste.

The man above you pants heavily, head tilted back, eyes closed, chest rising and falling.

“Swallow it.” He hisses, clenching his teeth. “Get it all down.”

Tonguing the head of his penis, you swallow. It nearly comes back up. Caleb looks down at you and the scowl on his face deepens. You realize you’ve missed some—you can still feel a bit of wetness dribbling down the corner of your lip.

“I said all of it.”

Your tongue flits out obediently, drawing the rest of him into your mouth. The fist in your hair relaxes, and Caleb begins to stroke your head, petting you like some obedient animal. It almost feels good, you think, too tired to take it back.

“Well then,” Caleb begins, sneering. You feel your blood run cold. “Let’s see about that hatch.”

The ropes bite into the flesh of your ankles and wrists and rub your skin raw with every feeble tug. You understand now why they call your current predicament “hogtying”—because with your squirming, your squealing, the way you roll helplessly around on your belly in the dirt, envisioning yourself as a hog is easy. Beneath you, the ground gives another violent quake. It won’t be long now before the Entity claims this place.

In the end, Caleb had only been partially lying—he did carry you to the hatch.

He also tied your limbs, dropped you down like a sack of bricks mere feet away from your last chance at escape, and stomped it abruptly shut.

With tear-soaked eyes, you watched him saunter away to sink down on the steps of the Saloon, procure a rag from his pocket, and begin to wipe his rifle. He whistles now as he works, looking up at you occasionally from beneath his hat. His vicious grin flashes for just a second whenever your gaze meets.

You can tell what Caleb is thinking about every time he looks up at your tied, squirming body—that he could take you right now, right in the dirt. Maybe get a quick one in before the Entity claims you. Or maybe hunt you down later and take his time with it.

Letting your heavy eyelids flutter shut, you hope you hurry up and die already, if only to get the lingering taste of his cum out of your mouth.

#caleb quinn #the deathslinger #dead by daylight #slashers #writing #horror #fanfiction #caleb quinn x reader #reader insert #tw: dubcon

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avengerofyourheart · 7 years

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The Lucky One Pt 2 (reader x Bucky)

Hi, lovelies! Here is part two!! I’m juggling quite a few projects right now, but I’m loving this story adaptation. I hope you are too! I’m still building this world right now, but stuff is about to GO DOWN. It’ll be good. I hope. Please tell me your thoughts, I’d love to hear them! :)

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The Lucky One Pt 2 (reader x Bucky)

Characters: reader, reader’s mom, Bucky, (James), OC Kevin Jenkins, OC Caleb, more to come.

Summary: As a single mom with a jerk of an ex-husband, you’re doing your best to run the family business all on your own when your mother hires a mysterious man with a troubled past to help out. He just might be what you need in your life, but will his secrets bring you together or tear you apart? (Events occur shortly after Captain America: The Winter Soldier)

Warnings: mostly fluff, a lil angst.

Word Count: 2536

A/N: This is part two of my fic for Stark Tower’s Movie Challenge. I’m enjoying putting my own spin on this story, so I hope you are, too! Please let me know your thoughts, whether you’ve see the movie or not, I appreciate your feedback!! :

*Special tag: @hunters-from-stark-tower

Tags are at the bottom (I’ll consider adding tags, I’m still trying to figure a new system out)

<<<Part One Part Two Part Three>>>

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Sunlight peaked over the horizon, slowly creeping across the grassy lawn. Brightness grew behind your eyelids, the light filtering though the gauzy curtains at your bedroom window. Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you stretched while throwing off the covers that offered to reclaim you. With a knock and a turn of the knob, you entered Caleb’s room to see him already awake and sketching in his notebook, bringing a smile to your face. He always was an early riser, but content to stay in his room until you awoke.

Soon you had breakfast on the table and were calling Caleb’s name while simultaneously packing your son’s lunch. He breezed into the kitchen with his backpack half unzipped, threatening to spill its contents.

“Morning, sweetie. Got all your homework?” you asked, brushing an unruly lock of hair off his forehead.

“Yes, mom, but we have a field trip today to the museum!” he exclaimed with enthusiasm.

“That’s right! I have your permission slip…” you searched through a stack of papers on your desk just off the kitchen and plucked the correct form out. Closing his lunchbox, you added it and the permission slip to his backpack before zipping it closed.

“Make sure you ask the teacher so you can sit near the front of the bus, okay? Don’t want you getting motion sickness.” The museum was about an hour away, meaning a long bus ride for the students.

A heavy sigh escaped his small body, “I know, mom.”

Breakfast eaten, hair and teeth brushed, and backpack in hand, you hustled your son out the door and into the car to meet the bus. Most mornings, you would walk with him to the bus stop half a mile down the road, but you drove when running late. After dropping your son off, you turned down the lane back toward the house and saw a male figure outside the stables. James. He was early.

Parking the car, you headed his way. As you neared, you observed him measure and mark a long 2”x4” piece of wood you assumed to fix the one he broke yesterday. He had apparently found the shed and pulled out the saw horses, wood, and tools all on his own. Ambitious.

“Good morning, James,” you called out, getting his attention.

He turned your way, peaking out from underneath his baseball cap. “Morning, ma’am.”

“I told you, it’s Y/N, none of this ‘ma’am’ stuff.”

He flushed slightly, “Sorry. Y/N.”

You gave a smile. “Glad you found the shed. How long have you been here? You don’t have to be in until 8.”

“I know,” he looked down, adjusting the gloves on his hands, “but I was already awake. Figured I’d get an early start. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” you shrugged. “Um…I’m gonna go get ready for the day and I can show you around a little more. Sound good?”

“Sure,” he answered, close-lipped smile on his face.

Turning your back to him, you headed for the house, then looking down at what you were currently wearing: yoga pants, a ratty t-shirt, and a zip-up hooded sweatshirt with your hair pulled back. Basically what you wore to bed the night before. Such a great example of professionalism, you laughed at yourself.

Once inside, you heard noise in the kitchen.

“Morning, mom,” you greeted her upon entering.

“Morning, dear,” you mother shuffled over and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Caleb off to school?”

“Field trip, actually. He’s excited about the museum,” you replied.

She clicked her tongue in affection, “Such a sweet boy. I’ll thank the lord every day that he doesn’t seem to have an ounce of Kevin’s cruelty in him. “

“You and me both, mom,” you sighed, helping her lower into a chair. Your mother had ridden horses all her life, but took a bad fall after being bucked off about 15 years ago. As she aged, her back yielded less and less to movement causing pain and immobility. It saddened her to see you carrying so much responsibility because she was unable to help. Although you wouldn’t admit it quite yet, somehow she knew that having help in James had been a godsend.

The silence in the kitchen was then broken by the staccato striking of a hammer. Peering out the window, you could see that James had removed the damaged stall gate and was nearly finished removing the broken board and replacing it.

“Is that James out there?” you mother inquired. “He’s quite the go-getter.”

“Seems to be,” you replied, distracted as you kept your gaze on the man.

A throat cleared behind you, breaking the spell. You turned around a knowing look and a smirk from your mother as she tried to meet your eyes.

“Well, uh,” you avoided the eye contact, unwilling to admit to staring. “I’m gonna hop in the shower. Do you need anything right now, mom?”

“I’m just fine, dear.” She sipped her tea with a smile as you retreated from the kitchen and your mother’s accusing gaze.

_____________

Dressed in jeans, boots, t-shirt, and a jacket, you pulled your hair back from your face and headed out the door toward the stables once again. Stepping inside, James had his back to you as he finished reattaching the stall gate. He swung the gate back and for a few times before latching it, confident in his repairs. He turned your way, his eyes finding yours. You weren’t sure you would ever get used having to those piercing blue eyes fixed on you.

“You did a great job on the gate. Thank you,” you complimented him sincerely.

He remained reserved as he spoke, “You’re welcome. I’m sorry it needed fixing.”

A wide smile crossed your face, “Already forgotten. Ready for the full tour?”

“Yeah. Just let me put away these tools…”

You helped him carry the spare wood and tools back to the shed before dusting your hands off on your jeans.

“So,” you began. “I thought I’d introduce you to the horses first.”

He nodded at that as you lead him toward the first stall.

“This is Thunder, my baby. I’ve had him since he was just a colt,” Thunder walked toward you, nuzzling the side of your face. You stroked the white spot between his eyes, the rest of his coat a light, copper color. A few affectionate pats to the animals neck and you moved on to the next stall.

You spoke about each of the horses individually, sharing their personalities and quirks like they were members of the family because you saw them as such. Most of the horses were owned by neighbors and friends but you also offered outside short-term and long-term boarding as well as training. At the moment, only 2 of the 9 horses present were brought in during the past 2 weeks and required a lot of attention. Coming to the last stall, you hesitated, gazing at the wild eyes of the chestnut-colored animal before you.

“This is Jasper. He came to us last week for re-training from an out-of-state owner.”

You had observed James as the quiet, strong type so far. He had silently followed you from horse to horse, observing and listening as you shared about each animal. Which is why you were surprised when he spoke up then.

“Why is he chained to the walls?” he asked, leaning forward.

“He’s a special case. The owner says Jasper was a great horse, very calm and gentle until about a month ago when something spooked him. They couldn’t pinpoint what happened and usually a horse will calm down over time, but he still hasn’t. He shies away from human contact and jumps at loud noises. Even bucks on occasion, which is why we have him roped to both sides of the stall so no one gets too close or is hurt while feeding him.”

James seemed transfixed on the animal, both hands resting on the gate before him.

“Can you help him?” he questioned, meeting your eyes.

“I hope so. The owners want him broken again, but given his age and whatever trauma he suffered, it’s really up to him. I don’t like to use the term ‘broken’, anyway. I don’t use whips or spurs to cause them pain. Training horses is about mutual understanding and earning their respect. These horses trust me and in return they follow my commands. I hope to do the same with Jasper. His owners have only given me a few months, though….” you trailed off, heart aching for the frightened animal.

James pulled away from the gate, stuffing hands in his pockets as he ducked his head.

“Anyway, I’ll show you the horses’ feeding and training schedules. It’s about time for their breakfast.”

He nodded, following your lead as you walked to the far side of the stables while talking non-stop with the silent man beside you.

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That night, Caleb was abuzz with new information he had learned from the American Military Museum. On the bus ride home he had sketched some of his favorite battle scenes as depicted in dioramas and the various uniforms of the military. He showed you his drawings at the dinner table, meanwhile you urged him to clear the table as one of his chores. Flipping through his book, you were stunned at how talented he was at such a young age. Although his art wasn’t photographically accurate, he still had his own style that you hoped he would get a chance to develop as he grew older. Unless his father had any say about it. Caleb’s curiosity and enthusiasm for World War II in particular sparked a memory.

“Hey kiddo, I think we might have some of your great grandfather’s photos from the war up in the attic, would you like to see them?” you teased, know that he would.

He gasped, “Really?!? Can we look at them right now?” The boy was bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement.

“Not tonight, sweetie, it’s getting late. But I promise I will find them, okay?” you assured him.

Disappointed but understanding, he sighed, “Okay, mom.”

You ruffled his hair as he dried the last of the dinner dishes before heading off to brush his teeth.

“You got lucky with that boy,” your mom declared. “You were a little hellion growing up.”

A laugh burst through your lips, “Mom! I wasn’t that bad…”

“Say what you will, but my memory is still perfect.”

Shaking your head with a smile, you helped her rise from the dinner table before she shuffled off to bed. You wiped off the kitchen counter, then settled down at your desk to look over bills and other paperwork you had yet to get to for the week.

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Having James around made your life a lot easier than you expected, not having to deal with some of the menial tasks that had taken up much of your time. The only hiccup in the routine of that week was Wednesday night when Kevin came to pick up Caleb for his first Karate class. Your son had really been looking forward to it, watching out the window for the police car to roll up. When it did, he bolted out the door and was gone with barely a wave to you, your stomach in knots as you watched him go. Even if you knew that karate was not about violence but self-discipline and self-defense instead, you knew Kevin would somehow make it competitive. It was just his nature. Your gaze flitted out toward the road all night as you ate a quiet dinner and then returned to the stables to give each horse a blanket to brave the chilly night. James helped you draped the fabric over each animals’ muscular back.

Approaching Jasper, you were unsure what to do. Putting the blanket on him would mean you would be behind his line of sight, which always spooked him. You didn’t want him to freeze all night, though.

“Can I help?” James offered, entering the stall cautiously behind you.

He approached the animal, keeping both hands in Jasper’s view.

“Be careful! I’m not sure…” you watched in awe as James moved forward slowly, eventually able to place a hand on Jasper’s nose without him flinching. Once contact was made, the man stroked the horse’s neck while remaining directly in front of him.

“Go ahead,” James urged you.

Uncertain, you came to Jasper’s side and slid the blanket over his back. His skin shuddered, but otherwise he seemed okay. Backing out of the stall slowly, James followed you.

You turned his way, still in shock, “How did you do that?”

Offering a casual shrug, he spoke, “Mutual understanding.”

You were then interrupted by the sound of an approaching car, heart leaping in your throat. Exiting the stables, you saw Caleb climb out of the patrol car with a handkerchief held to his mouth. Dread filled you.

“Baby, what happened?” you questioned the boy, pulling the cloth aside to see a split in his lip.

“I’m okay, mom. It was an accident. Dad says I have to be quick on my feet! He’s gonna help me practice this weekend!” he declared with enthusiasm.

Inspecting his face again, you kissed the top of his sweaty head. “Okay. Go ahead and wash up. I’ll be right in.”

Watching his retreating figure you whirled on your ex. “What the hell, Kevin? I knew something like this would happen!”

“Relax, it’s a split lip. Some kid’s fist got a little wild. Soon our boy will be able to deflect something like that. It’s part of the learning process,” Kevin drawled with a condescending tone.

“Oh, right. Like you know anything about karate,” you scoffed. “All your fighting skills come from scrapping with your brothers and you know there were no rules involved there.”

He shrugged, “Maybe so, but at least I didn’t stand there while some kid hit me in slow motion. He didn’t even have the sense to hit him back!”

“Caleb doesn’t have the violent tendencies you do, thank heavens.”

“Yeah, we’ll see. I’ll see him next week for karate.”

“What?” you asked in outrage. “You just said you could practice with him this weekend!”

“I forgot I had a previous engagement,” Kevin said unapologetically. “He’ll understand.”

Hands shaking in anger, you crossed your arms to hide it. “Fine. Next week.”

Watching his tail lights retreat, you took a few deep breaths. As the anger faded, you were just tired. Tired of being the one to cover for him as he disappointed his son. You heard the stable doors sliding shut, breaking you from your reverie. James closed the padlock around the chain and handed the keys to you.

“Thank you,” you responded, throat still a little thick with emotion.

“He’ll be okay,” James assured you. “Caleb. You’re doing right by him, I don’t doubt that.”

“I appreciate that. Have a good night, James,” you said with a sniffle.

A generous smile touched his lips, this time even reaching his stunning blue eyes.

“Good night, Y/N,” he echoed before walking away.

Part 3>>>

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Thoughts?? I’m having fun with this. Slow burn!!! But some connections are about to be made, so I hope you’re ready for it!! Thank you all so much for reading. Please let me know your thoughts, I love to hear them!! :) I can’t say when part 3 will be out but soon, I hope!!

My tag list situation is still a mess but I hope to have a handle on it soon. I might accept a few more.

Tags:

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#stark tower's movie challenge #bucky barnes x reader #reader x james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fic #the lucky one series #reader x bucky barnes #avengers fic #Y/N x bucky barnes

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