Bruh Erasermic Are So Creepy (n Hot Whatevs) But They Would Have 👏 Me 👏 If They Set Up A Deal Like...

This might seem a little out of left-field, but I was thinking about the Obey Me Brothers and some of their… specific vices, and things got out of hand quickly. What can I say? I’m a sucker for lists, Yanderes, and the culmination of the two.

The Yandere!Demon Brothers’ Darkest Fantasies.

TW: Graphic Violence, (Imagined) Non-Con, Power-Play, Master/Servant Dynamics, Dub-Con, Mentions of Masturbation, Mentions of Blood/Bruising, and General Unhealthy Mindsets All Around. 

~

Lucifer wants you to bow to him.

Out of everyone on the list, he does the least to hide his fantasies, regardless of how depraved or dubious or down-right disgusting they get. Why would he? There are only a handful of people stronger than him, more capable than him, and when it’s so clear that you’re so weak and feeble and in such desperate need of guidance, he hardly feels the need to wait for you to ask. It borders on pet-play, honestly, if only because he’s so quick to pull out a collar the first time you puff out your cheeks and refuse to get on your knees when he was nice enough to order around you politely.

It’s all about control for him, or rather, the reassurance that he’s the one who has it. The knowledge that he’s the strongest, the most responsible, and that he deserves to be in charge, even if things tend to get bloody under his command. He’ll make you say such awful things, telling you exactly what he wants to hear as the heel of his boot digs into your bare spine, keeping your chest pressed against the floor while you sing his praises and drag your own name through the mud, confessing every rash, irresponsible thing you’ve ever done in an effort to distract him from the whip that never seems to leave his hand. He knows what it’s like to be treated as something holy, what it’s like to be revered rather than feared, and he doesn’t want to stop pushing until you look at him with the same admiration, the same unadulterated love he used to be showered in.

And if you don’t, if you won’t, he’ll be happy to break you down until you don’t have another choice. Obedience is a close second to reverence, and Lucifer has enough toys to make either a viable option.

Mammon wants to keep you to himself.

It’s a natural progression, honestly. He’s your first, he’s your man, and you’re his human, his responsibility, the most useless treasure in his collection and the only one that truly, genuinely matters to him. For now, he can wrap an arm around your waist, narrow his eyes and keep any potential rivals at a distance, but he can’t do anything to keep away his own brothers. Baring his teeth and sharpening his claws feels childish when all you do is smile and tell him not to be so jealous. Everything he does feels pointless when you can just laugh and run off with the first person to pull you away from him. You make it pointless. You are pointless, you should just be lucky he wants you anyway.

It’d be so simple, too, so easy to just close the door to his room and not open it again, not until you’re chained to something too tight to slip out of. No one would be able to get their hands on you, no one would be able to take you away, it’d just be you and him and no one else, not if he can help it. You’d be his to ruin, his to care for, his to dote on or discipline or do whatever he pleases to, whenever he wants to. It’d be heaven for him, and… it wouldn’t be, for you.

That’s part of the fantasy, and he hates it. He doesn’t want to be cruel to you, he doesn’t want to see you cry because of him, and yet, all he wants to do is polish his newest addition until it’s as shiny and as his as the rest of his hoard. He wants not to care when you cry, he wants to look down at your shaking body and he wants to laugh, to sneer, to tell you that this is your fault and you have no one to blame but yourself. Maybe he wants to be more apathetic, maybe he just wants to stop being so hesitant, but what he wants seems to be less important than what he’s starting to need. If the number of ‘packages’ he’s been getting is any indication, I wouldn’t count on his reluctance lasting for much longer.

Leviathan wants you to make him cry.

He’s not a masochist. Or, he is a masochist, but not in the way you’d assume. Leviathan doesn’t bother pretending to be confident. He doesn’t act like he has all the self-esteem in the world, and he doesn’t try to hide his (admittedly poor) view of his lifestyle. That might be why he loses his composure whenever you compliment him, why he stutters and blushes and gets so awkward when you try to tell him that you like the way he is, that you love him for it. That you don’t mind.

It’s an awful, unhealthy part of himself that wants you to say otherwise. To contradict yourself, to smirk and shove him onto your bed and say you couldn’t find him more disgusting, that you’ve never known someone so pathetic. Maybe it’s just a depraved daydream, a desire to have his worst fears proven right by the person he loves most, or maybe, he just likes the image of you riding him into overstimulation as you make him thank you for taking pity on someone so hopeless, maybe he just likes to imagine the feeling of your hands around his neck, your grip tightening every time his gaze falls lower than your eyes. He has a whole list of names for you to call him, insults ranging from ‘pervert’ to ‘drain on society’, but he’d never tell that to you. No, he can barely bring himself to think about this kind of stuff, let alone say any of it outloud.

All he can do is let his touch wander whenever he hugs you, let his fingers brush against things they shouldn’t and leave them to linger for far too long for his actions to be taken as an innocent mistake. He isn’t sure whether he’s trying to push you to hate him, trying to really make his fantasy into a reality, or if he just wants you to get the message that he wants something more intimate, something more violent. Either way, he’s started leaving his door unlocked when his mind begins to wander. Open, sometimes, if it’s just the two of you home. Just hope your room isn’t too close to his. He tends to get… explicit, when he’s feeling passionate.

Satan wants to show everyone who you belong to.

His fantasy is one of the most depraved, if only because it barely has anything to do with you. No, it’d only be fitting for the Avatar of Wrath’s favorite daydream to be centered around something more possessive, something more domineering, something totally and utterly separate from the person he loves. You’re not replaceable, it has to be you for him to care to put in the effort, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to check whether or not you’re enjoying yourself when he bends you over the dining room table in the middle of breakfast, for no other reason than Asmodeus commented on your outfit and Beelzebub offered to carry your bag and neither of them should be doing so much as looking at you when he’s right there, when it’s so clear that you belong to someone and that he doesn’t want to share.

On the outside, his self-control is as impeccable as always, but he’d be lying if said his hand didn’t twitch every time Mammon stood a little too close, every time Leviathan scraped up the courage to talk to you. He’s so strong, too, and you’re so, so weak, it wouldn’t even be a fair fight. He could cage you against a bookshelf or throw you onto a countertop and what would you do? Try to push him away? Scream for help? An audience is what he wants, what he craves, a crowd of anyone and everyone who’s ever touched you to watch as you beg for him to stop and moan his name and cry as you cum, even if he has to get a little messier than he’d like, for that. Risky sex might come close to scratching his itch, but the risk of being caught and making a show of something so private are two different vices entirely. You’ll be lucky if it does anything but make him bolder, more blatant with his plans. He takes after Lucifer, in that regard. He doesn’t know why he’d try to hide it.

As far as he’s concerned, he owns you, and you’ve only got yourself to blame if you haven’t realized that yet. It’s only fair that he gets to mark what’s his, as plainly and as publicly as possible.

Asmodeus wants you to say ‘no’ to him.

Do I really have to say anything else? He’s so tired of seduction, so sick of glazed eyes and glossy lips and people so intoxicated by his presence, they’re practically tripping over themselves just to feel the heels of his boots press into their backs as he walks over them. It’s not that he wants a chase, he’s always been a pacifist at heart, and he’d rather not have to resort to any unsavory means, he’s just bored and feed-up and he wants something new, even if it’s only fun for him.

It doesn’t help that he’s terrible at holding himself back. He’s good at hiding his true feelings (he’s already so touchy, it gets hard to tell what’s innocent and what’s not), but it’s impossible not to notice how fond he’s become of admiring your wrists, buying you bracelets so thick and so heavy, you can hardly hold them up. You can’t ignore it when he takes a moment too long to pull away when you tell him you want space, or just how hesitant he seems to let you go after ‘playfully’ pinning you to his bed. He wants to keep going. He wants to see the light drain from your eyes as you realize he’s not going to stop, to feel you writhe and struggle and try to get away, to hear you scream your safeword and to ignore it, to not care than you don’t want him. He doesn’t want to make you suffer, not any more than he has to, but his heart never fails to beat a little faster when he pictures it, and he gets more excited than he’s been in centuries by the thought alone.

If anything, you should feel honored. It’s been so long since he wanted something so specific, someone so specific, he almost forgot what it was like to lust for rather than be lusted after. I’d say he’s unprepared for it, but Asmodeus is hard to catch off-guard, and this just so happens to be his area of expertise. He has a way of getting what he wants, even if he has to make things a little difficult for everyone else.

Beelzebub wants to see how far you bend.

You really can’t blame him for being curious. It’s more of an intrusive thought than a fantasy, something he can’t help but think about, not once he realizes how strong he is and how resilient you aren’t. And, unlike the others, his fantasy has a specific catalyst, a real, substantial reason for its existence. He’d just been holding your hand, his grip still bordering on loose, but your fingers had cracked under his like glass under a bulldozer. It was just a sprain, something Simeon had healed with a contemplative glance and a flick of his wrist, but it stuck with Beelzebub. It stuck with him and god, he wishes it hadn’t.

He can’t help the places his mind wanders to. He can’t stop himself, not once he starts wondering what it’d be like if he was just a little bit bigger and you were just a little bit smaller and he cared a lot less about hurting you than he does, in reality. You’d be so tight, warm and welcoming and so easily broken if he does so much as breaths on you the wrong way, and you’d look so pretty afterward, too sore to move without his help and absolutely covered in bruises and bitemarks he didn’t even have to try to leave.

The aftercare is the only part he doesn’t mind wanting. At least it’s softer than the rest of it, full of kisses and snacks and touches so light, he can almost pretend he hadn’t just imagined fucking you until your ribs caved in under his palms. He’s mapped out every ugly, tender mark he’d leave, every place you’d ache and throb, every minute of your recovery - every second it’d take you to get well enough for him to do it all over again. Maybe he’ll even call in a favor, bow his head and swallow his shame for just long enough to have someone who’s got a hand for healing on stand-by so he wouldn’t have to wait, but he never lets his mind drift that far. He’s too busy trying to convince himself he still doesn’t want to hurt you.

Belphegor wants to take advantage of your trust.

Unlike his twin, Belphegor wishes he just wants to hurt you. Pain is simple, or, physical pain is simple, anyway. He could tell himself it’s because you’re human, that hating you is just an old habit he hasn’t kicked. He’d pinch your cheeks and pull at your hair and he’d try to be satisfied with that, he’d tell himself he doesn’t want anything more. He’d be lying to himself, of course, but it’d still be an honest effort. Unfortunately, what he wants isn’t that clear-cut. It isn’t that shallow, and that’s why he has to hate himself for it.

Maybe it arose the first time you fell asleep before him, when you were so vulnerable and exposed and so helpless he had to wonder whether or not you had a deathwish. Or how at-peace you seem during his rare shows of affection, as if the talons tracing patterns into your skin couldn’t easily dig in and pull at the slightest hint of a threat. You’re so comfortable around him, so careless, you need to be taught a lesson and he needs to teach it to you. On good days, it’s almost innocent. Groping you while you’re only half-awake, letting his hand trail up your thigh during a council meeting because he knows you’re too nice to say anything. On bad days, on most days, he’s fucking his fist to the thought of holding you down while someone you like much less than him does something vile to your anatomy, only offering the barest hints of comfort when your crying gets loud enough to be annoying.

You trust him, and the worst part is, you’ll probably still trust him when he’s done. He’s been forgiven for worse, and that’s what gets him off, the idea that you’ll still look at him like the closest friend you’ve ever had the moment he averts his eyes and offers a half-hearted apology, saying he’s grown, that he just had to get it out of his system, that he won’t do it again even though he absolutely, definitely will. And you’ll believe him, because somehow, you still trust him. Because you’re always going to trust him.

Because he’s prepared to bleed you dry until you don’t know how to do anything but trust him, anymore.

trees are very 🥺 because sometimes i’ll stand under the shade of a tree and look up at it and it’ll sway its branches about in the wind and i’m like oh my God i’m alive and YOU’RE alive. we are alive together and made up of the same starry stuff and standing right next to each other in this moment on this earth. do u feel it when i reach out and press my hand to your trunk? can you hear me? i think you’re so neat. and then the sunlight filters through its leaves just so and that lovely green color leaves me dazzled. it’s just very nice to be an alive thing next to a different sort of alive thing

Yandere Mr Compress (Part 1?)

My first ever fanfiction, enjoy and please let me know if you want more! I may be continuing this.

TW Kidnapping

—————————————————————————————————-

It starts off very innocent. You’re walking back to your apartment after a long day at work and you find a bouquet of flowers sitting at your doorstep. Puzzled, but somewhat excited, you pick them up and take them inside, setting them on your kitchen counter. You check the card “Your beauty is like the waves of the ocean, relentless, wondrous, and potentially disastrous to a poor, lost soul like mine.” It isn’t signed. You could, of course, take this note the wrong way, how could beauty be disastrous? But you figure it just came from an especially stricken admirer. You haven’t had an admirer since high school, how could you not find it sweet? Smiling, you set the card to the side and arrange the flowers on your dinner table. It’s a nice gesture, you assure yourself.

A few days pass and you’re unconcerned about this “admirer”. In fact, it puts a little pep in your step, so to speak. So far, you’ve received the flowers, a teddy bear, a box of chocolates, and of course the usual unsigned notes. Nothing too strange or alarming. But today was a little different. You come home to find a small red box waiting for you. You take it inside, eagerly rip it open, and find a gold necklace with a heart pendant. Your stomach drops a little. This is expensive. Not only that, but you were just eyeing it the other day, thinking about buying it for yourself for your birthday next week. But it’s not like anyone would have noticed that, right? Whoever the admirer is, he must have just seen it and figured it would be nice, right? You set it aside, pour yourself a glass of wine, and put it out of your mind.

The week passes without any more gifts. You’re a little disappointed, but also somewhat relieved. Maybe the admirer just lost interest. Anyway, it’s your birthday and you’re going out tonight, so you’re excited. You go on your usual lunch break to your usual coffee shop, order your usual cappuccino extra foam, and walk outside. You always take an alley back to work, it’s quick and it’s not even a dangerous area, there are heroes everywhere. You’re so absorbed in thinking about your work, the proposal is due today, you don’t even notice the man standing in the shadows with a Rorschach mask and yellow trench coat. But his voice pulls you out of your thoughts. 

“You’re not wearing it.”

You stop in your tracks. “E-excuse me?” you ask, without turning around.

“The necklace.”

Your heart stops.

“You haven’t worn it at all. I thought you’d like it. I saw you looking at it and smiling.”

Run. You have to run. Or call for a hero, just DO something. You open your mouth, but by the time you even think to scream for help, you’re breathing in a chemical-soaked rag. And you’re out.

—————————————————————————————————-

When you wake up, you have a headache. You don’t really remember what happened, did you have a bad dream? Did you end up going out with your friends? You look around for some water, aspirin… your phone? Anything? Your mind finally clears and you realize, this is not your room. The bed is huge, probably a king. The sheets are regal, red satin with a maroon fleur de lis pattern. Where the fuck are you? You begin to panic and try to get up, before realizing you’ve been tied to the dark, oak bed frame. Shit.

The events of earlier today begin to return to you. The coffee, the alleyway, the man. He was the one. The admirer. He WAS watching you. You look around frantically, looking for anything to cut the restraints. The room offers no solution. No way out. You can feel the tears starting to prick at the corners of your eyes as the bedroom door opens.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

You turn your head to meet the voice, a tall man wearing an orange button up shirt with a bolo tie, black vest, and black dress pants. Even after having the audacity to kidnap you, he still hides his face underneath a black balaclava mask.

“I do apologize for the restraints, but I’m afraid I just can not let you run off. Not when I’ve gone to all this trouble to acquire you.”

“Acquire me?” you spit. “What am I, a Picasso?”

He laughs, a real, genuine laugh, like you’re on stage at open mic night. “A Picasso? Oh dear, no, you are so much more beautiful than that.”

You blush, despite yourself, but continue to glare at the man. Who does he think he is? You don’t expect a real answer, but you do ask him, “Who are you?”

“Forgive me, where are my manners?” He says with a smile. He flourishes his hand down into a deep bow, “Some call me Mr. Compress, but you, my dear, may call me Atsuhiro.”

I actually think it's cool and sexy of humans to be so intrinsically social that we bond with fake people we will never meet like I think that's really cute and a side effect of a highly adaptive trait and not at all pathological

got a doctors note it says i have to fuck that old man. severely.

𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐬.

 pairing. anakin skywalker x f!reader 

synopsis. anakin finds loopholes in the jedi code.

warnings. 18+. this is sexually explicit, do not read this or interact with my blog if you’re a minor. do not copy my shit, i’ll find out. cock warming, p in v penetration but no movement. whimper-y anakin, if you move i'll leave the jedi order type beat.  

an. just a little something i wrote for the kinktober i never did. I thought i'd post instead of letting it collect dust in my drafts. the prompt was cockwarming! hope i did anakin justice<3 pls comment & reblog.

You find him at the window.

Sitting, with his thighs open and chest bare, staring out into the abyss. The night glints at the beads of sweat sliding down his chest, and his fingers drum endlessly against his thighs.

He heard you wake up, so he’s expecting your company, and has leaned back against the chair – thin black gown falling open – ready for you to climb all over him.

It happens often.

It’s not uncommon to wake up without him.

Most nights, you startle out of your slumber – as if even asleep, you’d sensed a shift – and blink at the space on the mattress beside you.

Finding him was easy.

You pad through the living room and wordlessly reach him in his post-nightmare state. His hair is tousled, sculpted chest is slick with sweat -- there’s an energy vibrating off of him, and you can taste it in the air.

Stepping behind him, you gently run the tips of your fingers over his shoulders, and the whirlpool in Anakin’s belly settles for a second. When you move into frame, it’s gone completely, replaced by a warm heat that has roots. He breathes a smile.

“Like clockwork.”

You give him a sheepish grin in return and fiddle with the fabric of your small nightgown. There’s a moment where Anakin gets to look at you – all sleepy and cuddly – and he’s ready to escape with you off of this forsaken planet.

His will holds strong.

“Are you waiting for an invitation?” he asks, raising a scarred brow, and despite your groggy state, you still manage to roll your eyes. Stepping closer, you use his broad shoulders as anchors to slip onto his lap.

“Don’t make that face,” Anakin hushes, and while you settle back onto his thighs, his metal hand comes up. He traces the line of your jaw, “You know I let you do what you want.”

His spare hand steadies your hips, and it’s still warm from his lightsaber. Calloused fingers run over your skin, reminding you of the fight that’s leaving scars – the war that’s brewing, both inside and outside of his mind.

In moments like this, though, there’s a subtle calm.

An impenetrable force that hums over the pair of you.

You lean into his palm and whisper, “Not everything.”

There’s a haunted edge to your gaze, and your words are loaded. Anakin knows what you mean, knows all the intricacies of your subtle dig, and yet, he still manages to smile.

Well, smirk.

“What do you want? Just say the word.”

You wouldn’t, and Anakin knows that. He’s caught your bluff, and you manage a bashful smile before gently leaning forward, dragging your hips against his lap.  

Anakin’s cloth-covered thigh nestles against the thin fabric of your underwear. Your smile falters, lips parting. You push your forehead against his, and whisper, “If I say the words, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“I know,” he breathes, “I know.”

I want more.

A life together, not stolen moments when the sun is down.

An attachment. A bond.

But it’s forbidden.

It’s why it can’t go any further than this.

“What’d you dream about?” you wonder. Anakin pulls his eyes away from you, instead looking to where his thigh sits. The silence is your answer.

“I’ll still ask, even if you never tell.”

He takes hold of your bare thighs, rubbing his hands up and down, and you hum his name, reaching out to push his hair behind his ears.

“Pretty boy.”

“Stop it,” he huffs, cheeks reddening.

But how can you? When he’s all sharp lines and long hair. You run your hands up the bare panes of his muscular chest, feeling the deft of his muscles, and the dampness on his skin.

The air changes – hums electric – and it buzzes as you push his gown off his shoulders.

Carefully, you lean forward and place a chaste kiss against his collarbone.

“That’s better.”

Anakin hums a laugh. His hands snake around to your lower back, dig into the fat of your ass, and using the grip there, he gently rocks you forward once, forcing your clothed cunt to drag against his muscular thigh.

You whimper. It’s quiet, but Anakin can hear it, even if it’s muffled by his shoulder.

“’ S’what you came out here for, huh?” he whispers. The electric flooding through the walls hums, but the room is still eerily silent. Anakin’s voice is a roar.

You lick your lips and drag your face up to see him. “No,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss against his top lip, “I like being with you, even if we don’t do this.”

Anakin has to close his eyes. Words like those are fuel to the fire brimming in his chest, and it doesn’t help that you wrap your arms around his neck and fiddle with the tail end of his hair.

Arching your back, you slowly roll backwards, then forward, teasing the bulge between his legs.

Releasing a shaky breath, you repeat the motion, again, and again, near humping his leg.  

A familiar ache begins to swell, coiling between your thighs and up into your belly. It makes you clench around nothing, and you mewl quietly, wishing for more – always wishing for more.

Still, you continue, slick pooling into your underwear and against his thigh.

Anakin can’t look at you. If he sees your face, his resolve will falter.

His nerves are shot. If he couldn’t feel how wet you are, he could smell it, and it makes a groan bristle behind his teeth.

He buries his head into the crook of your neck and busies himself with kissing at the soft shell of your throat, careful not to leave marks.

Once, you left a mouth-shaped mark against his stomach, and he looked at it every day for a week.

Caught himself with his top up in the mirror looking at the reflection, eyeing the way the mark sat on the firm lines of muscle, fading away with time.

A dark part of him wanted the mark on the slope of his neck.

“Wanna be inside of you.”

His admission rests heavily against your throat, and you’re thankful that he can’t see the way you clench your eyes closed.

Though, he does feel you tighten your grip on the back of his head. Feels you shift up against his thigh, and the warmth pooling in your underwear burns against him.  

He can sense you’re hesitant.

“’ can be like last time. Just – Just --” he stutters, licking his lips and struggling to release the words from the back of his throat. Finally, he manages. “--Sit on it.”

“Anakin.”

He pulls away from your neck and looks up at you.

“We can use it as an exercise.”

A laugh bursts from your throat, “To test your will?”

He smiles, and because you have to, you push your cunt against his crotch, uttering, “Want me to make It difficult for you?” and white flashes through Anakin’s eyes.

He grabs your hips to steady you, tensely pushing his fingers into your skin.

“Hardest challenge I’ll ever encounter.”

“You eager to impress?”

He kisses your jaw, “Don’t I always?”

“Mm,” you hum, cradling his chin. You shift back so he can pull his trousers down, and when you take his cock in your hand, he melts. His commanding aura switches for a moment, and you watch Anakin still his breathing.

You push your underwear to the side, and as you lift yourself to sink onto him, Anakin breathes, “Just the tip – just a little bit, j-just—” and he chokes on his words, gasping as you brush the leaking head of his cock through your folds.

You halt. Whimper. Have to grip his shoulder to steady yourself, or you’ll push him inside of you all at once and hurt yourself.

You inhale steadily.

“Have to – have to go slow,” you spurt, trying to calm your tremors.  

“It’s been a while since…”

You don’t have to finish your sentence. Anakin knows, and he feels a mix of pride and guilt. Only me, he thinks, and then, like a flash, only me, he swallows. And I can’t give her everything.

This. This is as far as it’ll go. He knows he’s pushing it. Knows that he’s come up with some convoluted rule to both have his cake and eat it too.

If he fucks you the way he wants to, he’ll fall in love with you. As if it hasn’t happened already.

Anakin has made lying to himself a speciality.

You push against him once more, and the tip of his cock nudges between your folds, forcing an ache to shoot through your clit and make you dizzy. You stop. Pause and curse yourself.

A slow burn builds in your thighs, and you clench down to try and mediate the burn. Anakin grunts.

“Maker,” he utters. “Sorry—” you splutter, sucking in a tight breath.

Anakin wraps his metal arm around the back of your hips, hoping to steady you. “Lemme,” he mumbles, and gently, he flexes his hips up, slowly feeding his cock into your soaked pussy.  

Your lower abdomen immediately burns.  

He’s being calm about it – using all his training – but there’s nothing calm about the words trickling out of his mouth.

“Oh stars,” he groans, voice wrecked, “You gonna take all of me, sweet girl? Gonna let me fill you up?”

When you finally sink to the hilt, your resolve snaps. The pair of you moan out in unison, loud and high-pitched.

Anakin buries his face in your chest, and the heat of his mouth against your breasts adds to the tension coiling in your belly.

“Don’t – don’t move,” he grunts, and you shake your head, “I won’t – I’ll come on your cock if I do,” and you don’t mean to say it like that, don’t mean for the words to come out like that, but you feel Anakin pulse from inside of you, warm and hard and wet.

He manages to laugh.

“Tryna kill me,” he shakily breathes, shaking his head. His wet lips brush against your breasts, and you want more – want all that he can give you – so you clutch the back of his head, pulling him closer, hoping he gets the message.

His wet kisses make your skin prickle.

You’re full up. Can feel him stretching you out, this feeling something that’s only happened a few times before.

“If you move,” Anakin begins, out of breath, “I’ll leave the Jedi order and spend my days inside of you.”

“Don’t t-tempt me.”

He laughs, and you accidentally clench around him, causing him to groan deep and long against your tits.

“If you do that again, I’ll come inside of you.”

You imagine it. Imagine him spilling out, the wet white of it dripping out of your cunt and back onto his cock, and the mere image of it has your clit throbbing.

Keep still. Don’t move.

But he wraps his tongue around your nipple and begins to suck.

You cry out, and all of your muscles tighten, forcing you to clench tight around his cock. Anakin jolts and whines your name against your tits.

“S’your fault,” you mewl, moaning. You hang your head back, “Stars, Anakin.”

“Try and stay still,” he mumbles, and you stutter a laugh, “Impossible.”

“It can’t be,” he responds, and while he speaks in jest, his words are sincere. The line between love and lust runs thin, and if Anakin is being honest with himself, it’s close to snapping.

i dont want the mean guy who’s soft only for me i want the psychopath with no moral compass who’s moral compass becomes even more skewed for my sake bc i’m just the shit like that

Smoke Rings on Gold Frames (18+)

Heisenberg x reader smut

Here's Part One, and Part Two.

This is a part 3 to the small smut series this has turned into. Again, this makes me so happy that’s it’s getting so much love and attention! As always, finish your dinner before you get to your dessert! <3

Warning: It’s a smut! Dominating metal man, eating out, biting, mentions of wounds, praise, slight choking, mirror play, degration. Faint mention of lycan/Heisenberg. Look how much fun you two are having!

Summary: He saved you, yes, but Alcina still didn’t like the idea of that man getting anywhere near his precious daughter. You on the other hand, couldn’t get enough of him. He couldn’t get enough of you either. In fact, how desperate was he to have you under his grip again?

- - -

You flicked your wrist against the match box, watching the slim piece of wood spark before erupting into a small bright flame.

The match quickly went towards the metal basin of your antique brass incense burner, nestling inside to scorch the loose incense blend you piled inside. The thick, rich smoke of green sage mixed with your favorite dried flowers began to perfume the air, drowning you in a comfortable smoke. You closed the lid on the metal burner, sliding the container over towards the far end of your vanity table and proceeded to look at yourself through your vanity mirror.

You lit your incense burner on evenings you felt like you needed to be alone. Usually before bed, one or all of your sisters would come by for a visit, or the maids would attend to pick up dirty garments for washing or to bring you tea. Naturally, your sisters weren't fond of the smoke, even going as far as avoiding the hallway so they weren't troubled by it. You loved your sisters dearly, but sometimes you lit your incense on purpose, especially after learning that bugs don't like smoke.

As for the maids, if they smelled it, they'd know you weren't to be disturbed.

When you arrived home on that day, Mother was quick to send you towards a bath and have your brand new dress burned. You felt like you were in that bath for an hour or more, succumbed to the warm waters filled with bubbles, flowers and heavily scented bath oils. After a while of scrubbing, relaxing and daydreaming, you left when your fingers were pruny and the flowers in your bath were shriveled and dull of their color.

You remained in your room until dinner, passing the time by reading. Alcina had dinner sent to your room, along with a bottle of a brand new wine you've never heard of before.

She's been spoiling you more than usual these passed few days since, bringing you your favorite meals and desserts, and you knew it was because of the 'incident.'

Don't get her wrong, Alcina was in fact proud that you fought off the lycan to the best of your abilities, it's what she had you trained for. As reluctant as she was to admit, she was thankful that Heisenberg saved you, even though she had no idea of the full truth.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, adjusting your gray silk nightwear to reveal your healing wounds. They were minor little punctures the size of faint bullet marks along your shoulders, and weren't deep at all. But Mother, as caring as she was, gave you healing salves and a tincture to treat them so they wouldn't get infected. You opened one of the tins, slowly applying the salve along your marks with gentle fingers. They looked to be healing well, and hopefully wouldn't leave any scarring.

Losing your concentration on yourself, you began to pick up the faint voice of your Mother from the main hall. The walls were fairly thick, and your bedroom was the farthest from the entrance of the castle. If you could hear your Mother from this distance, than her voice was raised and didn't sound too happy.

Quickly fixing your clothes, you grabbed the closest article of clothing to wrap around your body before leaving your room, heading towards the hall. Your fingers finished tying the straps of your robe when you heard another voice talking back to Alcina, and it was impossible to not recognize who it was.

"Boo!" Daniela's voice spooked you from your pace, the girl giggling as you turned around quickly to acknowledge her.

"Did I scare you? Did it work?" She continued asking, joining your side as she too was curious on what was going on.

"Shh!" Another voice, Cassandra, silenced the girl as she joined along, the trio stopping at the top balcony looking over the main corridor. Bela caught up last, keeping a black shawl over her head like a hood to see what was happening. Four heads looked down to their Mother, who was dressed in her formal attire, arguing with no one other than Heisenberg, his trench coat sparkling with meting snow.

"For the last time," Heisenberg puffed out a cloud of smoke, pulling his cigar from his mouth as he pointed up towards Alcina, "When the damn things learn that they're promised a sacrificial blood bath in a couple of days, they get riled up! They're dogs, for fuck's sake! Your kid is like a walking treat to them!"

"Don't speak of my daughter that way, you pig!" Alcina sneered with venom in her voice and a killer look in her eyes. He only shrugged it off, shifting his weight from one foot to another, all while balancing is hammer over his shoulders.

"Look, I can control them to an extent. They know when to stop and when to go, when to shake hands, where to piss an' all that. But with this event coming soon, they're getting excited for anything that breathes and bleeds. That's all the excuse I can give you."

Alcina wasn't too pleased with his words, but to a certain extent she could believe what he meant. It only frightened her more to keep you inside the castle, at least until the village purge were to pass.

"Fine," She exhaled, bringing her hands to her hips. "Alright, You've made your point. Now, you know where The Duke is, go finish your business with him and go-"

"Yeaaah," Heisenberg cut the woman off, a grin beginning to form on his face. "About that, It's snowin' really bad out there."

"And?" Alcina raised a brow.

"And," He continued, "It's piling up fast. You have to go to the church, yet my place is much, much farther."

Is this man serious???

Alcina wanted to clutch his throat right then and there. He wanted to stay in HER castle??? A dirty, disgusting man like him? Who does he think he is?

"You want to stay in my castle?" She questioned with utter shock.

"Just for tonight, you clearly have the room to fit one more."

"The only place for a man like you in my castle is on the roof hanging from the flagpole at the top of the tower!"

"I said INSIDE, woman! Its fucking freezing! Don't believe me? Want me to crack open a window to prove it?!"

"Stick him in the cellars, Mother!" Daniela chirped, all heads turning towards the red headed girl. "He can sleep with the rats and play with the maids!"

Her laughter quickly grew contagious with the rest of the girls, including you as you looked towards your heavily frowning mother and a smirking Heisenberg.

"That sounds even better," Heisenberg chuckled as he brought his cigar to his lips, meeting your gaze as he blew out a puff of smoke. "A nice, warm place that's dark and filled with livestock. You won't mind if I play with one pretty little lamb, right?"

"That's enough," Alcina ordered, causing your giggles to quiet down. She exhaled as if defeated after fighting her choices. As much as she wanted to reject him and throw him out to the snow, she felt as if she at least owed him a fair amount of debt. She didn't want to, but she'd feel selfish for doing otherwise.

"Just for tonight," Alcina raised a finger towards the man, "You will be gone before the sun rises, or I'll drag you out myself. Do you understand?"

"Tall and clear."

"Hmph,” Turning away from the man, she looked up towards her daughters, who had been leaning against the balcony rails with curious eyes.

“I’ll be leaving for the night girls, I’ll be back before morning.” Alcina announced, meaning she was leaving to the church to be with Mother Miranda. It happened once in a while, and when you asked why, she would mention something along the lines of special planning and ‘special meetings with the favorite child.’ Maybe it was to discuss the village purge.

It was a few hours since Mother left and you retreated to your room. It was pretty late, and after a couple hours of tossing and turning you couldn’t bring yourself to sleep. You sat up in bed with an open book in your lap and half a glass of wine in your hand. The words on the page didn’t even interest you, nor did the wine do much to distract you from your thoughts.

Heisenberg was here. In the castle.

If he wasn’t here, you’d just allow your own thoughts to put you to sleep. But the fact he was here incredibly nearby, it made you pretty anxious. A part of you wanted to go down there in the cellars to find him, but you had a lot of maids down there who probably would never keep their mouths shut. Your sisters would question it too, but then again the fact that he was down there with all the maids...

Their was a knock at your door, stealing you away from your thoughts. You tossed your book aside, downing the rest of your wine before setting your glass down on your vanity next to your lightly smoking incense burner.

At first, you thought it was one of the maids coming to you for reasons unknown. But when you opened the door, the scent of scorched tobacco smoke immediately told you otherwise.

“Karl? What’re you doing up here?” You leaned against your door a little bit, seeing the way he immediately eyed you up and down, lingering on certain areas of your body.

“Mmm, looks like you’re finally taking my advice,” He began, a grin slowly forming on his face. “Wearin’ less clothes so you don’t hide that gorgeous body.”

You shook your head, looking away from the man as you stepped aside, gesturing him to walk in.

“How did you know which room was mine?” You closed the door, watching him slowly place his hammer down to the side without it making a loud thud.

“I followed the smell,” He responded, looking around at the decor in your bedroom. “Figured yours would smell the least of rotting blood and corpses the vampire bitch is known for.”

Your room was plain and simple, with the classic elegant spin that was in every other room in the castle. You kept it clean, minus the bed you were in before. The silk sheets were tussled, the fabrics in your favorite color.

“You know if someone found out you were in here, you’d be in a lot of trouble,” You spoke with a teasing tone, walking over to take off the shades from his face, along with his hat.

“I doubt that,” He chuckled, his eyes crinkled with amusement, “I might've threatened a couple of peepers, might've not. After all, I’m just a thirsty ol’ man looking for a tall glass of water.”

You held back a laugh as you placed said items down on your vanity, looking back to see his cigar nestled in his fingers. He watched you reach over and pluck it away, meeting his gaze as you slowly took a drag from said cigar, the embers glowing brighter than the candles that bathed your room in dim light.

“Well,” You blew out the smoke slowly, seeing the swirls evaporate as they got close to Karl’s face. “Did you find it?” You leaned over to put out the cigar inside your incense burner, feeling the floor slightly shift as he took a step closer to you.

“I’m lookin’ right at it,” Came his reply, his tone low and heavy with lust. “C’mere,” His gloved hand snuck around behind your neck, forcing a fierce kiss from you.

Your hands found a hold on his trench coat, yanking it off his shoulders while his hands plastered themselves on every inch of your skin. They found your breasts, squeezing them through the thin silk fabric. Abandoning your chest, they slid down your sides before squeezing the curves of your ass, holding you as close to him as possible. He tugged at your bottom lip with his teeth, chuckling a little before sucking the soft flesh.

“Mm,” As wonderful as this was, you had to break the kiss before his fingers could attempt to catch a firm hold on your sleepwear.

“Ah ah ah!” You shoved his hands off, forcing him to frown deeply.

“Sit down,” You motioned your head towards your bed, seeing Karl glance over it before frowning even more. “Really?”

“I said sit, Dog.” You ordered the man, even going as far as to shove him back. He caught himself this time, landing against your bed. He sat up properly, his frown replaced with a strong smile at your tone. It was cute watching you tell him what to do, but he didn’t voice it.

“I’m not having you rip up my clothes for a third time,” You proceeded to speak, staying where you were as you started to pull up the silk fabric of your gown in your hands, lifting it ever so slowly to pull off over your head.

“Yes Ma’am,” He responded slowly, watching you with intense eyes darkened with lust. It was your favorite look on him. You almost felt like you were standing top center at the church, with Karl as your only worshipper. He eyed every inch of your skin you exposed to him, relishing in the sight the second your garment fell to the ground. You stood in front of him with breasts bare, your nipples hard from the excitement.

You knew what Karl was waiting for, he didn’t try to hide it as he stared at your waist, seeing your fingers sliding along the edge of your panties. You hooked your thumbs around them and pulled them down slowly, hearing the man lightly groan when they fell to your feet, the material glistening from your wetness.

“Fuck, kitten,” He breathed, slowly pulling off his gloves and tossing them to the floor. He stood up from the bed, and while you were tempted to tell him to sit again, seeing the way he started to tug off his shirts made you silence yourself.

“That’s cute,” He started, his bare calloused hand running down your flank, making you slightly shiver, “Your little show. Very, very cute. But now it’s my turn.”

Oh? You tilted your head slightly in question.

He turned you around, making you face the large floor length mirror you kept against your wall near your closet. Bright gold metal lined the edges, giving it a rich elegant look you adored seeing, it was one of the many eye catchers in your room.

But now, you were staring at your own reflection as Karl stayed behind you, his hands traveling over your breasts again.

“I just adore these sessions of ours,” His voice rumbled in his chest against your back, watching as your attention was focused on his fingers teasing your slightly bruised nipples. “I never knew you had such a bite to your bark, (Y/n). To think their was such a freak hidden away in this pretty head of yours, it’s just another thing I’ve grown to like about you.”

He gave your nipples a rough pinch, making you jump and hiss with surprise while your back slightly arched. He shushed you almost instantly, taking away your hand before it even came close to his.

“Hurts, huh? Pain is such a fantastic way to waken up the senses, especially with the erotic type of pain.” His hands left your breasts and down to your hips, the tips of his fingers gliding ever so close to where you wanted them to be.

"You..." You spoke up again, making him halt his movements.

"What was that?"

"You talk too much." Was your response, making the man chuckle.

"Besides bein' a sexy freak, you're also such a fucking brat." One of his hands left your hips to cradle your jaw, securing your head forward to where you stared at yourself in the mirror.

His free fingers found your clit through your warm folds, making you emit a small whine as he teased you with slow, small circles.

"I wanna make you come (Y/n), but I also want you to watch yourself when I make you," Karl murmured in your ear before taking your earlobe in between his teeth, giving a small tug. He applied more pressure against your bud, increasing his pace slightly in a way that made your stomach press against his forearm that you held, your fingernails digging into his skin as not so subtle whines left your lips.

"F-fuck," You hissed, your head slightly moving in his grip as you couldn't help yourself to look down, seeing the warm light of your room reflect off the slick that gathered on Karl's rough fingers.

"So vulgar sweetheart," His grip quickly tightened on your jaw, fingers almost bruising your skin as he moved your head back to where it was before. "I didn't tell you to move. I'm not gonna repeat myself."

It wasn't long before he set a brutally fast pace, forcing more whines and whimpers to flood his ears. Your other hand gripped his other arm, finding leverage against him as your body shuddered, feeling like you were close to losing yourself. You couldn't help but curse this man in your head that he was so capable of making you feel this way, but oh did it feel so good.

"On second thought," Karl announced before his fingers completely abandoned your folds, forcing you to let out almost a fuming, irritated groan. You were seconds away from feeling your core burst, the lack of attention quickly filling with annoyance.

"What the hell??" You wanted to yell at the man as he stepped away, looking at you with nothing but a shit eating grin. He brought his two fingers to his lips, licking at the pads before sucking on them, humming as if he was tasting ambrosia.

"I had a change of thought," He hummed, holding you by your shoulders until your back fell against the bed, looming over your form. "You got to fill out your little fantasies, now its time to fill out mine."

Karl kissed you before you could say anything else. It continued for a moment before he cut it off, proceeding to pepper kisses down your neck and chest, paying quick attention to your breasts before trailing down your stomach. His beard lightly scratched along your skin the entire way, the man kneeling down in front of the bed to get towards his prize.

He spread you apart, leaving you to close your eyes out of quiet nervousness as he glared at your flower, perfectly glistening for him.

He closed the short distance, his tongue gliding along your entire pussy in one long swipe. The new contact was more than enough to make you whine at the sensation, making the man smile against your skin. He repeated the motion a second time, the tip of his tongue spending extra seconds on your clit, making your knees raise slightly as a small mew came from you.

Any hints at being gentle were banished as he started to eat you out like a starved man. His hands pinned your thighs in place, preventing you from closing them around his head, although the idea of it wasn't a bad one. His dexterous tongue left nothing untouched, licking against your clit repeatedly and sliding inside you, fucking you with his tongue alone. His facial hair even added a prickling sensation that only added onto the pleasure, intensifying even more when he brought his lips around your clit, suckling hard.

Your hips bucked against his mouth, your fingers tightly gripping your blankets as the sounds you made reached various broken octaves. This man didn't let up, even bringing two of his fingers inside you, curling upwards in a way that had your back arching almost instantly.

This was something Karl wanted for a long time: To be in complete control of your body and give you the ultimate sensation that any human would want, pure pleasure. He could take you to that state of euphoria, and do it over and over if he wanted to. Right now, he really wanted to take you there.

"C'mon," He muttered against you, making you raise your head to stare at him with half-lidded eyes. "Come for me babygirl."

His lips returned to sucking your clit again with a perfect thrust of his fingers, the built up pleasure snapping in your lower abdomen almost instantly. The hot white delicious relief spread throughout your body like a scorching wildfire, making you cry out while covering your mouth with your fingers to prevent being so loud, but it did little to nothing. Your other hand found itself tugging at Karl's hair, fingers tangling in his silvery locks as your hips rocked against his mouth, the man sucking every drop from your core for all it was worth.

"There you go sweetheart," He cooed when you settled down from the high, feeling the man kiss the inside of your thighs. He bit your skin a little at first, making you give an almost breathless giggle at what you believed was a tease.

His sharp teeth popped the skin of your inner thigh when he bit down again, your warm blood flooding his lips as he instantly sucked the wound, making you gasp and writhe from the pain. His hands secured your hips from thrashing away, your hand tugging at his hair as his tongue repeatedly brushed over your inflicted wound. You grew so focused over the panic, you got caught off guard when his fingers returned towards your folds again. You haven't fully recovered from your first orgasm, the sensation of his fingers making you whine much more louder than you wanted to.

"K-Karl," You gasped out, attempting to push his head away with your hand. "Karl stop! I can't-"

The man refused the push, emitting a low growl from deep in his throat that almost scared you, making you move your hand away from his head. His nails started digging into your skin, leaving angry red trails as his mouth abandoned your bite wound, quickly returning to your pussy without a second thought.

Your next orgasm felt forced, the pleasure more intensified with the stinging pain of overstimulation. It made you buck your hips against his mouth, your hands pulling against your sheets so hard you'd fear they would rip.

Karl removed his mouth as you came back down, giving your wound a final wipe of his tongue before chuckling.

"Now I know why these monsters insist on keepin' you, Everything about you is so sweet." He looked up at you almost glowing, feral eyes and a broad smile on his face, completely ignoring the fact that he bit you just to taste your blood and prove his point.

''And you call me a freak," You breathed out, watching as he stood up from the ground, pulling you closer to him by your legs. He scooped you up in his arms, proceeding to climb up in bed before laying you back down, your head nestled against your pillows.

"We're all freaks," He countered, looming over you as he undid his belt, "But you and I, We're both hand in hand in this twisted freak show."

He pushed inside you slowly, not stopping until he was buried to the hilt. To your overstimulated form, you couldn't help but feel a bit of pain while squeezing around his length. But like he had said before, or similar to his words, pain mixed with just the right amount of pleasure was an incredible sensation to feel.

Words were getting lost to your mind when he thrusted more into you, burying deeper and deeper into your core. His weight against you had you feeling caged underneath, his distinct scent filling your senses to the brim. You could've cared less if the world ended then and there, the pleasure growing quickly drowning out everything else that didn't matter, only you and him.

His pace quickened considerably, the sounds of skin slapping against skin mixed with your indescribable moans echoed through your entire room, sounding like music in Karl's ears. Your were a gorgeous sight to behold, your skin glistening with a thin layer of sweat, your breasts bouncing with every thrust, your eyes half open with pupils full blown out, clouded in pleasure. He felt your hands plastered along his back, leaving harsh scratches along his skin that provided him his own share of mixed pleasure and pain.

His hand found your jaw again, keeping a tight hold as you joined him in a rough, heated kiss. The taste of tobacco, your blood and your essence was a peculiar combination you never believed you'd ever get a chance to taste, but you weren't in the right mindset to complain, instead you moaned to indulge.

The tighter you clenched around him let him know you were close, forcing him to slow the pace he set, only to compensate for more hard, brutal thrusts. The bruising force of his hips sent you over the edge, your back arching off the bed to push against his chest as a muffled cry came from you, Karl keeping the kiss secured as his arm slipped under you, pulling you up from the bed while swallowing your cries.

He sat up in a kneeling position, both arms secured around your waist as he continued bucking his hips hard, chasing his own release as you were in the middle of yours.

He reached up to hold the back of your head, fingers grabbing a fistful of your hair. Your arms draped over his shoulders, locking your hands as you whined against his shoulder, your eyes open as you stared straight towards your gold lined mirror, seeing the way his muscles flexed with your red claw marks brightening the tan skin on his scarred back. His head rested in the crook of your neck, hearing him emit another dangerously low growl as he thrusts faltered, flooding your insides with a potent, hot warmth. Your shuddered against him, riding out both of your highs as you both held onto each other, completely breathless.

Karl's hand cradled the back of your head, both of your tired forms sitting in a comfortable silence. The longer the two of you stayed this way, the more exhaustion wrapped its thick tendrils around their victims. He laid you down, resting your head on your pillow. You almost refused to let him go, looking up at him with half lidded eyes no longer filled with lust, being completely replaced with a different emotion you were scared to voice, but Karl knew right away.

The man was screwed, because the way you looked at him was the same way he looked back at you.

your anime husband greeting you in the morning- shirtless and in low slung sweatpants, holding out a cup of coffee or tea for you, a soft smile on his face and a raspy, “good morning sugar.”