Subby Danny Is A Yes!!

Subby Danny is a yes!!

Can I ask for sub danny johnson and fem dom reader? Edging and hand jobs if u don't mind. He's a brat too. 100% fights for dominance but the slightest touch to his little throbbing head and he's putty in ur arms, bucking into ur hand and whimpering like a little bitch. He's also v shy cause he's not used to being a bottom 👉🏽👈🏽

Oooh man this was a bit of a challenge as a certified bottom, but I did my best. Hope you like it <3 also for anyone else who sees this, my requests are on!

Sub! Danny Johnson x Reader

"I want to try something different tonight," you start. 

Danny looks up from the papers he had been toiling over, his faux glasses off but still in his reporter clothes. He had come to your apartment right after work, promising to spend some time with you after he finished up his work. But that had been hours ago.

"Oh? And what would that entail, doll?" He replies, an easy smile forming on his face.

"I want to be in charge," you say, lifting your chin up a fraction higher.

His face stays even, but he raises an eyebrow, questioning you wordlessly. Right. He never let shock or surprise show on his face- always needing to be the one in control, in or out of the bedroom. You stand your ground.

"I think it would be a nice change," you push.

He plays with the pen in his hand, flipping it around while he deliberates, staring you down. After a few moments, he turns away, back to his work. 

"Sure baby, whatever would make you happy. We can do it after I finish up my piece for the paper," he dismisses you, already focused again.

You were prepared for this reaction. For him to not take you seriously, to try and remain in control even while pretending to give it up.

You walk away to your bedroom where he hid his duffel bag of tools for his… Late night outings. You had let him leave it at your place in case the police ever searched his own apartment- as a sign that he could trust you. You dig through the bag, pushing away his ghostface outfit to reveal exactly what you wanted. 

You stride back out to the living room where he sat at your computer desk, and without saying anything, press his own gutting knife to his throat.

He sighs, unphased. "And what do you think you're doing?"

"I'm doing exactly what I said I'd be doing. Taking control." 

You push the knife harder against his throat, finally earning a small gasp. You bend over the side of the computer chair to see that you've drawn a small amount of blood- a little red line now trickling down his neck.

"Can't this wait?" He questions, his voice a little uneven. 

"No, it can't. Stay still." You command while pulling the knife away from his throat and spinning the computer chair around to face you and the rope you were holding in your other hand.

While his eyes were narrowed, he couldn't hide the forming hardness under his work slacks. You let a smug smile creep onto your face as you quickly work to bind his wrists to the arms of the chair and his ankles together, using a technique you had taught yourself months ago. Once you finish, you stand back, admiring your work. 

"Are you proud of yourself?" He asks, annoyed. 

"Quite, actually," you reply chipperly. 

"You know I'm allowing this to happen, correct?"

Ah, and there it was. You expected this from him; to try and regain control as quickly as he loses it. You lazily spin the knife around in your hand, showing off yet another skill you had taught yourself in your time of dating a serial killer.

"Actually, I think I could've very easily slit your throat just then when you weren't paying attention-" you watch his cock twitch in his pants "-and I think you'll let me do what I want, or else."

He scoffs. "Fine, do what you want."

It was your turn to raise an eyebrow. 

"One more thing, Danny, sweetie…" you coo, taking the tip of the knife to under his chin and pushing his face up to meet yours. "You're going to quit trying to control this with that nasty mouth of yours, and instead put it to better use; Begging me to let you cum." 

His eyes widen as he holds your gaze, and swallows loudly. You give a smirk of approval, and reach down to unzip his slacks, reaching into his briefs to pull out his hardened member. He lets out a deep breath as you begin to work your hand up and down. 

You keep it at an even pace for a bit, listening to his hitched breathing as you both stare each other down. Then you begin to pump faster, and he allows himself to relax into the chair and enjoy himself more.

You look down to see precum forming at his pink tip, and back up to his face to a light blush forming in his cheeks. He begins to buck up into your hand, moving with you as you pleasure him. 

"I want to hear you moan for me," you instruct. 

He grinds his teeth, slowing his bucking. 

"No." 

"Yes," you push.

But he holds his ground, refusing to make any noise. 

You take your hand off of him, and before he can stop himself, he whimpers. The blush in his cheeks grows darker in embarrassment. You smile. 

"See? Little moans and whimpers like that, baby."

"Shut up. Just… Just fucking touch it again," he grumbles. You hum in response. He looks down, then softly murmurs, "...please."

"Good boy," you coo. Reaching back down you begin again, jerking faster than before. He now freely moans, looking anywhere but your face. 

After each noise you go faster, setting a brutal pace as he continues bucking, trying to keep up with you. It isn't long before he's panting along with his whimpers, building up to the edge. 

"Fuck I'm- I'm gonna-" he cries out.

You immediately take your hand off his cock.

He finally looks at you, shocked that you would stop. 

"Beg for it." You say, your tone harsh.

You can see him deciding if it's worth it. You almost laugh at his feeble attempt to still regain control. But he couldn't see what you could see- a flushed face and dick, lust in his eyes, the way he's lightly biting his lip.

After a few more seconds of deliberating, he yet again looks off to the side. Softly, so softly, he manages out a 'please'. You shake your head.

"I'm going to need more than that, honey." You grab his chin, forcing him to look you dead in the eye. "I want you to beg beg. I want you to show how pathetic you are, how much you need it. How much you would do to finally cum."

He lets out a hot breath. "Please, let me cum. I… I need it, so, so fucking bad. I would do anything for it," he nearly cries. You can see his cock still throbbing, begging for release. 

"Good pet," you praise, dropping down to your knees and putting his dick in your mouth. 

"Fuck," he nearly shouts, as you swirl your tongue around the tip, tasting his precum. He begins thrusting into your mouth, and you let him, switching to bobbing your head up and down his shaft. You guessed he was building back up again rather fast by the strained curses he lets out, finally not bothering to take control anymore.

So you reward him by letting him pummel into your mouth, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat that would have you gagging had you not been more experienced. Your hands move up his thighs and you grip there, holding yourself in place. 

Finally, after what felt like forever, you feel his  warm cum shot miss your tongue all together and hit the back of your throat, immediately swallowing it. You take your mouth off his member with an obscenely wet 'pop', and look up at him, as saliva drips down your chin.

"I told you I'd make you beg for it."

When you partner is like Rhys~

Rhysand’s Kinks Headcannon

Warnings(s): smut obviously, choking, bondage, squirting, edging, exhibitionism, marking, daddy kink

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

-It was no secret that Rhysand was a sex god.

-He loved nothing more than edging you all night long, his fingers drumming against your clit feverishly, then stopping right when you were close. Right when he felt you clench around his fingers, signaling that you were about to let go. He could literally do this all night, but he’s too kind to ever torture you for that long. Give him your signature puppy eyes and he’ll let you cum.

-Even better than the latter, he loves to make you squirt. It’s physical proof that stays on the sheets all night that he truly pressed all the right buttons inside of you. Squirt in his face too, he’ll say “good girl” and let you choke on his dick.

-Exhibitionism. But, only in other courts. He adores having you sit on top of him, legs spread as he toys with your clit through your panties. (think that one scene in acomaf 👀) the shocked gasps and embarrassed looks from the other fae around fills his ego up even more, if that were even possible.

-Daddy kink. I will not accept anything less. This. Man. Is. Daddy. He’ll refer to himself that way, too. Saying things like “Does someone want daddy’s cock tonight?” “Want daddy to make your pretty pussy cum? Hmmm? Be a good girl.” If you call him that in public, good luck…he will take you in an alleyway pressed up against the brick.

-Bondage. Simple. He enjoys tying you up so that you can’t close your legs when he hits that sensitive part of your g-spot, or when he keeps licking your clit languidly even after you came.

-Choking. Nothing too intense, but he does think his large hand looks rather pretty like a necklace around your sensitive neck. He might just have a thing for necks in general, though. He loves kissing and sucking on your neck just as much as when you do it to him. And fuck…do those growls and moans he makes when you do it encourage you.

-Impact play. Again, nothing too intense. In fact, you’re the one who brought it up. You were being a tease, he called you naughty. You replied with “maybe you should punish me then. spank the brat out of me?” You could of swore you saw the feral horny look in his eyes illuminate. He was still hesitant to lay a hand on you like that, but when you moaned in pleasure and soaked your panties after his first little smack, he knew how much of a pain slut you were. Your safe word is wingspan.

-Marking. You belong to him, and he wants everyone to know that. Expect to have dark purple bruises all over your neck, tits, and in between your thighs. You swore that Rhys could make you cum just from sucking on your jugular…

I am multi fandom- my friend made a mistake dragging me into this mess

rhysand x reader with wing play and rhys being a sub?

sub!rhys is an inexperienced baby.

You coo softly in the high lord’s ear, whispering gentle praises for taking you so well. His body covers yours, skin pressed against skin, joining in the way only lovers do.

Rhys hasn’t felt this level of intimacy for another in a long while. He began trembling the moment he entered you, hiding his face into your neck and breathing hard, getting used to the feeling of your warm, silky walls wrapped around him. “Just like that, baby,” You had sighed contently when Rhys found the strength to move his hips, rutting against your own in slow, gentle thrusts. “Take what you need.” His cock slides nicely over your inner walls, occasionally finding spots which make you tighten around him. It wouldn’t be enough to send you over the edge. That didn’t matter. Being honest, you took more pleasure in turning Rhys into a whimpering, cunt drunk mess.

Your arms are wrapped around him, holding him as close to you as possible. You explore his body, fingers burying in silky locks, palms sliding and squeezing muscled shoulders, nails gently scraping over warm skin. Rhys purrs, sloppily grinding his hips against yours. You let your fingers wander, trailing down his back, between those large, dark wings draping over you both. Intrigued, your fingertips skim dangerously close. Rhys shudders, muffling a moan into your skin.

“Can I touch you?” Your ask, your voice a soft whisper as you kiss Rhys’s neck. The male curses beneath his breath, bracing himself, allowing him to force more strength into his thrusts. You release a pleasured laugh as his cock hits deeper than before. “Yes,” Rhys groans, “Please. Touch me.”

You do. Your touch explores Rhys’s wings. Learning what spots cause his breath to hitch and hips to stutter. The poor male practically sobbed when you lightly dragged your nails along the membrane. You want to know him better than he does, you want to know how to please him like he deserves.

Rhys reached his climax mere minutes after you began caressing his beautiful wings. His teeth dug into your skin, suppressing the sounds of his high. “There you go, that’s it,” You praised him throughout his climax, contrasting with the way your fingers still skated across his sensitive wings, driving Rhys into overstimulation.

You’re addicted. In need of seeing him lose control a few more times.

It's too cute!!!

legit listening to "beautiful boy - John Lennon" rn hear me out ghost and his Mreader hubby cuddling with their new baby just wholesome fluffy stuff yknow🤯

When I tell you I cried writing this-- UGH! Thank you so much for this request! It was so sweet.

Adoption was no easy feat, anyone with a right mind would know that. There is a lot of paperwork, a couple of interviews, as well as money that goes into it. It was more difficult with your growing family, you decided bitterly. Most agencies looked at the jobs you and your husband held, you as a freelance writer at home and him as active duty military- well, the active duty military was more of a raised red flag to them. Especially because the two of you were looking for a baby, not a child- an infant.

When the struggle with adoption started, your focus turned less away from your work- which did ultimately have a deadline, to what could be done. In your heart, you felt this emptiness that needed to be filled, and Simon expressed himself the same at home. You sometimes wished that like him, you could separate it while working… but you had too much heart in you. (Those were Simon’s words- and he said that he was glad you were like that)

Tonight was one of those nights that you couldn’t focus on your work. All those creative writing and English classes in college, gone throughout the window. So, you settled on looking through other adoption agencies- maybe even some women who were pregnant that didn’t want the child, but wouldn’t do an abortion. What was the name? Ah, you didn’t care much to remember. The aged whiskey in your hand helped with that too.

As per usual, you spent about three hours looking for something new. A couple emails sent out to some agencies, the last two that would maybe consider interviewing you and Simon. The analog clock next to the TV expresses how late it was, so did the yawn that left your mouth. You decided the whiskey glass could be cleaned in the morning as you set it down on the coffee table, your closed laptop next to it. The front door and its eighteen locks (that’s an exaggeration, it only had four) needed to be turned before you could sleep. Right after you locked the first one though, you heard something through the door- something like… crying?

Now, you and Simon live in a nice neighborhood- with little to no crime activity, but that doesn’t mean something could happen. You retreat from the area for just a moment to grab one of the tactical knives hiding in the coffee table, then walked back to the front door. Very quietly, you undid the lock you’d just turned and very slowly opened the door. Nothing was directly in front of you, so you looked down and your heart shattered.

It’s always in the movies, so the scene in front of you is unexpected in real life. There is a large woven basket with an infant tucked comfortably with a blue blanket. Before you investigate further, you look around your yard and towards the sidewalk but see no one walking about- or running away. So, you bend down and pick up the basket, taking out the little note that’s sticking out as you walk back into the house. Just for a moment, the basket is set on the couch as you read it.

‘To who little Gregory comes to,

I’m sorry I couldn’t take care of him myself. When he was born in the hospital, everyone in the room was happy to see him but me. Gregory is the result of a… you know what case. I looked at him, and I couldn’t see myself at all- only him. I hope that you can find yourself to take care of him. Love him. 

Thank you.’

Oh… “Fuck.” You look down at the baby- who has been crying this whole time, and quickly pick him up from the basket. It’s probably really uncomfortable in there- and oh, how long has it been since Gregory has been fed? Christ on a Cross, when you talked about jumping into parenting, this isn’t what you meant! “Hey, Siri!” You’re trying your best to calm the infant in your arms, who is still crying, but it’s thankfully gone to hiccups now. “Call Simon’s work on speaker.”

“Calling Simon *work* on speaker…” You take a seat on the couch, careful not to disturb the now sleeping infant as you pick up your phone and bring it closer to your person. Gregory seems… smaller than the other infants you’ve seen with the adoption agencies, you wonder if it’s a birth cause or he wasn’t taken care of before being handed off. “Hey, I’m about to go on a mission. Are you okay?”

You breathe in and exhale slowly. “Simon. You need to come home, tell Price it’s an emergency.” Your husband makes a noise on the other line, and you can hear him beginning to protest it all- “Someone dropped a baby on our doorstep- I… I cannot do this alone right now.”

There is a lot of noise coming from the other line now, you hear shouting- it’s Simon doing it. And… Gregory has woken up, he’s crying again. “Och. Simon, on your way home, which you better be doing- or I’m going to find your captain and kick him into next month- get some supplies, like we’ve talked about. I’m gonna hang up because he’s woken up due to the noise, but if I don’t see your arse in thirty minutes, there will be words, Simon Riley.” Before he can reply, you press the ‘end call’ button and turn your attention back to Gregory.

What did some babies fall asleep to? What would calm the storm that the call to your husband created? You remembered seeing your sister sing softly to her child- but you can’t give bars for shit. So, you decide to hum, very quietly ‘Hey Jude’. And just like with your niece all those years ago, it seems to do the trick. Gregory stops crying, moves to hiccuping then starts cooing at you- reaching at your face with his little chubby baby fists. He’s just so cute… You wish you could fall asleep with him, but the other thing your brain processed is that this would be the beginning to several nights of restless sleep.

It’s another thirty minutes of you humming different soft songs, mostly rock- because you can’t think of an actual lullaby for your life right now. Africa, Every Breath You Take, Tears in Heaven, Hard to Say I’m Sorry, Can’t Help Falling in love, Beautiful Boy… so many others. It works like a charm with little Gregory, he only wakes up for a moment to gurgle and reach for you, before falling back asleep.

Ten minutes later, your front door opens- almost slamming, but Simon catches it. He’s carrying several bags from the local grocery store- all in full gear. He shuts the door as quietly as he can, but it’s a little noisy with all of the plastic bags in his arms as well as his gear. Everything in his hands is set on the ground in front of the coffee table, then Simon’s walking over to you, eyes widening as he looks at the infant in your arms. “You weren’t…” His words die down when you point with a random finger to the note that had been left. Simon scans over it while taking off his mask. “Oh… just the baby then? Was there anything in his basket?”

You shake your head, stopping the humming so you can speak- hopefully Gregory won’t start crying again. “Just him, his blanket and that note.” You gesture with your head to the bags. “Do you have baby formula? Bottles? I don’t know the last time he’s had anything… there was no information on it.”

Simon brushes Gregory’s head, moving some of the hair, then walks over to the bags. He takes out a lot of formula and a couple bottles. “Woman at the register looked at me like I was mad. Told her I had a newborn and she calmed her tits.” You snort and shake your head. “I’m gonna make some warmed milk for him, then set up his crib- that’s still in the car.”

All those agencies that said the two of you were incapable of raising an infant were incorrect. You were careful in waking Gregory and giving him the bottle, once your husband had come back with it. Before leaving the room to go get the crib he needed to build, he looked at you and… well, the kid was his son now, he’d say. There is a rare instance that tears are building in his eyes, and he allows them to fall. “Simon,” you call softly from the couch. He snaps out of it and walks over to you. “Why don’t you hold him? I’ll go get the crib.”

For a moment, his brain goes to the fact that his hands aren’t meant to hold something so small and precious- his hands are those of a killer’s… but the way you look at him, a hopeful look in your eyes and the softest smile. He slowly takes Gregory from you, one arm curling around his tiny body and the other keeping leg support and holding up the bottle. “Hi, Gregory,” he whispers. The baby coos back and makes the same grabbing motion towards him, the chubby fist brushing against his paint.

“Simon,” you’re now next to him. The crib that needs to be built is in the corner of the room. “Why don’t we just sleep on the couch tonight? The three of us? It’s in a way that we won’t crush him… and it’s late.” He nods silently and gets on the couch first, handing you Gregory so he can get properly comfortable. You follow suit, lying your head against the side cushion and setting up a little pillow wall with one of your hands. “Love you, Simon.”

He breathes in deeply, pressing a kiss to your forehead. His arms go around your waist, hands cupping around the side of Gregory’s body. “Love you too.” Simon waits until both of you are asleep first before closing his eyes. His mind drifted into how lucky the two of you were to have Gregory now as sleep took over.

Doing it for free? Sign me up!!

Trans thought:

You know how in House of 1000 Corpses, Baby threatens to cut the one girls tits off. I would have let Baby do it. Like top surgery is expensive man.

*quietly sips on tea*

Imagine Dead by Daylight’s Shape/Myers getting jealous and having to reinforce that the survivor is his. Maybe Ghostface got a little too flirty with them or another killer let them go during a trial and it drove Michael mad, reading into things too much, every little detail leading him to doubt himself. So, he seeks them out during a trial of their own. He doesn’t care if any of the other survivors hear or if they escape, he just needs to leave his mark on his survivor and hear them call his name. Rough stuff, ego boosting, marking etc.

Aw man, y'all know I love me a good possessive slasher. I've been stroking this prompt lovingly and waiting for the day I knew I could nail it, so let's fucking gooo!

!!!This post contains adult content for an adult audience, minors and ageless blogs dni with this post!!!

Reblogs > Likes! Make sure ya Reblog it if ya hit the heart to support future content for the pleasure of your peepers!

Warnings: R18+/NSFT, Reader is gn and ambiguous (Though v brief mention of reader in a skirt one time), Possessive behavior, Primal play, Knife play + Marking with said knife

_____

Simply put: You were his favorite obsession. Michael had taken quite the shining to you since your first run in, where you had a...unique style of distraction. Where you would wolf whistle his way and holler at him from across the street of his very own domain. Or where you'd lift up your shirt and flash him and tauntingly yell that he could have a piece of you-- IF he could catch you.

Curiosity had hit him. Such a strange being you were. And from what he heard through the grapevine that was the Entity's spidery-like arms- you didn't do it with other killers. In fact, you liked to trip them up, but not in such a loud way.

He'd caught you only a handful of times before then since your first encounter. The first time he'd caught you, you'd laughed, clutching at the slash across the front of your chest where you were bleeding. You had your back to the wall, panting as you crooned out, "So what piece will it be, big guy? Arm? Leg?"

When he'd roughly tugged at your shirt, you'd only laughed even as he exposed you. Testing you even as your hands came up and you'd smiled so gleefully. "Oh! And here I was starting to wonder I wasn't your type!" Even with your wound still bleeding.

Yes, you were indeed his favorite obsession.

~Rest under the cut~

When this relationship began and where it ended was up to anyone. During the full moons when the Entity let you all mingle, you'd always end up in his domain. Under him or above him, panting with your head thrown back and moaning his name.

Michael had gotten quite the taste for it now. Hearing you whine his name like that, tossing and turning and squirming beneath his very touch. Didn't matter how rough he handled you, you ate it up with gleeful sounds.

You were his. And only he could get this rise out of you. Only you would treat him the way you do.

So imagine his surprise when word through the grapevine is that Ghostface is getting to toy with you. Where he flaunts pictures of you and laughs about how he'd like to tap that. How enraged you'd been when you found those pictures of you and he'd gotten to see up your skirt you'd had on that day. And how turned on Ghostface had been when you'd gotten up in his face.

Michael feels that itch in his fingertips to stab him, so he follows that itch. Stabbing straight through Ghostface's hand and nailing it to the table full of your pictures.

The hunt begins upon next trial.

You know it's him right away, but you feel something's off. You believe it to be a game near immediately, cautiously making your way through his domain. The flashing lights of the police car blinding you briefly as you take in your surroundings after finishing a generator.

When your eyes meet a white mask, you fight a smile as you take off quickly. Playing the game of 'prey' as you run from him with Michael in hot pursuit.

When he catches you, you're slammed onto the nearest surface. In your case, it ends up being an old bed, your body bouncing on it before you gasp as he gets on top of you. You play victim, kicking and squirming and trying to get out of his grasp before his rough hand grabs your chin and forces your eyes on him. Your wrists pinned by his other hand above your head.

"O-oh come on, I don't wanna get hooked today-" You whine out, arching your back into him and grumbling. Your heart races, your eyes meeting the holes of his mask and briefly seeing his own through them. One baby blue, one blinded. His breathing is heavy, off somehow.

And he's not moving from between your legs either.

"Michael-" You huff, rolling your hips up to try and press him up and off you. It doesn't work, of course, but it does work in making him press down further on top of you. "Come on- during a trial? Really? Won't the Entity be pissed?"

His response is silence, as it always is. But you swear- you swear you hear a growl.

Fuck-

--

It winds up with your clothes half off and his fingers buried inside of you as you lay on your side. You keep your mouth covered, or at least try to before he's ripping your hand from your mouth. Desperate to hear the way you whine his name, the way you look at him through your wet lashes as your body quivers with another orgasm.

Taken apart by his hand.

You cry out when his fingers keep pounding into you, knowing now to keep your eyes on his. You whimper when you see his other hand come up, holding his knife and pressing to your hip. But you mumble, "Yes, yes, yes, fuck yes, Michael, mark me, come on, baby. Yes, yes, yes-" Your mouth running so quickly, eagerly.

--

By the end of the trial, you gain a new scar. A sharp 'M' carved into your right hip. Not to mention how sore you feel after.

At least Michael will know you're not thinking of anyone else anytime soon.

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