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Price who lets you ride him after well-behaved days. Kisses your temple and tells you to take what you want for being "so well behaved kid, yeah?"
Except sometimes you get a bit too eager. Riding him through orgasm after orgasm, desperate and totally lost in pleasure. He gives you the occasional warning, but when it becomes clear youre not stopping price takes control. His big hands grab at your hips and pull you off, mustache tickling your cheek when he kisses the complaint off your lips "its past your bedtime, okay kid? Cmon, lets get your ready."
He takes you to the showers, calloused palms rubbing over your skin while he cleans you. Price sits you in front of the sink, grabs his own toothbrush "wash your face and brush your teeth, make sure to get behind your teeth."
Once youre all sorted, in the comfy pajamas you like, price pulls you into his chest. He grins at the way you nuzzle into his hair, never sleeps with a shirt on. You always fall asleep quick after riding, its a good trick to settle you down for the night. He cant help but break character for a second, pressing a kiss to your temple "I love you, sweetie," A pause, then "now get to bed, dad's got a big day tomorrow and so do you kid."
Vampire!141 watching new-born vampire!reader feed on Kyle because reader "doesn't know how to feed yet," and "has to practice on someone who's not gonna die in the first try" – Johnny's words, that freak.
That's how they find themselves sporting hard-ons at the sight of you in Kyle's arms, sitting prettily on his lap with your fangs buried in his throat, gulping down his vampire blood like it gives you an orgasm each time, whilst both of you let small grunts and sighs escape your lips.
Johnny already has his right hand palming his erection through his clothes, John had to nurse a glass of whiskey to blow some of the steam off and Simon is sure his nails are digging marks on his palm from how hard he's squeezing his fists closed.
Johnny would sketch how he imagines your tits to look like in that little notebook of his.
God forbid you find it by accident one day and see the skimpy, sexy drawings of you in tiny little spaghetti strap tops that barely cover your tits spilling out of the top and sides of it. As well as detailed drawings of your bare tits smushed together…
Note: this is jokes!! Please don’t take my cartoon pathologizing too seriously!
cw: some daddy kink level stuff
Gaz has a soft spot for girls who suffer from oldest sister syndrome. Girls that are a little world weary and too grown up at too young an age from caring for others while not having people to rely on. He just loves how pleasantly surprised you are literally every time he does something helpful that you didn’t ask him to do. Doing the dishes. Spackling that hole from the picture you took down. Refilling the air in the tires. Bleaching the bathtub. Very small things— but you’re so used to being the only one who can stay on top of things. Literally the high he gets from telling you to sit down and relax is unparalleled.
Soap is, quite frankly, into girls who grew up thinking they were ugly. It’s a terribly selfish, but he likes telling you all of the dirty things he thinks of doing to you, how he feels like someone’s knocked him upside the head when you enter a room in a new outfit, how he has to take a cold shower every time you’re going out to some event and he gets to see you dressed up. Honestly, he has to take the cold showers pretty regularly. Seeing how you’re flustered, and you don’t 100% believe the things he says— so he has to put in the time to make you believe him. You’re the kind of girl boys would dare each other to ask out in middle school, and now Soap has the absolute pleasure of convincing you that sometimes you make him so turned on that he thinks he’s about to throw up.
Ghost likes outcast girls. He likes how you eye him with a little bit of suspicion when he chooses to hang around you. He sort of gets this idea in his head that he’s the only one that can handle your eccentricities— handle you. That other people are afraid to approach you but he’s not afraid of anything. That his interest in you is because honestly, he has a much more refined palate than any of the shitheads you’re surrounded by. And you know what? He likes the idea of you as a couple being the scary, freak ass couple. Two lone wolves becoming mates.
Price likes former gifted students. He loves that you’re talented and quick, yes, but he also can’t help but get excited by all of that pressure that’s on you— that you put on yourself. He gets to be the one that relieves it. He’s the one that gets to lavish you in praise, and he’s also the one who gets to pin you down and force you to take it easy for a little while. He loves gently handling any mistakes or missteps, rationally perceived or otherwise. Because he can tell no one’s ever bothered to treat you so gently, have they, sweetheart? They’ve just been content to push you to your limits and have you run yourself ragged because you’re special. You are, he won’t deny it— but you’re also a little thing that hasn’t seen enough nurturing, in his eyes.
König loves so called “high maintenance” girls. Girls with high standards who know what they want, who have gone through some partners that couldn’t take the heat. He gets a very unique sense of control out of it— knowing all of your rules, rituals, likes, dislikes. Like Ghost, he likes thinking of himself as the only person who knows how to handle you— that everyone before him has just been unworthy of you. That he is strong where others have been weak. And you know what? It’s not rotten work. Not to him. Not if it’s you. He’s just built different.
Nikolai… I’m just going to say it. He likes girls with daddy issues. He kinda throws his whole self into relationships at times, and he likes it when he can be your everything. Your love, your friend, your hero, your source of approval from an older man. And he loves a brat. Because he knows you only act that way because someone didn’t pay attention to his special girl in the past. You’re testing him— daring him, unsheathing your claws to see if he’ll flinch and he never will. He’ll endure it all and chip at your defenses until you’re the soft, satisfied, sweet girl he knows you really want to be. Lavishing you with praise and attention, bragging about you to anyone who will listen. He wants you to have a complete breakdown because you’ve been holding it all in and putting up walls for so long that you don’t even know how to cope with being in the arms of someone who will always catch you when you fall.
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Nikolai first strikes up a conversation with you while you're sitting alone in a bar. Your friends have made their way outside for a smoke, and you—ever so thoughtful—volunteered to stay back to keep an eye on the table's drinks and purses. You're so polite—nodding along when he speaks, interjecting with meaningful questions and letting out delightful snorts when he cracks wise.
He realizes just how pliant you are once he's fucking you with your face pressed into the pillow. There's no pesky squirming, just sweet muffled moans and the way your back arches obediently when he presses on it.
After a while it dawns on him just how long your air-supply has been suppressed by the pillow and he's quick to reach down and turn your head to the side. A kind of morbid fascination fills him when he watches you reflexively gasp for the fresh oxygen. Christ, do you not have any self-preservation instinct? What would have happened if he hadn't intervened? Would you have passed out beneath him without warning or complaint?
Nikolai recognizes that someone like you isn't to be taken for granted. Others would take advantage of your desire to please, hurting you in the process. He couldn't have that now, could he? You deserve a firm, loving hand and he deserves a devoted pet. It's like he has no choice but to keep you.
Now whenever Nik has to endure stories of his friend's failed flings he just laughs and shakes his head. "Couldn't be me, my любимая is so sweet for me. Isn't that right, моя умница?"
Hunting is a young man's game, it's why Nikolai prefers fishing. Silent and meditative, waiting for the fish to find his bait before he reals them in. He likes you the same way: gasping for air, eyes glassy, floundering against his grip with no hope of escape. A single well placed slice behind the gills. It's so much more... humane.
You're not suited for self-preservation, not in this world at least. You wander about with legs that shake like a fawn's, finding your place in the world under someone else's protection, a fish out of water. It's his fault really, he knows there's no point in something as pretty as you having to breed decisions behind those wet eyes, knows that soft things like you live better as treasured pets. There was a time when you wouldn't have had anything to do with your body but sit and look pretty, softened and plied with food and drink by hands gifted the divine right of kings. This modern world is too much for something like you.
It's lucky you fell into Nik's hands when you did, lucky that he recognized you for what you were before anyone else did. He needs nothing more than to feel you wrap your arms around his shoulders, than to feel the weight of you settle in his lap, than to listen to the soft breaths you take as you fall asleep, safe and sound, in the circle of his influence.
Quite a smart thing, finding him the same way butterflies find a crocodile's tears. Symbiotic. He could no more survive without you, than you could survive without him. You even out his edges, scrape away the filth that he tracks through life. You pull his head to your breast and coo your own praises with a slurred tongue. You don't flinch when he sinks his teeth into you, when he wraps his hand around your throat and watches your lashes flutter.
There is no reassurance like the glaze of your eyes, the part of your lips, the clutch of your sweet cunt, when he presses the sharp edge of a posture collar to your jaw. It could be anything, a knife, a gun, rusted metal or freshly oiled pistons, you'd trust him all the same, allow the treatment all the same. He doesn't need you to prove yourself to him, no grand gesture could echo as proudly as the way you suffocate yourself in pillows.
You poor thing. Need Nikolai to give you the air in your lungs too, huh? He's already taken care of everything else, so why not one more thing? Leave brains and ambition for the mammals, little fish.
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its been eating me up ever since i thought about it so i gotta know: out of kidnapper! 141, which one would cope better when their girlie emotionally shuts down after a while? she still does things like eating, sleeping, and breathing, but her emotional core is essentially gone and she just allows them to do whatever, but doesn't react as strongly as she did before?
I'm gonna do it best to worst!
cw: kidnapping. Extremely dark. Implied murder (of YOU). A hint of suicidal ideation
Nikolai keeps his cool for a long, long time. He already essentially treated you like a doll, so there's quite a lot that hasn't changed for him. In his view, this is just a waiting game. No one can stay like this forever. You'll either snap out of it, or you'll force him to snap you out of it. Simple. He has infinite methods of pleasure and pain in which to do so.
Price learned a long time ago that the secret to keeping control is to never lose it in the first place. He knows how to be a supportive, perfect husband. The one thing that chips at his composure is the image-- how this must look. This isn't the perfect family photo he's dreamed of. The longer you deprive him of that, the worse things will be. And Price is not a man who is going to buckle and go down to his knees for you. He doesn't want to do it, but you can be replaced.
Graves has a play for every scenario labeled A to Z. And he's a good actor. So if you do act this way, he will play the part of a jostled, conflicted, frustrated captor. Ask you to speak to him. Try to make you smile. Stare longingly at your expression, concerned. Take you on longer and longer drives. Until one day, you end up in front of your old apartment with him going around and opening the car door for you. He'll go as far as he needs to in order to let you believe you're out of the cage. That he couldn't bear to keep you in it any longer. But as soon as the barest hint of life returns to your eyes, he'll be swooping back in. And if it never comes back? You're a loose end.
Gaz doesn't do so well. He may seem smooth and confident, but he's felt out of his depth the whole time he's had you. It's been thrilling, but he does sometimes wonder how far is too far. So he reacts with pampering, spoiling-- as saccharine and doting as he possibly can. And if he's not getting anything from that, he's going to ask Price for help. You don't want that.
Soap can find the humor in anything. So at first, this is just a game. A challenge. A puzzle-- what can he say or do that will provoke your spark? Threats, promises of freedom, graphic descriptions of lewd acts, putting on more and more extreme forms of pornography with varying levels of legality for the two of you. But if that doesn't work, he's going to crack. He will get on his knees and beg. Anything to relieve him of the intense loneliness of hearing just his own voice.
Ghost is going to lose it quickly. He got you, though he may not know it consciously, to save himself. He knows there's something wrong with him, but he can't name it. You are what can make his heart lurch as if he were still truly alive. His skin and mind have dulled to most all other sensations so grievously. His heart is a birdcage and you're the canary, he needs your wings to keep beating. His greatest fear is being realized, he's made you like him. And his despair and fury and beastly crying will not be subtle or slow. He's going to wrap his hands around your throat and squeeze. That's how you get a swan to start squawking, isn't it? You wring its neck? If that doesn't make you want to live, then he's done with it all. You, himself, and the whole damned world.
Imagine having the extreme misfortune of your first call on the job as a service omega to be for Johnny.
He pounces on you as soon as you’re in the room, ripping at your flimsy uniform, and as soon as he’s got you face down ass up, sobbing and stuck on his knot, he starts picking the mechanism on your bite guard with all of the patience and precision in the world
He’s not really into the whole “one and done” thing.
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Lately I’ve been haunted with the idea of keeping Soap company after he sustains a major injury, asking if there’s anything you can do for him, him smirking that you could ‘do something to take his mind off the pain’ with a bit of a brow wiggle. The same kinda thing he’s always saying to you.
Color him surprised when you actually lean over and start unbuckling him, and he kinda panics— tells you that you don’t really have to do this (he wants you, fuck, he wants you— but he needs you to actually want it)
And you look up at him like “🥺 I just hate seeing you in pain and I wanna help” so innocently, like he hasn’t imagined your mouth around him in excruciating detail since day fucking one, like he hasn’t stained his boxers with pre at the mere notion that he could have your saliva dripping down his shaft because you wanna be his sweet little nursemaid while he’s hurt.
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