#Ownership Sparks

[theleadersglobe]

MOD Pizza’s New Ownership Sparks Hope for Revival

MOD Pizza, the fast-casual chain offering customizable pizzas, announced new ownership. Elite Restaurant Group acquired MOD, though the deal’s terms are undisclosed. The company is now working on a turnaround plan to avoid bankruptcy.

MOD faced potential bankruptcy last week, but a spokesperson emphasized their efforts to improve their capital structure. Rick Van Warner said, “We’re exploring all options to improve our capital structure.” The fast-casual restaurant industry struggles with inflation. Customers are cutting back on dining out, impacting chains like MOD Pizza. Red Lobster filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy in May, citing over $1 billion in debt.

Read More:(https://theleadersglobe.com/life-interest/food/mod-pizzas-new-ownership-sparks-hope-for-revival/)

[fearlessstateofmind]

Ooh Great post!

Even Akufo's involvement asside I found the framing/casting of the people in this scene deeply fascinating as a choice the show made because it's also just no longer the case that most premier league clubs are owned by local-ish businessmen who have done well with massive social climbing types like Rupert is meant to be.

We are like two steps on from that reality having gone through smaller time russian oligarchs and Chinese and American businesspeople to the current situation where the heavy hitters are American hedge funds, middle Eastern oil companies, and more than one team that's effectively owned by a very rich gulf country...Rupert's type of rich is no longer the establishment in this space and hasn't been for like 20 years it's gotten a lot more wealthy and largely a lot younger. (The russian oligarch presence is alluded to but as an outlier amoung them?)

And, Rebecca's 'but remember when you all grew up as kids enjoying football' doesn't work at all in that situation - even to the suspension of disbelief on this working on people this was true for etc. Because the current ownership crop (in the premier League and increasingly in contental Europe and the lower leagues) largely didnt get into club ownership for this reason but purely because it was the most profitable business decision.

for ted lasso fans who aren't football fans, the akufo league subplot was pretty directly inspired by the april 2021 announcement of a proposed european super league founded by 12 of the richest clubs in europe competing in a closed group against each other plus 8 other teams tba.

the enterprise was cancelled very quickly after its announcement, but the differences between how that played out in ted lasso and the story as it played out in real life are.....hmmmm interesting choices to say the least.

the esl wasn't proposed by a cartoonishly villainous ghanaian billionaire. it was launched by a c-suite of white european and united states billionaire businessmen/team owners. - real madrid president florentino pérez spearheaded the proposal and claimed CEO position with andrea agnelli (owner of juventus), joel glazer (owner of man u), john henry (owner of liverpool), and stan kroenke (owner of arsenal) making up the rest of the proposed executive board. -these five are worth $2.3B, $13.5B (agnelli family), $4.8 (glazer family), $4B, and $12.9B, for a total of 37.5 billion dollars.

the esl proposal was formally announced on 18 april 2021 and by 21 april all 6 epl founding clubs had publicly announced their planned withdrawal from the league. this wasn't because of a rich white lady giving a heartwarming speech to a room of other rich people, it was because of a mass movement of working class fans denouncing the move as the capitalist greed and exploitation that it was, with some calling for fan ownership of clubs entirely:

i get using real events as inspiration and adapting them to fit a narrative purpose within the story, but i think it's worth it to know what the story line was based on, especially considering the specific racial and class changes that were made reframing the villains and heroes of this particular story.

[felassan]

David Gaider on Fenris, under a cut for length:

"Fenris. Now, DA2 is a story all on its own but I'm not going to go there other than to sum it up as "we had just over a year and a half to make this". It's why I only wrote one follower, Fenris, and although it'll make his fans mad: I probably shouldn't have. Let me explain. The way we'd approach making the followers is brainstorming a list of concepts covering first the array of gameplay classes (and sub-classes) and then making sure they each have some skin in the game when it came to the story's conflicts - ideally having characters on both sides of the major ones. Why? You can't make a player care about the world, but you can make them care about characters who care about the world. It's the easiest way to provide hooks into a conflict, outside of it knocking on the player's door. Heck, it's probably better than that. Players will burn the world for approval. After that, we'd decide things like romances/sexuality. Then the writers would pick who they'd write. I always let my writers pick first. I figured they do their best work when it's something they're inspired to write... and they got so few chances at ownership, I wanted to give it whenever I could It's why I (reluctantly) let Patrick wrest Cole from my grasp in DAI, a character I'd created in Asunder. It's also why I let Jennifer take Anders in DA2, who I'd started in Awakening. In this instance, it meant I was left with the angry elven warrior character who nobody else appeared to want."

"It should have been my first clue that something was up. The second was how the artists had zero clue what to do with him. The art concepts were all over the place - from mages to crows to... well, even weirder. No matter how hard I tried to explain the idea, the artists simply didn't seem to get it Does this mean he was a bad character? Not exactly. Just an idea that probably deserved some re-examining. You can tell when an idea has a certain spark, and part of that is being easy to communicate. Sadly, there wasn't time for any re-examining even if it'd occurred to me. And it didn't, not yet. If it had, if I had time, maybe I'd have re-booted him as a templar. Someone pro-templar rather than anti-mage, who could give a personal hook into Meredith and give the templars some badly-needed humanity. But this falls into the shoulda-woulda-coulda category. I had a follower to write. Quickly. I struggled, at first. It was hard to get away from "Fenris hates everything, all the time". It felt very one-note, and I didn't know where to take him. My third clue, I guess. I also wasn't sure if I was the right person to write a former slave. I did know that couldn't be the center of his story. I did know trauma, however. How it can eat you up. How the hate and resentment is like drinking poison and hoping the other person dies. How it can infect your relationships. Fenris's trauma isn't my trauma, obviously, but here I dipped into a more personal part of myself than I'd ever done before."

"It gave me the center of his story I was missing, but wow was it uncomfortable. In a good way, maybe. I likely wouldn't have, if I hadn't been so desperate. In a way, I think DA2 had some of our best writing *because* of the timeline. It was raw, with little time to sand down the interesting parts. I wouldn't have done the "Fenris doesn't talk to you for three years" thing if I'd known we were going to cut all the reactivity initially planned for the time jumps. When that call was made, I campaigned to cut the jumps to a year, but there was no time for the revisions it'd need. So, um. Awkward. I used to get asked where the name came from, and I... don't remember? Obviously it's derived from Fenrir, but I don't recall why we picked that. Someone pointed at Fenris the Feared from Joe Abercrombie's books... and I did read them, so maybe the name lodged in my head? Wouldn't be the first time. Casting Fenris turned out to be easy. He was the first time I requested a specific VA and got him. (The other times were Merrill and then Solas, my two "I want these specific Welsh actors, please".) Why? OK, if you must know, I'd played a bit of Final Fantasy XII. I heard Balthier. "Yes, that." 😅 And Gideon Emery was a delight, as it turned out. Consummate professional, and that lovely gravel in his voice... good god. Bite the knuckles. There was a struggle to find the voice at the outset where I did my best not to say "just pls do Balthier" but he found Fenris on his own and it was amazing. Overall, Fenris turned out better than he had any right to, considering the rocky start. He had a lot of soul, a vulnerability forged by pain that struck a chord with a lot of players, and I'm glad. Do I regret anything? Probably having him live in a corpse-filled mansion that would never update. That's a hindsight thing, though, as again the cut to reactivity over the time jumps came late. Outside of that, maybe letting the player give him back to Danarius? Poor shock value and a waste of resources because almost nobody took the option. Good evil options are ones that are tempting to take. And the lyrium tattoos. Interesting concept, but they're probably why you'll never see Fenris in a future DA. He requires a custom body, and the tattoos make that expensive. It's why I put Fenris in my 4th DA novel - the cancelled one. Don't fret, though. He died in it, so this way he lives on. 😉"

[source thread]

User: "Wait wait how does he die in [the cancelled novel]??" David Gaider: "Gloriously, after taking up a cause he didn't believe in at first but then made his own, one that allowed him to rediscover what it meant to be elven." [source] David Gaider: "I’m not sorry about the novel cancellation. I’m the one who cancelled it. I am kinda sad we couldn’t make it work, though. Considering it was after I left the DA team, it would have been my final DA hurrah." [source] David Gaider: "From my perspective, it was kind of "well if you're never going to use him again, let me at least give him a proper send off" and the story required a glorious death... but I get that's not the story his biggest fans would want (which is Hawke + Fenris 4ever), so it's just as well." [source]

User: "You all did some incredible work with such a tight deadline" David Gaider: "I'm of the opinion that even if we'd had only another six months to bake, DA2 would be remembered as a classic and not either a flawed gem or underbaked sequel, depending on who you ask." [source]

David Gaider: "Just to clarify the "they're probably why you'll never see Fenris" thing, as it's spawned commentary: 1. It's the reasoning as was explained to me back then. 2. Obviously, if Bio *really* wanted to, they'd find a way around it. But it was a complication that meant he couldn't be included casually." [source]

[d-z20]

Resistance is Futile (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: Agatha and Rio have claimed you as their pet but you're not going down without a fight and are defiant to their advances. The two witches are undeterred and keep trying, knowing they'll break you eventually

- OR -

They've finally grown tired of your reluctance, they fuck you with their magic strap-ons until you can't think (or walk)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, Top Agatha, Top Rio, Pet Reader, dub-conish, reader refered to with she/her pronouns, magic straps, magically enhanced orgasms, voyeurism, breeding, marking, degradation, praise, magical restraints, Agatha and Rio are dark in this universe, kind of stockholm syndrome, overstimulation, possession/ownership, throat fucking, cum as lube, maybe more who knows

Words: 4.4k

A/N: So in my head the magic straps in this are like similar vibes to Celestial Agatha in What If so you know: gay and powerful. It's easy to see how Rio got Agatha pregnant. Fic req

AO3 | Masterlist

You were not going to make this easy for them. That much was clear. The long, shadowed corridors of Agatha’s lair feel like a prison, but you don’t care. No, your defiance is all you have left—the only thing that gives you any semblance of control in a world where you are nothing more than their possession, their thing, their pet.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself to survive.

Agatha’s eyes follow you as you pace, her gaze calculating and predatory. Rio sits at the table, arms crossed, her sharp smile never wavering. Their attention feels like a weight pressing against your skin, heavy and suffocating, like predators waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

“You think you can defy us forever?” Agatha asks, her voice low and honeyed, sliding under your skin like a blade. “You think you can stay strong in this cage of your own making?”

You stop in your tracks, meeting her gaze with fiery resolve. “I’m not your pet,” you spit, defiance simmering in your voice.

Agatha chuckles, rich and dark, the sound curling through the air like smoke. “I’ve seen stronger wills break under pressure. Yours will too. Just wait.”

Her words are a subtle threat that lingers in the air, but you refuse to let her see the sting. “We’ll see,” you mutter, arms crossing over your chest as if to shield yourself from the weight of her gaze.

Rio’s grin widens as she leans forward, her sharp eyes studying you like a puzzle she’s dying to solve. “You know,” she muses, her voice smooth as silk, “you make this so much more fun than it needs to be. But I think you’re wrong about one thing. You are ours.”

—

Days bleed into weeks, and every moment feels like a war. They test you constantly. Punishments come as sharp reminders of your place—subtle and precise—but they’re always followed by praise that’s just as cutting. Agatha’s actions are cruel and calculated, leaving you trembling with exhaustion but too stubborn to yield. Rio’s methods are softer, more insidious, sinking under your skin like an itch you can’t scratch.

“I’ve seen stronger witches than you fall apart,” Agatha muses one evening, her fingers tracing the sigil that glows faintly on your wrist. The magic embedded in it burns, sparking through your veins like electricity, and you barely manage to suppress the flinch. “What makes you so special?”

You refuse to scream; you won’t give them the satisfaction.

“This supposed to break me?” You sneer, voice shaky but defiant. “Because it’s not working.”

Her lips curl, amusement dancing in her sharp eyes. “You think you’re strong? Maybe. But strength is nothing without control.”

Rio stands in the doorway, her dark eyes gleaming with curiosity. “She’s right,” she says, her voice velvet and steel. “Strength alone won’t save you when you’re as lost as you are. But you could find control... with us.”

You scoff, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “I don’t need either of you.”

But the look they exchange, the promise and challenge flickering between them, makes your chest tighten.

—

A week later, they come to you together. Agatha’s magic is constant, clinging to you like smoke, pervasive, and invasive. Rio’s touch is gentle yet commanding; her movements slow and deliberate, as though she’s teaching your body how to respond to her. You hate how easily it works.

It begins with something small. Agatha’s fingers brush over the curve of your neck, just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “So defiant,” she purrs, her voice a dark promise. “But I see cracks in your armour.”

Your breath catches, and you hate yourself for it. The pressure of their presence is overwhelming, making your head swim. Rio steps closer, her hand lightly brushing against yours, her grin dangerous and knowing. “Maybe we’re getting somewhere after all.”

—

The next night, they return. Agatha’s magic binds your movements, a reminder of the power she wields over you. Rio removes the physical restraints, her hands steady and deliberate, as though she’s peeling away the layers of your resistance. You fight, struggling against the invisible force that holds you still, but it doesn’t stop them.

And for the first time, you start to wonder if you even want them to.

It’s late when the breaking point comes. You stand in front of them, all your defences stripped bare, the cracks in your resolve widening by the second. Agatha’s gaze is unwavering, sharp enough to pierce through every wall you’ve built.

“You can’t keep hiding from us,” she snarls, her voice low and commanding, threading through you like a spell. “You’re ours. The sooner you accept it, the sooner we can turn pain into pleasure.”

Your head shakes, but there’s a tremor in your voice you can’t mask. “I’m not yours.”

“You are.” Her words are a whisper, a command, and they press down on you like a weight you can’t escape. Your knees weaken, and you gasp, overwhelmed by the sheer power of her presence.

Rio steps closer, her hand curling around your arm in a grip that’s both firm and comforting. Her touch sends a shiver racing through you as she tilts her head, her voice a soft murmur. “Stop fighting it. Stop pretending this isn’t what you need.”

Their proximity is suffocating. Your body trembles with desire, with the ache of something deep inside you finally breaking free. The walls you’ve spent weeks fortifying come crumbling down in a single moment.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice cracking under the weight of surrender.

Agatha’s lips curve into a slow, knowing smile. She steps forward, her hand settling at the back of your neck, her fingers cool against your skin as she pulls you toward her. Her kiss is slow and deliberate, a claim that leaves you breathless. The taste of her is intoxicating, and it leaves you reeling.

Rio’s laughter is soft and low as she moves behind you, her hands settling on your hips. “There she is,” she muses, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. Her teeth graze the sensitive skin, sending a jolt through your body that makes you curse under your breath.

“Fuck you both,” you manage to hiss, but the heat in your voice betrays you.

Agatha pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, her thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Such a sharp tongue,” she says, almost to herself, as if considering how best to silence it. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

With a flick of her fingers, magic courses through you, curling around your wrists and pulling them above your head. The force isn’t rough, but it’s unyielding, holding you firmly as glowing tendrils bind you in place. Your pulse pounds as Agatha steps back, her eyes raking over you like she’s admiring a masterpiece.

Rio’s hands slide to the hem of your shirt, and with a whispered word, the fabric disappears, leaving your skin bare and exposed. Her palms are cold as they trail over your stomach, her nails scraping lightly against your ribs.

“Is this supposed to impress me?” You snap, though your voice is breathless and uneven.

Rio laughs again, the sound rich and dark. “No, sweetheart,” she purrs. “This is supposed to ruin you.”

Agatha’s magic shifts again, a tangible wave of heat brushing against your skin, making you arch involuntarily as it settles low in your abdomen. Her fingers move through the air, weaving invisible patterns, and you feel it—a phantom touch tracing up your thighs, teasing, testing. Your breath hitches, and you tug against the restraints, hating the way your body reacts to the sensation.

“You’re trembling,” Agatha observes, her voice silk and steel. “Tell me, pet—are you afraid? Or just desperate?”

“Go to hell,” you snap, but the words sound weaker now, edged with something you don’t want to acknowledge.

Rio’s hands move lower, her touch firm as her fingers hook into your waistband. Another muttered spell, and your clothing vanishes completely, leaving you bare under their gaze. Her nails rake lightly against your inner thigh, drawing a shudder from you that you can’t suppress.

“Look at her,” Rio murmurs to Agatha, her voice heavy with satisfaction. “So defiant, but her body knows better.”

Agatha steps closer, her hand ghosting over your chest, her magic lacing every movement with electricity. When her fingers brush your skin, it’s as if she’s leaving a trail of heat in her wake, her touch deliberate and possessive. “Let’s see how long you can keep up this act,” she says, her voice low and commanding.

You’re trembling now, every nerve alight as their magic weaves through your senses, blurring the line between pain and pleasure, control and surrender. Every touch feels amplified, every breath stolen, until all you can do is cling to the last threads of resistance—and even those are slipping through your fingers.

Agatha’s magic pulses, a living thing coiling around your body, dragging sensations across your skin that feel like whispers and lightning all at once. Her lips are back on yours, devouring, commanding, and pulling you deeper into her orbit. The taste of her is heady, and it leaves you reeling, your legs trembling as if the floor beneath you has given way.

Behind you, Rio’s hands continue their slow, maddening exploration. Her fingers dig into your hips, grounding you just enough to keep you teetering on the edge. Her mouth is at your neck now, lips pressing hot kisses against your skin, teeth grazing the sensitive spot that makes you gasp.

"Such pretty sounds," Rio mumbles, her voice dripping with amusement as her hands slide down, teasing at the edges of where you want her most. "And you’re trying so hard to hold back. It’s adorable, really."

Your jaw tightens, but your body betrays you, hips twitching under her touch. “I hate you,” you breathe, though the words lack conviction, each syllable faltering as Agatha tilts your chin up to meet her sharp, knowing gaze.

“Hate?” Agatha repeats, her tone mocking as her thumb traces along your jaw. "No, pet, what you hate is how much you want this. How much you need it."

Her words settle over you like a weight, and the truth burns. You jerk against the glowing binds holding your wrists above your head, but the magic only tightens, pulling you taut and vulnerable between them. The heat of Agatha’s magic licks over your skin, and your breath hitches as the phantom touch returns—this time teasing higher, brushing against your inner thighs in a way that makes you bite back a whimper.

“Such a stubborn little thing,” Agatha muses, her fingers brushing over your chest, her nails scraping lightly. "But look at you now—shaking like a leaf, your body begging for more even while you try so hard to keep that sharp tongue of yours.”

Rio’s hands press against your thighs, urging them apart, her touch firm and deliberate. "Let’s see if we can help her find her manners,” she says with a smirk. “Think we should ruin her properly this time?”

Agatha hums in agreement, her magic shifting in intensity, winding tighter around you. The phantom sensation becomes sharper, more precise, brushing against your sensitive clit, drawing a cry from your lips that you can’t suppress. Agatha’s smile widens. “Oh, darling. That wasn’t so hard, was it? Let’s hear more.”

You stutter out a curse, but it dissolves into a gasp as Rio’s mouth finds the curve of your shoulder, her teeth leaving marks that send heat racing through your veins. Her hands, firm and demanding, leave no part of you untouched, tracing patterns down your sides, across your stomach, and lower still.

“Such a mess,” Rio murmurs, her voice heavy with satisfaction as her nails rake over your thighs, making you jerk. “You’re dripping, sweetheart. Just admit it—you like being our plaything.”

“Fuck—fuck you,” you stammer, though the heat in your voice betrays you, every word trembling with desperation.

Agatha laughs softly, the sound rich and dangerous, her magic surging in response. The phantom touch turns relentless, teasing, and tormenting, and you arch involuntarily, a broken moan spilling from your lips. Your knees buckle, but Rio’s hands are there, steadying you, holding you exactly where they want you.

“That’s it,” Agatha purrs, leaning in to press her lips against the corner of your mouth. “Let go, pet. Let us take you apart.”

Rio’s fingers find you again, slipping between your thighs with devastating precision, and your head falls back against her shoulder as your body betrays you completely. “There she is,” Rio murmurs, her voice a low growl in your ear. “Knew you couldn’t hold out forever.”

Your breath comes in ragged gasps, the world spinning as Agatha steps closer, her hands cupping your face to make you meet her gaze. “Look at me, Y/N,” she commands, her voice leaving no room for disobedience. “I want to see the moment you break.”

You can’t fight it anymore. The sensations are too much—the heat of their touch, the pull of Agatha’s magic, the way Rio’s fingers work you with merciless expertise. Your body trembles violently, and you cry out, shattering under their combined efforts.

But they don’t stop.

Agatha’s magic shifts again, coaxing another wave of pleasure from you before you’ve even recovered from the first. Rio’s hands are unrelenting, her touch alternating between rough and gentle, keeping you on edge, leaving you helpless against the onslaught.

“Pathetic,” Rio says, her tone gleeful as she watches your body twitch and tremble. “Completely undone. Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You try to respond, but all that escapes is a broken moan, your voice cracking as your knees finally give out. Only the magical binds and Rio’s grip keep you upright as Agatha’s lips brush against your ear. “You’re ours, Y/N,” she whispers, the words sinking into your very core.

With a flick of her fingers, Agatha adjusts the magic holding you in place. The binds shift, no longer just keeping you upright but suspending you in midair, as if resting on an invisible bed. The sensation is strange but oddly comforting, the magic cradling your weight effortlessly. Your arms remain bound above you, leaving you completely exposed.

Rio moves to stand by your head, her fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your damp forehead as she smirks down at you. Meanwhile, Agatha positions herself at your feet, her glowing eyes raking over you as though admiring her handiwork.

Agatha’s smirk grows as she steps closer, her fingers glowing faintly with her signature purple magic. “We’ll start slow,” her voice a soft caress, though the wicked glint in her eyes promises anything but gentleness. Her hand slides between your legs, her touch precise and knowing, and you can’t stop the sharp inhale as her fingers begin to work you open.

“Relax, pet,” she whispers, her voice low and commanding, as her other hand moves to your thigh, holding you steady even as the magic does most of the work.

At the same time, Rio hooks her fingers under your chin, tilting your face up to meet her gaze. “Open,” she orders, her tone leaving no room for disobedience. You hesitate for the briefest moment, but the commanding heat in her eyes makes resistance futile. Slowly, you part your lips.

“Good girl,” Rio purrs, her magic flaring as A glowing, dark strap materializes at her hips. Without hesitation, she guides herself into your mouth, her grip firm as she sets a punishing pace. The sensation is overwhelming, the stretch and weight of her filling you completely as Agatha’s fingers curl inside you, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body.

“You’re taking us so well,” Agatha coos, her tone mocking yet almost affectionate. Her thumb brushes over your sensitive bundle of nerves, her movements deliberate as she stretches you open. “See, Rio? She’s learning her place.”

Rio hums in agreement, her hips rocking forward, forcing you to take her deeper. “She’s a quick learner,” she mutters, her tone dripping with amusement. “But I think she can do better.” Her hand tangles in your hair, holding you steady as she thrusts into your throat, her breath hitching with each movement. The magic allows her to feel everything, and her low moans of pleasure send heat pooling low in your stomach.

Tears prick your eyes, and your throat protests, but you push through, the weight of their control pressing down on you until you’re trembling under their combined attention. Agatha’s fingers curl, hitting a spot inside you that makes you cry out around Rio, your body jerking in response. Rio groans, the sound rough and needy as her hips stutter, the magic amplifying every sensation as she pushes herself closer to the edge.

Her breath hitches, and a deep, guttural moan escapes her throat as she pulls back abruptly. “Fuck,” she rasps, her voice breaking with raw need as her strap pulses in your mouth, just shy of her release. She withdraws with a deliberate slowness, her eyes dark with satisfaction as she grips the base of her strap.

Rio circles you with slow, measured steps, her predatory gaze dragging over your trembling form as she moves to stand by Agatha. “Switching places for a moment, darling,” she smirks as she traces her fingers along your calf. Agatha just chuckles, her magic flaring as her own glowing strap begins to materialise at her hips, its sleek, enchanted form matching the dangerous glint in her eyes.

With a shuddering exhale, Rio begins to jerk herself off, her movements slow at first but growing more desperate as her climax quickly builds again. The room fills with the sound of her ragged breaths and low, throaty groans, the raw need in her voice making your own pulse race. As her release finally hits, a long, drawn-out groan tears from her throat. Her body trembling with the intensity of her orgasm as she cums all over your pussy. “A little something to make things easier for you, darling.” Rio says after a moment, her voice husky as she steps back, her satisfaction evident in the smug grin curling her lips.

“How thoughtful of you,” Agatha chuckles, her hand aligning the tip of her strap against your entrance, which was now dripping with a mix of your arousal and Rio’s cum. “Let’s see how well our little pet takes it.”

The stretch is slow and deliberate as Agatha pushes into you, the slickness making it easier, though no less overwhelming. She fills you completely, her hips moving in slow, devastating thrusts that leave you gasping and trembling. “That’s it,” she whispers, her hands gripping your thighs as her rhythm builds. “Take it all. Good pet.”

Rio’s eyes glint with hunger as she watches, arms crossed and shoulders relaxed as though she isn’t buzzing with anticipation. Her lips curl into a sly smile as Agatha sets the pace, each thrust precise and devastating. "Look at her,” Rio remarks, her voice thick with satisfaction. “Already such a mess. She’s perfect like this. Just for us."

Agatha’s answering laugh is low and sultry, her grip on your thighs tightening as she drives into you with more force. Each movement sends jolts of pleasure tearing through your body, amplified by the hum of her magic. She leans down, her breath warm against your neck, and you feel the sharp graze of her teeth. A shiver runs through you as she bites down, hard enough to leave her mark.

“She needs more,” Agatha purrs, her voice laced with wicked amusement. “Doesn’t she, Rio?”

Rio hums in agreement, stepping behind you. Her hands glide over your trembling form, possessive and firm as she tilts your head back, exposing your throat. "Let’s make sure she doesn’t forget who she belongs to," she hums, her lips brushing your ear before sinking her teeth into the sensitive skin just above your collarbone. The sharp sting pulls a broken moan from your lips, and you feel the curve of her smile against your skin.

“Tell us who owns you,” Agatha demands, her voice sharp and commanding as she drives into you with unrelenting force. Her magic courses through you, burning in all the right ways, overwhelming your senses until you’re teetering on the edge of another orgasm.

“Y-you,” you stammer, the word barely a whisper as your body trembles under her onslaught.

“And?” Her pace quickens, her tone leaving no room for hesitation.

“Rio,” you gasp, tears streaking your cheeks as your release builds, unbearable and all-consuming.

Agatha hums in satisfaction, her movements growing rougher as her own breath hitches. The magic connects her to every sensation—the friction and heat dragging a deep, guttural moan from her throat. “Good girl,” she groans, her voice strained with pleasure. With a particularly deep thrust, she sends you tumbling over the edge. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve cum tonight, as a fresh climax hits with an intensity that leaves you sobbing, the pleasure tearing through you until you’re left trembling, every muscle quivering with aftershocks.

But Agatha doesn’t stop. She presses deeper, drawing out every last spark of sensation, her own shuddering release building as she feels you clenching around her. An almost feral growl escapes her as her hips snap forward in one final thrust, her movements stilling as you feel her twitching inside you, magic amplifying the waves of her release. Her grip tightens on your thighs, her nails digging into your skin as her body shudders against yours.

When she finally pulls back, her breath comes in ragged gasps, her chest heaving as she stands tall, a smug, satisfied smirk curling her lips. “Mine,” she murmurs, her voice heavy with possession, as her fingers trail over the fresh marks she’s left on your skin, her touch lingering like a brand. A slick, warm sensation follows as her release drips out of you, a vivid reminder of the claim she’s just staked.

Rio steps forward then, her hands sliding up and down your trembling thighs, her touch deliberate as if savouring every inch of you. She hums softly, her lips quirking in amusement as she watches Agatha’s cum trickle down. “Messy,” she remarks with a low chuckle, her tone almost mocking.

Leaning in, Rio gathers it on her fingers and pushes it back inside you, her grin widening as you gasp at the intrusion. “Can’t let that go to waste,” she purrs, her tone thick with satisfaction.

Only then does she line herself up fully, her hands gripping your hips tightly as she thrusts into you with brutal precision. The pace is relentless from the start, her hips slamming against yours in a rhythm that leaves no room for reprieve.

“Fuck, you take my cock so well,” Rio growls, her head tipping back as she buries herself in deeper. Her pace is relentless, each movement sending fresh waves of pleasure crashing through you. Her nails dig into your hips, and she drags you back against her, forcing you to take her deeper still, making you cry out in pleasure. “I thought you were defiant,” she mocks, her voice dripping with dark amusement. “And yet, now you’re practically begging for it.”

All you can manage is a broken moan, your body arching into her as the pleasure blurs the edges of your thoughts. Every thrust leaves you gasping, every scrape of her nails and bite of her teeth reducing you further. Rio leans down, her teeth grazing your shoulder before biting hard enough to make you cry out. "That’s right," she murmurs, her voice low and rough. “You’re ours to ruin.”

Her movements become erratic, her breaths ragged as she slams her hips into you, every twitch of your already overstimulated cunt pushing her closer to the edge. “Fuck,” Rio hisses, her voice breaking as her hips snap forward, her own release tearing through her with a force that leaves her trembling. She holds you tight, her head dropped back in pure ecstasy, a rough groan escaping her throat as the magic amplifies every pulse and throb of your body around her.

Rio doesn’t pull out immediately, instead grinding her hips against you, dragging out the sensations until both of your bodies finally stop twitching. Her chest rises and falls heavily, and she leans forward, pressing a possessive kiss to the curve of your shoulder before straightening and calling over her wife. “Come here, my love.”

She adjusts her position, kneeling between your legs, her hands firm on your thighs as she spreads them wider to give Agatha a clear view. “Look at this,” she says, her tone dripping with amusement as she watches their combined release trickling from your thoroughly used body. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Agatha’s sharp eyes gleam with approval as she steps closer, her lips curving into a satisfied smirk. “Absolutely perfect,” she purrs, crossing her arms as she leans in slightly, watching intently as Rio moves between your legs.

Rio’s tongue flicks out, her movements slow and deliberate as she begins to ‘clean you up,’ her warm, wet strokes collecting every drop of their cum. The sensation is unbearable, the overstimulation pushing your body past its limits as each pass of her tongue sends sharp jolts of pleasure and pain coursing through you.

“P-please,” you stutter, your voice cracking, but your plea only earns a low chuckle from Rio as her hands tighten on your thighs, holding you in place.

“Shhh, pet,” Rio whispers against your skin, her breath warm as she continues her slow, torturous movements. “We’re not done until we say we’re done.”

Your body jerks under her attention, the overstimulation finally cresting into another peak that crashes through you with devastating force. Your release hits like a thunderclap, leaving you sobbing and trembling as Rio licks you clean, her tongue never missing a single drop.

By the time Rio is finished having her fun, you’re a trembling, stuttering mess, every shred of resistance melted away. They’ve undone you completely, your body and mind utterly spent. As Agatha waves a hand, the magical restraints dissolve, and you slump forward, only for Rio to catch your limp form.

“Good girl,” Agatha affirms, her voice soft yet laced with smug satisfaction as she strokes your hair.

Rio hums her agreement, her arms tightening around you as she presses a kiss to your temple. “You’re ours now,” she whispers, her voice filled with possessive pride.

And in the haze of pleasure and surrender, you don’t argue.

-----

I told myself I'd get the next chapter of Neighbourly Care out before New Years but then this fic possessed me. Oh well, if I managed to get my degrees by writing everything the night before I can certainly do the same for my fics 😤😤

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Taglist: @danveration @aceday @alwaysharmony @idkwhatever580 @sunshine-makes-flowers-grow @gbab09 @vigilante24ish @marvelwomenarehot0

[rafescvntyclubgf]

𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼

𝙽𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚢 𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝔽𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕖𝕟: 𝔸𝕝𝕨𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕄𝕚𝕟𝕖

𝙽𝙷𝙻!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙹𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

❕Warnings Contain Spoilers ❕

warnings: rafe’s pov, reader’s pov, dark!rafe, possessive!rafe, obsessed!rafe, graphic violence, mentions of blood, rafe considers kidnapping the reader, rafe beats up his co-captain and ties him up, oral (male + female receiving), dark!reader, ownership kink, pet names, swearing, dirty talk, kissing, unprotected p in v, praise, rough sex, cum tasting

This is an ask from my baby starkeysbabygirl for dark NHL!Rafe 💋 thank you for your ask, hun!!! The premise is reporter!reader, Rafe’s ex, interviews him and the other captain ahead of Friday night's big game. Rafe can't help but see the spark between them, and he wants to let her know who she belongs to

Masterlist

Rafe’s POV:

The camera light flashes; a typical pre-game interview, but my heart is beating out of my chest. I lean back slightly, relaxing on my leather couch. My co-captain Nate laughs, elbowing me playfully, joking about something, but honestly, I can’t fuckin’ hear it.

My girl… Well, at least she was.

She’s stunning, polished, and professional. She glances at Nate, then me, her face unchanging, calm, and collected, completely detached as I’m losing my goddamn mind at the sight of her so close to me.

She adjusts the microphone clipped to her blouse… red. My favorite color, especially on her, and I can’t help but wonder if she remembers that.

It’s been six months since we broke up. Six long months, but each passing day only made my obsession worse. She had a jealous streak that drove me insane, questioning every woman I so much as glanced at from the ice. Blowing up my phone to the point of exhaustion on away games just in case I found someone else. I tried to reassure her I was loyal, but it was never enough. And that exhaustion I felt didn’t even begin to cover it. I was over it completely.

Eventually, I snapped. I told her I was over her and the drama, the fighting; I was done trying to convince her she was all I wanted. That day, I broke her—shattered her heart completely—and when she walked out the door, I told myself it was for the best.

Or, so I thought.

But the truth was she never really left… I started following her career from afar, curiosity getting the better of me. I selfishly wondered if she was as affected by our breakup as I was, but she wasn’t. That curiosity turned into something darker—something I didn’t even recognize myself.

She'd landed the gig at ESPN she’d been working for, climbing the ladder from short vlogs to TV interviews. Every interview, every appearance, every event—I consumed it all, taking what crumbs I could get. I even started showing up where I knew she would be, affairs I would have skipped before, all in an attempt to catch her eye, but I never did.

All I want is her. All I want is to be close to her. Tonight’s my fuckin’ night.

To her, it’s just some informal interview—a change from her regular rinkside report or studio sit down. But to me, it’s one step closer to getting her back; she’s sitting in my place, on my couch, sipping a glass of water from my cupboard. It’s like she’s coming home.

“Alright, gentleman,” y/n smiles, pulling me out of my mind. Her voice was honeyed and dripping with confidence. I shut my eyes, hanging my head momentarily, trying to collect myself as she continued. “The Winter Classic is one of the season's biggest games; the match-up is electric on its own. Fans are buzzing about the drama between you and the Kings. How are you both feeling tonight?”

My lips curl into a smile as she asks me a question; well, us—regardless, the attention had me feeling like I just snorted a line. Riding high off the attention I had been craving for for months. My fix finally met. “Excited,” I blurt out, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks as she cocks her eyebrow at me. “Focused… This is the kinda hockey you look forward to playin’.”

“Absolutely,” Nate adds, cutting in, stealing her focus from me in the process. Her gaze flickers to him, the corners of her perfect lips curling into a slight smile that I didn’t get. A sharp sting of jealousy stabs through my heart. My blunt fingernails dig into the armrests of my chair, trying to stay composed.

”And you, Rafe,” she sings as she looks back at me. Fuck… My pulse spikes as my name passes her lips for the first time in months. She hasn’t mentioned my name once in any interview, podcast, or vlog. "As one of the league's top performers, do you feel the pressure to lead your team tomorrow?”

I draw a deep breath, thankful that I hung on to her every word instead of focusing on the sound of her voice alone—like music to my fuckin’ ears. “Pressure is part of the gig. I’ve always thrived on it.”

She nods, living in my words for a moment. “Spoken like a true captain,” she praises. Her compliment hits me harder than it should’ve, but I can’t help but blush at her words.

The interview presses on as the tension between her and me simmers beneath the surface. Even Nate can tell, his eyes moving between us when her gaze hangs a little heavier on me.

And then, something shifts.

Her attention pivots to Nate; the scales of her focus weighing in his favor. My heart breaks with each smile, each glimmer in his and her eyes. I watch her fall through my finger again, right into his hands.

And Nate—that motherfucker—he’s eating it up, flirting shamelessly, and worse, she doesn't seem to mind in the slightest.

By the end of the interview, I had all but fallen apart. Nate stands up, rolling up the sleeves of his button-down shirt as he looks at her from across the room, no doubt eye-fuckin’ the shit out of my girl. I sip my coffee, observing her from across the room as she packs up her equipment, leaving my place with a little wave, nothing more, nothing less.

“Fuck, she’s stunning,” Nate hums. “Do you have her number?”

“No,” I press the word past my lips. Drawing a deep breath, I roll out my neck, trying to let his comments go.

"It’s alright. She probably has an IG account or somethin’. I'll just slide into her DMs. Probably safer that way anyway," he says with a smug smile, looking over with a wink like he’s talking to a friend, but that ship has fuckin’ sailed.

My jaw clenches tight, and every muscle in my body twists tight. I can’t let him see how much he’s getting to me… His words make me feel like I could lose my last shred of sanity.

Nate walks toward the door, slipping on his jacket. He digs his phone out of his pocket, sliding his finger across the screen before looking up at me again. “How do you spell her first name again?”

She’s probably gone by now. My hear’s racing. What the fuck am I doing? My mind pinballs between a dozen possibilities. What if it’s too late? What if she doesn’t want to talk to me? Do I take her? Take her, Rafe… What the fuck am I thinking? No… No. Talk to her? Yeah—Yeah, just talk. For now.

SCREECH.

She slams on the brakes as I stop her in the parking lot— thankful she parked in valet and not on the street, giving me a little extra time to get to her.

"Rafe?" She asks, her voice gentle and uneasy. “Are you ok-“

"Can we talk?" I cut her off with a breathless request, trying to sound calmer than I am as my heart pounds in my head.

She looks around the lot before turning her attention back to me. “… Sure.” She bends around, returning to the valet, before handing him her keys.

She walks toward me, doing nothing for my nerves as her jacket blows slightly with the breeze, the winter wind whipping her hair, making her look like a goddamn angel. My eyes stay locked on her, unblinking, not wanting to miss a moment as she clears the gap between us.

“What did you wanna talk about?”

"Upstairs…” I choke out. "Just for a drink."

We walk toward the elevator. The ride up is silent; tension between us, thick with unsaid words.

She walks into my apartment, stopping dead in her tracks.

The living room is wrecked. A lamp knocked onto the floor—glass shattered. Decorations are strewn and thrown to the floor. Sitting in the far corner of the room is Nate: tied to a chair, beaten face smeared with blood, his head hanging low.

She turns around, her trembling hand covering her lips, her wide eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Her gaze darts from mine to my hands. Shit… I look down, catching the blood; my knuckles split and broken.

“Y/n,” I start, and just as I do, her hand falls—from her smile.

She walks toward me, slow and deliberate, as my heart swells. Her heels click against the marble floor as she gets closer and closer. "Rafe," she hums, looking up at me through her lashes. "You did this for me?"

I draw a deep breath, looking down at her before me, completely overwhelmed. I don't know what reaction I was expecting or what thoughts went through my mind when I brought her back here, but a part of me knew this was what she wanted.

“I hated the way he was talkin’ to you,” I whisper.

She looks over her shoulder, taking in the chaos silently. Every piece of broken glass and a crimson streak of blood was just a reminder of how far I’d go, and still, for me, it was not enough. “I can't believe you did this for me,” she says the words weakly as a tear tumbles down her cheek.

“I’d do worse if it meant keeping you.”

She bites her lips, holding back her emotions. My stomach flutters as her hands slip into mine. “I missed you, Rafe. I think about you all the time,” she smiles.

“I can’t tell you how much I missed you… I’m sorry for following you—”

“I wanted you to,” she assures, giving me the answer I was hoping for.

"You started this career to be closer to me," I ask as I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her into me, my voice slow and steady, “didn't you?" She takes a little breath, looking down at the space between us, smiling before looking back up at me, nodding ‘yes.’

"I was hoping we’d run into each other and I’d get to apologize for how I acted-”

"Stop," I interrupt, my voice hoarse and broken with feelings. "I don't care about that shit. I’ve been messed up since the day you left."

Her eyes blink as she looks up at me lovingly. I cup her cheeks in her hands, brushing away her tears with my thumbs. "You're mine," I whisper. "No one else's. Say it.”

"I'm yours," she breathes. I look out of the corner of my eye, watching Nate struggle against the binds, breaking up our moment, making my blood boil.

“Let me go take care of him. Yeah?” I rasp, and she smiles.

I step toward him slowly as he battles even harder, that cockiness that he had in the interview stripped away. “Rafe—Rafe… I don't know what the fuck is goin’ on, man. Just let me go.”

I kneel beside him, looking him in his eyes, ensuring he hears every word. “Nate… You fucked up, man,” I chide. “You pushed me… And if you do it again, you’ll find out just how far I can go, bitch. This is nothing…”

“I didn’t know, Rafe. Fuck—I didn’t know you were together,” he rambles as blood trickles out of the corner of his lips.

“You couldn’t feel it? Bullshit. I know you saw it. Stop fuckin’ lyin’ to me,” I hiss. “And you… What if Ally found out you were about to slip in my girl's DMs, huh?” I ask, my voice low and lethal. “What if your wife found out about that little Instagram model in Montreal? One word to her, and you’re done.”

Nate shakes his head ‘no’ fast, his bruised eyes pinched shut. “I’m not gonna say shit!” He huffs.

The second I untie him, he’s scrambling toward the door. A wicked smile twists on her lips as she looks back at me, hanging onto every word I said to him, the threats leaving my tongue nothing but foreplay to her. She turns on her heels, beckoning me with her dark gaze.

Y/n smiles at me, biting her lip as she looks down at the floor. My Boston College jersey lies in a pile of glass; the collectible frame knocked off the wall in the fight. She bends down, picking it up, giving it a few shakes before disappearing into my dark room.

I smile to myself, giving her a moment. I know what she’s gonna do. That’s my girl.

Walking toward my bedroom, I follow the trail of discarded clothes: her jacket, skirt, and that satin blouse I wanted to tear off, but this is so much better. I chuckle sleazily as I see her pretty red bra on the floor, my eyes lifting to my bed, seeing her sitting pretty on the edge of the bed, waiting for me.

Before I can even ask, she’s on her knees, crawling slowly toward me. My eyes roll back seeing her like this… Like a goddamn dream. I rip off the buttons of my shirt, tearing it off my shoulders as she kneels before me, pawing for my belt, tugging my pants around my ankles.

I wrap my fist around her hair, pulling after gaze away from my cock to my eyes. “C’mon, pretty… I remember what this mouth can do,” I mumble as my thumb brushes along her bottom lip.

She lays out her tongue, and I slap my tip against it, moaning at the contact. She wraps her lips around me, eyes fluttering shut like it’s all she needs. The vibrations of her pleasured sounds about sends me. I use the hold on her head to pull her into me, watching tears spring in the corners of her eyes again as my fat tip kisses the back of her throat.

Reader’s POV:

“Atta girl,” Rafe hums, his praise only fueling your frenzy. You bob up and down on his long cock as he guides your strokes. “You like that shit?” He breathes a sigh of relief as he watches you work his dick in your mouth.

“Suckin’ my dick with my name on your shoulders, princess… You know how many times I’ve thought about this? Fuckin’ dream girl,” he groans hazily between thrusts.

Rafe blows out a breath as you release his cock with a pop, causing him to let out a grunt for more, almost instantly eased by your fist, jerking him off. You can feel your wetness, trickling from your pussy, seeping down your inner thigh. "I can't wait to fuck you, princess."

You moan, feeling the weight of him on your tongue, Rafe’s precum swirling with your saliva, making your arousal pool in your panties. You lift his jersey slightly, giving him a glimpse of your round ass, a tiny number two embroidered on the back of your thong.

“Fuckkk,” he groans at the sight, tossing his head back; the salty taste of his precum intensifies as he cum in thick ropes, painting your throat. You wrap your hands around his body, nails scratching down his thigh, making his muscles clench.

Rafe’s cock throbs on your tongue, blood pumping in his shaft as you cup his balls in your hands, rolling slowly, not wanting him out of your mouth just yet.

“Co’mere,” he breathes as he helps you to your feet, pulling you to his lips. He kisses you deeply, walking back with you to his large bed, pushing you down before mounting you fast. “These panties… You fuckin’ kidding me,” he mutters against your lips as his thick fingers shove the satin aside, running up your soaked slit.

You start to rock with his thrusts as Rafe swallows your moans. He pulls away, pushing his fingers between his lips, sucking off your wetness, looking down at you underneath him.

“Hands and knees, princess,” he smiles.

Before you can comply, he grips your hips, flipping you over. You arch your back for him, and he grabs your ass, circling his hands before spanking you once, then twice.

He squeezes your curves, pulling you apart slightly, running his tongue from your clit to your entrance. You whimper as his fingers press against your aching pearl, tongue pushing into your soaked hole.

Rafe swirls his tongue and fingers with precision, eating you out from the back, moaning into your cunt as he laps up your arousal. His free hand tugs your panties to the side, using the hold to pull your warmth closer to his face, the man drowning in pussy.

”Rafe… Fuck. I’m close,” you whimper.

"Cum for me," he whispers between tongue flicks. You cum fast and hard, fluttering as your pleasure courses through your veins.

Before you can even come down from your high, he sinks into you, making you cry out, sliding into your sloppy core until his hips nudge your ass. He grabs your body, pushing his cock even further, making you bury your face in the comforter.

“Oh my god. Shittt,” he grunts as he circles his hips, his voice deep and dripping with sin. You lift your head as he pulls almost out, fucking back into your fast. “Tell me whose pussy this is, baby. Fuckin’ tell me…”

“Yours, baby,” you squeal, body shivering at the feeling of him buried to the hilt.

“That’s right…” He mumbles as he pushes the jersey up your back.

He rolls and snaps his hips into you, making the fat of your ass recoil with each thrust. He grabs your curves in his hands, spreading you wider, watching the way his thick dick gets swallowed up, wet, and sticky with your slickness.

He builds up to a punishing pace; the sounds of your wet skin slapping against each other fill his room. His fingers dig into your supple flesh as you start to meet him thrust for thrust, gasping as he hits that special spot, your heart rate frantic—your body desperate to cum around his big cock.

Rafe’s movements get a little rougher, his pace quickening. “Mpfhh… You’re gonna cum?” He groans, desperation clinging to his tone as he tries to hold back his pleasure. “Been thinkin’ about that feelin’ for six fuckin’ months,” he mumbles. “I know you are. Cum on my dick, princess… I need it—Fuck. I need it,” your eyes roll back in your head as your pleasure surges through you, crashing over you like a wave.

“Rafe, fuck-”

“That’s my fuckin’ girl,” Rafe pants, answering your cries as he throws his hips. “I’m gonna fill up this tight cunt. I want you dripping out of me tomorrow.” He reaches for you, pulling you back to his chest, pressing his face against your cheeks. “You’ll always remember who owns this pussy.”

Rafe’s body tightens as he grabs your face, pressing his lips against yours. “You're mine,” he whispers against your mouth as his body shudders, filling you with his heavy load.

His tongue slips between your lips as he rocks his hip, smiling through panting breaths, pushing his cum deeper and deeper. Tears of pleasure and happiness roll down your cheeks as he keeps you standing, your legs feeling like they could give way at any second. Rafe chuckles darkly, letting out a satisfied sigh at his cockdrunk girl. “Say it, baby…”

“I’m yours.”

[luetta]

capturing angels is easy. snipe them from the skies, break their halos, and watch the divine light fade from their eyes as you turn them into fleshlights.

capturing a seraph is harder.

they live in the upper atmosphere, far beyond reach. luckily nothing grabs their attention better than desecrating nature. you’ll have one hovering above you the moment you start pouring oil into the river.

but they’re invisible, they don’t actually do anything. they just watch with seething rage. but you can tell where they are, if you look carefully at the ripples in the sky. and they can be speargunned like any other piece of meat, they’re not intangible.

but they’re fast. once they get hit they’ll try to fly away, faster than you can blink. but it’s against their code to break something holy. that’s why i soaked the speargun rope in the blood of that drunk priest. it simply can’t snap the rope.

it’ll try attack you now, lifting it’s veil of invisibility and showing you it’s form. it’s beautiful, it’s blinding. that’s why we wear these industrial goggles to block most of its rays.

after the initial blast of light, you can see it’s true form. a 3m tall body of white porcelain, with undulating red spirals flowing from her talons. 3 halos, 2 pairs of wings, 6 uncaring eyes. it tries to attack us, shred us to pieces. but with a few more unbreakable spears, she’s essentially pinned in place.

it lets out a screech, attracting other seraphs. they come, but they just watch from afar. the leaves of all the trees nearby shrivel up. putting 2 pikes into her main wings, she can’t move. turning her head to look at us like an owl, she starts to speak.

“SURRENDIPITY. AMALGAMATION. DESECRATION. VOLITION. QUINTESSENCE.”

it’s best to just ignore them during this part. and instead just focus on the halos. that’s the target.

striking it with tools - sparks flying off - it’s amazing how much these floating discs feel like they’re anchored in place. they simply don’t react. but that’s a boon in our favour, not theirs. it means, eventually, they’ll shatter. if they warped it’d be exponentially harder to destroy.

eventually, the first one breaks with the help of a winch attached to the truck.

the seraph starts to struggle against her binds now, strange new feelings of danger making it panic.

“LIGHT FLOW BEAUTY RESIST ERODE TRANQUILITY. WATER AIR SPLIT GROW RECEDE. MAPLE LIMESTONE WIND TIDE BLOOD.”

the second halo breaks.

“SMOKE FIRE WAR WAR WAR. SHARK DARKNESS DEATH. MISERY. BLOODSHED. FEAR. TERROR. ACID BLINDNESS DECAY.”

the last halo cracks, it’s about to give out. the seraph is straining against the spears, shaking, desperate emotion in her eyes.

“LOVE WISDOM HAPPINESS. JOY PROSPERITY ENDLESS. RAINDROPS. YOURS. OWNERSHIP SUBJUGATION FREEDOM. LOVE EMPATHY ENVY PLEASURE RESPITE. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE. HOSPITALITY. INTIMACY. MERCY.”

the halo shatters to a million pieces. the area is no longer illuminated by some unseen source. the ripples in the sky disappear, the watchers retreat, uninterested now. the scared creature is speechless, her eyes wide and unbelieving. dirt now sticks to her body, instead of just sliding off. flesh instead of ceramic. we take the spears out, but bind her with ropes much harsher now. she’s still has strength, but it’s no longer unfathomable like it was.

now she’s just another fallen angel, about to learn the one thing divinity lacks, and humanity excels in. physicality. we have a lot of breaking in to do before she’s ready to join the other angels downtown. or perhaps i’ll find a private, permanent buyer. something like this would probably fetch enough to let us get out of this shithole finally.

as we throw her into its new room, a cold, stone room, with hooks in the walls to attach chains to, she speaks again.

“hurt. sadness. freedom fear anxiety. lost indecision hubris. mercy pain silence. separation beauty uncountability. exploration … limitations. unknown darkness fear. ”

“don’t worry darling. we’ll have you singing again in no time.”

[abucives]

𝑯𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒔 𝑺𝑹𝑻 '𝑺

Connie Springer x Black Reader part 2

Warnings: 18+, slight mentions of drug dealer!connie, black reader, female anatomy, smut, fingering, short, brent my king mentioned 🙏🏾 ( i need feedback!!)

The sun had just begun its descent on this balmy Friday evening in June as Connie pulled up in his sleek black car. You had been waiting for this moment all week, eagerly anticipating another thrilling encounter with the tall, buzz-cut charmer. Known for his prowess with women and his side hustle as a drug dealer, Connie had a reputation that both intrigued and intimidated you.

As you slid into the passenger seat, your heart raced with anticipation. Connie shot you a devilish grin, his deep-set eyes sparkling with mischief. He knew exactly what he wanted, and he intended to take it. Without a word, he started the engine, the smooth bassline of "All Mine" by Brent Faiyaz filling the air as he pulled away.

Connie drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on your thigh. You felt the heat of his palm even through the fabric of your skirt, and a shiver ran down your spine. The song's sensual rhythm seemed to mirror the building tension between you and Connie. As the melody intensified, so did the boldness of his touch.

His hand crept higher, his fingers dancing along the hem of your skirt. With each upward stroke, your breath quickened, and your dark eyes flickered toward him. Connie just smiled, enjoying the power he held over you. His fingers grazed the soft skin of your inner thigh, causing you to squirm slightly in your seat.

With a subtle shift of his body, Connie positioned himself closer to you, his hand now boldly claiming ownership of your thigh. His fingers inched higher, teasing the sensitive skin at the junction of your thighs. You couldn't suppress a soft moan as his touch edged dangerously close to your core. Connie's grip tightened, his fingers pressing firmly into your flesh as if claiming you as his own.

The song's sultry lyrics echoed your growing desire, and you found yourself succumbing to the pleasure of his touch. Your eyes fluttered closed as you focused on the sensations flooding your body. Connie's touch was confident and demanding, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles on your now-throbbing center through the thin fabric of your panties.

Your breath quickened, and your chest rose and fell with increasing speed. Connie's free hand left the steering wheel, reaching over to grasp yours. His thumb stroked your knuckles as he brought your hand up to his mouth, his eyes never leaving the road. He sucked your finger into his mouth, mimicking the actions he longed to perform on other parts of your body.

You bit your lip, fighting the urge to cry out as sparks of pleasure radiated from your core. Connie's touch was expert, his fingers finding every sensitive spot. With each caress, your hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more friction against his intrusive digits. The damp fabric of your panties testified to your growing excitement.

Connie chuckled, his breath hot on your ear. "You like that, don't you, baby?" he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "You're so fucking wet for me." His fingers slipped beneath the elastic of your panties, plunging directly into your sopping core.

A strangled moan escaped your lips as his fingers delved into your tightness, stroking your most sensitive spots. Connie's thumb found your swollen clit, circling and applying pressure as he pumped his fingers in and out. Your hips rocked in time with his motions, your body instinctively seeking release.

The car seemed to disappear around you, the only reality existing in the small, confined space between your bodies. The song's fading strains were drowned out by the rushing of blood in your ears as you careened toward the edge of orgasm. Connie sensed your imminent climax, his touch growing firmer, more insistent.

Then, with a final stroke, you tumbled over the precipice, crying out hoarsely as your body convulsed with pleasure. Connie kept his fingers buried deep inside you, milking every last spasm of your orgasm. Finally, he withdrew his hand, raising it to his mouth to taste your essence. "Fucking delicious," he growled, his eyes dark with desire.

You slumped back in your seat, spent and breathless, your heart pounding in your chest. Connie just grinned, clearly pleased with himself as he pulled the car over to the side of the road.

(IDK IF I SHOULD CONTINUE THIS ONE OR NOT)

[witchesverse]

run, little one, though the pack may follow

pairing: dark!agathario x werewolf!reader

summary: she killed your pack and chased you for six hours. you think you've been saved when you find a cabin, but unfortunately, you've walked right to her doorstep.

content: mentions of killing, wolf hierarchy, kidnapping, collars, muzzles, degradation (mutt, dog), hair/fur pulling, being chained to a wall, shock collars, mean!agathario, death threats, face slapping, noncon, somnophilia.

1.3k words

masterlist // the shelter masterlist

Six hours ago, your life was ruined. The witch, you have learnt her name to be Agatha, slaughtered your pack before driving you into the forbidden forest - a place no werewolf should enter. You thought your torment would end there, but she hasn’t stopped chasing you.

Your paws slap against the forest floor and your legs weaken with each step. You’re exhausted and need a break, but if you stopped running, she would catch you and kill you. The feeling of hope sparks in your chest; a cabin stands in the distance. You can pretend to act as an injured dog and seek shelter. You scratch against the front door and whine. A few seconds pass before the door is opened, revealing a woman with dark hair. Something about her aura makes you shiver. You give her your biggest puppy dog eyes and whimper, lifting your paw as if it is injured. 

The woman studies you for a moment before scoffing. “Agatha, come get your bitch.”

There is no time to react. Agatha grabs you by the scruff of your neck and pins you to the ground. You growl and twist in Agatha’s hold, desperately trying to escape her grasp. You feel something slip around your neck and click in place.

Did she put a fucking collar on you?

“Do not forget the muzzle. I am not dealing with teeth.” the woman hisses with disgust.

To wear a collar was embarrassing and degrading, but a muzzle was by far worse. You weren’t able to defend yourself with your teeth or assert dominance as easily. Only the lowest wolves in the pack wore a muzzle as punishment. There was no way you could allow yourself to wear a muzzle.

You manage to squirm out of Agatha’s grasp and pull yourself away from her. You stand defensively, teeth bared and eyes narrow. You can’t keep running, it has proven to be futile. 

“Brat,” Agatha pulls something out of her pocket and presses the button.

An unbearable pain pulses through your neck and you collapse to the ground. It feels like you’re continuously being punched really, really hard in the neck. The collar is electric. You try to stand but your muscles feel weak and like jelly. Agatha grins wickedly, taking three steps towards with the muzzle in her hand. The muzzle is black and has a few large holes for your nose and air to pass through. It has two straps on the side which she clips around the black of your head, and one strap going down the middle of your head which clips to the two straps. If you had the energy, you would scratch and snarl at her. To wear a muzzle was pathetic. It showed signs of ownership and submissiveness - she did not own you and you are not an Omega.

"Remember our deal, Agatha." the woman seems disinterested in you, almost like she doesn’t want to keep you.

"You'll be a good pet, won't you, darling?" Agatha purres.

You wish that you were human so you could snap a reply at her.

Your limp body is encased in purple magic, lifting you from the ground. Your body trails behind Agatha and the other witch as they walk inside. The cabin is small. Directly next to the door, there is a worn leather sofa and two empty bookcases. The kitchen is at the end of the cabin, and the wooden dining table is adjacent to it.

The unknown woman takes a seat on the sofa. Agatha continues down a hallway and turns into a room. This room is nearly empty. There is a queen-sized bed in the centre of the room and two cabinets on either side. On the right, there is a large dog bed and a chain connected to the wall. You are placed on the dog bed and Agatha attaches the chain to your ankle. As much as it is degrading, you can’t deny how comfortable it is. 

Agatha crouches, her hand threads through your fur, pulling it to reveal your throat to her. You bare your teeth. “I’ll give you a day or two of grace, but I wouldn’t try that attitude on Rio, sweetheart.”

Rio. That is the name of the other woman.

She releases her grip on your fur and pats the side of your muzzle before standing. “Get some rest,”

If your body didn’t feel like dead weight, you would have launched yourself at her and ripped her throat out. You don’t want to sleep. You don’t want to follow her orders. You want to be free with your pack; they deserve a proper burial. You stifle a cry at the thought of your pack. They are dead, rotting alone, and no doubt being torn apart by wild animals. You are the Alpha; the protector of the pack, yet you failed to protect. You blink back your tears. Crying won’t help, it will only blind you. If you want to take revenge, you need to focus.

You fight sleep for as long as you can, but there is no point. You are exhausted, your body aches, and the bed is so comfortable. You sigh, close your eyes, and let the world go dark.

When you wake, you notice two things. One, you’re human again. Two, your pussy and thighs are sticky. You drag two fingers through your slick; you’re drenched. You swallow, dragging yourself to your knees. It’s dark outside; moonlight is illuminating the room. There is a light breeze coming through the open window, making your naked form shiver. Wait, there’s an open window. An escape.

You stand eagerly and quickly move to the window, completely forgetting about the chain connected to your ankle. You fall to your knees and wince at the loud smack. You glance at the door, expecting one of the witches to walk through, but they don’t. 

“Fuckin’ chains.”

You tug at the chains, hoping they’ll disconnect from the wall. They don’t budge. You don’t even bother trying to take the chain off your ankle; it’s padlocked. You groan, flopping on the dog bed in defeat.

“Gave up already, mutt?”

You snap your head to the door. Rio leans against the door with a mocking smile. She’s wearing gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt. As she walks towards you, you back into the wall. She crouches, reaching out to tuck your hair behind your ear. Forgetting about the muzzle, you try to bite her. Her mocking smile drops and she pulls you by your collar.

“Don’t try that shit on me, mutt. Or I’ll make you wish that Agatha killed you with the rest of your pack.” she snarled.

“Fuck you.”

Her hand collides with your face. The slap is hard and brings tears to your eyes. She pushes you onto your back and keeps your thighs spread. One finger drags through your pussy, making her laugh.

“Agatha treated you well. Too bad, you weren’t awake for it.”

The look of confusion on your face makes her laugh harder.

“Dogs have never been that smart, have they?”

You hate being called a dog or a mutt, unfortunately, Rio seems to enjoy it. You hate everything about this. Never in your life have you been in such a vulnerable position or had someone have so much control over you.

“Why?” you croak as her hands glide over your stomach and tits.

“Why not?”

“Leave her alone, Rio.” 

With a smile, Rio shuffles back from you. She’s still close enough to touch you but you’re grateful she gave you space. It’s pathetic how terrified you know you look. You have pushed yourself against the wall, trying to create as much space from them as possible.

“You’re scaring her before it’s meant to get scary, my love.” Agatha tsks, kissing the top of Rio’s head.

“It’s not my fault that she’s a scaredy cat.”

You growl. A scaredy cat? Seriously?

“I’ll kill you both.” you promise. “I’ll make your death slow, painful, and horrible. Nobody gets to harm my pack and walk away from it.”

They laugh hard, especially Rio. You scowl. People are meant to cower under your threats, not laugh.

Agatha sighs. “We better get your training started then, shall we?"

\\

taglist (comment to be added) (if ur name is crossed off, i couldn't tag you)

@lanfear-is-my-darkmistress @absolute-memegarbage @teenybean @psychickryptonitebouquet @screamsin-gay @marvelwomenarehot0 @ctrlaltedits

[mssalo]

Hummingbird - Part: II

Summary: In the quiet town of Jackson, Joel becomes consumed by a dark and overpowering obsession with his new neighbor. What begins as fascination quickly spirals into something much darker as he loses control over his desires.

11k

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, dark!Joel, obsessive!Joel, manipulation (emotional and psychological), gaslighting, power imbalance, age gap (not specified), stalking, dubious consent, daddy kink, breeding kink, possessive behavior, noncon elements, oral (pussy eating), unprotected PIV, creampie, voyeurism, possessivel controlling dynamics, trauma exploitation, Joel using your vulnerabilities against you, power play, obsessive desires, Joel blurring lines between protection and ownership. Joel is a huge red flag and reader has major daddy issues. Enjoy!

long&intense

Here's Part I.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

Joel’s days had settled into a new rhythm, one that orbited around you.

Every moment spent outside Jackson’s walls, on the lookout for threats, was consumed by a burning impatience to return. The dangers he once faced with such resolve now seemed trivial compared to the intense need he felt for you. His thoughts were constantly on you, wondering what you were doing while he was gone. He imagined your gentle smile as you taught the youngest children in the settlement.

His patrols, once a predictable routine, now felt like an unwelcome interruption—an unwanted separation from the focus of his obsession.

You.

And now, he was determined to make you love him.

When he wasn’t on patrol, Joel made excuses to cross paths with you. He’d drop by the schoolhouse under the pretense of checking on repairs or offer to carry supplies for you.

At first, you were taken aback by his attention—after all, the quiet, gruff man who led patrols through the wilderness outside Jackson wasn’t exactly known for being sociable. But your innocence worked in his favor. You didn’t question why he lingered a bit too long when you spoke or why his gaze followed you so intently whenever you were near.

“Mr. Miller,” you greeted him one afternoon, flashing that soft, sweet smile that stirred something dark in him. “Here again?”

“Just Joel,” he corrected, his voice low and rough as he leaned against the doorframe of the classroom. “Figured I’d check in. See if y’all needed anythin`.”

You laughed lightly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Always so helpful. I think we’re good today, but thank you.”

Joel’s eyes wandered to the children seated on the floor around you, their attention fixed on makeshift toys. He watched as one of the toddlers tugged at your dress, seeking your attention.

You were made for this. Made to be a mother.

He had seen you with them, crouched down, your voice soothing as you explained lessons or comforted tearful faces.

The way the children gathered around you, their trust unwavering, only heightened his primal urge. There was something about the way you nurtured and cared for them—the tender touch, the encouraging words—that stirred a desire in him beyond mere lust.

The sight of you, so gentle and attentive, sparked a deep, almost possessive longing in him. He imagined you with a child of your own. His child. The fantasy of you, swollen with his baby, your body soft and round, consumed him.

Joel pictured you in your small home, barefoot and glowing, your belly growing larger with each passing day.

The thought twisted something deep inside him, merging his desire with a possessiveness that bordered on madness.

You were too pure, too kind to grasp it, but Joel knew. You were meant for him—to bear his children, to belong to him in every sense.

His gaze darkened as he envisioned taking you right then and there. To bend you over one of the small desks, your soft curves pressed against the rough wood, his hands gripping your hips as he filled you—over and over.

The thought nearly overwhelmed him, the raw, primal urge almost too strong to control.

His hands flexed at his sides, clenching and unclenching as he fought for control. This wasn’t the time. Not yet. You weren’t ready. You still smiled at him with those innocent eyes, unaware of the dark hunger building inside him.

Joel wanted more than to claim you physically—he wanted to own every part of you. He wanted your mind, your heart, your body. He wanted you to be consumed by him the way he was by you.

He could wait. He’d be patient.

For now.

“Joel?” Your sweet voice cut through his haze, pulling him back to the present.

He blinked, realizing he had been staring. Your eyes met his, and you tilted your head slightly, concern touching your features. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he rasped, clearing his throat, his voice thick with a rough edge. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

You smiled again, that same sweet, innocent smile that made his blood boil, completely unaware of the filthy thoughts running through his mind. You were so trusting. So naive.

Joel forced himself to return your smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“If you need anything,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, “anything at all, you just let me know, alright?”

Your smile widened, and for a moment, his heart skipped a beat. “I will. Thank you, Joel.”

He nodded, turning to leave before his control slipped any further. As he walked away, he felt the weight of your gaze on his back, innocent and oblivious. He clenched his fists, his jaw tight as he stepped out into the cold air. His cock already throbbing again. His mind raced with plans, ideas forming and reforming. You were going to be his—he was going to make sure of it.

But first, he had to make you need him as much as he needed you.

· · ────────

In the weeks that followed, Joel's plan took shape with meticulous intent. Every interaction was calculated, every word carefully chosen to weave himself deeper into your life.

He began lingering outside the schoolhouse after his patrols, finding small tasks to do—fixing a loose door hinge, offering to carry supplies.

Always nearby. Always watching.

You began to smile at him more often, a soft glow in your eyes whenever he appeared.

Joel knew he was becoming a part of your routine, a constant presence you started to rely on without even realizing it.

The simple greetings, the quiet moments—each one brought you closer to him.

You started seeking him out.

You’d ask him for help with things around the house, questions about Jackson, and slowly, unknowingly, you let him into your world. Joel played the part of the dependable neighbor with ease, masking the deeper hunger that burned underneath.

It wasn’t just about being near you anymore. It was about making sure you needed him—emotionally, physically.

He wanted to become the one person you couldn’t live without.

One late afternoon, he found you sitting on the porch of your house, the sun casting a soft, golden light over everything. You had a worn notebook in your lap, absently humming a soft, familiar tune as you scribbled something down.

The sound was sweet, gentle, and it tugged at something deep inside Joel. He paused for a moment, just watching you, captivated by the way the melody seemed to wrap around you like a warm embrace.

When you finally noticed him, your face lit up, and his chest tightened at the sight.

“Hey, Joel,” you greeted him with a soft smile, the tune fading into the quiet evening.

“Hey,” he replied, his voice rougher than usual as he approached, the wooden porch creaking under his weight when he sat down beside you. “What’re you workin’ on?”

You glanced down at your notebook, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Oh, just some lesson plans for the kids. Busy day.”

Joel’s gaze softened as he watched you.

The way the light caught the soft strands of your hair, the way you absentmindedly tapped your pencil on the edge of the notebook—everything about you was so gentle, so perfect.

His hand twitched at his side, aching to reach out and touch you, to feel the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips.

Instead, he kept his voice steady, though the desire simmered just beneath the surface.

“You’re good with them. The kids, I mean.”

You smiled again, a little shyly this time, the compliment making you blush just slightly. “Thanks. I try.”

The way you smiled at him, the trust in your eyes—it was all he needed to know that his plan was working.

You were beginning to let your guard down, to lean into his presence. Every time you looked at him like that, so open and unaware, it drove Joel further into his obsession.

my pretty little hummingbird.

The melody of your earlier humming lingered in his mind as he sat next to you, and he couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to have you all to himself—to be the one to hear you hum as you moved about your shared home, maybe with a child cradled in your arms.

The image of you, round with his child, your body soft and full, made his heart pound, once again.

He wanted that. He wanted everything with you.

You had no idea just how deeply he wanted to be your everything, just like you were becoming his.

For now, he would keep playing the part of the protector, the one you could count on.

But it wouldn’t be long before he’d make sure you needed him just as much as he needed you.

He could already see the shift—the way you sought him out more, the way your eyes softened when they met his, how you were humming more often, especially when you were near him, like you were already growing comfortable in his presence.

You were slipping into his grasp, slowly but surely.

And soon, you’d realize just how much you needed him—how much you craved the protection and the stability he offered.

He watched as you turned back to your notebook, your lips parting slightly as you absentmindedly hummed again, lost in thought.

Joel clenched his fists at his sides, the desire to claim you in every possible way nearly overwhelming. But he could wait.

For now.

· · ────────

That same evening, as the two of you sat on the small, worn sofa in your living room, the air between you seemed heavier, more intimate.

Joel was sitting close, the warmth of his body radiating toward you as the low light from a nearby lamp flickered softly against the walls.

There was a strange comfort in his presence, a grounding sense that you hadn’t expected to feel. Yet there he was—always there.

You hadn’t planned to talk about it, not with Joel, not with anyone.

But something about the quiet of the evening, and the way he sat so close, made you feel safe enough to let it out.

You shifted, pulling your knees up onto the couch, hugging them slightly as you stared at the floor.

“My father… I don’t talk about him much,” you began, your voice low, almost a whisper.

Joel didn’t interrupt. He just listened, his fingers barely grazing your arm, his touch subtle, steady.

He was patient, waiting for you to open up.

“He was never really the same after my mom died. He was… distant, like he was there, but at the same time, he wasn’t. I kept trying to reach him, to get him to see me, to just… care.” You paused, the lump in your throat growing harder to swallow.

“But no matter what I did, no matter how hard I fought for his attention, for his approval, he just... pulled away more.”

Joel’s fingers tightened slightly around your arm, his silent way of telling you he was there, listening. Right?

“We survived together for a while, just the two of us, after everything fell apart. He wasn’t much of a father by then, more like… just someone I had to follow, to keep up with. I was always trying to prove myself to him, to show him I could handle it. But it was exhausting.”

Your voice broke for a moment, and you felt your breath catch in your chest.

Joel shifted closer, his arm resting behind you on the back of the sofa, offering you the comfort of his presence without a word.

“And then… he died,” you whispered, the pain of the memory washing over you like a wave.

“We were out there in the wilderness, trying to survive, just like always. He got hurt, and I tried—I tried so hard to save him, to keep him alive.

A silent tear slipped down your soft cheeks, "But, again, it wasn’t enough. I wasn't enough. He died, and then he really left me. For good.”

A shudder went through you as you recalled those final moments, the coldness of his absence washing over you again.

"He left me, Joel. After everything. I was so alone after that. Completely abandoned.”

You took a shaky breath, the weight of your confession settling between you. "The anniversary of his death is soon."

You could feel the weight of the silence between you, the raw emotion of the confession hanging in the air.

You hadn’t spoken those words aloud to anyone, not since it happened. The loneliness, the helplessness—it had all stayed locked away inside you for so long.

Joel’s grip on your hand tightened, his thumb stroking the back of it in slow, soothing circles.

He shifted slightly, moving closer to you on the couch until his thigh pressed firmly against yours. His other arm, warm and strong, wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you toward him with a gentle but insistent force.

“Come here, sweet girl,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with that unmistakable Southern drawl that had become so comforting.

Without thinking, you leaned into him, your head resting against his chest.

The solid weight of him, the quiet rise and fall of his breathing, made you feel grounded in a way that nothing else had. His fingers tangled in your hair, stroking lightly as he held you close.

“You shouldn’t have had to go through that,” Joel whispered, his lips brushing the top of your head.

“Your father… he should’ve seen how hard you fought for him. But he didn’t. He failed you.”

The words struck a chord deep inside, and you felt another tear slip down your cheek, quickly absorbed by Joel’s shirt as he held you tighter.

He made it sound so simple, so black and white, and in this moment, it was comforting to believe that maybe it really had been that way.

· · ────────

He’d watched you closely in the weeks that followed, noting your increasing need for support, how you seemed to lean on him more and more.

It was all part of his plan, a strategy to make you depend on him, to crave his presence in ways you hadn’t before.

He saw the cracks in your composure, the way your smiles were less frequent, and how your gaze held a kind of forlorn hope whenever he was near.

And then he began.

Joel had put his plan into motion, slowly pulling away over the past week—just enough to make you feel the cold sting of his absence.

The timing wasn’t random; the anniversary of your father’s death was looming, and he knew the weight of that grief would come crashing down on you.

It was the perfect moment.

He could see it already in your face, the way sadness mixed with confusion, the subtle flickers of desperation as you searched for his familiar presence.

You leaned on him more in those days leading up, seeking comfort, but now, with him gone, you were left alone again, the emptiness creeping in.

Joel understood what that feeling of abandonment could do—it would remind you of the ache of being left behind.

But this time, instead of pushing you away completely, it would draw you closer to him.

You’d start to wonder where he was, why he wasn’t there, and with each passing day, your need for him would grow stronger.

And that’s exactly what he wanted.

The power of it fueled something dark inside him, but Joel didn’t flinch from it. It wasn’t cruelty, he told himself.

It was necessity.

· · ─��──────

The night of the anniversary, he knew you’d be at your most vulnerable. The idea of you coming to him, desperate and broken, fed his twisted satisfaction.

And sure enough, as he watched you from his porch, he saw you approaching his house, your posture hunched and hesitant, your eyes red from crying.

You were exactly where he wanted you: fragile, yearning for comfort, and completely under his control.

When you knocked on his door, your voice barely more than a whisper, Joel paused deliberately, savoring the moment.

His face stayed cold for a beat longer, a flicker of something darker dancing behind his eyes.

He knew it was you—he had expected this.

The satisfaction of your inevitable need for him made his chest tighten, not with tenderness, but with a twisted sense of control.

His mind wandered briefly, picturing you on the other side of the door—fragile, vulnerable, and craving him in the way he wanted.

The image sent a rush through him, his hand flexing at his side before he reached for the doorknob.

Joel knew what you would look like, how you would be standing there with those wide, innocent eyes, pleading silently for comfort.

It was exactly where he wanted you.

As he turned the handle and slowly opened the door, his gaze traveled over you, drinking in every detail.

You were wearing one of those soft, simple dresses he loved—the kind that hugged your curves in just the right way, brushing against your thighs.

The fabric clung to your chest, outlining the subtle rise and fall of your breath.

Your hair, slightly tousled, framed your face, and the way the fading evening light touched your skin made you look even more delicate. Almost ethereal.

Joels eyes lingered on your body a little too long before he forced them back to your face, taking in the sadness in your eyes.

You were so beautiful like this—small, fragile, clearly aching for someone to hold you.

The thought of you being this broken, this dependent on him, sent a pulse of something darker through his veins and all his blood rushing to his cock.

He let a slow breath out through his nose, shifting his expression into something softer, more concerned.

But underneath that, there was a twisted thrill.

You didn’t even realize how much you needed him, how perfectly you were falling into the trap he had set.

"Hey," he said, voice low and calm, his gaze flicking up and down your body before settling back on your face. "You alright?"

But the way his eyes darkened just a fraction as they swept over you again hinted at more.

His need to consume you was barely hidden beneath the surface, masked only by the false tenderness he had learned to wear so well.

You hesitated, a mix of hurt and confusion on your face.

“I… I don’t understand,” you said, stepping over the threshold and into Joel’s home, your voice wavering with uncertainty.

“You’ve been so distant lately. I thought—” Your gaze flicked up to him, pleading for answers. “I thought we were closer than this.”

Joel closed the door behind you with a deliberate, measured movement.

His eyes followed your every action, noting the way you hesitated at the entryway, clearly unsettled.

The sight of you, standing there with your heart exposed, only intensified his dark satisfaction.

He could see the raw need in your eyes, the desperate hope that he might provide the comfort you were seeking.

“Come on, baby,” he said softly, his voice laced with a false warmth that barely masked his true intentions. “Sit down. Let’s talk.”

As you settled onto the couch, your fingers twisting nervously in your lap, Joel took a seat beside you, his proximity charged with a subtle tension.

His gaze remained steady, almost predatory, as he observed the way your defenses were weakening.

The dim light in the room cast a soft glow over you, highlighting the vulnerability in your features.

Joel’s eyes lingered on the curve of your profile, the way your shoulders seemed to slump in defeat.

For a moment, he stayed quiet, eyes flicking down to where your fingers fidgeted in the fabric of your dress.

Then, in a voice that was strangely soft, he broke the silence.

"I thought maybe..." He paused, his jaw tightening slightly as if weighing his words carefully. "I thought maybe you'd gotten too used to me."

His words caught you off guard, and your eyes shot up to meet his. "Too used to you?" you echoed, confusion evident in your tone.

Joel nodded slowly, his expression shifting to one of thoughtful hardness.

There was something in his eyes, a shadow of frustration mixed with a dark calculation.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice gruff. “Maybe I’ve just been around too much. Maybe you’ve been handling things just fine on your own.”

His gaze was steady, almost penetrating, as he watched your reaction.

You could feel the weight of his words, a subtle threat hidden in the casual tone.

The idea that he might pull away, leave you to handle things alone again, seemed both daunting and unsettling.

“Joel, I didn’t mean—” you started to say, but he cut you off, leaning in closer.

His hand rested on your thigh, his touch a mix of warmth and intensity, grounding yet unsettling.

“I’ve been thinking,” he continued, his voice dropping to a low murmur, “about how you’re managing. Maybe you don’t need me as much as I thought. Maybe it’s time I stepped back and let you handle things on your own. Alone.”

The way he spoke made you feel the absence of his presence even more acutely.

His hand on your thigh was a stark contrast to the coldness in his words, a reminder of what you could lose.

Joel’s gaze remained locked on yours, his expression a careful mix of concern and something darker.

Joel’s fingers traced a small, deliberate path on your thigh, each touch a reminder of his influence and control.

“Maybe it’s time I let you prove it. All on your own”

As his words sank in, a rush of fear and vulnerability overwhelmed you.

You felt a cold, biting loneliness creeping in.

The memory of being abandoned, left alone in a world that felt hostile and unforgiving, came rushing back.

“Please, don’t leave me alone,” you pleaded, your voice trembling. “Not again. Not like this.”

The desperation in your voice was raw, a stark reminder of the pain from your past.

Joel’s expression softened ever so slightly, though the darkness still lingered in his eyes.

He watched as you struggled, the fear of abandonment triggering old wounds.

You could see the glint of something almost satisfied in his gaze, a cruel sort of pleasure at the way you were unraveling before him.

His hand on your thigh remained steady, a reminder of what you stood to lose if he followed through on his threat.

Joel leaned in, his voice a whisper of false reassurance. “I don’t want to see you suffer, baby. I just need to know you really want me here. That you need me.”

"You don’t know how much I need you," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

The words came out before you could stop them, a slip of your guard that Joel pounced on immediately.

He smiled, but there was nothing soft about it. "Yeah?"

His thumb, again, began to trace slow circles against your thigh, the touch deceptively gentle, though the look in his eyes was anything but.

"Because, baby, I’ve been needing you. More than you realize."

His voice dropped lower, and he shifted closer, his presence suffocating in its intensity.

"And I’ve been thinking... maybe you didn’t want me the same way. Maybe I pushed too hard, too fast."

You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off again, his hand moving from your thigh to cup your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye.

"But I get it now," he murmured, his voice dark and possessive. "I see it. You need me just as much. You’re just afraid to admit it."

His words hung in the air, heavy and laced with meaning, and you felt your heart pounding in your chest. Joel leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear.

"You don’t have to be afraid," he whispered. "You don’t have to hide how much you want me."

His hand slid from your chin down to your shoulder, then lower, grazing the fabric of your dress in a way that made your breath hitch.

He was testing the boundaries, pushing them, seeing how far he could go before you pulled away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

"I just needed to know," Joel continued, his voice soft but insistent, "that you want me, too. That you’re as hungry for this as I am."

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

Joel’s fingers trailed down your arm, intertwining with your own, holding them still.

His grip was firm, grounding, and yet there was that undercurrent of dominance there—the same unspoken claim he always made, like you were something precious and fragile, yet wholly his.

"I’m sorry," he murmured, though the apology didn’t feel entirely sincere. His voice was calm, soothing, but the darkness in his gaze remained.

"I didn’t mean to push you away. I just needed to make sure you wanted me like I want you."

His hand brushed over your cheek, the gesture tender, though you could sense the raw desire behind it.

"Tell me you want me, baby," he coaxed, his thumb stroking the side of your face. "Tell me I wasn’t wrong."

Your heart raced as you met his gaze, the intensity in his eyes almost too much to bear.

He was pulling you in, breaking down every last wall you had left, making you crave the very thing you’d been trying to deny.

"I need you," you breathed, the confession spilling from your lips before you could stop it.

Joel’s smile widened, that dark, twisted satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.

His grip on your hand tightened, his other hand slipping around your waist, pulling you closer.

"I knew it," he whispered, his lips brushing your ear. "I knew you couldn’t resist."

Joel’s eyes darkened with a twisted satisfaction as he leaned in closer, his hand brushing against your arm with an intimacy that belied his words.

“You don’t have to worry about that anymore,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, but with a dark undercurrent. “I’m here now. I’ll take care of you.”

You shifted slightly, feeling a mix of relief and unease as you looked up at him. Joel’s gaze was intense, his expression one of smoldering desire masked by a veneer of concern.

He watched as your defenses crumbled, your need for comfort making you more vulnerable to his manipulations.

“Just let me be here for you,” he continued, his hand moving to your cheek, his touch almost tender but charged with a possessive edge.

“You don’t need to worry about anything. I’ll take care of you, baby. You just need to trust me.”

You nodded slowly, your resolve faltering as you leaned into his touch.

His words, though laced with a veneer of sympathy, were a seductive promise of control.

Joel could see the way you melted under his gaze, your need for him growing stronger with each passing moment.

He let his hand slide down your arm, his touch deliberately lingering as he coaxed you into his embrace.

“You’re safe here with me,” he whispered, his voice low and sultry.

“You don’t have to think about anything else. Just let me take care of you.”

You were too overwhelmed by your emotions to resist as he gently pulled you closer.

His hands roamed over your body with a possessive urgency, each touch calculated to deepen your dependence on him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’ve wanted this for so long. You have no idea how much you mean to me.”

The warmth of his breath, the intensity of his gaze, and the possessiveness in his touch combined to create a heady mix of pleasure and apprehension.

Joel’s manipulation was complete—he had broken down your defenses, making you crave his presence as desperately as he desired to control you.

As his hands explored your body, his touch became more insistent, his words a blend of comfort and dark desire.

“You want me, sweet girl, don’t you?” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

As Joel's words and touch sank in, you felt a wave of relief mingled with your desperation.

The fear of being abandoned, of losing the small comfort he provided, made you cling to him even more.

Despite the unsettling edge to his words, the fact that he was showing you kindness again brought a surge of gratitude.

You wanted to feel cared for, wanted to be held in a way that made you forget the fear of being left alone.

"Please, Joel," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. "I want you."

Joel’s touch became a tangled mix of comfort and possessiveness.

He held you close, his hands roaming over your body with a growing insistence, reinforcing the notion that you were his and his alone.

His whispers and touches were a heady mixture of dark desire and a twisted form of affection, leaving you both comforted and caught in his web of manipulation.

Joel’s voice was low and soothing, yet carried an undercurrent of dominance.

“You’re just a girl who needs someone to look after her,” he said, each word dripping with arousal.

“Let me take care of everything for you. You don’t need to worry about a thing while you’re with me. Just relax and let me handle it all, baby. I’m here to make sure you’re okay.”

His touch was slow and deliberate, slowly tucking up your dress, his words designed to reinforce both his control and your vulnerability.

You shivered as his lips pressed against your skin, your mind clouded with a mix of longing and confusion.

Joel’s voice was soft, almost tender, but with an unmistakable edge.

“You’ve been so lost and vulnerable,” he murmured, drawing you closer.

“You need someone strong to guide you, to make you feel safe. Let me be that for you. You don’t have to handle any of this alone. Just let go and let me take care of you.”

His lips brushed against yours, soft and insistent.

"Let me be that for you, let me take care of everything. You don't have to do anything but trust me."

As his lips pressed firmly against yours, he deepened the kiss, each movement reinforcing his words, pulling you further into his control.

His tongue slid into your mouth, exploring and claiming you with a possessive fervor.

"You're so sweet," he murmured between kisses, his voice raw and heated.

"I've been waiting for this, needing to feel you like this." His hands roamed possessively over your body, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss, his desire unmistakable in every touch and caress.

Joel’s lips remained locked on yours, the kiss growing more urgent and desperate.

His hands wandered over your body, exploring with a mixture of hunger and tenderness.

One hand gripped the back of your neck, pulling you closer, while the other slid down to your waist, pressing you firmly against him and his pulsing length.

His kisses were relentless, each one deeper and more insistent than the last.

He traced the contours of your lips with his tongue, his touch turning more possessive.

“You feel so perfect,” he whispered between heated kisses, his breath hot against your skin.

“I can’t get enough of you.” His fingers roamed over your body with increasing boldness, every touch stoking the fire between you.

Your body responded instinctively to his touch, even as your mind struggled to catch up.

Every caress, every lingering touch made you shiver, a mixture of confusion and pleasure rippling through you.

Your breathing quickened, each kiss and stroke sending waves of warmth through your veins.

Though you were unsure and your thoughts swirled with uncertainty, the sensation of his hands roaming over your skin felt undeniably good.

You leaned into his touch, your body betraying your confusion with a need that grew stronger with each passing second.

Your fingers clung to him, finding solace in the way he held you, even as a part of you grappled with the intensity of the moment.

You just want to finally feel safe again.

You clung to him, breath shaky and eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and need.

“Please,” you whispered urgently, voice breaking, “I need you to take care of me, to make me feel safe. I can’t do this alone anymore. I need you to be the one to make me feel good, to give me what I’m missing. I want you to be everything for me.”

Joel’s eyes darkened with a mix of lust and satisfaction. He pulled you closer, his voice a low, seductive murmur.

“Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea how much I’ve been waiting for you to say that. You need me to take care of you, to make you feel safe? I’m going to give you everything you’ve been craving. You don’t have to worry about a thing anymore—just let me be the one to fulfill all your desires.”

His hand traced a heated path along your side, each touch designed to ignite your senses further.

“Yes, please” you whimpered into his mouth.

That’s all he wanted.

Joel’s touch became reverent, his hands exploring your body with a possessive hunger. His lips followed the path of his fingers, kissing every exposed inch of skin as he spoke with a fervent, dirty intensity.

“Fuckin‘ perfect, every part of you is just for me,” he whispered against your collarbone, his breath hot and tantalizing.

“I want to worship every curve, every soft spot. you’re so fuckin beautiful, and you need me to show you just how much. Let me savor you, baby—every touch, every kiss is for you. You’re mine now, and I’m going to make sure you feel that deep in your bones.”

Joels lips slowly traveled down your body.

His breath was warm and heavy against your skin as he knelt before you. His gaze was dark, filled with an unrestrained hunger as he whispered, his voice a sultry murmur.

“so sweet, so irresistible,” he said, his fingers grazing your inner thighs with a teasing touch.

“I’m going to show you just how much you need me. You’re like a little princess who needs to be worshipped, and I’m more than happy to oblige. Let me taste every part of you, baby. I want to make you feel so good, so full of pleasure, you’ll never want to leave my side.”

Joel's hands were deft as he slowly peeled away the rest of your dress, his touch both deliberate and reverent. His lips traced a path along your skin.

"Need someone to think for you, hm?" he murmured, his breath sending shivers down your spine.

"To make every decision, every choice for you. You just need to surrender to me, let me take care of everything. I'll make sure you’re completely taken care of, baby. Just relax and let me handle everything."

His fingers continued their slow, teasing exploration, each movement fueling his deep, perverted desire to have you wholly in his control.

Joel carefully lifted you into his arms, carrying you toward his bed with a purposeful stride.

He lowered you gently onto the mattress, his hands lingering on your waist as he took in the sight of you in nothing but your underwear.

His breath was warm against your exposed skin as he settled beside you. "You're so perfect," he murmured, his voice a mix of tenderness and unspoken hunger.

"Just relax. I'm going to make sure you feel good."

His fingers traced lightly over your exposed skin, each touch both soothing and charged with a possessive intensity.

The sight of you, vulnerable and exposed, ignited a primal hunger deep within him.

Every curve of your body seemed to call out to him, each subtle movement you made only heightening his intense need.

The way you looked, soft and eager, made his pulse race with anticipation.

He imagined the many ways he could take control, shaping your need and dependence to match his desires.

The thought of making you entirely his, of fulfilling his fantasies and watching you respond to his every touch, filled him with a dark, thrilling excitement.

His cock, leaking and pulsing inside of his - now too tight - pants.

He couldn't help but notice the way his body reacted to you-how every time you were near, his pulse quickened, and that familiar ache stirred deep inside him.

It was unexpected, really. At his age, he thought those days were behind him, but being around you had changed everything.

His body responded to you in ways he hadn't felt in years, his cock hardening almost every time you so much as smiled in his direction.

It was like his body refused to let him forget just how much he wanted you-constantly reminding him, throbbing with need whenever you were close.

He lowered himself to the bed beside you, his breath warm against your skin.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured, his voice laced with both tenderness and an unspoken hunger.

“Just relax. I’m going to make sure you feel good.”

His lips brushed softly against your stomach, his kisses slow and deliberate, hinting at the path his hands and lips might take.

“Let me show you how much I care,” he whispered, his breath making your skin tingle with anticipation.

Joel's hands moved with deliberate patience, his touch growing more assured as he pressed your thighs to open.

"You don't have to think about a thing. Daddy's got you."

Your breath caught in your throat when the word left his lips—daddy. It hit you like a shock, a jolt of something both unfamiliar and undeniably magnetic.

You weren’t sure how to process it, weren’t even sure you should. But it stirred something deep inside, a part of you you hadn’t acknowledged in so long.

The air between you thickened, your heart racing as the room suddenly felt smaller, warmer.

You knew you should say something, stop this before it went further, but your body betrayed you, leaning into the heat of his touch, the promise in his voice.

The word echoed in your mind, twisting through your thoughts, confusing you with how natural, how right it sounded in his mouth.

You wanted to push him away, to ask what he thought he was doing, but you didn’t.

Instead, you stayed—silent, wide-eyed—because part of you wanted to hear him say it again.

Part of you wanted to be taken care of, to be small, vulnerable, safe in a way you hadn’t been since...

Your heart thudded in your chest, and you couldn’t deny how the word sent a rush of warmth through you, settling low in your pulsing cunt.

Joel's lips hovered just above your skin, each kiss trailing lower, igniting a soft, trembling need within you. You moaned.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice rough with desire as his hands gripped your hips gently, holding you in place.

“Daddy’s gonna take care of you.”

His mouth moved slowly, deliberately, his breath warm as he teased you, each moment making your body tense in anticipation.

“You’ve been needing this, haven’t you?” he murmured, “My poor baby“, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

“Needed daddy so bad, hm?”

He paused, his lips hovering dangerously close, his voice dropping lower.

He lowered himself with a deliberate slowness, his gaze locked onto you with a mix of fervent anticipation and adoration.

“Let me show you just how much I want to take care of you,” he whispered, his voice a husky murmur, slowly taking of your damp panties - leaning in close.

His prominent nose brushed teasingly against your pulsing clit, sending a shiver through your entire body.

Each delicate nudge felt almost like a promise, hinting at what was to come.

The sensation left you both confused and intrigued, your breath quickening as you struggled to process the mingling of shock and unexpected pleasure.

His tongue made a tentative, deliberate swipe against you, licking your pussy gently, sending a shiver up your spine.

The sudden warmth and wetness made you gasp, your body reacting instinctively to the unexpected sensation.

A mix of confusion and pleasure swirled within you as your breath hitched, your fingers gripping the sheets, trying to steady yourself amidst the overwhelming, unfamiliar pleasure.

Joel noticed your inexperience in every hesitant gasp and shiver. It only made his cock harden more in his Jeans.

Joel's focus remained intently on your little cunt, his every touch purposeful. He moved with deliberate slowness, savoring the reactions you elicited.

His tongue traced light, teasing patterns onto your twitching clit, his breaths warm and soft against your skin, making you shiver with every delicate touch.

His lips lingered on your most sensitive part, the sensation of a subtle, rhythmic suction, barely perceptible yet unmistakably suggestive, creating a wave of shivering anticipation through your whole body.

You, already, were so close to the edge; Joel could see it clearly.

Your breaths came in rapid, uneven gasps, and your body quivered in response to his touch. He noticed the way your muscles tensed and the subtle tremors that ran through you.

The urgency in your breaths and the way your legs slightly shook were unmistakable signals of your nearing climax.

He pulled back just enough to watch, relishing the heightened tension as your eyes fluttered open, a mix of frustration and anticipation evident on your face.

Joel’s voice was low and filled with a dark, seductive promise. “I can feel how close you are, baby,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

“I want to feel you come undone, baby. I want to watch you lose control. Just give in and let Daddy take care of you.” His voice was a seductive whisper, every word designed to heighten your need, as his touch lingered, coaxing and teasing.

Slowly taking off his pants.

As Joel’s pants fell to his ankles, the sight that greeted you was both startling and mesmerizing. His leaking cock was noticeably larger than you had imagined, with a thickness that made your eyes widen in surprise.

The smooth, dark skin of his shaft was veined and visibly engorged, hinting at the intensity of his desire.

It was already leaking a glistening bead of pre-cum, which pooled at the tip and gave it an almost ominous sheen.

Joel's gaze never wavered from you, his eyes dark and filled with an unsettling mix of satisfaction and dominance.

“This is what you’ve done to me,” he said softly, his voice rough with need.

Cock jumping every time you looked down at him. “You’re the only one who makes me feel this way.”

You hesitated, a mixture of confusion and reluctance evident in your eyes. “I don’t know, Joel…”

He paused, his voice taking on a more commanding tone.

“If you don’t let go, baby, I might just have to leave you to figure it out on your own. You don’t want that, do you? Daddy’s here to take care of you, to make sure you’re okay. Trust me and let me help you.”

His words were wrapped in a mix of persuasion and a subtle edge of threat, aimed to coax you into surrendering.

You felt a flutter of apprehension mixed with a yearning need for his touch. His whisper, dripping with both authority and promise, coaxed you into a state of surrender.

“You don’t want me to leave, do you?” he murmured, his voice a low growl. “Say it, baby. Tell me you want me to stay.”

Your breath hitched as you struggled with the rising tide of vulnerability. Scared of being left alone again.

With a soft, hesitant voice, you finally whispered, „I want you to stay.”

His eyes darkened with a mixture of satisfaction and hunger as he heard you utter those words.

He cupped your face gently, his fingers tracing along your jawline as he continued to whisper soothingly, “That’s a good girl. Let me take care of you. Just relax and let me handle everything.”

His touch, though tender, carried an unmistakable edge of possessiveness, making it clear that he was in control.

He gazed at you with a warm, tender smile, his eyes softening as he brushed a stray lock of hair from your face.

“You’re so pretty, you know that?” he murmured, his voice gentle and affectionate.

“Such a good girl for me. I’m so proud of you.” He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his tone filled with genuine adoration.

“You’re perfect, just the way you are. Let me take care of you.” His words were laced with a blend of endearment and possessiveness, wrapping you in a comforting cocoon of reassurance.

You felt a surge of warmth at his words, a mix of relief and comfort flooding through you.

You looked up at him, your eyes glistening with vulnerability.

A shy smile tugged at your lips as you leaned into his touch, finding solace in his praise.

The reassurance of being called "pretty" and "good girl" felt like a soothing balm, calming the storm of confusion and fear within you.

In his presence, despite everything, you felt a strange, tentative peace.

He leaned in again, his lips brushing softly against yours.

The kiss began gentle and tender, filled with a careful exploration of emotions.

His touch was both reassuring and passionate, gradually deepening as his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer.

The heat between you intensified, the kiss becoming more urgent and consuming. Every caress of his lips was a promise of intimacy, blending comfort with an insistent desire.

As the kiss deepened, his hands began to explore your body with a gentle, possessive touch.

His fingertips traced a slow, deliberate path down your sides, moving closer to your chest.

With a careful, almost teasing touch, he caressed the curve of your breast through the fabric of your bra, savoring the way your body responded to his every movement.

His voice was low and commanding, his breath hot against your skin.

"Let me see all of you," he murmured, his hands already starting to slide your remaining clothes off with a mix of urgency and reverence.

"| want to see you all laid bare, just for me."

His eyes burned with intensity as he eagerly worked to reveal more of your body, his touch lingering with every movement.

As the fabric slipped away and your bare breasts were revealed, his eyes darkened with a primal intensity.

He gazed at you hungrily, his breath catching as he took in the sight. His fingers roamed eagerly over your skin, their touch lingering and possessive.

"God, you're incredible," he groaned, his voice dripping with desire.

"|'ve wanted to see you like this for so long." His hands explored your breast with a ferocity that left no doubt about his hunger, his gaze fixed on you with an almost obsessive fixation.

He couldn’t help but revel in the sight of you, so exposed and vulnerable before him.

His hands roamed possessively over your breasts, fingers tracing the curves and contours with a reverent touch.

His lips finally descended, capturing one of your nipples in a gentle, teasing kiss.

He nuzzled and licked, savoring the softness and warmth, his tongue flickering with a hunger that made his intentions clear.

Each delicate brush of his lips and tongue was an unspoken promise of his complete adoration, his perverted fascination with every part of you laid bare.

As Joel's tongue traced over your nipples, he couldn't help but let his mind wander.

The sensation of your skin against his lips, your warmth radiating through him and your sweet moans only fueled his thoughts.

He imagined you carrying his child, his own mark on you in the most intimate way.

Each teasing lick and gentle suck was accompanied by the fantasy of you pregnant, fulfilling a desire that went far beyond the present moment.

His mind drifted to the idea of you nourishing him in the most intimate way, the anticipation of tasting your milk driving him wild.

His cock throbbed incessantly, each pulse a painful reminder of just how much he yearned for you.

The ache grew with each touch, each kiss, until it became a near-constant throbbing, demanding release.

The sensation was overwhelming, an almost unbearable pressure that seemed to grow with every inch of contact, his desire for you mounting with every second

Joel’s breath grew ragged as he pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with desire.

He looked at you with a mix of need and intensity, his voice low and gravelly.

“Daddy needs to be inside you, sweet girl” he murmured.

He stared at you with a burning intensity, his voice a hushed whisper of urgency.

His movements were deliberate and filled with a raw desire that was impossible to ignore, his body pressing closer to yours with each passing moment, his breath hot and uneven against your skin.

You could feel the unmistakable pressure and heat of him as he positioned himself, at the opening of your tight pussy.

His eyes locked onto yours, a fierce determination in his gaze.

“I’ve waited for this moment,” he growled, his voice thick with desire.

Silently your voice whispered out to him, “Daddy,”

The sound of your voice seemed to unlock something deep within him.

Joel groaned as he pressed deeper, feeling the way your body clenched tightly around him.

The stretch was almost too much, and you could feel just how thick he was as he slowly sank inside, inch by inch. 

"God, you're so tight," he rasped, his voice thick with strain and something darker, almost possessive.

He paused, giving you a moment to adjust, his breathing heavy as he fought for control. 

"You feel so perfect around me," he murmured, his lips brushing your ear, the weight of him settling heavily against you. "Just relax, baby. Let me in." 

As Joel pushed deeper, your body reacted to the overwhelming sensation—a mix of pleasure and a sharp, lingering ache.

Each inch of him brought a new wave of heat that burned through you, the stretch almost too much, yet somehow not enough. 

You gasped, your body tensing under the pressure, unsure whether to pull away or draw him closer.

The pain ebbed with every slow movement, replaced by a growing warmth that made your pulse quicken.

“Easy,” Joel whispered, his voice thick and soothing, his lips grazing your neck.

“I know it’s a lot… but you’ll get used to it. Just let me take care of you. My sweet, pretty girl”

Your body responded instinctively, a wave of pleasure crashing over you with each deliberate thrust, making you feel completely and utterly exposed.

He pressed into you with a steady, deliberate force, each thrust deep and insistent.

The sensation of him moving inside you was both overwhelming and all-consuming, his control evident in every motion.

His thrusts were measured but powerful, pushing and pulling with an intensity that made each moment stretch, filling you completely.

The way he moved was both commanding and passionate, amplifying every sensation and hinting at his unrestrained desire.

Joel's sounds were raw and primal, each groan and sigh escaping him with a deep, guttural intensity.

His breaths came in short, ragged bursts, every exhale a mix of pleasure and need.

The way he grunted and muttered, his voice rough and strained, made it clear how much he craved and needed you.

His movements were urgent and powerful, driven by an almost feral desire that made him seem less controlled and more driven by pure, unfiltered instinct.

As he continued to move, he couldn't help but notice how perfectly you enveloped him.

Every shift and thrust seemed to be met with an almost intoxicating tightness, making each motion feel even more intense.

Joel's voice was rough, almost primal, as he spoke through gritted teeth.

"You're driving me crazy," he growled, the need in his voice palpable.

"I've been waiting for this, to have you just like this. You're so perfect, so tight...I want you to scream my name."

Each word was punctuated with a forceful thrust, his eyes dark with a perverted hunger.

"Tell me how much you need me, baby. Let daddy hear you."

You moaned softly, your voice trembling with a mix of desperation and surrender. "I need you so badly. I want you to take care of me, to give me everything."

His grip on you tightened, his breath hot and ragged against your ear.

"That's right. Tell me how much you crave me, how much you want me to make you feel good. I need to hear you beg for it."

Each thrust was deliberate, designed to push you to the edge of your limits, to make you feel every inch of his need.

He watched you intently, eager to hear every plea, every expression of your deep desire for him.

“Please,” you begged, your voice breaking with raw need. “Please, just—make me feel good. I need you so badly. I want you to take me completely.”

He thrust harder, a dark satisfaction in his eyes.

“Beg me. Tell me exactly what you want. How you want me to make you feel. I want to hear it.”

You whimpered, your body trembling under his relentless pace.

“I want you to touch me everywhere. Make me come so hard, I don’t know my own name. I need you inside me, every inch. Please, Daddy, don’t stop.”

His smirk widened, a cruel thrill in his voice.

“That’s it. Let me hear how much you need me. Tell me you’re mine.”

Your voice was a desperate, pleading whisper as you gasped, “Please, take over. I can’t think straight—just make me feel what I need.”

His eyes blazed with a primal hunger as he heard your desperate plea.

A low growl escaped him, filled with raw, unchecked desire.

"You want me to take over, baby?" he rasped, his voice thick with lust.

"'Il make you feel everything you need. Just give yourself to me completely."

His grip tightened, and his movements grew more urgent, driven by an insatiable need to dominate and fulfill your every desire.

His thrusts grew more insistent, every motion deliberate and filled with a primal urgency.

He pressed deeper, feeling the tightness of you enveloping him, each movement stirring an intense reaction within him.

His hands roamed over your body with an unrestrained hunger, lingering on your breasts as he traced their shape with a feverish touch.

He cupped them firmly, his fingers gently kneading and teasing, feeling your sensitive nipples.

He leaned closer, his voice dripping with possessiveness.

“You’re my perfect little girl, aren’t you? Let Daddy make sure you feel everything you’ve ever needed. I’ll take care of you in ways no man could ever do. No man ever did. “

Something about the way he said it - the promise, the claim - ignited something deep within you.

Your body responded to his words before your mind could catch up, and a wave of pleasure washed over you, muscles tightening around him as you trembled, overwhelmed by the release.

As Joel’s movements grew more insistent, his breathing quickened, the tension between you palpable.

His hands roamed over your body, his touch both commanding and tender.

Every thrust, every caress seemed to draw you both closer to the edge of an all-consuming release.

His eyes locked onto yours, dark with an intense, almost primal desire.

“Tell me you need me,” he rasped, his voice rough with the effort of holding back. “Tell me you’re mine.”

The pressure of his body against yours, the heat of his breath, and the intensity of his gaze all combined to overwhelm you.

You felt your own need rising, a reflection of his own desperate hunger.

“I need you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with both emotion and desire. “I’m yours.”

Joel’s grip tightened on you, his control slipping as his own climax approached.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with a dark satisfaction. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

His movements grew more urgent, his body pressing against yours with an almost unbearable intensity.

You could feel the unmistakable heat of his cock, deep inside. The rhythm of his thrusts becoming more erratic as he neared the point of no return.

With a final, deep groan, Joel’s body tensed, and you felt the surge of his release, his warmth spreading inside you.

His hands held you tightly, his breathing ragged as he let out a low, satisfied sigh.

The moment was both primal and intimate, a profound culmination of the need that had driven you both.

As his movements gradually slowed, you could feel the lingering heat of his cum inside of you, a reminder of the intense connection you shared.

Joel’s voice, now soft and breathless, whispered against your ear. “I needed this… I needed you.” His hands continued their slow, lingering caress, as if unwilling to let go of the moment, of you.

You lay there, caught between the afterglow of your shared intensity and the deep, unspoken understanding of what you both had given

Joel turned to you, his gaze dark with an intensity that made you shiver.

His hand wandered, brushing lightly against your lips before sliding down to gently caress your breast, a possessive touch that left no room for misunderstanding.

You looked up at him, a mix of confusion and an unspoken need flickering in your eyes. “But what happens now?”

“You don’t have to worry about anything, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and seductive.

“Tonight was all about showing you just how much you mean to me—and how much I need you.”

Joel’s fingers traced idle patterns on your skin, his touch both tender and insistent.

“It means you’re mine,” he said, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. “And it means I’m here to take care of everything. You don’t need to think about a thing.”

You shivered as his thumb brushed over your nipple, the sensation sending a jolt through you. “I just want to feel like I belong somewhere.”

Joel’s smile was a mix of satisfaction and possessiveness.

“You belong with me. I’ll make sure you never feel empty again. We both have our voids, but together, we fill them.”

His fingers continued their slow, teasing exploration, making your breath catch with each gentle touch.

“You’re not just filling a space, baby. You’re giving me everything I need.”

You felt a strange blend of relief and anticipation. “I guess... I needed this too. I can just let go.”

Joel’s hand lingered on your breast, his grip firm yet reassuring.

“That’s right. You don’t have to think about anything else. Just be here with me, and let me take care of you. I want to see you happy, feel you close.”

The way he spoke, his voice thick with desire, made you feel a mix of comfort and excitement.

His touch was a constant reminder of the connection you now shared, both physical and emotional.

As you settled into his embrace, you felt a strange sense of completeness, knowing that, in this moment, you were filling the emptiness for each other in a way that was both intense and deeply satisfying. It’s all gonna be okay. Right?

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

These two really need therapy! Hope y’all enjoyed x

Probably will only do oneshots & smut scenarios with these two fuckers- from now on.

Also, I had no beta, so if you see anything that needs correction, let me know!

[seresinhangmanjake]

Becoming His

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x concubine!reader

Summary: Feyd chooses you as his concubine

Notes/Warnings: Smut (but not an overwhelming amount), so 18+. Possessiveness (ownership of other human beings and whatnot). It changes from third person perspective to second person, so i’m sorry if that irritates some people, but I just thought that it expressed the feelings of the story better, considering the tonal switch. This is based on a request. Sorry if there are typos.

It can be read as stand-alone, but it goes along with the following fics: His, Don't Touch What's His, and Only His. This fic takes place before any of those.

Words: 2400

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

Feyd was sent for peace. The Baron sees use in House Wallach and very specifically instructed his favorite nephew to arrange a deal. With House Wallach’s planet producing items of value, the Baron would not attempt domination over their world in exchange for those items. That seemed fair—as fair as the Harkonnens get—but if one party fails to deliver, consequences follow. Sometimes, that means the taking of other items of value.

They aren’t prisoners of war—they can’t be considered such when war did not actually occur—but they’re close enough: women taken from their home planet after their leaders failed to protect them, leaving them weak and vulnerable and unprepared for what their new lives will thrust upon them. For the first time in their blip of existence, they are a foreigner's property; the most humiliating of circumstances for women of their status: three high-ranking handmaids, the live-in bene gesserit, and the daughter of their Lord and Lady. And Feyd has to choose one. 

“It’s within your right,” the Baron tells him. “And expected. To turn them away without taking one for yourself would be a showing of weakness.”

Feyd scans each one. He supposes they’re all appealing in their own ways. The handmaids were raised to obey, an ability Feyd would have them exercise often. The bene gesserit has knowledge beyond her years. And the benefits of owning an heir of a Great House can be summed up by title alone. 

However, they have their faults as well. The handmaids aren’t particularly beautiful, and as they stand there, shaking, huddled together, with their eyes down and chins tucked into their chests, Feyd finds them grossly undesirable. If he wanted a mouse, he would take one of his own servants. 

The bene gesserit, regardless of appearance, is a witch whose most vital loyalty will belong to the Reverend Mother and her followers before House Harkonnen—a traitorous snake in the making. He cannot have a woman in his bed that he will be unable to trust.  

The one remaining, the Lady, she’s fearless. He can see it already in the set pout of her pretty lips. He doesn’t like fearlessness; it’s disrespectful, potentially disobedient, but at the same time, she encapsulates everything else he could want: a face he doesn’t hate to look upon, to say the very least; nobility, a reminder that he claimed something invaluable to an entire planet; and perhaps most intriguing: she’ll be a challenge—not easily torn down—and the more he looks at her, the more the others fade into nonexistence. 

Feyd steps closer to her, drawn in by delicate features, and waves of hair, and luscious curves. 

“This one,” he says. 

With those two words, a spark shoots across her irises. Her knitted brow soothes. Her mouth, now unburdened by the weight of the pout, twitches up in the corners. There’s a hint of a dimple in her right cheek that is there and then gone, taken from him before he can fully understand why his heart thumped at the sight of it. 

“Fine,” the Baron replies. 

Commanding his guards, he says, “Rid of the others,” prompting gasps and tears of fear, and even Feyd is unsure what will become of them. Slaves? Entertainment in the arena? Perhaps his uncle will let him feed them to his pets.

To his servants, the Baron says, “Clean her up.”

And to his nephew, he says, “She’ll be brought to you later,” just before two small Harkonnen women take her by the arms and lead her away.

—

He thought all afternoon of the noises he would soon be forcing from you. The yelps, the squeals, the cracking from your grinding teeth. Everyone’s flesh makes a unique sound when sliced open, and he imagined what sound your flesh would make. The masterpiece your face would be after your tears melt your makeup he’d be proud to claim as his work. 

But then his servants bring you to him. They push you through the door and position you in front of him before skittering away, and in the silence they leave behind, Feyd can only detect his own heartbeat. 

He liked you in the pinkish-toned clothing traditional of your house—it made you stick out amongst the darkness surrounding you, like uncorrupted sweetness in its last moments—but in Harkonnen black, you’re something else entirely. 

He’s read of goddesses and angels, deities and divine spirits lost with those who once worshipped them, and he always wondered how such beings cultivated mass devotion without the consistent doling out of immense pain. But he gets it now. He understands the draw of the ethereal. 

After minutes of staring, his eyes feel dry, scratchy; he needs to blink, he needs to close his parted mouth, but he can’t, nor can he form a coherent thought separated from the way your hair frames your face and how the silk cascading down your body doesn’t do a perfect job of hiding everything underneath. Touch. He wants to touch. Run hands over soft skin. Press his lips to–

He stops himself. That’s wrong. He is meant to sink his teeth into you. He should be digging his nails into flesh, draining blood, staining sheets, licking tears from cheeks like the men before him have done to their concubines. 

She’s yours, so train her well—that’s what his uncle said, and Feyd knows for a fact that the Harkonnen method of training a woman is devoid of anything but pure torture. Harkonnen training is rough, crude, brutal on the body and mind to break someone down. Only the strong build themselves back up into warriors—like he did—and concubines are not meant to attempt that feat.

“Am I going to stand here all night?”

Your voice sends a chill down his spine, yanking him out of his head. He finally blinks. As his eyes meet yours, he swallows and says, “Do you want to stand there all night?”

“Not particularly,” you tell him. “And I don’t think your servants spent hours fixing me up just so I can take post like a statue at the foot of your bed.”

He wouldn’t mind a statue in your likeness, actually. He’d feel a lot less conflicted if he had two of you at his disposal; one for what a concubine is meant for, and one unaltered from the way you are right now—no pain in your eyes, no quiver to your lip, no marks marring your skin. 

“They did not,” he confirms. 

He pushes off the desk he had been leaning against and uncrosses his arms as he steps toward you, stopping just before colliding with your body. Your head tilts back, and he knows he is supposed to smirk at your powerlessness; his eyes should be pouring with the promises of a painful future, but he can’t access that otherwise always-accessible emotion. The hatred is not quite there. The vile pool of black sludge that has resided within him from the moment he pierced his mother’s throat with a blade has started to drain because of the doe eyes that stare up at him. 

“I’m not scared of you,” he hears, and for a second, he cannot tell if the words came from your mouth or from his. But you don’t reply, so that must be his role.

“It's stupid not to be scared of me.”

“Maybe,” you say, your head cocking, “but you don't look at me like you want me to be scared of you.”

That right there—he should kill you for that. You see too much. He wonders if you see his thoughts as well. He doesn’t need a woman with eyes that see more than what is tangibly in front of her. 

Instead of his body operating on its own, he has to force his hand to wrap around the neck of the threat before him. But five seconds of the delicate column in his grasp goes by, and then ten, and then fifteen, and his fingers have yet to squeeze any tighter. Surprise is etched onto your face, but it’s different. It’s not the look of a woman suddenly in a vulnerable position. By the way your eyes trail from his face to bicep to forearm, it’s more like you’re shocked that his touch is as warm as it is, as if you expected the paleness of his skin to mean hot blood does not course through his veins. 

Tentatively, your hands reach up until your palms are cupping his cheeks. He can’t bring himself to jerk away as your tongue slides out to wet your lips and you rise on your toes. You gently tilt his head down to yours, and then you brush your mouth over his. 

Feyd’s lungs tighten in his chest as you do it again. The hand around your neck slides into your hair, holding your head in place so he can take more, kiss harder. But it’s not long that he’s devouring your taste before he comes to his senses and shoves you away. 

“Stop that,” he spits, his brow drawn. “I did not tell you to do that.” 

Your teeth trap your bottom lip. “Then what do you want me to do?”

“Lay on the bed,” he says, then quickly adds, “On your stomach.” It’s better that way. If he isn’t focusing on you, your eyes, your lips, then he won’t be distracted from his own pleasure.

You don’t hesitate to do as he says, and you walk past him to the mattress. He doesn’t turn to watch you shed your thin gown, fearing what the combined vision of face and bare body will do to him, so he works on removing his own clothes, facing you only once he hears the shifting of the coverings on his bed. 

Your arms are bent, hands overlapped under your head as you wait for him to join, and after taking in the curvature of spine and the dip in lower back before the swell of bottom, he does, settling behind you. 

He doesn’t know where to start. There’s so much to take in and he does his best to memorize it all until, eventually, he lets his palm slide up the center of your back. When it causes you to shiver, he rips his hand away.

“It wasn’t bad,” you tell him. “I’m fine.”

Feyd hums in a manner intended to come off much more displeased than it does. He didn’t ask if you were fine, and a scolding is on the tip of his tongue for even suggesting the idea, but the piece of him that knows he would’ve stopped if you had said the opposite keeps the words from reaching past his throat.

Feyd tries once more, this time placing his hand at your hip for purchase as he guides himself inside of you with the other. With great effort, he swallows his gasp before he falls forward on clenched fists that press into the mattress on either side of your breasts. 

You’re warmer than he expected. Tight and slick and warm, and amidst the sensations that take over his entire being, he somehow manages to find enough clarity to question the normalcy of your body. 

Harkonnen women aren’t warm like this. Warm, yes, but your warmth is more comforting, more engulfing. He’ll feel an unpleasant chill when he removes himself from you and so decides it might be best to stay right there inside of you for as long as he can. But after he hears the little sound you make through the ringing in his ears, he doesn’t know how much longer that will be.

He pulls out slightly and then pushes in, and he receives another of your sounds, louder this time. Your hips lift an inch off the mattress, pushing back into his. He thrusts again and his brain fuzzes. When he shoves in deeper, you yelp at the spot he hits and he loses his mind entirely, left with the sole desire to see how many notes he can get you to sing for him. He finds there are many more, and as you continue to belt out a chorus along with each of his movements, he suddenly thinks: fuck everything else. Fuck the things he is supposed to be doing to you. Fuck the lessons he is supposed to be teaching you. Fuck the training that is supposed to be putting you in your place. He needs to see you. 

Your head lifts and you look back at him as best you can when he leaves your body. “Why did you st–”

“Turn over,” he demands with heavy breaths.

“What?”

You’re not fast enough. His hands firmly grip your hips and he flips you onto your back, spreading your legs and stuffing himself back inside of you. You moan. Your eyelashes flutter. Your mouth stays perfectly parted as you reach over your head to tighten your fingers into the pillow. 

That’s exactly what he wanted, and that’s all it takes to shun his cares for anything other than the way you look beneath him. His chest meets yours and he darts his tongue out to lick the bottom of your upper lip before capturing your mouth with his. You kiss him just as much as he is kissing you. You touch him as much as he is touching you. Your legs wrap around him, taking everything he has until his hips stutter and he’s coating the walls that are milking him with each pulsating squeeze. 

He pulls out with ragged breaths, body falling beside yours, and as you both stare at the ceiling, his mind finally clears with the sudden realization that what he just did might’ve stolen some of his power and handed it to you. You know of the Harkonnens’ cruelty—everyone does—but what he gave you was not that, and he cannot allow you to get the wrong impression.

“You're mine,” he reminds you. “I own you. You follow my orders. Don’t irritate me. Don’t speak unless I am the one speaking to you. You go where I tell you to go. You do what I want you to do. And don’t get any ideas that you’re not disposable to me.”

Minutes pass in silence, but then you say, “What happens if you end up liking me?”

That question hits him right in the gut. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what the fuck happens if he likes you more than he already does. It won’t do him any good; he knows that. 

His back teeth clench. “I won't,” he says. “So don’t ever ask me that again.”

[pseudowho]

The Voice, Part 1/2

VoiceActor!AU. Nanami Kento is the most acclaimed and beloved voice actor of his generation. When the mysterious woman of his dreams is swept away from him in a moment of passing fates, will he ever find her again?

Full credit to @delirious-donna for dropping this into my head fully formed.

The next part will be all smut. No apologies.

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It began with anime; the first embers of your gentle obsession sparked to life, and you felt like the woman who had discovered fire. The voice. His voice.

You were not the only one, you were sure, as you diligently bought audiobooks in his voice, the words steeping in whiskey and smoke; played games with his voice threaded to the soul of a character; watched his voice brought to life on screen, and his characters were tinged with gold.

He was faceless; Nanami Kento, the most beloved voice actor of your generation, was a man of mystery, preferring to stay out of the limelight with stubborn insistence. You did not mind. His voice was enough, for you, soothing loneliness, companionable and smooth. It balmed the sores of your soul.

News outlets hunted for him. People gave up family members and colleagues, touting them as the owner of the voice belonging to Japan's beloved master of the spoken word. You knew they were wrong. Again, you didn't mind. Your obsession held no possession; there was no bite, no ownership.

You simply allowed the dulcet tones of a stranger to lick you to sleep every night. You simply dreamed of knowing him better. You simply dreamed of his voice, guiding you through your peak. In all other ways...you were perfectly 'normal'.

Heading to work in Tokyo snow, you caught yourself slipslid into the downstream of Tokyo commuters, flowing into Shibuya's subway. The crowd undulated in one direction, shoulder to shoulder, and you squirmed through, pressing through the sweat-coffee-toothpaste-cologne miasma until you claimed a spot on a train.

The people packed around you. Your back pressed to another, much broader, much firmer back, and you were quietly thankful for the stability it afforded you. As the train moved, and you wobbled, crying out, you felt the back stiffen and move with you, as if to anchor you. You were, again, grateful, and had to be so without words, corseted by societal expectation.

The train clatter-clattered through the twisting wormholes of the underground, dipping in and out of orange lights. You had just begun to relax, chilly from the morning snow, warmed by the back against yours.

The train screeched to a halt, halfway through a tunnel. The bodies around you cried out as one, shunting forwards with inertia. You heard a grunt of surprise from the back against yours, rumbling through you, a brick wall as you fell against him with a squeak. The cries died out. A few solitary noises of complaint...until the lights went out.

Plunged into darkness, you felt the collective heartrates rise, slow and mumbling, while yours rose exponentially with your breaths. You felt a chilly sweat down your spine, trapped in the dark in a tin can with nobody and no-one and you only barely heard the tannoy announcement apologising for a fault on the line and you'd be moving in a few minutes but it was a few minutes too long and--

"Hey. You're okay. Take my hand."

The back pressed to yours rumbled; it was the only thing that told you you hadn't imagined the voice. The voice. That voice. Other voices around you began to chat, too, societal norm sidetracked by shared peril.

"Just take a deep breath. With me. Take my hand."

Long fingers in the dark. A broad, warm hand clasping yours. You clung, reaching your other hand back to clasp his other hand, too. You stood like this, back to back, both hands plaited, while you gasped, hyperventilating.

"It won't be long. We'll get moving again. You're safe. You're safe."

You couldn't catch the tears before they fell, tumbling down your cheeks as you hiccuped, and apologised.

"--God I'm-- so stupid I-- I'm so sorry-- thank you--"

"You're not, I...I feel it too. It's alright. It's alright."

You couldn't believe what you were hearing, absolutely certain to your very core that this man must be the very same man you listened to every evening. The secret voice. The man of mystery. You felt yourself calm, dreamlike as you spoke, stroking a thumb against his palm. You respected his choice for anonymity.

"...are you okay?"

A pause. You felt his back stiffen against yours.

"I'll...be fine. I avoid the subway, usually, but work necessitates it today. I have no logical reason to hate it. There's no reason I should be scared."

You smiled, soft. "A phobia isn't logical. You can't reason your way out of it." You bowed your head, eyes closed in the dark, your heart bounding, unable to pretend you weren't hopelessly, ruinously in love with this man, now you held his hands in your own in some bizarre twist of fate. "And...thank you."

"No. No...thank you." He paused, tapping his fingers against your hand, jittery with his own restrained terror. His words tumbled, unbidden. "Shit, I hate it down here."

"Trauma from an alternate universe or something, huh?" You joked, gentle as you held him, now. "Just...think of it as night-time. In your bed. Calm, and dark, and warm."

"...not usually this many people in my bed--"

"--oh really? There are in mine--"

He laughed hard, kindling a blush in your cheeks, and you rested your head back against his shoulder, glad he couldn't see you. He spoke again, his voice smiling.

"Well if you keep picking up strangers in trains..."

"You call it 'picking up strangers in trains'. I call it 'Tuesday'."

The theatre masks flipped, comedy overtaking tragedy, your worlds reduced to just each other, in the dark. You talked, and talked, all easy banter and comfort. You raised his hand in yours, and he felt a tug in his gut as you accidentally wiped the tears from your cheeks with his plaited finger instead of yours.

"Using strangers as handkerchiefs now?"

"I haven't had my coffee yet, hush."

"What's your usual order?"

"I like a vanilla latte. Why?"

"So I know what to get you."

He felt a matchstrike of success as you squirmed against his back, pressing your plaited hands to your forehead. He let his eyes drift shut, sick of being lonely, maybe ready to let a stranger into his odd, isolated little world--

"...I'd love that. Thank you. And...your voice. I--"

The train rattled to life through the pitchcast tunnel, and he grunted, bracing himself as you fell against him again. He felt a spark of happiness, a lurching joy that you'd mentioned his voice, perhaps knowing who he was all this time but treating him like any other person and shit we can go out for coffee but is it too soon no no she'll respect the secret I've got a feeling she will--

The train lurched again, in the dark, and he heard you squeak as you fell away from him, the startled thump-thump and cries of strangers shuffling in this tin can. A white-orange light appeared at the end of the tunnel, the train rushing towards it, but his hands were empty.

You scrambled to get up from the floor, nobody's hands reaching down for you like his had. As the train bathed in light, you were hidden, masked by legs and bags, and you couldn't see each other, not that you'd know who you were looking for. You rummaged frantically, to get up, get up, come on you silly bitch, and you couldn't, and the train stopped, the doors opening with a tiny announcement.

You opened your mouth to call his name-- and clamped it shut, immediately, face twisted in conflict.

You managed to stand, and turn just enough to see a sea of black hair with pink tips and brown hair with ombre highlights and honey-blond undercut hair neatly parted and a head above the rest and no hair all shaved off and--

The teeming crowd pushed you off the train. You left your heart behind with a man who could not pick you from the crowd, despite his frantic eyes hunting, and hunting and hunting.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Nanami Kento's stomach ached with lost potential. Sat in his chair at the recording studio, the staff there sworn by non-disclosure agreements, Kento read the same line over, and over, and over.

No amount of practice could inject it with enthusiasm, and he snapped, growling his way through the line and pressing his forehead into one broad palm. His agent piped up.

"Oh! That one was good. Stick with that--"

"No, no..." Kento rumbled, miserable. "Not like that. It doesn't suit the character, I just...I'm not in the best frame of mind today."

Kento felt dirty even admitting it aloud, a consummate professional who laid aside his true feelings for those he needed to portray in recording. His agent's eyebrows flicked up, and he sat beside Kento, nervous.

"That's...not like you, Nanami." Ijichi eked out, hesitant. "What's wrong?"

Kento slopped his script onto the side, hands plaited in his lap. He knew before knowing that the only way he would be able to find you, was exercising his own influence over the media world. If Nanami Kento was looking for someone, the whole of Japan would stop to help him find them. And, yet, it was risky. And dirty. And risked scaring you away.

There was no way you could know each other on the quiet Tokyo subway system, unless he decided to go completely gung-ho and stand at a station with a sign looking for The Woman In The Dark Who Held My Hands On The Train And Made Me Laugh which is fucking mental frankly but not mad if it works and it's worth the risk I think I want to know her want to know--

"Ijichi." Kento's agent perked up, his tired face pinched in servitude. "I have a favour to ask. A big one."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

After that morning, listening to Nanami Kento's recordings simultaneously fell flat and elated you, all at once. While their power spun gold through you, with the backdrop of real life connection with him, that peak then crashed, falling into the despondency and despair of knowing you would never have that intimacy with him again.

You couldn't approach him, in any form. Even his agency was a closely guarded secret, and anyone who did find out was swiftly dealt with, you were sure. Hordes of fans fawned over him. You were thrown into obscurity by the sheer volume of the clamouring masses.

The darker, self-loathing part of you seeded the doubt that he'd even want to hear from you. You swung between certain misery that you had imagined such intimate chemistry, and elation over the significance of the moment you had shared.

Weeks passed. You looked at every stranger on the train, sometimes trying to catch their eye, as if that gold thread would connect between your pupils. Any man could be him. All you knew was his voice, the touch of his skin, and the feel of his hands in yours.

One morning, alone and queuing for coffee, it all changed. Your jaw dropped to see the news splashed across a Tokyo billboard, its newscaster silently helped along by subtitles.

The voice of Japan, Nanami Kento, searches for mystery woman!

You froze, your whole body blooming into fine botanicals, brought to life like a greenhouse in summer.

You abandoned your place in the queue, stumbling out of the coffee shop doorway with a little dingaling from the bell above you. Wide-eyed, your shoulder bag dropped to the floor, and you stood, famous in anonymity, caressed by the eyes of millions and none all at once.

**Are you Nanami Kento's mystery woman?**

**Hundreds have already come forward, claiming to be the one!**

**The search begins!**

You grabbed your phone, clamouring to access the same newscast on your screen, shoving your headphones in with trembling fingers. The voice of the anchorwoman fed into you.

"...have already come forward, and Nanami Kento is yet to find his mystery woman!

When the subway train he was travelling on was plunged into darkness, Nanami-san reports talking to a woman who was separated from him when the train began moving again.

Now, unable to stop thinking about her, he has recorded her this message:"

You clenched within, clutching at your chest to hear Nanami Kento, speaking to you again, and your eyes filled with tears, threatening to spill over in one great hiccup.

"I'm not sure how to begin this. To...the woman who held my hands on the train. I'm not ready to leave it there. We had more to say to each other, and I know that you knew who I was the whole time. Knowing that you put that aside, to treat me with kindness, as a stranger...is more important to me than you know. I know you'll be able to answer questions that no other woman can."

His voice paused, and you pressed your fingers to your lips, now weeping in silence in the bustling Tokyo street. He spoke just once more.

"I owe you a coffee. Please...come forward."

As the recording ended, you gasped, a great breath of relief leaving your lungs. Your throat burned with having held your breath throughout his whole message to you. A helpline number rolled across your screen, and you spoke it aloud to yourself, still sniffling, shaking fingers punching it into your screen, until you looked up, and froze at your own reflection in the window.

You felt a familiar pang of disgust with spotting yourself reflected back at you. Your face was puffy, tearstained and mascara-smudged. You drank down every flaw, feeding it into the same positive feedback-mechanism that had fed your own self-loathing for years. Your finger stopped, hovering over the call button.

Nanami Kento was sure to be disappointed. Your hand slumped, your phone resting against your thigh, a number uncalled. Your heart squeezed so tightly, your chest hurt. You deleted the number off your screen. You abandoned your coffee. You walked to work, unable to face another subway journey, knowing for certain he wouldn't be there.

You were sure another woman would come forwards, able to convince him that she was the woman he was searching for.

Between recordings, Kento hurried back to the phone, set up exclusively for him in the studio. He answered call, after call, after call, coolly rejecting woman, after woman, after woman.

You were inimitable. Kento waited. Your call remained uncalled.

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Another week passed. Kento's lines went unrecorded as he worked his way through thousands of calls, each one a fake, a phoney, desperately trying to fit their foot into a glass slipper not made for them.

Pulling at his hair, shrunken by despair, Kento slumped with his face in his hands. He felt a coffee nudged in front of him. Ijichi sat beside him, always with a baseline air of nervousness.

"Have you considered," Ijichi began, considerate, "that she's worried about how she looks?"

Kento lifted his face out of his hands, staring into the silent recording booth, fingertips steepled against his chin. His voice dragged, heavy with the effort of another conversation he didn't want to be having.

"I have." Kento responded, thoughtful. "I just...hoped it wasn't that. I'm also aware that...perhaps she doesn't want to meet me, like I want to meet her." Kento paused again, the silence gravid between he and Ijichi, Ijichi's eyes downcast as he listened in concern.

"I should think that's unlikely." Ijichi replied, following Kento's gaze into the recording booth. "If what you've told me is accurate, and I'm sure it is, you two shared an irreplaceable moment. There's no way she could have missed the news, it's the talk of Japan. You felt no ring on her finger, so she's probably neither engaged, nor married. She hadn't finished speaking to you, before you were interrupted."

Kento listened, eyes sinking closed, jaded and exhausted. His hope rotted with rejection, his efforts rust-nibbled and tainted with the embarrassment of pouring himself into the open, vulnerable as he had never been before-- except, with you.

Kento was forced to face that, for whatever reason, you did not want to find him. Despondent, his belly full of rocks, he eyed the connecting cable at the back of the phone.

"I don't think I can handle another woman pretending to be her, Ijichi. I think...I think I'm done. She deserves peace and quiet. I think it's time to call it a day."

Ijichi made the briefest noise of despair, moving to stop Kento as Kento grabbed the cord in the back of the phone, ready to cut it off.

The phone rang.

Ijichi's eyes flicked to Kento, eyebrows rising up to his hairline.

"...just one more?"

"...I don't know, Ijichi. I'm tired of the disappointment. This has been a fool's errand, some horrible wild goose-chase. I'm supposed to be a professional, and I'm so behind on my recordings, and--"

"They can wait. Just one more."

Kento sighed. The phone continued to ring, and with one huge hand, Kento silenced it by picking up the receiver.

You held your breath, sheltered from a storm in a phone booth, chilly with the wet and anticipation. Closing your eyes in the Tokyo nightlights, you could almost be in the tunnel again. You clapped a hand over your mouth to hear his voice, weary and hesitant, but him.

"...hello?"

You gasped, a single great sob bursting forth. Silence on the other end of the line, as you babbled, sniffling, almost drowned out by the slamming of the rain against the glass.

"I-its me, it-it's me. I'm...I'm the woman from the train."

Silence again. A deep, uncertain rumble.

"If I buy you a coffee...what would your order be?"

"A vanilla latte."

Silence again, an ember of hope. "I called it 'picking up strangers on trains'. You called it--"

"'Tuesday'." You laughed, bubbling through your tears.

Kento clasped a hand over his mouth, his face crumpling, his eyes welling up as roses bloomed in his mind. He took one deep shuddering breath, blowing out before his chest could burst with the anticipation.

"Instead of a handkerchief, you used..."

You laughed, and Kento's face finally cracked, laughing himself as a couple of tears crept down his sharp cheekbones.

"...your hand. I used your hand. Rudely."

"Oh, god. Oh my god. It's you."

[whimsyvixen]

Hi! I just read your Rusty Nail fic, and I was wondering if you have SFW and/or NSFW head cannons for him? I love your writing and hope you're doing well :)

A/N: ~I'd like to apologize for waiting two years to answer this ask 😭. I've been watching slasher movies again and my motivation was brought back so I decided to have fun with writing this! Once again, I'm very sorry for the late reply but I hope you and every one else enjoys this! 🫶~

~

NSFW Alphabet | Rusty Nail | Joy Ride

Pairing: Rusty Nail x Female Reader

Rating: 18+

Synopsis/Excerpt: He also loves how easily you bruise, a smug grin forming in his face when he sees his marks of ownership scattered all over you.

Tags/Warnings: explicit content, dubcon/non-con themes, unprotected sex, choking, creampies, brief mention of captivity/kidnapping, overstimulation, large cock, vaginal sex, Rusty being sweet and a monster at the same time.

Minors do not interact

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He's very affectionate, peppering kisses along your flushed face and caressing the dips and curves of your body as you're fighting to catch a breath after his vigorous fucking love making.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His hands are his favorite instrument, large enough to wrap around your throat and squeeze until his veins protrude from the force. He loves every dip and curve of your body, not knowing where to start because of how obsessed he is with your fragility and softness. He also loves how easily you bruise, a smug grin forming in his face when he sees his marks of ownership scattered all over you.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He's a big man with an equally big set of balls and dick. When he cums, it's in copious amounts and he always makes sure to come inside, ignoring your distressed cries and your hands pushing against him when you feel the sudden heat in your spasming walls. He licks your tears away, grinding his hips further into your puffy pussy to make sure none of his cum escapes your womb.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He read books by Nicholas Sparks and liked them. 

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He's very experienced. He prioritizes your pleasure over his because he loves seeing you come apart under his ministrations. Once you're twitching from the neverending pleasure, does he spread you wide and spears you with his cock in one smooth thrust. He listens very intently at every little gasp and moan escaping your lips so he can discover the rhythm and technique your most vocal on.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

His favorite position is cowgirl. He loves seeing how shy and nervous you get when you're hovering over him, licking his lips in anticipation when your pussy presses down on his engorged cock. He lets you go at your own pace, fighting the urge to thrust his hips up as you're slowly taking him inch by inch until your pelvises smack lewdly against each other. It is when your legs grow tired and your movement goes sluggish, that he takes charge and brings you down to clash with every upward thrust into your welcoming pussy. His eyes roam greedily between your sexes smashing violently together and your fucked out expression every time his cock kisses your cervix.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He enjoys teasing you, especially knowing how flustered you get when he whispers dirty things to you. Lacking any sexual experience prior to him, your face quickly gets heated and you can’t look him in the eye when he’s promising to drown in your pussy and fuck you until the bed breaks. If he's feeling humorous, he might start to tickle you to get you to smile and shriek to make you forget your embarrassment at his words.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He's a hairy man. His hair grows rather quickly so he needs to shave often, but he prefers to trim instead of shaving anything off fully. The hairs on his chest often tickle your nose when you're laying on him and the raspiness of his beard leaves a pleasant tingle behind on your skin when he kisses your cheeks. You have to look away when he stretches, his happy trail bringing memories of how deep you’ve had him in your throat, your nose pressed right against his pubic hair and smelling his manly musk before he proceeded to face fuck you to oblivion.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He wasn't always kind to you. Your refusal to accept your place as his beloved had forced him to be the bad guy early on in your relationship. However, after months of secluding you from any form of contact besides his, you've become dependent on him and jump into his arms when he releases you from your prison in the basement. As he's stroking your back and hugging your hiccupping form, he hushes your whimpers with sweet murmurs of never leaving you like the people that abandoned their search for you long ago. When he’s making love to you upstairs in his bedroom, he confesses his feelings for you and worships every inch of you with his mouth and hands. He will make sure you would be protected and loved by him and him alone. 

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He tries not to think about you while on the road because of how easily just the thought of you makes him hard under his pants. When explicit memories of you won’t leave him, he grumbles in frustration and tries to find somewhere secluded to rub one out. Once he’s parked his vehicle, he opens his glove compartment to find the piece of cloth he tore from you earlier that day. He then pleasures himself while sniffing the remnants of your cum soaked panties, shuddering at the musky scent and envisioning your pussy wrapped around him and your mouth begging him for more. 

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

The man has a breeding and lactation kink. He often places a pillow under you so his cum can stay in place inside your unprotected womb and sucks on your nipples to the point of pain imagining you plump with his baby and leaking milk into his mouth. 

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

He'll have sex with you just about anywhere. He particularly enjoys doing it in his truck, reclining his seat back to watch you bounce up and down on his fat cock in the middle of nowhere, dirty praises trickling past his lips about how much of a pretty slut you are for him and how good he'll give it to you later at home. He loves having you for dessert when he gets home from work (and killing) too, kneeling under the table in the kitchen to eat you out as you're struggling to eat the food you cooked for him while he gnaws at your clit and folds.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

It's your skittish behavior and the way you bite your lip when he's near you that drives him crazy. Despite your stubbornness not to give in to his lecherous hands, he has you bent over before you can voice out a protest. He runs his fingers lightly along your trembling legs, eyeing the way your soaked panties cling to your vulva and asking what you want him to do to you. If you stay silent for too long, he’ll lean down and threaten to leave you as you are, pressing his hardened cock between your cheeks all the while. Just as he’s about to pull away, you push your hips back and look at him pleadingly. You’re still too shy to tell him what you want so you’ll open your legs wider hoping he catches your drift. He’d want to tease you further but even he has a limit. Your panties are torn off and the clink of a belt is heard right before the room is filled with wet smacks of flesh and breathless cries and grunts echoing throughout the house. 

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He would never share you. He'd kill any man or woman who dared touch what was his. 

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Over the years, he entertained himself with a few lot lizards and learned how to perfect his technique with each encounter. By the time he met you, he knew exactly where to kiss, lick and suck to have you creaming in his mouth within minutes. He's never tasted a pussy as good as yours and will often eat you out for long periods of time, ignoring the way you're tugging on his hair to try to remove him from your overstimulated clit and quivering walls.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Depending on how well behaved you are, he can make it slow and sweet for you. He prefers his sex fast and rough, but will be gentle when your sex is sore from the poundings he gave it. However, his gentleness goes out the window when you start acting rebellious again. If you disobey him and try running away, he will catch you and  fuck you in a rage until your crying and begging for forgiveness. He'll fuck you like a bull all night until you pass out from exhaustion. You'll wake up alone and locked inside the basement again, what little freedom you had earned gone in an instant.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He's not a particular fan of quickies because he likes to take his time with you. He enjoys seeing how your will chips away with every stroke of his hands, mouth, and cock, your body fighting against your mind to reach its climax and forcing you to cry out for him after the pleasure becomes too much for you. 

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Considering how creative he is when torturing his victims, you can bet he’s just as creative in the bedroom. He's a bit of a sadist and will be curious to find out what your limits and pain tolerance is. He smiles at you when you freeze at the rope and chains he has in his hands. You’ll cry out when he handles you none-too-gently, having little time to protect yourself when he wraps a hand around your throat and forces the other down your panties. He’ll tighten his hold on your neck, wheezes and choked gasps escaping you as your eyes beseech him for mercy. In the midst of this punishment, you are horrified to feel your arousal spike, strands of your slick running down your legs as he fingerfucks you roughly. Once he finds out how much you can take, he will subject you to the same painful pleasure at a later date.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

He’s only human and has to suffer through a refractory period so he makes sure you cum multiple times before he does. He is able to accomplish this by pumping his fingers inside your pussy, stimulating your g spot while he is forcing his tongue down your throat to muffle your mewls. He’ll have you cumming on his fingers within minutes, allowing you to witness him licking the residue of your orgasm before trailing his body down to the juncture of your thighs. He’ll bury his face in your cunt, holding you in place with one hand on your stomach and stroking himself with the other. Once he’s successfully made you cum again, does he line himself up along your soaked entrance. It is a challenge not to cum once his cock is enveloped by your heat, your walls constricting like a vice around him and making him grit his teeth to prevent himself from spilling inside you too soon. He’ll pump his hips slowly at first, trying to adjust to your gummy insides and closing his eyes in concentration. His careful pace gets shot down to hell when your heels brace on the bed, tilting your hips up and colliding with his next downward thrust. He opens his eyes startled, taking one good look at your disheveled appearance and your chest heaving in a tantalizing fashion before he grabs on to the headboard and slams his hips down in one meaty smack. Within a few moments, you orgasm two more times and your head is lolling to the side by the time he fills you with his cum.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

While he does use restraints on you, he does not own any toys. He's aware of their existence but has never really thought of using them on you. He's confident in his ability to bring you pleasure by his touch alone. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

As was said before, he enjoys teasing you due to your inexperience with sex. His sexual innuendos and jokes make you fidget and squirm where you’re at. No matter how often he’s fucked you, he can never seem to rid you of your embarrassment when you’re both naked and touching each other intimately. It amuses him how cute you are, removing his shirt purposely in front of you before tackling you down playfully on the bed to begin teasing you further.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He'll grit his teeth to lessen his gasps and groans, preferring to hear the sweet symphony of your pleasured cries and moans instead. He'll hide his face on your neck, bracing his knees on the bed before pummeling you hard enough to make the bed creak and your voice rise with each snap of his hips. Heated puffs and throaty moans would spill from him once your walls constricted around him and coaxed him to cum inside your warm heat. 

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

It was a passing conversation he heard between truckers on the cb radio while he was driving. One of them mentioned how he and his lady kept their sex life interesting and alive for so many years. They did this by role-playing and wearing salacious outfits to spice up the sex. Rusty listened on to the conversation, his mind conjuring up images of you dressing up as a scantily clad nurse or maid, waiting to treat him and service him in any way he desired. It was another trucker’s similar experience but with pet play that had him stunned. A flux of images of you on your knees in cow print lingerie and a collar around your neck stormed his brain, triggering his lactation kink and imagining you whining about the fullness of your chest and needing his help to ease the hurt. That night, he didn’t give you a chance to welcome him home. He ripped your clothes off in a frenzy, paying special attention to your tits while you let out confused moans not knowing what’s gotten into him. He fucked you especially hard, your sweaty bodies colliding violently as his silent determination to get you pregnant echoed like a mantra in his head. 

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Being well over 6 feet tall, the dick must match the man. The first time you saw it in its entirety, you had quickly slammed your legs shut out of fear. Now you knew why you were always so sore. His cock bobbed out in the open, the weight of it nearly dragging it down as he walked purposefully towards you on the bed. It took very little effort to spread your legs, slapping your hands away when you tried to hide your sex from him. A gasp left you when the heavy weight of his cock slapped on your pubic mound, the length of it reaching your belly button as you lay frozen in place. You could feel it throbbing angrily along your soft belly, your pussy twitching like crazy as you imagined it splitting you open.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

His sex drive nearly kills you. He's always ready to go and he is not ashamed to grind his erection against your ass so you can feel how much he wants you. Even after he cums, he will continue to play with your body, ensuring you’re always ready for him once he gets hard again. 

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Once he is completely spent, he's a heavy sleeper. It's hard to get out of his arms when the brute barely feels you squirming and continues to snore softly above your head. You have to bite him to get him to wake up.

A/N: Believe it or not, writing this killed me. Next time I make one of these, I'm only doing certain letters of the alphabet, not the whole thing 💀. Anyways, I hope you guys really enjoyed this! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated 🫶!

Aand I've got a nice treat for my followers to go with this writing~🖤

🔞Full NSFW image here🔞--> <⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠>

[ninibeingdelulu]

Three types of kisses ft. leon kennedy

Slow Motion Type:

Leon's lips brushed against yours sending sparks through your body. His rough fingers tilted your chin up, lining you both up before going any further.

Those intense slate eyes stayed locked on you, reading your reactions while he gradually increased the pressure bit by bit.

Savoring how you melted together, eliminating any space between you.

Everything beyond that singular connection faded away as Leon slowly drew you both deeper into that mesmerizing trance binding your very essences as one...

Teasing type :

His lips grazed yours briefly before that signature smirk returned, knowingly pushing your buttons now.

Those strong hands gripped your flushed face steady while your breathing raced from the light tease leaving you desperately craving more that he delighted in controlling.

A mischievous glint sparked in his eyes before he started trailing fleeting licks and nips along your parched skin.

No pattern, just arbitrarily lighting up nerves across any exposed area like he owned you until your whole body throbbed for release from his sublime torture.

Only once you completely surrendered as his plaything did Leon crash his lips back onto yours. The searing reunion making you moan out every ounce of blissful suffering you endured for this exquisite payoff...

French Kiss Type:

Without warning, Leon lunged forward locking you into his intoxicating tractor beam. Those toned arms yanked you flush against his powerful frame, hungry intensity buring straight through you.

No hesitating, his skilled tongue bulldozed past your lips claiming ownership over every inch of your existence in that moment...

His tongue ruthlessly invaded your deepest spaces without mercy, plundering your most sacred places while extracting complete submission through dominating conquest.

Your very essences hemorrhaged together, searing away all boundaries until only unity remained.

Leon's mastery fused you into a higher ascended oneness in that infinite singularity.

Creating an eternal genesis of sublime rapture initiating you into realms beyond this plane through divine communion as one...

[shizucheese]

So about that Dropout Tweet...

There's a common trend in influencer/ content creator apologies, where the person doing the apology will say they are sorry for the harm that they did, claim they are taking ownership of it and using the whole situation to become a better person, etc. etc. Usually in a way that makes it sound suspiciously like it was written by ChatGPT.

And then they'll go on to say something along the lines of "But we've been getting a lot of death threats guys, and that's bad!" As if the fact that they're getting death threats somehow absolves them of at least some of the guilt of whatever it is that made the apology necessary in the first place. As if it means they're the real victims here.

Apparently Dropout decided to just skip the "ChatGPT apology" part and jump straight to the "We're getting physcal and legal threats" part. Followed up with them once again saying they support Palestiniens and ending it with "We reject antisemitism, Islamophobia, and all forms of bigotry, and welcome all to our platform who treat others with respect, empathy, and human dignity."

And they did it on Twitter, and only Twitter. You know, the website that's notoriously overrun by Nazis. Nothing on Tumblr or Instagram, where the original statement that sparked all of this (which has since been taken down) were posted.

@dropoutdottv, @samreich, this is not listening to the Jewish members of your community who are speaking out about antisemitism. This is reinforcing the antisemitism that those Jewish members of the community are speaking out about. Because what this Tweet does is paint everyone who spoke out against the antisemitism in your original post with the same brush as the people who were sending you threats.

Which, let me be clear, they should not have been doing and I wholeheartedly condemn.

But the actions of the people sending you threats of violence and threats of legal action do not invalidate the things being said by the people who haven't threatened you with anything worse than a boycott. I have literally seen people say "the fact that they got threats just proves they were right." Is that the outcome you were trying to achieve with this?

People who did bad things get death threats all the time; refer back to the beginning of this post. Does that make their critics wrong then, too? Or is it only now, when the accusation being made is that a nerdy comedy network beloved by people on the left did an antisemitism?

I honestly can't tell if you have no publicist helping you out with one, a bad publicist that needs to give you your money back, or an evil genius publicist that knew that if you made a post like this one, it would distract from the fact that you're being accused of antisemitism, maybe even act as a dog whistle to to paint anyone who accuses you of being antisemitic of being "Zionists" (meant in the derogatory way, where people claim they're only talking about people who uncritically support the Israeli government and their actions in Gaza, but then in practice will use it against anyone who believes Israel has the right to exist, including those who want a two state solution, whose hearts break for the people in Palestine, and call Netanyahu a fascist and probably want him gone more than even the people calling them "zionists" do). Maybe even make up for all of the subscriptions you're losing over this and even gain a few by catering to the antisemitic leftist crowd.

Is that really the kind of culture you want to cultivate? If not, then do better. Acknowledge the Jewish voices that are speaking out. Listen to them. And do it in a way that doesn't bring up any other marginalized group. Because like...fuck, man, I reject Islamophobia, and all forms of bigotry too. And I'm sorry you guys are receiving threats; that truly does suck and I hope everyone that works for you guys are staying safe.

But you're specifically being accused of antisemitism. Can you really not reject it all on its own without including other forms of bigotry in the same statement?

And do it on a platform that *isn't* run by an infamous antisemitic, and overrun by more antisemitics? (You can turn off comments and reblogs on Tumblr and comments on instagram, in the same way you disabled replies on your Tweet, you know.)

Here, I'll even write the statement for you: "Earlier this week, we made a statement regarding accusations that Dropout was platforming zionists. At the time, we made a statement focusing on our support of the Palestinian people. We stand by this statement. However, we have received feedback from several members of our community that some of the things that we said were inappropriate insensitive to the Jewish people. "Zionist" and "Zionism" mean different things to different people, ranging from "people who support the Israeli government's actions in Gaza" to "people who believe that Israel has a right to exist and the Jewish people have the right to self-determination." We had meant it in the context of the former definition, but we understand that many Jewish people identify with the later, including many people who are disgusted by the Israeli government's actions in Gaza, and we should have been more sensitive to this fact. Additionally, we would like to reiterate that, to our knowledge, nobody who has appeared on Dropout has openly stated support for the Israelie's actions in Gaza, and several of those accused have voiced their support for a free Palestine. We would like to take this moment to remind everyone that just because a person is Jewish, and may have ties to Israel, does not inherently mean they condone the actions of the Israeli government in Gaza, and to suggest otherwise is antisemitic. We at Dropout reject all forms of antisemitism and are committed to providing a safe space to everyone regardless of religion or ethnic background. We apologize if we made the Jewish members of our community feel like that was not the case."

See how easy that was? I feel something like this is the bear minimum, and if you had said the things in the last three paragraphs from the start, you could have avoided having to say everything in the first two paragraphs and the apology at the end.

That's...pretty much everything I have to say on the matter. To anyone reading this: Do not use other Jewish people to silence Jewish voices.

Do not use people of other marginalized groups to silence Jewish voices.

Just...maybe just listen to what we have to say without twisting our words and putting words in our mouths? Maybe?

Thanks for reading.

I'm so tired.

[xxsugarbones]

cw - afab!plus size!reader, mating press, pet names, brief face slapping, Toji himself is a warning (I need him carnally), once again barely proofread 🫡

wc - 540

a/n - you know what time it is 🌶️

divider credit - @/cafekitsune

Toji fucking you in a mean mating press, your thighs pressed all the way up against your chest and pushing your tits up with each rough thrust so much it restricted your breathing. Ankles wrapped around the back of his neck, interlocking and keeping his face near and close to your own. And your hands desperately grabbing at his biceps to try and ground yourself- to save yourself from going absolutely dumb on his fat cock.

“Eyes on me, doll.” He cooed, his hips smacking flush against the fat of your ass and sheathing himself deep inside you. So deep you could feel it in your stomach. You did your best to focus your glossy eyes on him, mouth dropping open into that delicious ‘o’ shape, and your eyebrows pinching together to try and stop tears from spilling down your cheeks. Your fucked out expression made the man laugh and his cock jump inside you.

“Ooo fucked out already are we? So sweet.” He purred, leaning his face back and bringing one hand up to slap your cheek once, twice, three times to get your focus back on him. The smacks sent sparks of electricity through your body, and you sobbed as you met his gaze again. “There you are. Hi, doll.” He licked his lips, before continuing his merciless pace, fucking into you with that same aggression that had been sending you cross-eyed moments before.

As he hammered his hips down against your ass, dick rubbing up against the gummy walls of your pussy in such a filthy display of ownership you began to lose it. Your brain melted between your ears and those same tears from before finally spilled down your chubby cheeks. Each smack of skin against skin was followed by a breathy, “ah!”, “ah!”, “ah!”, and it was driving Toji fucking insane. His lips pulled back into a soft sneer, before his face morphed. You focused in just enough to notice he was mocking you. He copied your slack-jawed, half lidded expression with a cheeky glint behind his eyes, and his next few thrusts were followed with him mocking your moans, his voice a slightly higher octave to mimic your voice. He was simply expecting you to be embarrassed, to blush and cover your face, sob and whine his name with that pretty voice. What he didn’t expect was the way your eyes rolled into the back of your head, your hands balling into tight fists and slamming against his biceps, or the way your pussy clamped down around him.

“FUCK, Toji, m’cumming!!” You cried, digging your nails into his taught skin as your orgasm hit you like a freight train. Toji’s breath hitched at how tight you constricted his cock, walls pulsing around him sporadically.

“Freaky fucking girl. My moaning gets you off huh?” His hips never once stopped as he fucked you through your orgasm. You quickly nodded your head, trying to arch your back so you could take a breath, but he simply pushed you back down with his body weight. Your eyes grew hazy as pure ecstasy took over you, and he licked his lips.

“Guess I’ll just have to be a little more vocal for you from now on, hey mama?”

[writteninlunarlight-years]

How they show affection to you throughout the relationship TW: AFAB Reader, Sexual implications, Cringey men, MY SHITTY ASS WRITERS BLOCK

Lucifer

In the beginning, your story together was anything but perfect. He held unyeilding views about sinners, and in his eyes, you were nothing more than a psychopathic killer, a hopeless drug addict, or even, heaven forbid, a demonic radio host.

Yet somehow, you brought joy into his life. Your corny puns and lighthearted jokes became the new normal for his troubled soul. You consistently put him first, even when you didn’t have to, your calm, gentle smile illuminating the darkest corners of his small world.

It truly began with the small gestures—special nicknames that he lovingly crafted just for you. One fateful day, he became visibly upset when Charlie dared to use the same nickname. He sulked for days, unable to shake off the irritation that someone else had used his personal nickname he made just for you.

As your connection deepened, he began expressing his feelings through lingering touches. Afraid to voice the vastness of his emotions, he sought to convey his affection subtly. He would hold your hand a fraction too long during exchanges, his fingers brushing against yours with a hesitant familiarity. When he tucked a stray hair behind your ear, his fingers lingered against your skin just a moment longer. He would pull you close, his hand resting possessively around your waist, silently claiming you as his own.

Eventually, the weight of his unspoken feelings became too much to bear. He opted for indirect confessions, praising your beauty and grace instead of uttering the words "I love you," which once led to heartache. He swept you off your feet, whether in a playful dance or as you strolled through the infernal streets of Hell, reveling in the joy of simply being together.

The moment of true confession came unexpectedly while Kattie Killjoy was out on the road with her camera crew. She stopped you both, curious about the new sinner who had captured King Lucifer's attention. Without a moment’s hesitation, he pulled you into a passionate kiss, declaring to the Hell's rings that you were his.

That kiss sparked a meaningful conversation about the future of your relationship and the love that had been quietly brewing between you for so long. From that moment, Lucifer began guiding you, helping you find your footing as Hell's next queen, all the while cherishing the fact that you chose to stand by his side.

Alastor

He didn’t hate you; instead, he regarded you as a mere plaything—a soul eager to make a deal, much like countless others before you. To him, people were simply pawns in a grand game, assets he could exploit over time. Yet, he never anticipated the profound impact you would have on his life.

Your calm presence was soothing, like the perfect Jazz song on a long night. You found joy in learning about his past, willingly immersing yourself in the world of Jazz, and becoming an enthusiastic participant. It warmed his heart to know he had at least one dedicated listener who wasn’t bound to him by ownership.

He couldn’t help but notice the way your hands lingered near him, a delicate dance of respect and curiosity. Your decision to take up dancing lessons at Mimzy’s work didn’t go unnoticed either. He appreciated your efforts far more than he would ever admit, silently cherishing the way you sought to connect with him.

It quickly became apparent to everyone in Hell—save for the two of you—that something special was blossoming between you. Your every move was shadowed by a newfound intimacy, and Alastor always seemed prepared with an extra outfit for dancing, making it almost too easy for others to see the affection that was growing between you.

Alastor, recognizing your hesitation to risk hurting him, decided to take the plunge and make the first move. He whisked you away to Mimzy’s dance hall, where you spent the night twirling and swaying together. While dancing was not unusual for you two, it was during the slow songs that he drew you impossibly close, enveloping you in a warmth that felt both exhilarating and terrifying.

The truth of your shared feelings came to light when Rosie danced by and playfully remarked on how cute and deadly the two of you appeared together. With a broad smile illuminating his face, Alastor looked down at you, and before you could process the moment, he captured your lips in a searing kiss.

This kiss ignited a whirlwind of chaos around you—a symphony of Mimzy’s complaints, Rosie’s laughter, and the distant hum of TV static as carnage erupted in the streets, instigated by an irate man who had glimpsed a glitchy, blurry photo of your exchange. Although the man who snapped the picture met a swift end, the image ultimately found its way into Vox’s hands, setting off a chain reaction of consequences.

Adam

He was the first man, the quintessential figure, the one and only Adam of the Garden of Eden. With an aura of irresistible charm, he dismissed the notion of singular love or romance, believing he needed a multitude of women to satisfy his desires. Sweet, innocent feelings had no place in his world—at least, that’s what he thought.

Little did he know, you were slowly weaving your way into the fabric of his heart. You were the epitome of a perfect angel, obedient and charmingly polite. Initially, he found your demeanor a tad annoying, but as night fell, his imagination transformed you into the devoted wife he never knew he craved.

Over time, his nicknames for you evolved from crude jests to tender pet names, each one reserved solely for you. If anyone dared to inquire about this softer side, he would scoff, brushing it off as if it never happened. The same went for the fleeting touches—his instinct to stand closely behind you, resting his head on yours or your shoulder—he would never confess to being utterly smitten.

His feelings became undeniable when even the mere mention of Eve or Lilith in your presence ignited a fierce jealousy within him. He yearned to shout from the rooftops that you were the one—the "it girl" who had captured his heart. You were his forever, the beginning and the end.

To solidify these feelings and coax you into his embrace, he made it his mission to cling to you, undeterred by gossip or judgment. He wanted you to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that his devotion to you matched yours to him.

The pivotal moment that brought your lips together was orchestrated by Lute, who quite literally pushed you into Adam. Just as he was grappling with cold feet, he found himself frozen in place, your wide, sparkling eyes locked on his. In a whirlwind of surprise, Lute nudged you forward, and as he instinctively caught you, one hand on your lower back and the other tangling in your hair, he realized your hands were resting on his chest. In that electric moment, your lips met, sealing a connection neither of you anticipated.

From that day forward, Lute took immense pride in her matchmaking skills. Whenever Adam wasn’t around, she reveled in bragging about how she had transformed the notorious “massive asshole” into a devoted boyfriend, silencing his incessant boasts about his past conquests. This victory was a personal triumph for her and a welcome relief for the other exorcists, who were finally spared from his relentless chatter about your perfect form.

Husk

He had never been on the lookout for love—not even before his untimely demise. To him, it felt like a distant fantasy, something lost in the chaos of his life. As a gambling man with a penchant for risk, he often found that women were put off by his reckless ways and his struggle with alcohol.

But then you entered his life, and it took far too long for him to realize that his drinking had lessened, replaced by an increasing fascination with you. You became his unexpected remedy, igniting an obsession with your radiant smile and infectious laughter. Your genuine spirit shone brightly, even when the world felt heavy and overwhelming.

He transformed your drinks into special concoctions, always incorporating your favorites—whether they were alcoholic or not. Each glass was adorned with playful fruits and whimsical garnishes aimed at coaxing your smile.

One day, he casually suggested that you help him clean the bar, seizing the opportunity to brush his fingers against your lower back or hold your hands, delighting in the warmth of your presence.

He longed to take a step toward something more official, but with Charlie’s exuberance and Alastor’s unpredictable nature, commitment felt daunting. Yet, it was clear to everyone in the hotel how deeply he cherished you. Encouraged by their nudges, he finally gathered the courage to ask you out, only to stumble over his words and blurt out a clumsy, unrelated question that only made you smile wider.

Determined to make his intentions clear, he devised a plan to ask you out on his own terms. He orchestrated a lovely meal and implored everyone in the hotel to vacate for the afternoon. Once the scene was set, everything fell into place. Your laughter at his classy magic tricks and the sweet rhythm of your conversation made him realize—this was love blooming in its purest form.

When he finally confessed, he was beaming—a remarkable feat for someone who rarely wore a smile. Your genuine warmth and unwavering affection were all that mattered to him, melting away his grumpy exterior.

From that moment on, Husk transformed into a new man. He found purpose in his days, a reason to look forward to the end of his shifts. Yes, the looming presence of the radio demon still weighed on his mind, but you were there, ready to fill the void in his heart with everything he had always longed for.

Vox

You were nothing more than an assistant in his eyes—just a cog in the machine while he juggled the chaotic dynamics of his half-hearted relationship with Val and Vel. Love felt like a distraction; all he craved was power and the sweet satisfaction of seeing Alastor kneeling before him.

Yet, you were an infuriating thorn in his side, clad in alluring short skirts and stockings, flashing a smile that could light up the darkest corners of Hell. Each comment from Val or Vel about you ignited a possessive spark within him. He wanted you all to himself, and he was determined to keep it that way.

The nature of your interactions began to change, starting innocently with the passing of papers or showcasing new products on the tablet. But it quickly escalated to lingering touches—his hands resting possessively on your waist, gentle massages on your shoulders, and teasing breaths against your neck as he leaned in to whisper.

He was intent on making you want him, but pride held him back from crawling to you; that would be too undignified. Instead, he resolved to ensure you needed him just as much. One promise rang clear in his mind: he would never, ever use his hypnosis against you.

His feelings became undeniable the day Val cornered you, a tense moment exacerbated by his foul mood, thanks to Angel Dust’s antics and the fact that you had captured Vox's attention. What began as a heated conversation erupted into a full-blown brawl between the two men, both vying for your affection in one way or another.

When Vox emerged victorious, albeit with a few scrapes, he was seething. But the moment you approached him, your worried eyes searching his, everything shifted. In that instant, he realized you were the one—the only one he would ever need. Forget Alastor on his knees; it was you he craved at his side.

With one passionate kiss, he made his feelings clear, giving Val a defiant middle finger as you and Vox ignited headlines across Hell with your new love story. He would do anything for you—truly anything—and he meant every word.