#check deposit machine

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[creativepromptsforwriting]

How to create an atmosphere: Supermarket

Sight

advertisements for products

big signs showing discounts

aisles full of colorful products

fresh produce

employees in matching uniforms

all different kinds of costumers

with shopping carts

with children running around

with a stroller or toddlers sitting in the shopping cart

with a service dog by their side

Hearing

the sound of shopping carts being pushed and bumping into shelves

parents calling for their children

people talking on the phone

a man asking his wife if they still have enough toilet paper at home

someone asking the employee where they can find something

music interrupted by announcements about promotions the store is doing

the surring and beeping sound of the cash register belt

the sound of the electronic doors opening and shutting again

Touch

the stickiness of the floors

the differents textures of each item they think about buying

the coldness and often stickiness of the handle of the shopping cart

the sudden wetness from some products that are either fresh produce or where the package is leaking

Smell

the smell of spilled drinks that someone dropped and left for the employees to clean up

the smell of cleaning products from them having to sweep it up

the smell of hand sanitizer

the smell of different products the costumer holds up to their face and smells to decide if they like it

the horrendous smell of deposit machines where you return your not quite empty beer bottles to and the leftover liquid spills everywhere

Taste

different samples offered at the supermarket

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[natsaffection]

Request if ur taking them: hella smutty enemies to lovers w nat and female reader… like dom nat is interrogating/torturing r w sex like not letting us come etc unless we give over the information

Interrogation. | N.R

Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI! Sex Machine, Sex as „Torture“, begging, restraints, edging, Clit play, multiple orgasm, overstimulation

Word Count: 2,7k

A/N: Uhm..MAYBE I got carried away..

The battle had been fierce, and the aftermath was a testament to the clash between the Avengers and you. Debris and rubble covered the once pristine SHIELD facility. The air was thick with dust and the smell of burnt metal. Amidst the chaos, you lay on the ground, breathing heavily, your eyes full of defiance and a hint of amusement.

Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, stood over you, her face a mask of determination. She knelt down and pinned your arms behind your back with practiced ease. You struggled, but Natasha’s grip was ironclad.

“It’s over.” Natasha said, her voice deep and firm. You smirked mockingly, your eyes meeting Natasha’s. “You seem pretty confident, Agent Romanoff.”

Natasha ignored the provocation and reached for the handcuffs on her belt. “I’ve had enough of your games. It’s time to put an end to this.”

As Natasha secured a cuff around your wrist, you laughed breathlessly. “Oh, careful, these are kind of my thing,” you said with a mischievous grin. Without hesitation, Natasha tightened her grip, “Come on! You don’t have to be so rough. We could have some fun instead.”

But she pressed your check into the dirt, her knee firmly in your back to prevent any movement. “Keep talking, and you’ll find out how rough I can be.“ Natasha hissed, her tone dripping with menace. “The fun is over. You’ve been causing trouble for too long.”

You writhed and twisted, trying to break free, but Natasha’s hold was unyielding. “You’re no fun..” you muttered, your voice muffled by the ground.

Natasha tightened the cuffs on your wrists. “And if you weren’t so insistent on being a villain, you might actually be worth my time.”

You tried to sit up, looking around as if searching for an escape route or an opportunity. “Don’t even think about it,” Natasha warned, increasing the pressure with her knee. You groaned but stopped struggling, though your eyes still roamed.

SHIELD agents were still securing the area, their movements quick and efficient. Natasha had to wait for the all-clear signal before she could take you to the waiting vehicle. The minutes dragged on, filled with the distant sounds of agents clearing debris and securing the area.

“You really won’t let up, will you?” you said, your tone a mix of frustration and reluctant admiration. “No.” Natasha replied curtly. You sighed dramatically but didn’t resist further. “You know, I was serious about the restraints.. Maybe one day you’ll take me up on that offer.”

Natasha didn’t respond, her eyes scanning the surroundings until she received a nod from a nearby agent. She finally relaxed, pulling you to your feet with a swift motion. Her grip remained firm as she led you to the waiting vehicle.

“Let’s go,” Natasha ordered, pushing you forward. You stumbled slightly but caught yourself, your defiant gaze never wavering.

As you reached the vehicle, Natasha secured you inside before taking a seat herself. The doors closed with a heavy thud, sealing your fate. As the vehicle drove away, you couldn’t help but admire the vie, not of the receding landscape, but of the relentless agent who had finally captured you.

The ride in the vehicle was silent, your attempts at conversation met only with Natasha’s stony silence. Upon arrival at the SHIELD headquarters, you were escorted through a series of sterile corridors, your wrists still firmly bound. Eventually, you were deposited in an interrogation room, the door closing with a resounding click behind you.

Natasha stood outside the room, watching you through the one-way window. Director Fury approached, his expression as inscrutable as ever.

“Anyone getting her to talk?” Fury asked. Natasha shook her head. “Not yet. But I have an idea.” Fury raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

“I want to try a different approach,” Natasha said, her eyes never leaving you. “Something that requires a bit more… hands-on work.”

Fury’s gaze followed hers, a knowing look crossing his face. “You think you can break her?” Natasha’s lips curled into a slight smile. “I know I can.”

Fury considered for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. Do what you have to. Just make sure we get the information we need.”

Natasha gave a curt nod and turned to a couple of nearby agents. “Bring her to Room B.”

The agents obeyed, entering the room to escort you to the new location. You, always quick to notice a change, looked curiously between the agents and Natasha. “Tired of the room already?”

Natasha didn’t respond, her expression remaining impassive as she followed the agents and you down another corridor. They stopped before a reinforced door, which opened to reveal a stark, dimly lit room. In the center of the room, chains hung from the ceiling.

Your eyes widened slightly as you saw the setup, a slow grin spreading across your face. “Oh, Natasha, you really know how to treat a girl.”

Natasha stepped forward, her gaze steady. “Keep talking and you will see where it takes you.“ You laughed, the sound echoing off the bare walls. “You almost had me fooled. I mean, you’ve got chains hanging from the ceiling. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to spoil me.”

The agents finished their task and stepped back. Now you hung from your wrists, your feet barely touching the ground. Natasha approached you, her expression cold and calculating.

“You like to talk,” Natasha said, her voice low and menacing. “But now you’re going to listen.” Your smile faded slightly as you saw the determination in Natasha’s eyes. “Are you going to torture me for information?”

Natasha leaned close to your ear, her breath warm against your skin. “Kind of.”

Natasha knew exactly how to handle this situation. She had done her homework and knew your psychological profile. Natasha’s plan was unorthodox, but she knew it would be effective.

With a swift motion, Natasha signaled to a control panel on the wall. A mechanical hum filled the room as a device descended from the ceiling, its purpose unmistakable. Your eyes widened in surprise and something else..anticipation.

“You know, if you didn’t insist on being a villain, you might actually enjoy this,” Natasha said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Your defiance wavered, replaced by a mix of excitement and apprehension. “You wouldn’t…”

Natasha’s grin returned. “Oh, but I would. You see, Y/n, everyone has a breaking point. And I’m going to find yours.”

The device was now perfectly positioned, and Natasha activated it. The gentle vibrations began, and your body tensed in the restraints. You tried to hide your reactions, but Natasha could see right through you.

“Let’s see how long you can maintain that attitude,” Natasha said, her voice a silky purr. “Tell me what I need to know.”

You bit your lip, trying to maintain your composure. “Do you really think this will work? That I’ll just spill everything because of a little… pleasure?”

Natasha’s eyes darkened. “I think you’ll be surprised at how persuasive it can be.” The intensity of the device increased, and your breathing grew heavier. You tried to turn away, but the restraints held you firmly in place. Natasha watched you closely, knowing that your resolve would eventually crumble.

Minutes passed, and the room was filled with the sounds of your labored breaths and stifled moans. Natasha remained silent, her eyes never leaving your face. She knew exactly when your resistance began to waver.

“Ready to talk?” Natasha asked, her voice gentle but commanding. Your eyes met Natasha’s, filled with a mix of defiance and desperation. “I- I won’t… give in…”

Natasha leaned closer, her lips brushing your ear. “We’ll see about that.” The vibrations continued, pushing you closer to the edge. Natasha could see how close you were, your body trembling with the effort to hold back. Just as you were on the verge, Natasha deactivated the device, leaving you gasping for breath. FUCK, you thought. You glared at Natasha, your eyes burning with a mix of anger and desire. “You’re playing dirty.”

Natasha’s expression remained impassive. “All you have to do is talk, and this can be over.” You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts. “I’m not telling you anything.”

Natasha grinned. “Then we continue.”

She reactivated the device, and the cycle began anew. Natasha watched intently, noting every reaction, every tremble. She knew the female body well, knew how to read the signs of an approaching climax. Every time you got close, Natasha would stop, leaving you teetering on the edge.

“You’re… a real piece of work,” you panted, your body glistening with sweat. “Thank you,” Natasha replied coolly. “Now, tell me what I need to know.”

Your resolve weakened, your body betraying you. You wanted to resist, to keep your secrets, but Natasha’s relentless game wore you down. “Alright..” you gasped, desperation in your voice. “I’ll talk!“

Natasha is stepping closer to you. “Start talking.” You took a shaky breath, your body still trembling. “I… I was hired by HYDRA… to infiltrate SHIELD. They wanted… information on your operations… your weaknesses..“ Natasha nodded, her expression unreadable. “Who hired you? Names, Y/n.”

“Dr. Zola!” you admitted barely audibly. “He… he was the one who contacted me..“ Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “Where can we find him?”

You hesitated, and Natasha reached for the control panel again. „No, wait! I’ll tell you! He’s… he’s in a hidden facility… in the Alps. I can give you the coordinates!”

Natasha nodded, satisfied. “Good.”

You couldn’t help but feel a sense of triumph. You had managed to deceive Natasha and keep your secrets. But your victory was short-lived.

“Did you enjoy your break?” Natasha asked, her voice deceptively calm. Your smugness wavered. “What do you mean?”

Natasha walked towards you slowly, each step calculated. “Do you think I'm stupid? That I would let you off that easily?”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

Natasha grinned, a predatory look in her eyes. “Oh, this is going to be fun for me.” Natasha stepped closer to you, her voice now a seductive whisper. “You see, Y/n, I know exactly how your mind works. Now, you’re going to learn the true meaning of torture.”

The vibrations began again, this time more intense and relentless. Your body reacted immediately, and Natasha watched with a knowing smile.

“I see you’re already close,” Natasha said, her voice dripping with mocking sympathy. “But this time, I won’t stop. I’m going to push you past every limit you have.”

You gasped, your body tensing as the device did its work. Natasha leaned in, her breath hot against your ear. “Tell me, Y/n. How does it feel to be outsmarted?”

Your breaths came in ragged bursts, your body on the brink. “When I get out of here-” Natasha’s smile widened. “Answers.Now.”

Your resolve shattered as you realized the futility of resistance. You spilled everything, your words a desperate rush. “Fuck! The facility is in the Carpathians, not the Alps. Zola… H-He is there, with a team! They’re developing a new Bio weapon!”

Natasha nodded, her eyes never leaving your face. “Good girl. See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” However, she didn’t stop. Instead, she increased the intensity. Your eyes widened in shock. “I told the truth!”

Natasha’s expression was cold and unyielding. “This is for lying earlier. You need to learn that there are consequences.”

Your body convulsed as you were pushed past your limit, your pleas turning into incoherent screams. Natasha watched impassively, making sure you learned your lesson.

She placed her hand on your body, her fingers stroking and teasing expertly, amplifying the overstimulation. Her touch was precise, knowing exactly how to drive you over the edge repeatedly.

“Do you feel that, Y/n?” Natasha whispered seductively. “I can do this all night. You won’t find any relief until I’m satisfied.”

Your eyes begged for mercy, but Natasha’s resolve was ironclad. „God, this Face is so cute..“ She continued her relentless torture, pushing you to multiple, agonizingly intense orgasms. Each time you thought you couldn’t take any more, Natasha found a new way to amplify the pleasure, keeping you on the brink of madness.

“You belong to me now,” Natasha said, her voice a velvety purr. “Every time you lie to me, this is what you’ll get.”

Your body shook uncontrollably, your mind barely holding on. Natasha’s hand moved to your clit, her fingers circling with expert precision. The overstimulation was unbearable, driving you over the edge again and again.

“Please… no more…” you pleaded, your voice barely a whisper. Natasha’s smile was one of cold satisfaction. “Remember this feeling, Y/n. This is what happens when you cross me.”

Natasha leaned in one last time, her voice a deadly whisper. “Next time, think twice before you try to deceive me.”

“S-Should I apologize!? Is that what you want to h-hear?” you cried, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry, there y-you have it! Now turn it o-” You gasped, your words cut off by a shattering climax that coursed through you.

Natasha’s smile was triumphant, but she didn’t stop the machine. Instead, she leaned closer, her breath hot against your skin. “You’re so sweet.”

Your body writhed, your mind a haze of pleasure and pain. ��N-Natasha!” you gasped, your voice barely a whisper. “Please…”

Natasha stepped closer, her hands now working in tandem with the machine. Her fingers found your clit again. Your eyes widened, a fresh wave of pleasure crashing over you. “No… no, please… I can’t take it…!“ you begged, your voice a hoarse whisper.

“Oh, yes, you can,” Natasha replied, her voice dripping with dark amusement. “And you will.” Natasha knew you weren’t in any real pain, just overwhelmed by pleasure. She knew your body so well, every sensitive spot mapped in her mind. She could sense your inner conflict, your head shaking in defiance while your body responded with undeniable arousal. Deep down, you agreed, unable to deny the raw pleasure coursing through your veins.

Your body arched, your mind a whirl of sensations. Natasha’s fingers and the relentless machine worked in harmony, driving you to heights of pleasure you hadn’t thought possible. Every touch, was designed to break you, to make you completely surrender.

“Say it again.” Natasha whispered, her breath hot against your ear. Your voice was a broken sob. “I’m sorry… Please… Please…” you repeated, your body trembling violently.

“Good girl,” Natasha cooed, her fingers never pausing. “But I want more. I want you to scream for me.” And you did. Your body writhed, every nerve on fire. You were sure you would die from the sheer intensity of the pleasure, your mind shattered, your will completely broken. Natasha’s hands were everywhere, her touch both torment and balm.

Her fingers moved with expert precision, finding the perfect spot that made you jerk violently in your restraints. “Ah, there it is,” Natasha purred, holding your hips steady as she intensified the stimulation. “I knew you had it in you.”

Your eyes rolled back, your body arching helplessly against the relentless pleasure. “FUCK… PLEASE… I’m begging you…!!”

“Beg all you want,” Natasha whispered, her voice deep and sensual. “I love hearing you beg. Where’s your attitude now, hm?” Natasha taunted, her fingers never slowing. “You were so defiant before. What happened?”

“I…I..” your voice was a breathless sob, your body trembling with the intensity of your orgasm.

Natasha’s fingers continued their merciless assault, finding every sensitive spot and exploiting it ruthlessly. Your body arched, your mind breaking under the sheer intensity of the pleasure. You were sure you would die from it, your will completely shattered under Natasha’s expert touch.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Natasha slowed the machine and her fingers, giving you a moment to catch your breath. She leaned close, her lips brushing your ear. “You did good,” she murmured. “But remember, there’s always more to tell, more to give.”

Your breaths came in ragged gasps, your body sagging in the restraints. In that moment, you knew you were utterly and completely at Natasha’s mercy. And there was nothing you could do about it.

[peachesofteal]

Light On - single mom/neighbor fic Simon Riley/female reader 🎄Simon has himself a merry little Christmas - for @glitterypirateduck's cod holiday challenge

Simon opens his eyes to an empty bed on Christmas morning.

His breath catches in his chest when his hand slides across the sheets, instinctively seeking the warmth of your body, only to discover your side of the bed empty. 

His rational, tactical, professional mind tells him you've probably just gotten up with the baby. That for some reason, he slept too deeply and didn't wake up when she did this morning, like he usually does. You're in the guest room, Emmaline's room, now, or in the kitchen. Maybe you're already drinking your first cup of coffee. You're fine. The baby is fine. Nothing is wrong. 

But his heart... his heart screams. Terror ices his veins, adrenaline and fear taking control of his gross motor skills, legs twisting beneath him as he stumbles out of bed and races for the door. They’re fine, they’re fine, they’re fine-

“Sweetheart?” His voice betrays him. He sounds stressed, anxiety piquing, frantically turning the corner into the kitchen. Not again, he can’t do this again, this can’t happen again… 

It’s empty. The front door is still locked, and so is the patio’s, twinkling Christmas tree glowing in the late dawn light. His mind splits. Check Emmaline’s room, they’re probably in there, get control of yourself… and… the glock 19 is closest, should still be under the top shelf, call Price, mobilize the team- 

“Simon?” He whirls at the sound of your voice, air rushing out of his lungs, drawing into a relieved laugh. Emmaline is on your hip in a green, white, and red striped elf costume, complete with a pointed hat, jingle bell dangling from the top. “Morning.” You smile, and so does the baby. “Santa’s elf wanted to surprise you.” You’re still a little sleepy, eyes tired, and he does a double take when he realizes you’re in your underwear and one of his t shirts. 

“I’m… surprised.” Bloody hell. His brain isn’t working, his mouth rendering him stupid, still caught in fight or flight, and your lips subtly twist before your eyes soften, realization soft across your features. 

“Are you okay?” You question, and he nods, not trusting himself to not say something else moronic, flailing in the silence, failing. It’s been weeks since he’s felt like this, inept, clumsy, senseless, too easily settled into a life with you after that pipe burst in your flat and practically delivered him a holiday miracle, a treasure deposited right into his lap. “Here,” you push Emma into his arms, soft fingers over top his as you hand her off, looking up at him with that level trust, adoration that you’re always providing him, in your eyes. Just holding Emmaline settles the anxiety in his heart, soothes the raw buzzing that’s tearing through his head, and you smile, butting your head into his shoulder and placing a kiss there. “Will you take her while I get dressed?” 

“Yeah.” He croaks, as you squeeze his forearm, turning away. “Sweetheart,” he calls, stopping you in your tracks. He wants to tell you he thinks he loves you; he thinks he’d die without you; he thinks you’re the greatest thing he’s ever had, ever held, thinks you saved him, but nothing comes out. You hold his gaze for a second, and then two, before whispering.

“I know… me too.” Of course you do. You pause, cocking your head. “Could you make some coffee? Gonna be a long day.” You raise an eyebrow towards the Christmas tree, where all of Emma’s gifts sit perfectly arranged, and he nods. He can do that.

“Just three scoops of this,” he tells Emma, portioning out the coffee into the filter as she babbles at him from her perch in his other arm. “Mama likes it pretty strong, doesn’t she? And then some water, like this.” He pours the pitcher into the machine’s reservoir, flicking on the power and listening to the gurgle as he makes his way to the couch. He bounces Emma on his knee, little hands waving in the air, trying to grab the end of her hat and gnaw on it. The tree sparkles behind her, lights and ornaments all aglow, and she giggles when she tips herself forward, planting onto his chest with both hands. “Easy, baby girl.” Rolling onto her back in the crook of his arm, she squirms, smiling up at him, finger extended towards his chin. “What is it, eh?” He leans, and she pokes his cheek, cooing with a satisfied grunt. She fits so naturally in his side, just like you do, and he settles into the cushions, relaxing, allowing her to explore, tactile touch padding across his face, little fingernails scratching at his stubble.

“You two look cozy.” You murmur with a yawn, cup of coffee steaming in your palms. He smiles, and Emma lifts her head to look for you, tracking the sound of your voice. You perch at his other side, knees tucking up next to his hip, nestling your head against his shoulder, fingers tracing Emmaline’s cheek. “Whatcha doing sweet pea?” He brushes a kiss across the top of your head, and you sigh, arm wrapping around his stomach. "This is nice."

"It is." He agrees. It's more than nice, it's everything. Everything he didn't know was possible, everything he didn't know he wanted. It's nice, spending Christmas with his girls, cuddled up together on his couch in front of a Christmas tree that's loaded with presents for the baby. A Christmas, the holiday he used to shun… now brought back to life by you. Nice is a good word to describe it, but others flit through his mind as well: perfect, redeeming, salvation.

Purpose.

He takes a ragged breath, and you lean back to look at him, waiting.

"It's more than nice, sweetheart, it's... I... never thought, never dreamed this could happen in my life. You and Emmaline, you're... everything to me." He pauses, cradling your face, watching how your eyes shimmer with unshed tears. "I want," he swallows the lump in his throat. "I want you to stay. I want you to be here. Always." He needs you to stay, needs you like he needs air to breathe, needs you like he's never needed, never wanted, anything before in his life. He'd give you the world, if he could, wrap it up nicely and put it beneath the tree, but he doesn't know how to say that, how to explain.

He's grateful he doesn't have to.

"I'll be here, Simon. I'll be right here. With you." You take his hand, clutching onto him tightly. It's selfish, what he wants. Stupid. But he's not a good man... he's yours, and he'll be as wicked, as awful as he must to keep you and Emmaline safe. You're the only good thing about him now, and he'd dig himself free from a shallow grave all over again, just to crawl home to you. You've changed him, deeply. Fundamentally. Taught him the truth of love, of healing, your grief not so much different from his own, and he knows he'd die for you, he'd die for you ten thousand times.

Emmaline babbles at the sound of your voice, and you smile at her, not bothering to wipe away the tear that tracks down your cheek. "We're here. We'll stay. As long as you want us."

And christ, if that isn't the best Christmas gift he's ever be given.

[genderqueerdykes]

as someone who has been chronically homeless for 9 years due to severe disability, the way housing is managed in america is just a joke. it's all about the profits for the landlord, nothing else matters. credit checks are a gate to keep out poor people. deposits are a gate to keep out poor people. you wanna apply for a low-income housing program? you HAVE to have a "severe" disability diagnosis and proof that you're too disabled to afford or apply for "normal" housing. this is a gate to keep out poor people.

people in positions to help house homeless people don't care because they're housed. there's no sense of urgency. they don't have to think about what it's like to go without a roof over their head. they get paid tens of dollars an hour to sit there and scoff at all of the "lazy poor and disabled people who should just get jobs and stop whining and expecting to have things handed to them." they get paid to ignore emails and take 2 hour long lunches to forget about how hard and scary the world really is.

how the FUCK are you supposed to work when you don't have a place to sleep at night, shower, or eat? come the fuck on. use your goddamn brain. this system is built off of abuse, lying and torture. nobody earns an "honest" day's pay, none of this is "honest" work. it's all built off of the backs of lying and stealing from someone who needs it more. jobs aren't given to the person who's the most qualified- they're given to the person who lied the most to make themselves sound good during the interview. jobs are given to people who are good at interviews, NOT people who are GOOD at what they do.

i don't know how to tell you that when the average person isn't making enough to eat, fuel their car or pay for their phone, they also can't afford the roof over their head. disabled people and low-income people are struggling even worse with this. i don't know how to tell people that you should care about this.

we are literally all the same species. we are all humans. you cannot look down on disabled, poor and addicted people because we're "scum" and "less than human". we're not. that's a lie you're being fed by capitalism to feel better about yourself so you'll keep blindly working. wake up. this is not how humans behave. you're being brainwashed. everyone needs a stable home. EVERYONE. especially if you want them to contribute to your stupid money machine.

capitalism makes no fucking sense. give people homes or get the fuck out of our way, because we're about to just start taking them. this is unsustainable. this is unliveable. this system doesn't fucking work. a system that leaves its people to starve and die while apartments, homes, condos, and hotel rooms stay empty and collect dust doesn't work. none of this shit works. fuck this fascist system. none of us are free.

[mugiwara-lucy]

So it’s been brought to my attention that female Donald Trump aka Marjorie Taylor Greene will have “poll watching training” next month.

I find this just ironic because if you all don’t know; back in 2020, there were 2000 lost ballots for Joe Biden!

https://www.reuters.com/article/fact-check/does-2000-mules-provide-evidence-of-voter-fraud-in-the-2020-us-presidential-idUSL2N2XJ0OQ/

And the party of “law and order” doesn’t want the Media observing this “poll training” so make of the above information what you will.

Now what’s the overall relevance of me telling you all of this?

Assuming you guys don’t do mail in ballots and actually go to the poll place to vote; please do NOT give your ballots to anyone calling themselves “poll watchers”. There is a box that you deposit your ballots into so please use THAT.

And should these MAGA jokers try anything, PLEASE defend yourself since as evidenced by January 6th, 2021, these guys are dangerous and will do anything for their precious 34 count felon.

Just wanted to give you guys a heads up in case they start something because they WILL 😒

But yeah please don’t give your ballots to ANYONE OR ANYTHING BUT the ballot machine!

Please and thank you 🙏 😊😌

[lordsukunas]

“never back down never what?”

synop. nagi trying to win a plushie at an arcade machine for you.

tags. gn!reader, lots of fluff, established relationship, possibly ooc

note. this is indeed inspired by the l&ds plushies: fleecy + pea pod boat. first time writing for nagi (kunigami is wip), so pls work w/ me. likes n reblogs r always appreciated, n pls leave criticism!! toodles <3

big gray eyes bore into the poor plushie’s skull as nagi’s hand moves the joystick. why is it so stubborn?! these things are supposed to be easy, right?

“seishirou, it’s okay–”

“no.”

he presses the button for what has to be the dozenth time, and the claw lowers itself. it clamps around the sheep’s fluffy cranium, and slowly lifts back up again. c’mon, c’mon, c’mon...

the grip isn’t as good as he thinks it is, though, and right when the claw is near the deposit zone, it falls free from its grip.

“fuck,” nagi mutters, and he rubs at his eyes with the butt of his hand. he has to win this for you, even if it costs him all of his allowance for the month.

you place a gentle hand on his shoulder and offer him a little smile. immediately, determination spreads from his heart and throughout his entire body. if he gets the plushie, you’ll smile even bigger. and nagi really likes watching you smile — it’s pretty.

“you’re gonna end up spending all of your money, babe. we can just come back later.”

“no, i got it.” he fishes more yen out of his pocket and puts it in the coin slot.

the claw machine starts up again, and he navigates the uncooperative claw right back over the sheep. doesn’t it want to go home? it should be tired of sitting there with all the other plushies. he can set it free and give it a brand new parent!

nagi double, triple checks that the claw will securely get the stuffed animal before pressing the button. the claw lowers, okay, grabs the sheep by the head again (a bit more firm this time), okay, goes back up, okay, moves directly over the deposit, okay, and...

the sheep drops down the deposit, and your hand tightens on his shoulder as you squeal. the sheep is finally free from jail!

“you did it!”

pride blooms in his chest. nagi did, in fact, do it. took him a lot of money and way more effort than he would’ve liked, but it’s worth it when you bend down, grab the plush, and beam up at him.

“thank you!!” you push yourself up a bit and press a kiss to his cheek, and his heart stutters. your lips feel amazing on his milky skin, soft and full. “you really didn’t have to keep trying, it would’ve been fine if you gave up.”

hey, wait.

if he wins more plushies, does he get more kisses? does he get to see you squeal and smile and be so full of happiness it could kill a person?

“i, uh... ‘s no big deal.” he rubs the back of his neck, pink tinting the tips of his ears. “you want another one, or...?”

it’s worth a try, right?

your eyes dart over to the pea plushie, and there’s that wanting twinkle in your eyes. but when you look back at him, you shake your head. “no, it’s okay. you’re probably ready to go back home.”

nagi tilts his head. “but i just saw you look at those peas.”

your eyes widen a bit, and you chuckle. “oh, uh... we can always come back, and you already won me one!”

he boops your nose, a slight frown tugging the corners of his lips downward. “don’t lie. i can just win you another one.”

nagi presses a light kiss to the top of your head and digs in his pocket again. i’m definitely gonna be broke after this, he thinks as he pushes the coins into the slot, hearing the now-familiar jingle of the machine.

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Sedated

Adam x Reader

TW: Pervy Adam, Guardian Angels, Reader unknowingly being watched, Self-touch, masturbation, Desires, obsession, clumsy ass reader

How we ended up here was beyond either of our wildest dreams. Adam had fallen from grace, desperate to prove his worth and reclaim his place in heaven. The added bonus of watching over you—a strikingly mundane mortal—was just a silver lining to his celestial punishment. For you, however, life felt like an endless loop of monotony, each day blending into the next in a haze of dull routines. 

In the mortal realm, chaos reigned, and you secretly blamed Lucifer for the mess. But today wasn’t about the cosmic battles of good and evil; it was about dragging yourself through another tedious nine-to-five, chained to the soul-sucking machinery of corporate America. After work, you’d immerse yourself in true crime documentaries, the only thrill in your otherwise drab existence, before collapsing into bed to muster the energy for another day.

Adam’s fall from grace had been ironic—a small, devilish woman had orchestrated his demise. Yet, the prospect of redemption as your guardian angel offered him a flicker of hope. He had vowed to keep you safe, ensuring that you remained blissfully unaware of the unseen chaos swirling around you. 

Yet you were no spark of entertainment; your life was a tedious boring cycle. You worked, ate, and binge-watched TV shows like every other soul on the planet. But beneath the surface, you harbored a darker side, a flicker of rebellion that emerged during your worst days. Perhaps that was why Adam had been assigned to you—there was little danger in your life, just a series of mundane tasks punctuated by occasional enjoyable nights.

On this particular day, fate had conspired against you. You had slept through your work alarm, and slept blissfully unaware of the fire alarm also blaring in your apartment complex. Adam, in a state of panic, had done everything possible to intervene without alerting anyone else. With a gentle but firm push, he nudged you out of bed, waking you in a daze. 

Draped in a sheer silk nightgown and a fluffy robe, you rushed downstairs, only to find the fire marshal casually informing you that it was just a tripped wire. As you and Adam exchanged simultaneous facepalms, he couldn’t help but marvel at your ability to sleep through the chaos—and his own lack of foresight in checking the building.

Once back in your apartment, the reality of your tardiness dawned on you. Groaning, you scrambled to get dressed. In Adam’s misguided attempt to help, he had placed your shoes near the door, leading you to trip and smack your head against the wall. With a growing bruise on your forehead and a now-lost security deposit, you bolted out the door.

The day continued its downward spiral. Your coffee was scalding hot, burning your tongue. A passing truck sent a wave of mud splattering across your clothes. The elevator in your office building was out of order, forcing you to climb nineteen flights of stairs in heels, your patience wearing thinner with each step.

Meanwhile, Adam was feeling the strain, too. He had never seen you in such a chaotic state, and while he had been tasked with keeping you safe, his interventions seemed to lead you into misfortune. When Jacob, your overly friendly coworker, got too close, you found yourself tumbling into Sarah’s lap, laughter erupting around you, the workplace gossip already brewing.

The copy machine malfunctioned, resulting in an ink explosion that painted you from head to toe. And when you attempted to sneak into the men’s bathroom—desperate for some privacy due to the womens bathroom being out of order—you ended up trapped as every male coworker seemed to have an urgent need. 

By the time you returned home, you needed a serious reset. A long shower and some quality "me time" were in order. As you prepared a quick meal, doom-scrolling through your phone, you felt the weight of the day begin to lift. After a quick tidy-up, you retreated to your room, pulling out your feel-good essentials.

Adam, watching from his hidden vantage point, felt a thrill of anticipation. He knew what was coming. As you slipped into the shower, an ethereal glow enveloped you, and he settled into the cozy corner of your room, entranced by the thought of what was soon to come. 

You emerged from the bathroom, a vision of perfection, your hair cascading around your shoulders. Adam’s breath hitched as you moved with an alluring grace, pulling out your toys with an enticing casualness that sent his heart racing. 

The moment you climbed into bed, he felt a primal urge wash over him. As you began to explore your own body, he mirrored your movements, his hand working in tandem with yours against his own body. Each sigh and moan that escaped your lips tugged at his very soul, igniting a deep yearning within him.

Taking his weeping cock in hand he sighed as he watched you lean back and run your hand across your body. He began soft slow strokes keeping in time with your touches and caresses.

As your hand dipped over your chest and down your stomach, feeling yourself, his breath hitched. He almost whined at the thought of burying his head in your heat. How sweet you must taste with how much of you was soaking your precious folds.

One hand of yours spread your folds open, displaying your pretty pink hole, while the other rubbed your pert nipples. He was in awe at how every time you did this, it was like he was watching you the first time. Like he was a child learning what sex really was. How could one person look so damn good doing something so sinful?

He sped up his pace on his cock as he watched your pretty fingers dive in. Oh, how he knew his length could reach places far deeper than those pretty little fingers. You struggled to attempt to touch where you needed relief, where he knew in a few languid strokes he could have you seeing stars.

As you moaned and panted, Adam could only imagine if it was him making those sounds come from you. If you were begging for him and whining out his name so softly. Gripping on his thick arms, bouncing with his pace, eyes crossed and overwhelmed.

He watched as minutes passed by, your fingers abused your tight hole and sensitive bud. He was eager to watch the next part unfold. As you turned on your toy, he watched your hole clench around nothing. A deep groan left him as he imagined that tight clench around his large length.

As you slowly rubbed the toy along yourself, making it nice and wet, he licked his lips, his red tip pulsing with the need for more than his hand. He wished for you to come over and blow him till your throat was sore or even just let him abuse your cunt. He desired nothing more than to not be a figment in your life but a passionate lover as he made you realize who you really belonged to.

However, as the toy slid in and you let out the softest more whorish moan, he was a goner. He was pounding his cock, whispering your name under his breath, hoping that maybe this would connect you two better. He was pussy whipped, and he hadn't even had the chance to physically take you yet.

If you could fuck yourself so good like this, you were definitely worth the first man's dick. He watched as the toy was slowly sucked into your greedy hole, and he was jerking into his hand. He wanted to keep up with your pace and learn exactly how you liked it; however, the languid bounce of your tits and heightened moans only made him lose control as he stroked his length harder.

You looked and sounded so beautiful, so amazingly hot and gorgeous. He wanted to be the one making you beg like this, not some silicone toy. However, as you built yourself up to climax, he also began to see white as he spilled over his large hand. A low groan of your name was barely heard by you.

Adam's thick white cum was covering his hand and robes as he looked at your pretty legs shake from your orgasm. He was whipped, to say the least, at this point. He stood resituating himself, what he would give for you to use that mouth to clean him up slowly.

At first, this may have started with him wanting to become an angel again, but now his goal is to get you to heaven with him so he can really show you a good time and let his name fall from your pretty lips. All he knew now, as time passed, was that he wouldn't be Sedated till he finally had you in his arms.

[navybrat817]

Your landlord is elusive. You've been calling him for weeks about the broken washing machine, your rent checks have gone uncashed, and you can't even leave a voicemail.

When he finally shows up, bloody and bruised, it seems there's more than the washer to tend to.

Oh, this is long overdue.

You Get What You Pay For

Pairing: God the Bounty Hunter x Female Reader Summary: Your landlord shows up expectedly after weeks of radio silence and prefers a different form of payment as you patch him up. Word Count: Over 1.9k Warnings: Injuries, b/lood, v/iolence, implied n/oncon (you have been warned), God the Bounty Hunter (he's a warning, okay?) A/N: For Roo and @the-slumberparty 's May challenge. Prompt in bold italics. Beta read by @whisperlullaby (thank you!), but any and all mistakes are my own. ❤️ Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

"I’m sorry, but the mailbox you are trying to reach is full."

With a sigh, you hung up the phone and took your laundry basket to the bathroom. Your landlord hadn’t answered a single call of yours in weeks, which was about how long you had gone without a working washing machine. And because you couldn’t leave a message and didn’t know how to fix it yourself, you had to resort to washing your clothes in the tub. You refused to go into town to use the laundromat or call someone to repair it. Not because you didn’t have the money to pay, but because you didn’t want anyone to see your face.

He wouldn’t know to look for me here though, would he?

You suddenly missed your old apartment as you turned the water on. It was warm and cozy, the opposite of the cold, quiet place you now occupied. You tried to brighten it up with flowers, but the house wasn’t a home. Maybe one day, years from now, you could go back to the city.

If it was ever deemed safe enough for you to return.

Your stomach sank as you pulled up your bank account to check the balance. It was much higher than it should have been. Not only was your landlord not answering his phone, but he hadn’t cashed a single one of your rent checks. The instructions were clear that he didn’t accept direct deposit or cash from tenants. Only checks made out to a rental property. Thankfully you opened a new account before you found the place, knowing better than to use your old account in case anyone checked it for paper trails.

Why isn’t he cashing my checks?

You shut the water off and got to work, doing your best not to let your mind race. Was your landlord ignoring you? Possibly. He was a bit of an enigma. A handsome man, but still an enigma. In fact, you had only seen him once and he told you to call him God when he introduced himself. The cold look in his blue eyes told you it wasn’t a joke as he unceremoniously put the keys in your hand.

“Welcome home.”

What if he found out what I did? Will he kick me out? Where will I go? What if someone found out I'm living here and went after him? If something happened to him because of me…

You had gone most of your life with keeping your head down and minding your own business, but it wasn't living. Opportunities slipped by because you either played it safe or didn't have the means to otherwise. So you got a little bold and maybe a little greedy. Why else had you stolen from a powerful man? He wasn’t a good man and you didn’t think he’d notice anything missing, but that was no excuse to rob him. You should’ve known he didn’t miss a thing.

And I was so careful until he caught me.

"I’ll kill you, you fucking bitch."

Looking back, you weren’t sure how you managed to get away. It was all a blur. He didn't call the cops. He wanted to take care of you himself. If he ever got his hands on you, he’d tear you apart before you begged for death. Because no one who crossed him lived to tell their tales. How far would he go to find you? What if he found God and made him an offer to sell you out?

Maybe it was time for you to move on to another place.

"First aid kit."

You spun around and caught yourself before you fell to the ground, your heart in your throat. In the doorway stood the very man you were trying to get ahold of, his short brown hair disheveled and sporting a black eye and blood on the corner of his mouth. Were you so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear him enter the house? Or was he that quiet?

"Are you going to help me or stare at me?" he asked, clutching his ribs as he took a step inside. "And here I thought you were a hospitable tenant."

"Sorry," you whispered, tightening your robe. He hardly gave you any room as you got the kit out from under the sink. The bathroom wasn’t that small, so why was he practically on top of you? "Here, let me help."

You carefully guided him to the toilet, but he didn't seem to need your help. Even sitting down, his size and presence intimidated you. Was that blood on his torn shirt? And his jeans, too?

What the hell happened to him? Or does that blood belong to someone else?

"Are you okay?"

"Peachy," he answered dryly. "You should see the other guy."

You weren't going to push for him to say more.

He didn’t flinch as you cleaned the blood from his face. He didn’t take his eyes off you either as you carefully looked him over. You tried to ignore his stare, but the silence grew more uncomfortable with each second that passed.

"Why are your clothes in the bathtub?" he asked, surprising you by yanking on the tie to your robe. It, thankfully, didn’t open. "You know there's a washer for that."

"I'm aware that there's a washer, but it isn't working and you didn't answer your phone," you said, keeping your tone light instead of accusatory.

"Is that right? And you couldn't use the laundromat in town until you could get in touch with me?" he asked, an amused look in his eyes as you went rigid. Why did that gaze make you more uncomfortable than his previous dull stare? "I’ll look at it later. Sure it won’t take me long to fix it."

“I appreciate that," you said, wondering when you should mention the uncashed rent checks. "But let's get you taken care of first."

He grunted before he removed his shirt, tossing the garment in the tub with your clothes. "What’s one more, right?" he asked, sitting back and gesturing to his muscular torso littered with bruises and minor cuts. "Don’t think they’re too bad, but I’d prefer if you check."

"You do know I’m not a nurse, right?" you asked, even as you moved to look him over. There was a particularly dark bruise by his ribs, which was likely why he held them as he walked in. "just saying in case you wanted a professional opinion or if anything is really sore."

He hummed as your fingertips brushed along his skin. "Told you I'm peachy. And I'm sure you would’ve made a fine nurse if you really wanted to be one."

Your heart thudded in your chest at his use of the past tense, like you would never get the chance. Maybe your paranoia was getting the better of you. It was a simple statement. It didn’t mean a thing.

"School can be pretty expensive though," he went on with a tilt of his head. "Is that what kept you back? Finances?"

Your stomach turned at the question. He didn't blink and you hoped your expression didn't give your nerves away. Did he know? If he did, why dance around it?

"May I ask what happened?" you questioned as he furrowed his brows. "I'm sorry. It's none of my-"

"I killed some people."

Tension spiked in the small room, a nervous laugh escaping as you tried to figure out if he was joking or not. Dry humor occasionally went over your head. "You what? Y-You killed some people?"

"Yeah, I did. I kill a lot of people. Usually for money." he said unemotionally, clamping a hand around your wrist when you tried to pull away. "Not why I did it this time."

The ring on his third finger dug into your skin as you fought down the bile rising to your throat. He wasn't just an enigma. He was a killer. A man who spoke so casually about murder. Were you about to become his next victim? "Are you going to kill me?"

"Now why would I do that?" he asked as he stood, keeping a firm grip on you as he backed you against the sink, your legs almost giving out. "After everything I did for you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You think I didn't do my research on you? I can spot when someone's on the run, sweetheart. Though I didn't peg you for a thief," he answered as your eyes brimmed with tears. The sight didn't seem to inspire any sympathy considering he smiled. "You stole money from a powerful man. Dangerous, too. And you really thought hiding out here would save you?"

"I'm sorry," you whispered, finding it harder to breathe as he stepped closer. It wasn't an empty apology. You made a stupid mistake. "I tried to give it back, but he-"

"I don't care why you did it," he dismissed, toying with the tie of your robe again. "He was an asshole who robbed people blind for years. I did the world a favor by killing him."

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. "He's really gone?" you asked, shaking a bit when he yanked the robe open. "What are you doing?"

"I killed him and his bodyguards before they could get to you. They got a few lucky hits in. Stroked their egos a bit before I took them out," he went on like he hadn't heard you, grazing his fingertips along your skin. "I took a big risk going after him for you. Very high profile."

"I didn't ask you to do that," you tried to reason.

"And since no one paid me and you kind of owe me for saving you," he continued, his fingers stopping just above your mound. "I decided I'm going to keep you."

You weren't sure if it was a form of shock you were experiencing because your mind screamed at you to fight, but you couldn't move. You could hardly find the word to speak. "Keep me?"

"Yeah. Keep you. Gets lonely sometimes," he shrugged, gazing unashamedly at your exposed chest. "Plus I wanted to fuck you the moment you showed up here. Now I can whenever I want."

Your eyes widened as he lifted his gaze to yours, a flash of darkness in his eyes when you tried, and failed, to shove him back. "You can't just keep me!" you blurted out, trying not to panic. You couldn't stay trapped there with him. Was he delusional in thinking you'd agree to that?

"Did you not hear what I said? I saved your life. You should be thanking me," he said, frowning when you glanced toward the door. Maybe you could break free. "What, you think you can run away? Get help? No one is going to save you from me."

He was right. You had no one to go to. What if you did and he went after them? Who would help you when you couldn't help yourself?

"Please, let me go," you begged, your tears spilling over as he spun you to face the mirror. You hissed as your hips dug into the counter, but your discomfort didn't matter to him. "You can have the money. All of it. I won't tell anyone. I swear!"

"I don't want your money," he said, kicking your feet apart. You felt his arousal as he pressed against you and it was enough to make you whimper. "Why do you think I haven't cashed your checks?"

"God, please," you said, shutting your eyes when he wrapped his hand around your throat. You didn't want to see his dark desire in the reflection.

"You'll say that again before I'm done with you and you'll watch as I take my first payment," he promised, your heart dropping as your new reality began to sink in. "Now be good and welcome me home."

Oh, what have I done? Love and thanks for reading!

Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[another-lost-mc]

Bedside Manner

Beel gets sick and both of you are in denial.

Beelzebub x gn!Reader

SFW // Content: (Domestic) Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Friends to More-Than-Friends. Family dynamics, other demon brothers/characters mentioned, brief descriptions of minor illness. 4.9k words.

It’s not unusual for you to visit Beel when he has Fangol practice after school. You’ve taken an interest in his hobbies and he keeps you up to date with his practice and game schedule. Sometimes you leave the RAD campus later than his brothers; it makes sense for you to wait for him so you can both walk home together.

Today, you stayed behind to review instructions for an upcoming assignment. You can hear distant sounds from the Fangol field while you scribble a few notes into your workbook. When you’re finished, you wave goodbye to the professor and head outside to find Beel.

When you arrive, your attention is immediately drawn to a small group of players gathered around one of the bleachers. Someone notices your approach and waves you over; the frown on his face worries you.

You have a bad feeling already but when you get closer, you realize something is going on with Beel. His voice has a slight wheeze like he’s having trouble catching his breath and he looks awful. His face is pale except for the flush tinting his cheeks, and his skin is tinged a sickly shade of green. You don’t think all the sweat dotting his hairline is from practice, either.

His teammate pulls you aside. “He nearly collapsed during the last set of drills—“

“I did not!” Beel insists weakly from his seat, but the tremor in his voice is hardly convincing.

“—and we’re sending him home for the day. We don’t want to worry about him losing consciousness before he gets there.”

You glance at Beel and try not to panic. “What’s wrong with him?” He eats so much food but you can’t imagine it’s food poisoning from lunch that afternoon. Only Solomon’s cooking is horrible enough to upset Beel’s stomach, and he’s in the human world right now.

His teammate shrugs. “Probably just the flu. He should be fine in a few days but he needs to rest.”

You’ve heard of the Devildom flu, but Beel has never been this sick before and you’re more than a little anxious.

Beel sits with his head in his hands while most of his friends disperse and go back to their drills. The thought of walking home with him alone makes you nervous - there’s no way you can help him if he does pass out.

You touch his shoulder gently to get his attention, and you can feel the chills raking through his body. “Are you okay, Beel? Ready to go home?”

He looks up when he hears your voice, but his attempt to smile at you looks more like a grimace. “Yeah, let’s go,” he mumbles as he stands up on shaky legs. He takes an ambitious step forward but he stumbles, and he sits back down when his lingering teammates prevent him from falling over. 

Right - walking home alone is a no-go, then.

You look through your bag and pull out your D.D.D. “Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out.”

The House of Lamentation (8) You: Is anyone still at RAD, or close by? Mammon: Nah, I’m on my way to a photo shoot. Leviathan: I’m checking out the new gacha machine downtown but I’m not far. Satan: I’m in the school library. You: I’m at Beel’s Fangol practice and he’s sick. He needs help getting home. Leviathan: On second thought, I’m actually very busy right now. Satan: Seriously? Leviathan: I don't want to die if Beel falls over and crushes me! Satan: And you think it would be better for Beel to crush MC instead? Lucifer: It seems like I should put parental controls back on the Akuzon account. Leviathan: Wait, I’m on my way!

Despite Levi’s initial protests, he arrives on the Fangol field not long after Satan does. They manage to keep Beel upright for the walk home while you continue texting Lucifer about his condition. Belphie is waiting anxiously at the front door by the time you arrive, and he helps his brothers take Beel to their shared bedroom.

You deposit your school bag in your room and head to the kitchen. Lucifer is cooking tonight and he happily accepts your offer to help (and your company); you’re worried about Beel and need a distraction. He tries to soothe your anxieties - it’s not much worse than a human cold, he’ll be better in a couple of days - but Lucifer’s words are a poor comfort to you.

You can’t help but think of Beel, one of the strongest demons you’ve met in the Devildom, literally brought to his knees before you by something like a cold. It’s more upsetting than you want to admit and you have no idea how you can help him.

Dinner that night is a quiet affair and it’s odd. Mammon isn’t home yet from his modeling gig and Beel is resting in his room; their absences are noticeable. The others don’t seem to mind, but you miss Beel’s vocal enthusiasm while he eats - he’s always complimenting the food and he’s so appreciative of whoever cooked that night. 

Lucifer sets aside a plate of food for Beel and you offer to take it to him. When you knock on his door, Belphie’s quiet voice beckons you inside. He looks at the plate in your hands skeptically, but shrugs and goes back to reading the book in his lap.

Beel groans and rolls over when he hears you enter the room. His eyes brighten when he sees you, but he shakes his head at the food you’ve brought him. You hoped he would be willing to eat something, even if it’s just a small amount. Belphie offers to dispose of the plate for you and leaves the room.

When you’re alone with Beel, you sit on the edge of his bed and hold his clammy hand in yours. He squeezes your hand back, weaker than you expect, and you realize you’re uncomfortably close to crying for some reason.

“Is there anything I can get you?” you ask him worriedly. 

He shivers under his pile of blankets. “Maybe some soup tomorrow,” he croaks. “I don’t want anything right now.” He doesn’t say anything else as his eyes slip shut and his head tilts to the side.

Belphie returns and goes back to reading his book, but you don’t notice when he glances at you occasionally from the corner of his eye.

You remain at Beel’s side until his grip on your hand grows limp.

You: Are you still in the human world? Solomon: For the moment. The meeting took longer than I anticipated and I have a few more errands to run before I return to Purgatory Hall. Why? You: Can you pick up a few items for me? I’ll pay you back. Solomon: No need to pay me back if you agree to have dinner with me instead. I have a new recipe I’d love to make for you. You: Oh. You: How about lunch at Hell’s Kitchen next week? I might be too busy in the evenings if Beel is still sick. Solomon: You drive a hard bargain, my dear. Send me your list and I’ll see you soon.

The next morning you head straight to the kitchen so you can start preparing homemade soup for Beel. It’s a recipe that you used to make for yourself back home. You hope it’s more enticing to him than the heavier Devildom fare his brothers might try to feed him; you want to avoid a repeat of last night’s dinner attempt.

Solomon did as you asked and bought all the human world items on your grocery list, including enough ingredients to make two large batches of chicken soup. You offered to give him a small container of soup when it’s ready, as a token of appreciation, and he readily accepted.

It’s supposed to be Mammon’s turn to cook today, but he won’t have to worry about dinner because there’s going to be enough soup for everyone. He got home late from his photo shoot last night, but you think he can still handle making a simple breakfast on his own.

You’re chopping onions, carrots and celery for a mirepoix base when Mammon finally drags himself into the kitchen. His hair is sticking up all over, and dark smudges from the eye makeup he didn’t remove before bed make him look like a very fetching raccoon. 

“Good morning, Mammon,” you say cheerfully.

He mumbles something that you think is supposed to be a greeting, and he starts making breakfast - sort of. He tosses a random assortment of whole fruits onto a plate and puts it on the table. He grabs a loaf of bread, looks back and forth between the bread and the toaster, then he unplugs the toaster and puts that on the table too.

“What are you doing?” you ask him curiously while trying not to laugh.

“They can make themselves toast,” he yawns. “I’m going back to bed.” He shuffles away and you can hear the faint sound of his door slamming not long after.

You decide to take pity on him and help him out since you’re already in the mood to cook. It’s not too much extra work to cut up the fruit he picked out and make a fruit salad with it. You make a pan of scrambled eggs with a sprinkling of Hellfire cheese. Finally, you put the toaster back in the kitchen where it belongs.

You’re buttering toast when the other demon brothers start to trickle in (Mammon excluded, of course). Satan makes a beeline for the coffee maker while Asmo offers to set the table. Lucifer doesn’t look impressed when you explain why you’re making breakfast instead of Mammon.

When they’re all seated at the table, you give everyone a head’s up that you're making a human world soup recipe for dinner that evening. Belphie looks like he wants to say something, but when you raise your eyebrow questioningly he just smirks and takes another bite of his toast.

You also mention that the other items Solomon picked up for you - a case of ginger ale in the fridge and a box of saltines in the cupboard - are off-limits. There’s a low grumble of complaints about that. But when you remind them that you helped Mammon make breakfast for them, they know better than to squander their good fortune.

(Lucifer makes a note to speak to Mammon about his abuse of kitchen appliances later.)

The Angels (3) Simeon: Good morning. Luke: We heard you’re making soup from one of your human world recipes! Simeon: Solomon told us about it this morning and he’s very eager to try it. Luke: Simeon wants to have some too. He and Solomon argued because Solomon doesn’t want to share. You: I can bring enough for all three of you. Simeon: That would be wonderful, thank you. You: You know, all this cooking has put me in the mood for some freshly-baked cookies. Luke: You got it!

While the soup is simmering on the stove, you visit Beel to see how he’s doing. Belphie’s been doing his best to keep him hydrated, but he’s still reluctant to eat very much of anything. He’s sleeping when you check on him; Belphie invites you inside but you don’t want to wake him by accident. 

“I think he was asking for you earlier,” Belphie mentions off-handedly when you’re about to leave. “I told him you were going to bring him lunch and he went back to sleep.”

You go back to your room and relax. You wonder why Beel asked for you, and you ignore how nice it feels that he did.

The Royals (3) Diavolo: It’s been a while since I’ve had the chance to visit with you. Diavolo: Do you have any plans this afternoon? You: Beel isn’t feeling well so I’m helping his brothers care for him. Diavolo: That’s all the more reason for you to enjoy a well-deserved break. You: Let me guess - someone told you about the soup. Who was it? Diavolo: No one. Barbatos: Luke told us about it earlier, my Lord. Diavolo: One of the angels might have mentioned it in passing. You: I can come for a short visit after I stop by Purgatory Hall. I have extra soup I can bring for both of you. Barbatos: I’ll have tea and sandwiches prepared for your arrival. Diavolo: I look forward to seeing you.

The soup is finished and you’ve portioned everything into containers just before lunchtime. You label three of them for the freezer and set them aside. You have one large container ready for your friends in Purgatory Hall, another container for Diavolo and Barbatos, and the rest are for Beel and his brothers.

Belphie sends you a message letting you know that Beel’s awake and is willing to try eating something. You prepare a tray with a small bowl of soup, ginger ale from the fridge, and a handful of saltine crackers. You pass Belphie on the way to their bedroom - he yawns and tells you he’s going to the attic to sleep.

When you enter their bedroom, Beel is propped up with a bunch of pillows against his headboard. He looks a bit better than he did last night, but not by much. You set the tray on the nightstand and pull over a chair so you can sit next to him.

“How are you feeling today?” you ask quietly. 

He turns away from you and coughs. “Not bad,” his poor voice croaks. You can’t help but smile when his mouth twists into a pout at the way his voice sounds. 

“I made you some soup,” you tell him when you set the tray on your lap for him to see. 

“You made this for me?” His eyes widen a bit and he stares at you.

Your face feels warm all of a sudden and you look down and stir the soup to distract yourself from the sensation. “Of course. You asked for soup last night and this is what I like to eat back home when I’m sick.”

He looks stunned by your admission, like he has trouble believing you would do that for him, but he accepts the tray you slide onto his lap.

You explain the items on his lunch tray: the soup (“It’s sort of like a roasted roc soup”); the ginger ale (“It’s a little sweet and bubbly”); and the saltines (“They’re bland but easy to eat when you don’t have an appetite”). He’s so genuinely interested in what you’ve prepared that it makes the effort feel worthwhile.

You can tell there’s a problem right away when he picks up the spoon and tries to eat. His hand is shaking slightly - from hunger or exhaustion or both - and a little bit of the soup spills back onto the tray. He drops the spoon with a frustrated grunt and exhales; you hate the way you can hear his lungs rattle when he tries to breathe too deeply. You help steady his tray when he coughs.

He’s visibly frustrated and he looks away from you like he’s ashamed. “I can’t even hold a spoon properly, and you made this for me.” He grumbles under his breath about wasting your time and wasting the food you made him.

You motion for him to move over a bit, and he shimmies his hips so you can sit on the edge of the bed. You lift the spoon with a bit of soup, blow on it gently to cool it, and hold it in front of his mouth. You hope he doesn’t think you’re treating him like a child. You decide these are special circumstances because you know he’s normally a very proud and capable demon.

He doesn’t hesitate though, because he opens his mouth and swallows the soup down. You freeze in place, worrying whether or not his stomach can tolerate it, if he even likes it–

But he smiles a true, genuine Beel smile for the first time in what feels like ages, and you can’t help the delighted chuckle that escapes you. When he nods, you lift another spoonful to his lips. You help him slowly eat his meal. When you leave his room nearly thirty minutes later, Beel is sleeping contentedly and the dishes on his lunch tray are empty. 

Once Beel is fed and resting again, you deliver soup to your friends at Purgatory Hall and the Demon Lord’s castle. Luke hands you a giant tin of cookies before you leave, and Barbatos packs up the leftover sandwiches for you to take back to the House of Lamentation. You put your goodies in the fridge with the small hope that Beel might be better enough to have some with you in a day or two.

When it’s time for dinner later that evening, you return to Beel’s room with another tray of bland food and warm soup. You decide to take a larger portion of soup this time and hope his appetite has improved since lunch.

You enter his room and notice that Beel is awake - and still looks quite unwell - but he seems happy to see you. Belphie is nowhere to be seen.

You sit on Beel’s bed again and feed him spoonfuls of soup at a slow, steady pace. His throat doesn’t sound as raspy, and he tries to make small talk between careful sips of his dinner. It takes a little longer, but he finishes the bigger portion of soup without a problem.

You stack the empty dishes on the tray and stand up, but his hand suddenly reaches out to you - he can’t reach your arm, so he grasps the hem of your shirt instead.

“Wait,” he murmurs suddenly. “Can you stay for a while?” The look in his eyes is pleading, and you assume he’s lonely from being stuck in his room. Since he’s gotten sick, he’s only had you and Belphie for company. Most of his brothers have stayed away to avoid getting sick too, and Beel hasn’t been using his D.D.D. much since he’s spent most of the day sleeping.

Whatever his reason is, you’re happy to stay and visit longer if he’s feeling sociable. The joy that flickers across his face when you sit back down makes you feel shy all of a sudden.

You don’t talk very much though - he’s still coughing and he seems exhausted again. He smiles and thanks you quietly when you offer to get him some more water, or when you lean over and fluff the pillows propping him up. You sit in comfortable silence.

When he’s ready to sleep for the night, he rolls onto his side and stretches out his arm so his hand is palm-up next to yours. You lace your fingers together, and he squeezes your hand so carefully - whether it’s because he’s still weak, or if he’s trying to be especially gentle with you, it’s hard to say.

His eyes close and he starts to snore lightly, and he doesn’t hear your whispered promise to return tomorrow before you finally leave his side.

While Belphie and his brothers are eating breakfast together the next morning, you put your breakfast on a tray alongside Beel's and head to his room. When you get there, he’s already awake and sitting up in bed. You can tell immediately that he’s feeling better - his skin doesn’t look as green as it did, and his eyes seem clearer and more alert.

He sent you a message earlier that morning asking if he could try some different foods today. You made yourself some oatmeal with cinnamon and chunks of poison apple; you sliced the rest of the apple for Beel.

You take your usual seat on the bed beside him and balance the tray on his lap. You eat a few spoonfuls of your own breakfast first while he reaches for an apple slice and takes a hesitant bite; when he manages to keep it down, he eats the rest quickly.

When he's ready to eat his soup, you pick up the spoon out of habit and he waits expectantly, opening his mouth when you bring each spoonful of hearty soup to his lips.

“The soup is almost gone,” you mention casually while he sips his ginger ale and nibbles on some saltines. “Two big pots doesn’t last long when it comes to feeding a bunch of demons.”

He has a bashful smile on his face. “I still can’t believe you went to that trouble for me,” he admits. He nods towards the soup in your hands when he’s ready for more.

“I was scared when I saw how sick you were. I don’t mind doing things like this for you, if it helps you feel better.” The confession feels intimate and you smile bashfully. 

He catches your gaze when the bowl is empty and he’s finished eating. The look in his eyes is startlingly intense, but when you think he’s about to say something, he shakes his head. 

“I’m still hungry. Is there more soup left?”

It’s the first time he’s asked for seconds of anything since he got sick and you can’t help the silly grin that spreads across your face.

“Of course there is!” You tidy up a bit and put all the other empty dishes on the tray. 

“I’ll be right back,” you promise when you head to the door. “Don’t go anywhere!” You wink at him playfully and rush off to the kitchen.

By the time you return with more food, Belphie is back from breakfast and stretched out on his bed. He and Beel are talking about him going to school next week.

“There's no need to rush,” you warn Beel gently when you sit back down on his bed. “Take a day or two off if you need it. I can always bring you your homework so you don’t fall behind.”

Same as before, you help Beel eat his second helping of soup. Belphie makes a surprised noise across the room but you don’t bother glancing over - you’re too focused on making sure you don’t spill anything on Beel or his bed.

What does concern you is the new flush spreading across Beel’s cheeks. Did he push himself too far this morning?

The bowl is nearly empty when you set it on the nightstand. You raise the back of your hand to Beel’s forehead, as pointless as that is - demons have different body temperatures than humans do. You have no idea whether or not his temperature is in a normal range, but you’re still concerned for him.

“I should let you sleep, I don’t want you to overdo it.” Beel looks like he wants to argue but you reach for his hand. “Take it easy. I promise I’ll be back with your lunch later, and you can text me if you need anything.”

You gather the bowl and turn towards Belphie who looks utterly amused for some reason. You wish he’d take Beel’s condition just a little more seriously. 

“He’s flushed again, can you make sure he’s not getting another fever?” you ask him. 

“Oh, I think he’s just fine,” Belphie muses with a smirk. You have no idea what that means, but you wave goodbye to them both and head to the kitchen to tidy up.

Once you’re gone, Belphie glances at his twin who is determined to avoid eye contact with him all of a sudden.

“So, how’s that ‘fever’ of yours, Beel?” Belphie asks innocently. 

Beel throws a pillow at his brother’s face with surprising strength.

Despite your initial worries, that morning seems to be the turning point in Beel’s recovery. When you bring him lunch a few hours later, he’s sitting up in bed reading a sports magazine. You plate up the remaining soup and saltines, plus a generous portion of fruit salad. You set his tray on the nightstand so you can go back to the kitchen for your own lunch.

He’s already spooning soup into his mouth hungrily when you rejoin him. His hand isn’t shaking like it was before, and you’re so happy to see him acting more like himself. He’s not coughing as much now, and it’s enjoyable to eat a proper meal together again.

Beel makes quick work of his lunch. His face falls with obvious disappointment when you remind him that the soup you made is all finished. You hand him half of your sandwich in consolation - leftovers that Barbatos gave you yesterday - and he wolfs it down. 

By dinner time, Beel is up and shuffling around the house - a bit slower than usual, sure - but you’re amazed at how much better he’s doing. Belphie comes to your room to see you while Beel showers in the bathroom down the hall.

“This is typical for demons,” he tells you with a shrug. “Once the worst passes, it doesn’t take long for us to bounce back.”

“I’m glad he’s feeling better.” For reasons you don’t quite understand, or maybe you do but you don’t want to admit them to Belphie, your eyes tear up. It’s like an emotional dam bursts inside you, and tears start rolling down your cheeks.

You think Belphie’s going to tease you, but he wraps you in a hug instead and lets you cry into his shoulder. “He’s lucky to have you,” he murmurs. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t forget it.”

House of Lamentation (8) Satan: How are you feeling tonight, Beel? Beelzebub: Better. I’m starving. Satan: It’s my turn to prepare dinner. Is there anything in particular you want? Beelzebub: A Gigadeath burger. Leviathan: LOL Beelzebub: With extra cheese. Satan: That’s not what I meant. Beelzebub: And a large milkshake. Beelzebub: Actually, make that two Gigadeath burgers. Satan: Forget that I asked. You: You should’ve known better. Lucifer: Indeed.

Nearly two weeks after he had the flu, Beel is rummaging in the kitchen for something to make for dinner. He just got home from practice and he forgot it's his turn to cook tonight.

Any lingering symptoms of the Devildom flu have long since passed, and he’s back to his regular club activities. He doesn’t get sick often which is why the severity of his initial symptoms caught everyone off-guard. The first day or two are still a hazy blur of disjointed memories, but there’s one thing he does remember with clarity above all else.

He ignores Belphie’s teasing and not-so-subtle hints about you, and your feelings for him, and his feelings for you. Beel tells his brother he doesn’t want to misinterpret how sweet and loving your gestures felt when he was sick; Belphie tells him he’s an idiot and that he’s in denial.

Sure, you took care of him when he was sick, but only because you’re a thoughtful person. You made him food because it was a way to show him you care. When he saw you tear up on the sidelines of his first Fangol practice after his illness, it was because you were thrilled to see him back to his normal self.

You’re just a friend, Beel thinks. A kind, warm, beautiful friend.

But he secretly likes the way you spend more time in his room now, and how you invite him to the kitchen and teach him more about your favourite foods. You accompany him when he goes shopping for snacks after school. You always offer to share what you buy for yourself, and he does the same for you.

On a particularly warm day, he took you to a diner after class and ordered a large sundae for you to split. You didn’t notice there was chocolate lingering at the corner of your mouth. He pointed it out to you before he did something selfish like swipe it away with his finger, or his tongue.

You’re just a friend, he reminds himself more and more often these days.

Beel doesn’t learn until later that you agreed to a lunch date with Solomon in exchange for the ingredients you needed to make his soup. He spent most of that night complaining to his brother about that damn sorcerer taking advantage of your generous nature.

Belphie just smirked at him with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and he suggested that Beel make his move before someone else does.

Maybe he is in denial.

His stomach grumbles hungrily and he has to shove aside thoughts of you so he can focus on making dinner for everyone. He checks the cupboards and fridge but nothing catches his interest. He’s starving, but he’s not sure food is the only thing he wants anymore.

He opens the freezer and notices a stack of containers he doesn’t recognize. They’re pushed to the back like someone was trying to hide them on purpose. He grabs one and stares at the label written on the lid:

Beel’s Soup ♡

He puts the container back in the freezer and heads straight to your room.

The Demon Brothers (7) Beelzebub: Can someone cover cooking duty for me tonight? Lucifer: This is sudden. Why the change of plans? Beelzebub: I’m taking MC on a date. Mammon: Wait, what?! Satan: Have fun. Asmodeus: Aww, they’re so cute! ♡ Leviathan: Gross. Belphegor: FINALLY.

Read more: Beel Masterlist | Obey Me! Masterlist

[breelandwalker]

Witchy Fundraiser - We Need A New Fridge

Here's the situation.

Our refrigerator stopped working last week. We thought it was just the freezer at first but it turned out to be the whole unit. The repair guy said it was useless to try and fix it since they've stopped making the replacement part for this particular model.

The good news is, our home warranty will give us the money for a new fridge. The bad news is, for some INCREDIBLY stupid reason, they don't do direct deposit, so we have to wait about two weeks for the check to come by mail. And in the meantime, we have no cold food storage, so it's going to be takeaway or hitting up the market every day. And to make matters worse, the day before the damned infernal machine stopped working, I'd just done our monthly food shopping and two weeks of meal prep. We used what we could, but nearly all of it had to be thrown away.

If you're wondering whether I've invented any new swears lately, the answer is a resounding yes.

SO.

The replacement will hopefully be installed by the end of month, but we've still got to eat until then. To that end, I'm offering the following:

Simple Dream Interpretations (posted or private) for $5.00

3-card Tarot Reading (from The Golden Tarot) for $7.00

15% off your order from the Willow Wings Witch Shop with code FREEZE

All of this will be active until the replacement fridge is installed or the end of the month of November, whichever comes first. I may not get to all requests quickly, but I WILL respond to all paid requests.

For readings, please send payment via Paypal or Ko-Fi. Then message me by email or here on tumblr with your request! (Either of these is fine if you'd like to tip me for any previous work as well.)

When placing your order in the shop, be sure to include the coupon code FREEZE in the box with your items to get the discount.

Any and all help is deeply appreciated, including simple signal boosts. I'll be working a market in the meantime and hopefully that will help as well.

Thank you as always for your support!

[eldritch-spouse]

Seeing you new xenomorph OC reminded me of an old idea I had so long ago that I have never shared and I thought I've forgotten.

It was about a new rare species where there could be males and females unlike the original species where they were all females or asexual (i didn't check, correct me if I'm wrong) and looked like the drones except they have a simpler "crown" on their heads like the xenos queens. Like they are more like "princes" or "princesses".

The main differences are that they need another species to reproduce and the mature one can leave peacefully their hive to find their own mates and start their own. They prefer intelligent species as their mates (like humans! wink wonk).

Once they find their life mate (cuz they are monogamous too) they enter their "courting phase" where they are extra aggressive against everything specially those physically near their chosen mate. With their mate they try to show how attentive and capable to provide they are, like bringing trinkets similar to your belongings or something you seem to like (like that snack from that vending machine you seem to like, they swear they will learn how to get it from it like you do or rip it open and loot everything), other prey or some tough enemies like a yautja or a pile of marines.

Mostly, they would watch their mate from the shadows to learn their behavior and adopt it but sometimes they would approach and grope their body to learn about their anatomy and what make them tick. This last bit is important for the next phase, the "honeymoon".

Once they have learned enough and prepared a nice nesting spot, no matter if their mate is willing or not (although if they seem willing that would speed things up) they will knock them out and bring them to the nest. There they will seal the entry and start breeding their mate until "genetics decipher out". Once they are expecting they will start to grow in size until they are a xeno queen/king and being even more territorial. Don't expect them to stop trying for more offspring once they are kings/queens, the size difference won't deter them (maybe even encourage them). Btw, it's impossible for the offspring to be anything but xenos.

Also, I don't why I like to think if their mate dies for some reason or another they become depressed, like swans. They won't even be as aggressive as when they met their mate, maybe even passive to anything but not before getting revenge.

… Man, that was long. TL;DR: new species of monogamous xenos that need other species for reproduction and they are like xenos queen

I thought about something similar too years ago, but then I veered into a different scenario where a hive stricken by a virus that eliminated all females -Leaving none to become Queen- Had to adapt and pick another species' female to become their Queen. An old hive, with many a specimen from different hosts.

This is a grossly short summary of a rather complex idea that I'm freaky about, but naturally, you would be chosen. And part of the story I had concocted involved you coping with your new role, the new instincts and abilities you acquired, as well as managing to keep some of your creature comforts through it all (hilariously also watching xenomorphs of varied casts adapt to them). There was also a ridiculous amount of porn, because it wouldn't be my story otherwise. Since all males had to adapt to his new reproductive system, they would develop ruts and the hive would fall into chaos because hormones get in the way of their perfect routines. You come along and a selection process begins, wherein you must pick mates from all casts of xenomorphs present (they're all peacocking in efforts to get chosen) -To keep population levels stable- And those males will later enter your chambers to deposit the eggs within their painfully engorged ovipositors inside your adapted womb.

And who wouldn't want to mate with the Queen, right? Especially this new Queen, affectionate and soft and warm as she is...

I never played too much with the concept of a xenomorph King, but if I had to pick a specimen to base the concept off of, it'd be a tie between these three.

The "xenomorph King" figure, the "Chimera" from Aliens Rogue and the "Alpha" from Alien Bloodlines. I'm partial towards Alpha.

[ladylaviniya]

The Negatives of Shooting People

Chapter 3 || MasterList || Chapter 5

Chapter Summary: The ten year anniversary soiree is here for August's Lion Lounge club. And he's awfully surprised to see you, an uninvited guest...careful now....

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Gambling, Non-Con, Piss, Manipulation, Threats, Sexual Assualt, Bondage, Murder, Violence, Strangulation, Public Execution, Kidnapping, Bondage, Slight Daddy Kink, Slight Puppy Play Kink, Petnames.

Pairing: Kingpin!August Walker X F!reader

Word Count: 8k

Author Notes: I honestly don't know how to gamble or how it works. I read a quick wiki instruction and played a game. If anyone actually knows how to play, let me know and I'll change the writing.

Inspiring Song: "Poker Face." By Lady Gaga.

07:00pm Friday 16th August 2024, Fortitude Valley, Brisbane.

When Lloyd met you in the foyer and escorted you to the car, you noticed how his neck was tight against his bow tie. His bruised face and knuckles had lightened. He had waxed his moustache and curled the tips upward.

He whistled low and gawked at you all over. Your foot rubbed the back of your calf shyly. You were decadent in pearls and metallic shimmering from your dress.

He reminded you that your role was too find August and do whatever you could to distract him from figuring out that Lloyd, a police officer undercover had infiltrated his event.

Lloyd gave you another hundred dollars and said it was for gambling and pleasure purposes only. If August could be distracted by a drink, a game of poker, a jukebox dance even a pokie machine, that should give Lloyd plenty of time to look around for an illegal weapons auction.

You both got out of the car and found yourself escorted on his arm passed the body guard checking the invites.

You clenched a small purse under your arm tighter as you entered the massive club. It left you briefly speechless.

The floor was covered in black and gold mixed marble. The club was an old building. Probably over a century or two old. It had a huge bar and multiple show rooms. On one stage was a burlesque dancer shaking her covered nipples. In another part was a casino theme of tables and machines. And to the sides were seats, tables and booths.

Lloyd got you both to sit down and he ordered a drink. He sipped his whiskey and glanced at the stairs that spiralled up to more private rooms.

“There he is, balcony, beside the blonde.”

You tried to not be obvious when you looked over your shoulder. August was smirking with a drink in his hand, shaking hands with an old bald gentleman with beady eyes and a brief case.

As that older fellow walked away Lloyd murmured, “And that’s our cue.”

He moved out of his seat and left the whiskey behind.

You waited a few minutes. You stared at the reflection of August in the whiskey glass and bit your lip. That man was a monster. He had raped you, humiliated you and made you scared…except now you had teeth and claws to flex.

You shut your eyes and prayed to get out alive. Picking up the glass you tossed your head back and finished what Lloyd had left. Your lipstick smudged the beautiful glasswork.

You abandoned the booth and deposited the glass.

You turned back and started to glide up those stairs in your small heeled feet. You felt immaculate, confident. And you were sure…he had seen you as you ran your hand up the banister.

You slowly moved around him. He hadn’t turned to look at you yet. A blonde woman was on his other side, whispering in his ear with her seductive rose lips. She was gorgeous, legs long and slender waist. Her dress was a deep burgundy red and her gloves black. She made you look like the frumpiest woman in the club.

You leant against the railing beside them at a respectful distance. You looked over the dance floor. You recognised local representative politicians mingling, kissing, all salacious actions that the average public would be shocked to witness. A Greenie with her tongue down a Nationalists throat.

From your side you could feel his eyes. You couldn't tell if August was glaring daggers, but you knew he had seen you.

Your fingers squeezed the railing tight.

You took a deep breath in and focused not to stutter, “Fancy seeing you here.”

You managed to angle your face his way. You prayed he wouldn't look at your hands, trembling on top of the metal bar.

He looked down at his glass cup. He turned away from his golden haired friend and smirked at you. The woman attached to his side flashed you a sickly fake smile. Her eyes were full of scornful judgement.

He chuckled lightly, eyes raking up and down your body in a way to made you feel like meat in the deli section.

“Well, I do own the club Miss Y/L/N or did you not read my name on the invitation?”

You curled your toes and strained a brave smile, “Oh of course, but business is always busy with men like you…”

You looked away from him briefly, trying to compose yourself. Your hands were starting to shake while your knees felt light. You swallowed hard and returned to face his predator eyes.

“Men like me?” He purred and turned his body to lean on the railing.

You nodded slowly, trying to find a way to answer him and continue the conversation.

“Men like you,” was all you could repeat back firmly. You could feel a line of sweat crawl down the back of your neck.

He chuckled and held his empty cup to his feminine companion.

“Natalie, be a dear and fetch me some Guinness and whatever you’d like.”

Natalie winked at him and gave a girlish laugh when he smacked her backside. You wanted to scoff but at the same time you pitied her. You were scared she would be his next sexual victim. She toddled down the stairs and August slid himself closer to you on the railing. His fingers fluttered and circled around your neck. It was too public a place for him to squeeze any tighter. He couldn’t kill you out here, it was too public. His fingers softly moved over the spot where your pulse sat.

“Why are you here?” He raised his brow to you as he purred, “How did you even get in, huh? I know you didn’t get the invitation…so…have you come to take some more photos? We could have a quick interview in my office if you’d like.”

His lips were amused, but his eyes were dark and annoyed. Annoyed with you.

You shuddered, you weren’t too interested in his offering, but you had to consider how much time Lloyd needed to gain incriminating information. Lloyd didn’t know you had your phone down the front of your dress. It was risky but you wanted to catch anything if the occasion arose.

Your glanced at him, your bottom lip trembled slightly, you nuzzled his hand that started to cup your cheek.

Lightly shaking your head you said calmly, “I got your photos…the envelope…so no photos tonight…”

He chuckled and leered down your chest before leaning in closer to your face moaning, “So…what have you come for?”

You were frustrated that Lloyd really thought you’d be able to do this….this improvisation was nearly impossible when you had to face a man with a mean face. It was the tension of your chest snapping, the breath you were holding broke in a breathy sigh which was close to a gasp.

“The party,” you lied, you leant closer and let your noses touch, “Just to party.”

You laid your hand on his chest and rubbed it in large low circles. The whiskey was warm in your cheeks. You felt daring. Your heart beating strong in your ears. Do it now or you might as well drown. You squeezed your eyes shut and tightened your insides as you pushed up and kissed his mouth. His moustache scratched your top lip as you forced yourself onto him. It was a hard lip pressing peck, you felt his hot breath fan your face. The smell of his malted breath mad a hot light sing in between your legs. Your heart was thundering in your chest,

His wide cold eyes bore into your soul and he chuckled, “You make such a fucking terrible liar.”

It was like he had punched you in the gut the way the air had left your body.

“August dear, I have your drink!” the ringing of Natalie’s voice had his head turned away and letting you go. You couldn’t think, you just stood there absolutely frozen.

August collected his new refreshment, taking an impressive gulp, and you watched him lean closer to the blonde, “The accounts are settled, you can piss off now Nat.”

Her false smile faltered into a malicious smirk. She winked at you before she fled back down the stairs and greeted another gentleman in a tuxedo. You felt sick.

August leant back and cupped your waist in his awfully huge hand, “Let’s take a walk.”

He smirked feeling the shiver roll down your back. His hand squeezed your fingers as he led you down the staircase. You frantically looked out to the room and dance floor. You hoped you might see Lloyd, you might call out for him to save you.

“Ever played Roulette?” he asked setting his empty Guinness on a passing waitress tray.

You shook your head and heard him chuckle, “Of course you haven’t, good girl like you hasn’t done many things at all.”

You were slightly offended by his wording no matter how much it might’ve been true deep down.

He put his hand back to your lower back and led you to the casino rooms. There were multiple tables with different games involving cards and chips. But there was a long table surrounded by at least twenty or thirty well dressed men with their arm candy super model women. At the end was a dealer with a long metal pole. He wore a golden coloured suit. He looked serious and when his eyes caught the sight of August that cold aura disappeared. A giant smile graced his cranky appearance.

“Want to join the game sir?” he asked, “We just finished a game.”

August smiled and said, “Yes, give me ten black chips, six purple and…” he sucked his teeth, “Six yellow.”

The dealer smiled and nodded, he handed his boss, your rapist, the eftpos machine before pushing some chips towards the edge of the table you both next to.

Your eyes widened. The black chips had the number of one hundred, the purple was five hundred and the pretty yellow chips were decorate with a one and three zeros. You had a wild guess that those digits were the amount of money he was putting on the table.

To August it was nothing.

The dealer was selling other chips to the players that were from the old game wanting to buy more while August groped your hip and pressed his nose to your ear, “Lets start off easy, pick, red or black.”

You looked at the table, there were numbers between zero and thirty six. Half the numbers were covered in red, the other half in black. Your mouth felt dry. You really didn’t know what you were doing.

“Bl-“ you cleared your throat as his hand cupped your backside under the table, “Black.”

He smiled, “Now pick, do you prefer even numbers or odd?”

You looked over the red squares and noticed how half looked odd and the other half was even, you weren’t sure if this would help or set you back.

“Odd numbers,” you whispered.

His breath was hot and his eyes were trapping you where you stood. You felt embarrassed to meet his looks.

“Dealer, One hundred on Black and one hundred on Odds.”

The dealer smirked, you knew that dealer knew this wasn’t really Augusts choice.

He spun the wheel that had a metal ball tapping along inside. Round and round the crimson and black. The ball landed onto black thirty five. You held your breath.

“And now,” August purred, “You’ve just won an extra two hundred dollars pup.”

The light in your chest bloomed with excitement, the butterflies rained like a storm in your belly. You were amazed at how it was to win so quickly…but then what if it was red even that won? Or just black and even? Would you have lost it all? Half? You were tickled with curiosity to learnt this grown up game. Two new black chips along with the original were pushed back to you. August thick fingers stacked them on top of each other in a bundle.

“Lets play again, now…see those top numbers, one to twelve, thirteen to twenty four, twenty five to thirty six?” he said, gesturing to the top of the red and black chart against the green fuzzy felt of the table.

“Pick one of those three groups.”

You sucked in a breath and tried to strategize….you had more numbers in the two boxes. You didn’t want to risk less numbers more chance of losing…

“One to twelve?” you said, his large hand rubbed on your ass pressing you closer to the table edge.

“Dealer, a purple chip on the one twelve,” he said cooly not even looking at the dealer this time as he said it. You wanted to know what he was thinking as he stared right down into your skull.

“Yes sir,” said the dealer pushing the five hundred chip over the dozen number group,

“Spin hockey,” August barked and clapped his hands.

And the bowl with a ball spun. it settled on number five. The table players groaned as their games were losing. Luck of the gods must’ve been over you tonight…

“And now you’ve won an extra thousand dollars,” he hummed.

The damn game made no sense except you were happy to be winning. You didn’t expect the fear you got from being in Augusts palm mixed with the joy of winning at gambling would make you aroused and wanting.

The yellow chip was pushed to you and you daringly picked it up. It was pretty, the emboss was August Lion symbol.

“Now…see those three columns that say two to one? There’s a right, middle and left. Pick one,” he plucked the chip from your curious fingers.

“Right,” you bravely exclaim. August laughed and turned to the dealer who had gotten back to your turn, “You heard the lady, yellow on right column.”

The chip was planted and the wheel spun once more…landing on black eleven…a middle column. And just like that, a thousand dollars gone…All the warmth left your body. Now you understood a gambling drop felt worse than the gambling high. His hand snuck it’s way across your lower belly. He moved you closer into his side. His hot breath fanned over you neck.

He tutted at you, “See the risk? Got all the blood rushing, didn’t it and now you’re feeling that punch of loss?”

You slowly shook your head, agreeing. Thank fuck it wasn’t your money or the money Lloyds' had given you. So far you’d at least made August a two hundred dollars profit from the original ten thousand he bought out.

August held your hips and pressed you back into his crotch. He wasn’t hard but you could feel his warm body heat and the shape of his soft cock in his pants.

His mouth purred along the shell of your ear, “Now, Puppy, choose one number.”

He was standing behind you, trapping you against the table flushed. None of the other players took notice and if they did they didn’t care. Because maybe they didn’t know what type of monster this monster could be.

“N-nineteen,” you stuttered, choosing your age might be a safer option.

“Tell the dealer,” he whispered.

You swallowed. You felt hot and a foul arousal between your thighs. You thought about the time you played Pool with August. Your first kiss...

“Nineteen please sir,” you said to the gold suited man.

“Chip type?”

August whispered like he was telling you the dirtiest secret, “Tell him you’re all in.”

You repeat the term and made it sound like a question. You had a feeling you knew what it meant after watch movies ‘Bounty Hunter’ with Jennifer ashton and Gerald Butler. The dealer glanced at August and smirked, “All in number nineteen.”

The long metal pole came out and scooped up all your chips to the nineteen box.

When the ball began to spin inside the wheel your belly twisted and your hands desperately squeezed Augusts. You remembered there was at least ten thousand two hundred dollars on the number and you were truly risking losing all his money. You damn well knew that Lloyd didn’t give you that much and there’s be no way to pay August back.

Your eyes ran round and round the wheel, you held your breath as the metal ball landed and bounced between the numbers. You felt weak in the knees. The wheel slowed and you nearly vomited from anticipation alone managing to force your arse harshly back into August you sound and desperately buried your face into his expensive cologne soaked shirt. You worried and bit your lip hard as the clattering silver ball stopped and the wheel paused.

You could imagine the dealers face peering down into the black and red bowl of fortunes and curses, debts and dreams.

“Congratulations little lady in front row, number Nineteen, you have won three million five hundred and seven thousand dollars,” said the dealer over an excited cheering crowd.

You swore you misheard, your knees wobbled as you dared to look up at Augusts grinning face. You looked over your shoulder and true to the dealers word, that silver ball sat in the groove of red painted with the number nineteen.  All the air was drained from your lips. You could’ve fainted. You couldn’t believe it. Out of all the bad luck in your life, this felt truly unbelievable. You wished your father was here to see this. You started to smile...and then the squealing crawled out of your throat. You jumped up and down on your feet, your fingers squeezed Augusts arm tightly. The buzz inside you was wild. Your adrenaline was jumping out of adrenaline was jumping out of our throat. You knew the money wasn’t yours. It was Augusts but knowing that you’d managed to win that much by chance sent the greatest wave of euphoria.

“I won! I won! I won!” tears prickles your eyes and you cupped your mouth.

 August smiled into your cheek and chuckled softly, “Yes, you did.” His moustache scratched against your cheek, he smelt like Guinness and felt like total warmth on a cold night. His thumb rubbed beneath your arm near the space of your ribs and breast.

The dealer couldn’t give you that many chips but digitally sent a code with the prize to August as owner of the card that bought the chips in the first place.

August laughed and spun you around on your feet, he tugged you away from the roulette table towards the dance floor where a slow dance was taking place to the sombrous tones of Frank Sinatra.

“Oh my god, I did that, I can’t believe I just did that,” you muttered happily in a daze, a high. You suddenly forgot entirely everything that August had done to you in the past few weeks. You forgot your entire purpose of why you were even there. His charming face was beaming in pride.

His warm lips pecked your forehead and cheek, he repeated, “Yes, you did.”

“I mean I know it’s your money but just the thrill of just- my god,” you sucked in a new breath of air and sighed, “Thankyou for letting me experience that.”

He hummed and swayed your bodies together slowly. He could’ve picked you up and carried you away and you weren’t sure if you would’ve protested.

“My money?” he chuckled, “I can right you a cheque if you’d really like. Bank it tomorrow.”

You scoffed in disbelief, you shook your head at him, “Don’t be mean August, like you’d just give me three million dollars, be fucking for real.”

He pinched your bottom making you hiss lightly as you danced in his arms and he scolded teasingly, “Language.”

You threw your head back and giggled. You were still riding the drunk high of life.

“Welcome to bloody Australia Mister Walker,” you tapped a finger on his chest, his suit felt so smooth and expensive like silk instead of basic cotton, “Where we say all kinds of things casually; Ass, cunt, fuck, bitch, bastard and so on.”

He bent you backwards and cradled your spine as his lips pressed up into your jaw and neck, “Oh fret not, I’ll discipline it out of you. I’d rather have you speaking like a true lady who cares about her appearance.”

You scoffed again and rolled your eyes. You didn’t give a flying care in the world what he thought about a true lady. He wasn’t a true gentleman. You pushed a little away from him.

The high of life became dangerous impulsive boldness, “Why? So I can teach you that true gentleman don’t drug and rape women?”

A few heads turned at your words out of the thousands dancing and gambling around you. His jolly gaze turned black and ice. His frown was deep and displeasure greatly obvious. He looked ready to kill you...

The shudder in your chest returned. It was like a bucket of icy water dunking over your head. That glare made you sober and sheepish. You pushed away gently and smoothed your dress out.

“I...I need to pee.”

You didn’t actually, yet the fear consumed you enough, blanketing over you and you needed an escape from the danger you had willingly nosed dived into. It was the only explanation for you to flee briefly and compose yourself for more of his aggression.

His hands were tight on your wrists.

“August, I’m sorry...please let me go to the loo.”

He let you go, and muttered, “It’s upstairs, be quick, we need to talk.”

You hissed when the blood pumped back into your flesh, you felt your wrists throb in rings. Stepping backwards shakily you almost fell back into a passing waiter. It felt impossible to remove your eyes from him, to make sure he wasn’t following you.

You could feel him watching you as you kept walking to those stairs. Up the grand stairs you scurried away from him for the seconds he was distracted looking away from you, grabbing a new drink.

Just find the ladies toilet and he can’t come in right?

Your head was pounding. Breathless and flushed you didn’t look at the signs on doors. You didn’t even need the bathroom, honestly, you just needed to sit down.

Relief filled you as you looked behind. You couldn’t see August and knew he still wasn’t following you. You leant against a door and turned the handle hoping out of all these doors, this would be a toilet.

When you fell inside. You noted the room was empty…but there was also no toilet…instead there was a couch to your left and to your right a massive wall with a control panel and TVs lining the wall…on the televisions were colourful pictures moving, replaying the events of the party…they were the viewpoints of cameras…security.

You were in the security room!

With widened eyes you closed the door behind you entirely and awed at the stuff you were watching…

There wasn’t just one party going on tonight.

The screen showed the rest of the club you hadn’t had the pleasure of observing. The back stages dancers change room, the full game slot casino, a smokers room where a stripper was sucking some random man off. Your stomach twisted.

There were men sniffing coke off a woman’s thigh. Other people in another room were injecting each other with heroin.

There was a room auctioning paintings and appeared to be a business meeting. Multiple men were sitting on couches and bar stools watching while a stunning woman in the middle waving at expensive items…. Katarina Vikander. She wore a stunning green gown that hugged her body, around her neck was a thick row of diamonds, she looked like an old Hollywood actress.

You stepped closer to the screen and traced the figures of people and faces you recognised. There were even famous local politicians. Your mouth felt dry. You knew it was a simple auction but the items were familiar, they were museum pieces. There were items that morally speaking belonged to the indigenous Meanjin people. It was a inexplicable scandal.

Then there was Lloyd! He was sitting beside an older man with the bald head and beady eyes. In that man’s lap was a young woman with dark flowing hair in a very short dress, definitely young enough to be his granddaughter. yuck!

It was a room of gentlemen and their own weapons to show off. Guns and blades you were confident weren’t even allowed to be sold in Australia after the Port Arthur Massacre. There were tommy guns and automatic rifles. There were trench knives and a urban skinner daggers. Things you’d only seen in movies.

You pulled out your phone and started taking photos of the screens. They would be bad quality photos, not well enough to publish to the press but it didn’t matter, evidence was still important. August was willingly allowing this in his club and on the unlikely chance he wasn’t, it was still occurring in his club, he’d be responsible.

You thought about the amount of people these guns and knives could or had already killed. You clicked some more and quickly sat in the empty chair. There was a couch behind you, you noted the strange red splatter stains over the cushions. You took another picture. You didn’t want to consider if it was blood because that lead to the question of whose blood it was...you shuddered.

No wonder he didn’t appear as excited as you when you won the three million dollars…he probably made that in a week from profits out of these illegal auctions.

You held your breath and watched the screens further.

Soon Lloyd would bust the club. He’d call back up and the floor would go wild. Now it was a matter of waiting. Any minute now, you bet.

You took photos of the men doing drugs with the strippers and the gambling and finally the bar. You wondered how much of the alcohol would’ve been watered down to save money. It even clicked to wonder if the club even had a license to sell alcohol while the casino was open.

You were checking the photos and perched yourself on the couch when the door opened. You gasped and dropped your phone on the ground with a loud clatter.

The looming shadow entered the dark room. It was him…August…he stood inside and closed the door, away from the party, silencing the booming hustle and bustle.

“No photos tonight?” his brows lifted and a smile spread while he tutted, “Oh my sweet girl, you’re breaking daddy’s heart.”

You leant down and grabbed the phone again and shoved it into your clutch purse.

“I-I wasn’t using my c-camera…” you poorly lied.

You stood up spritely and tried to find away around him. He leant against the door, blocking your escaped. His eyes rolled from the screens back to you.

He flashed a sinister fanged smile and shook his head, “Oh no, no, I think it’s about time we chat little Miss Y/N…don’t you?”

You pouted and snarled, “Get out of my way August.”

He shook his head again and sucked his teeth, “Tell me why you really came tonight, and I will.”

You gulped. You clenched your first and said louder, “Get out of my way August or I’ll fucking scream and I’ll make a damn scene.”

He stood in silence for three solid seconds before nodding.

He moved away from the door but as you tried to pass him reaching for the doorhandle, he grabbed your waist and hauled you back. You were launched back across the floor and landed hard and sharp on the carpet. The air was knocked from your lungs and your hands lost grip of your clutch.

Gaining your bearings quickly, you shrieked and cowered. You raised your hands and shuddered. You were so sure he was going to punch and kick you, instead a soft strong hand curled over your wrist and tugged you to your knees.

“Come here,” he softly murmured, while he gently made you crawl over to the couch. On the cushions he sat before he pulled you into his thick lap. Your legs were trapped between his, while you were held on his lap.

You felt so small, so weak. His hands were warm, and strong, you were growing sore as your body overcame the shock of him throwing you back into the room. It made you feel terrified at how simply he was able to manhandle you. All those weeks without his presence had somehow made you forget how deadly and scary he could be. And despite being in his club, in a public place, he still had the upperhand and power to take what he wanted.

Your body shook as his hands touched you. He was so calm…it was unsettling and struck icily in your blood. This was the August you met that afternoon two weeks ago. This is the August that duct taped you and forced you to cum in your fathers recliner chair.

“You wearing any wires baby?” He cooed as his hand stuck down your dress top and another slipped up your thighs. You didn’t fight, but your fingers pleadingly hooked into his shirt sleeve while his hand dug around and slid around your breasts, groping your soft flesh.

His hand the groped around your thighs and lingered when cupping near your underwear. A stream of sweat trailed your face, what if he felt how wet you were in your underwear?

You shook your head and pitifully whimpered, “N-no, just the ph-phone in my bag.”

His lips pressed against your shoulder and neck before finally going to your ear, “This is what’s going to happen…” he purred, “You’re going to be my good girl and do everything I tell you, or else I’m going kill your piggy friend.”

You gasped as his fingers rubbed at your underwear covered clit.

“Wh-what?!”

“Yes poppet, I know about him,” he chuckled and sucked on your earlobe loudly, “He’s not very smart, coming here…his wire, he’s wearing…it’s not going to pick up anything.”

Your eyes dared to glance at the cameras, Lloyd was still on the screen, still watching the auction.

August moved his mouth to your other ear and moved your underwear aside, his finger easily slipped inside of you, tearing a whine from your lips at how wet you were.

“Has he fucked you yet?” He mocked, “Has the piggy touched what’s mine? Stuffed that dirty cock in this pretty puppy pussy?”

You choked on a rising sob, “No, now please st-stop.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks, tears August kissed away softly. You were watching the screens, Lloyd was looking around the room from the chair he was sitting in. Someone handed him a drink. You didn’t know what he was saying as he laughed at someone. You just wanted him to call back up, before you potentially were raped again.

August paused and slipped in another thick finger, “So…you thought you’d help him? Think I’d be so blind? It breaks my heart that either of you thought I was that dumb. This whole time I’ve been telling myself you weren’t a threat, just a dumb little girl…but that’s not entirely true huh? Miss picture perfect, taking photos she fucking well shouldn’t be.”

Your whimpered and wept with salty tears that stung hard. You heard him shuffle as he propped you onto one knee. A moment later, something hard and cold touched your cheek. You were certain this was your fault. You didn’t distract him enough, instead you ran off like a cowered. You sobbed and found it difficult to breathe seeing what that hard object in the corner of your eye was. If you weren’t so scared you might’ve screamed…

“Did you wear this for me baby?” He asked, rubbing your cheek with the warm tip of the gun, “Awfully pretty, awfully expensive for someone like you.”

Your eyes fell down at the dress you’d bought earlier that day. God you regretted it all now, all the excitement you felt buying it for tonight, it was all backfiring. You bought it knowing this was something he might want, it made you feel rich and sensual. It was your shield of confidence, ironic how a shield means nothing compared to a gun pressed to your head.

“Yes,” you wailed, “Please just let us go.”

“Us?” He scoffed scornfully, “And you’re telling me, you’re not fucking him.”

His fingers curled harshly and pinched your inner walls, cupping and shaking your entire cunt in his hand roughly. 

You whined and choked, “it’s- n-not his faul- fault…I’m…I’m-”

Your eyes widened and your mouth fell silent…Jesus fucking Christ. August was covered in a hot wet warmth. He grunted, slowly, he removed his two thick fingers out of your pussy and shook his hand of the wet liquid pouring out with three large wrist flicks.

Mortified, a blubbering fest left you mouth. A line of ‘’please” and “sorry” poured desperately out of you.

Your piss puddled the floor down to his shoes.

You had half expected him to throw you off or kill you in disgust. Instead, August hissed a little as the warm liquid soaked over his trousers. You flinched away. He put his gun back in his pocket.

He laughed darkly, “You are so silly huh? So goddamn innocent,” his wet head cupped your neck and clenched your jaw, “I think I’ve amused you long enough baby, I think it’s time I show you why you were put in my care.”

You fluttered your wet eyes at him, “Please just let Lloyd go,” you swallowed a gulp of air, “I’ll do whatever you want.”

You gagged at the acidic smell of your own urine on his hand burning into your nose. His tongue clicked and he wagged his other finger at you.

“You’re about to see what happens to shits who think to try and bring me and my friends down, go on sunshine, look at the TV’s.”

His hand jerked your head forward. You were forced to watch everything happening in the room where Lloyd was. Within seconds, there were two security guards dragging in a limping man over a giant square of tarp.

“This dumb piece of shit decided to double dip my profits in a club I own down in Sydney…dickhead thought to embezzle me…I don’t like when men take what’s mine…”

The struggling man had a black pillow case shoved over his head. He was pushed to his knees in front of Brandon Sullivan who held a gun he took out from the briefcase. Katarina stood away from the centre of the room and watch him with the brightest smile.

The gun from the suitcase wasn’t particularly impressive. It was a hand gun with an ivory hilt. American.

The barrel was pressed to the pillow case. Your eyes widened.

Your bottom lip fell, “Wait please no, he can’t, stop-”

It was two little light flickers from the tip of the weapon, the bag flutter backwards as the man’s brains were blown through. It wasn’t like the movies. His body just flopped and slammed down on the floor and in seconds the blue tarp was rolled up and dragged away, no time for the blood to soak into the auction room carpet.. Brandon put the gun down and clapped his hands.

Lloyd didn’t flinch…his eyes hid inside his cup.

You gagged and bent your head opening your mouth above Augusts spread knees, the floor not only covered in your urine was also granted a haul of your bile. The whiskey you finished from Lloyds cup came back up hard burning your throat.

Why wasn’t Lloyd arresting them there and then? Why didn’t he leave to call back up?

You trembled watching the detective standup and walk over to order a drink at a private bar. He was so vulnerable standing in the den. And he was wearing a wire that wasn’t even working and you couldn’t tell him. You were helpless, Lloyd was helpless.

“I could kill him right now if I wanted to…” August cooed as you sobbed with the shock of seeing a real person killed in front of your eyes on screen.

You wailed and turned your body away. Buring your face into his shoulder and begged, “Please don’t hurt him, please, dear god. I’ll do whatever you want!”

“Anything?” He sarcastically gasped.

Your whimpered, “Yes!”

He was laughing and humming while he was toying with what he’d do to you. He bounced his knee you were on forcing you to land hard on your crotch and gasping everytime your clit made contact with his thigh and knee.

When he stopped, he pinched your wet inner thigh, “Call me Daddy you piss soaked slut.”

You nodded and tried to slow your meltdown, “O-okay d-daddy, I will.”

“Are you sorry for trying to trick me, whore?” He said harshly.

Your chin shook as you choked out, “S-so sorry daddy. Please forgive me.”

He liked that with how he grunted and moaned.

“I guess I should huh? You come in here, looking for dirt, but you win me gold.”

He pushed you off his lap. You were scared and embarrassment. The feeling of the wet that ran down your legs was drying up, yet the puddle that was drying up was huge. The scent was pungent. Your legs were weak and wobbly. You stumbled and grabbed your clutch with your phone inside.

You heard him clear his throat and flinched when he stated, “We are going back to my office. I have wipes, and spare clothes.”

That would’ve sounded nice except you knew better, you knew he’d just rape you in there…and with these sketchy men in the auction room you could only imagine what else August had business in. Human trafficking on top of all these other crimes wouldn’t have entirely surprised you.

You needed to find a way to get away. Since Lloyd still hadn’t gotten the back up he promised, you knew you would need to abandon him too. Guilt filled your belly, you worried for the cop’s safety, but it came to the dilemma…would you risk this for the chance to save his life, or save yourself and pack up and run for it with the cash he had given you. The amount of money in your clutch could buy you a ticket up north all the way to Townsville. You hardly could imagine a British man like August in the sweltering heat of northern Queensland…only issue? It was a perfect place to hide a body. Sugar cane fields were burned daily up there. If you wanted to dump a body, it would be perfect and convenient…you thought about moving in the opposite direction to New South Wales. The Blue Mountains had a cult you had heard of, maybe they could hide you from him.

“Y/N,” August broke you from your thoughts, he touched your chin and matched your gaze, “Did you hear me? I’m going to clean you up, sort you out.”

You took a ragged breath in and nodded, “Y-yes da-dad-" you gulped loudly, "daddy.”

He smirked and pressed his mouth to yours, pulling back with a sigh, he murmured, “That’s a good girl.”

He placed his hand on your back and moved you forward to the entrance door.

Your fingers reached out and touched the handle. Your other hand was clenching your bag tightly. It was only a door…But the knob turned, and you were faster than him. You slammed it shut behind you when you rushed out the door. You raced and shoved people aside. You heard him rip and bang the door open. You felt his heavy feet chasing behind you.

You felt so fucked! Your heart was palpating, and your thighs were chaffing with that sour smell of your pee dress soaked. You almost slipped down the stairs but managed to get to the bottom before seeing him starting to run down from the top.

Guests were staring but who cared? The party was wild and many just giggled thinking it was a big game.

It wasn’t a game though, truly you believed now he was going to kill you and Lloyd if you didn’t get out now. You had no idea where that auction room was hidden. You could grab him and bolt. These seconds were precious, and you just needed to get out onto the street.

You got to the bar and as you ran forward, you saw the fire alarm off the side. You slammed a fist down hard and bolted for the exit. Sprinklers went off wild, the rain made the party wet and all the main lights activate blinding half of the club. The other guests became frantic hearing the chance of a fire happening. Everyone was starting to rush out of the club with you. You swore and hoped that Lloyd was going to be able to get out safely too.

There was no way you’d be able to go home tonight. You were a dead woman walking with the content of your phone and the murder you witnessed. You tried to find an uber driving past but the fear that August was behind you made you keep moving.

You kept running even as you got outside in the cold air. The sound of car horns and lights of the streets were chaotically plaguing your mind. You didn’t have a clue where you were running. You just kept going. There were roads totally dead and quiet, you ran across without pressing any walking buzzers. You needed to find safety. Your feet raced down pavement paths until they hit the soft dewy grass of the park. The parkour park was near the train lines, you could hear the rattling wheels and noisy horn of a passenger train go through, leaving it impossible to tell if someone was following you… But you heard could him, you swore you could hear his catching breath and hear those leather shoes sprinting behind you.

You squealed in the dark as your ran past an empty children’s playground. He was big and he was fast. You felt his hand in the air trying to grab you and successfully you dodged him. You rushed down a street of abandoned shops and tripped over a groove in the ground that you missed in the ground.

And that’s how this all started don’t you see? Don’t you remember?...

A rush of air sucked out from your lungs as your hands and knees collided with the gravel pavement. Your stupid kitten heel snapped and your handbag had flown a couple metres in front of you.

Your heart thudded against your ribs as you poorly attempted to catch your anxious breath.

“Dumb. Very stupid. I perceived you to be smarter than this…” his voice dripped into your burning hot ears.

He was behind you, you knew that…with his hands in his suit pockets. His expensive leather shoes crunched on the rocky path the closer he neared you.

You hissed when the chilly night air whistled against your cut up palms. Blood rose up from your skin, shining in the light of the city lamp. You flinched as his two fingers traced along your spine and pressed harshly down on the back of your neck.

With watery eyes, you watched him walk pass and collect your handbag. His lithe fingers dove inside and pulled out the phone. His lips pursed as he let it fall from his hand before crushing it under his foot.

The salty tears raced down your cheeks, gliding into your trembling mouth.

If only you could’ve screamed for help. If only there was someone in the park to see what had unfolded.

A hiccup escaped you and he softly cooed, “It’s alright now, I think it’s about time you received an education, my darling.”

You shook your head and felt the rise of bile in your throat.

“Please,” you begged with a rasp voice, “I won’t tell anyone. Let me go. I swear I won’t go to the police, just let me go!”

He tutted his tongue and wagged his finger. He crouched down, his soft hand combed into your sweat soaked hair and tugged your head up. Your eyes met his icy gaze.

Hopelessness filled you. Begging had fallen on deaf ears.

“That’s right, you won’t tell anyone…but I’m not finished with you yet.”

As a gasp lifted from your lips he chuckled, “You’re precious if you think I’m letting you go after seeing that.”

His cold palm grabbed the sides of your throat and began to choke you. As the oxygen was restricted, your little hands clawed desperately at his callous hand. Your feet flailed against the gravel. Tears raced down your face. It was impossible to scream out without any air to cry with. With every passing second, a dizzy blanket was clouding your mind and filling your eyes with black spots. His glare made your knees buckle. Exhaustion from fighting was taking over, your nails left his hands, your eyes were finding it difficult to stay open. Eventually your lashes shut, and you let your mind drown in the airless space of time....

Unknown...Unknown...August 2024, Brisbane.

You thought he had killed you. You genuinely believed as the blood pulverised your skull, he had choked you to death.

You felt cold and hungry…the smell of hot Chinese food woke you up.

You curled up in a tight ball, hugging your naked body. Your couldn’t see anything. Your face had been blind folded. Your mouth was chewing on something long, some type of rubbery gag. And around your neck you felt a tight squeeze and the bite of a chain…a collar? Your fingers tried to pull them off but they were tied around your head and you felt the cold shape of padlock..

The carpet scuffed.

Someone was in the room, getting up from a chair. You heard a masculine breath and you trembled covering your chest and cupping your last as your curled back up in a ball.

You were laying on a soft blanket and mattress.

You whined as a warm human finger raced down your arm and the hand splayed out over your skin.

“Good morning, pet…I’m glad I was here to see you wake up,” you heard August moan.

You felt his fuzzy moustache tough the corner of your gaged lips.

You flinched and rubbed your face into the pillows above you.

The chain moved and taunted you backwards until you sat up so you could breathe.

His hand touched your inner thigh, you felt the bed tilt to his weight.

“I bet you’re hungry, I could hear your tummy growl for quite some time before you woke up.”

You felt his fingers unlock the gag and pull it down your chin.

You gasped and enjoyed the ability to breathe properly again. You were still stuck in total darkness however.

You heard a fork clinking with a bowl. You could hear August blow on the hot food and were told to open up.

Your lips parted and your tongue was touched by the greasy goodness of Chinese honey chicken.

You chewed and tore off the meat from his fork.

“Another,” he said as he fed you some more.

Your hands reached out to hold the fork yourself before you heard him casual say, “Keep those paws down, I haven’t given you permission to use them.”

Your might’ve been blindfolded but you knew he was looking at your body. You lifted your knees up to your chin and tapped your arms around your legs.

A cold bottle of water was pushed to your lips and your mouth greedily suckled it down. You knew it could be laces with drugs but your mouth was dry and you knew you were dehydrated.

You gaspingly asked as the bottle was pulled away, “Are you going to kill me?”

You didn’t want to die but it wasnt your choice. You knew this process would be quicker and easier if you allowed death to come…you would rather die than have to succumb to rape.

“No puppy…not today.”

You didn’t feel relief. Actually you felt your chest shake as you tried to hold back your crying.

Your heard him out the fork down and felt him come onto the bed. He pulled you into his arms and let you sob. He rubbed your back and hushed you gently.

It took everything in you to not fight him…you sagged into his touch and let him hold and rock you until you composed your tears.

You should fight him…if he’s going to kill you…go out with a fight.

“Would you like some more food?” He asked and you meekly nodded, “Yes please.”

He tutted and softly scolded, “That’s not how we ask now is it?”

You couldn’t see him but your fist flew up and caught him in his shoulder, “If you th-think I’m going to call you ‘daddy’…you’re fucking nuts!”

And you truly readied yourself for the beating of a lifetime…rather…his fingers moved up and unlocked your blindfold, pulling it off your head.

You winced as the bright light of day pelted your eyes…

He was sitting on the bed. A long button up shirt with rolled up sleeves and dress pants still wearing his leather shoes. His fingers pinched your chin.

“Still want to be a bad girl?”

You realised he expected an answer. And bravely your jerked your chin away.

“You can rape me, cut me, kill me...I’m not calling you fucking ‘daddy’!” You slapped his hand away and crawled to the other side of the bed feebly. You shrieked as he slapped your naked ass hard and laughed.

“That’s alright… I’ll talk to you again in a few more hours.”

He pushed you down and slapped your hands. He put the blind fold and the gag back on. He took the cup and Chinese food away….he left you…vulnerable and nude on the bed. Alone with your thoughts for the next few hours.

 Unknown...Unknown...August 2024, Brisbane

He left you blind folded for hours right? Or was it just thirty minutes? You couldn’t tell…blind folded and gagged. You could move your arms and blindly crawl around the bed but the chain would grow taunt if you tried to climb off the mattress. You considered hanging yourself…would it have been easier to just let him find your corpse then wait to be raped?

You rolled around and felt around the covers. You were helpless and scared. For all you knew he could’ve been watching you quietly.

Your crying was muffled with the gag between your teeth. Drool dropped down your chin and dribbled to your chest. You kept wiping it up feeling revolted with yourself.

You tugged and pulled the chain, yet no freedom was granted in your attempts. You grew tired, the panic in your chest exhausted you.

Hesitantly you pulled the duvet back and wiggled yourself in between the massive pillows, you fell asleep…and it was daunting.

It didn’t help that you couldn’t tell when you drifted off to sleep and the first thing you saw was dad. He was coming home from work and you were in the lounge room flicking through the tv channels. When you saw him come through the door your were scared it was August, but seeing your dad made your heart burst with joy. Relief and peace clouded your mind.

“it was all a bad dream!” You said as you got off the couch and raced to hug your father. He was never much of a hugger, that was okay…

His hand pat your back and you sobbed, “It was so awful dad! I thought you had died, everyone said you were dead but I knew there was no way. Thank god it was just a bad drea-”

He was skinny …you hugged him tight …why did he feel so hard and sharp around his body?

“Dad, I missed you,” you licked your lips, “come on I’ll make you something to eat, why are you so thin?” You moved your head back and screamed. His work shirt was stained in blood and his skin and muscle were rotting off his body. His cheeks were hallow and the tip of his nose was gone. His eyes totally white. A slice settle on his face. He opened his mouth slowly to speak and a rotting tongue rolled out over his chin.

You kept screaming and saying “No!” Over and over again. You moved backwards and fell over on a bowl of porridge. His body fell forward on top of yours.

You couldn’t breathe from the fear. The dream went dark in shadows and it clicked that perhaps you’d woken up. But you weren’t entirely sure. You kicked your legs and curled up in a ball. You wailed and hiccupped. The gag in your mouth brought your mind back to where you were. Where you’d been trapped. You hit the mattress over and over in frustration and anger.

“Lmph ma gaoh!” let me go, you howled.

Your knees trembled and you felt nauseas. You shook your head, trying to fight the vomit that could be rising to your chest. You knew if you vomited it would go everywhere and some might stay inside your mouth or throat or up into your nose.

 You whimpered, “Peaff!” Please!

Your body tightened…you felt your bowels grow sore and your bladder tight.

Dread filled your mind with the harsh reality that if you don’t get off the bed you were going to be sitting in your own fluids. It cracked your mind….it broke your own heart…you started to scream knowing what your kidnapper wanted to hear..

“Daffy! Peaf half mah!” Daddy please help me, you bawled over and over while your legs crossed tightly and you tried to hold in your bowels. Your toes curled and your acrylic nails dug deep into the skin of your palm. You scolded yourself for letting at service woman Drew to convince getting your nails done.

It was agony, holding in for so long. Your hands cupped yourself in hopes to stop any form of self leaking.

But after the fifth or sixth begging sob…you felt his presence return. It was like he never left, you didn’t hear his feet walk over to you, you only felt his hands…he unlocked you from the chain and guided you to the guest toilet. He took off your gag and your mouth slackened. The drool that hit your feet and floor with a splat made your shoulders curl in humiliating embarrassment.

You were sat on the toilet seat. You knew he stood waiting. It made you feel worthless and disrespected, the lack of privacy as he watched you push your bladder and bowels.

And that wasnt even the worst of it.

Reaching for toilet paper to the side of you, your hands were slapped away. You heard the roll move and a quick tear. You held out your hand to take it but his hand touched your thick and you twisted away, choking on a sob….the sick fucker wouldn’t let you wipe your own body... As he wiped the piss, you grabbed his wrist and tried to tug him away from your intimates.

“I’m not a baby,” you croaked quietly. You heard him hum, “I can do it myself”

“I know you’re not a baby…I just want to remind you this body belongs to me,” he murmured as he flushed the toilet paper away and you heard his hands wash under the running water of the sink.

Your knees bounced with anxious impatience. What was he planning to do to you?

He got you to your feet and guided you back. When the tiles became carpet you guessed you were being put back onto the bed.

He locked the chain back to the collar and whispered into your temple, “Just a moment.” You felt him move away and heard him drag something heavy from under the bed. Your stomach dropped and thought the worst.

He’s grabbing power tools…he’s going to chop and stab and beat me up and then dice me up into tiny pieces, you but your lips and let your tears flow.

“Wh-what’ are you going to do to m-me?” You dared to ask the maniac millionaire.

You flinched at his echoing chuckle, “Just tie you up for now, but let’s see where that takes us? You were talking in your sleep, did you know you do that?”

Your shoulders shook and you curled. You moved back to the head of the bad and clenched the fabric tightly. You felt him dropping things on the bed. His torture tools….

“Please don’t do this,” you tried to beg, “I haven’t done anything wrong. I just want to go h-home please.”

You hated the weakness in your voice. A part of you was angry and demanding you to claw his eyes out and fight to the death. You just weren’t sure what was the right thing to do anymore. What was the least painful.

Warm fingers brushed along your shoulder, and you gasped a little too loudly, he laughed.

“Easy now, I’m just taking off the blindfold, or would you prefer I leave it on?”

Your eyes watered under the fabric, your voice broke out into a whimper, "Off please..."

HELPLINES:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers. .

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

[drdemonprince]

the housing crisis in the small city i live in is getting worse. my friends are moving but i need to be here a bit longer still. so i’m looking for a new apartment for me and my cat and i’m frustrated on top of being frustrated bc my brain wont let me lie to landlords and property managers.

nowhere i can afford allows pets. they want SO much fcking money, plus all utilities, plus deposits higher than the rent—and i still can’t have a small animal. i do not respect the concept or practice of landlord-ing but i keep getting this block around lying and terror about being caught. (also, my cat is not a chill silent baby all the time- he’s a big talkative fellow with shit to say sometimes, so being like *blink blink* “umm no cat here” while he breeoowwws in the background sounds really brazen to me).

i think this could be a very small gesture towards being ungovernable but it feels really big and somewhat impossible at the moment. any words of advice for moments like these?

Dog you can totally lie about not having pets and get away with it. If your landlord doesn't live in your building/if it's a big management company you are ESPECIALLY likely to be able to get away with it, because any maintenance person that gets sent to your unit to perform repairs won't have any access to the office files that list whether you are paying pet rent, and the person who processes new leases isn't the same person who processes rent checks ANYWAY, so there's like three layers of people not giving a shit and not looking into records they don't even have access to in the first place to protect you.

When I got my chinchilla, I carried him and his giant cage, food, and a huge pillow case sized bag of hay into the lobby of my building and walked it all right past the manager's office in broad daylight and nobody said a thing. At my next apartment, i also lied. At my third apartment after that, I also lied. At my current apartment I just didn't volunteer the information and they never asked. My chinchila litterally tears up the WALLS with his teeth and runs on a giant wheel made out of an industrial-sized cake pan that is advertised as "just as quiet as a small washing machine." He bangs around in that thang every NIGHT for hours and no neighbor has ever even complained about it. if it were a big dog barking all the time and being badly behaved, that would be one thing. but a cat meowing is like. nothing.

You can do this homie. For your sake in housing, in employment, and in interactions with our evil government you gotta work on your ability to lie. and this is a fabulous place to start. bost building managers that are showing apartments don't give a shit about you and are exhausted and annoyed all the time -- asking if you have pets is a quite throwaway question, not some CIA grilling where they're putting their high empathy lie detector skills on you.

they ask you if you have a pet, imagine that they are asking you whether your pet is going to be a problem. say no. collect the keys on moving day and bring the cat in, in a carrier, with all the other junk you're hauling and act completely bored and tired. you can get away with a LOT acting bored and blase and tired. unless your landlord lives with you, it won't even be an issue.