#noncon implied

[justplainwhump]

Warrant

Thanks to everyone who stayed patient with me regarding Tyler's story. Here we are.

Tyler's facility is raided by the police.

[Masterpost]

Content (warnings): Implied noncon, facilty whump, whumper turned whumpee, whumpee covering for whumper (idk if thats a thing to tag but anyway), (sort of) parental caretaker.

Time passed differently within the white walls of WRU. It affected even the handlers, who had strict instructions to leave their watches in their lockers. If they had to check the time, they could use their work-equipped tablets outside the cells. If they needed to tell time in a session, they set vibration alerts in their smart bracelets or earpieces. And even for handlers, it was bad enough. Tyler Parker remembered countless moments of leaving the building after work, uniform switched for jeans and T-shirt, squinting his eyes overwhelmingly confused by the position of the sun.

He'd have thought, that experience would have helped him. Given him ways to measure the passage of time without outside cues. 

It didn't. 

In the beginning, he counted. Handlers. Beatings. Showers. Orgasms. 

The voice counting in his head wasn't his own. It was hers. 238's. She'd counted, too. Her unit had been him. He'd caught her doing it, her lips moving, when she was sleep-deprived and high on something. He'd punished her, for wanting to know something that wasn't hers to know. She should only know one thing, he'd said, and that was how to be good for her betters. 

She'd stopped counting, then. At least, he hadn't caught her again. 

He wondered, at what exact number that had been. What her count would be, by now. At what number it ceased to matter. 

Tyler stopped earlier than she had. But then again, maybe she'd stopped twice, too. Maybe she'd thought the same thoughts before the Drip. Maybe he would, too, after. He almost laughed hysterically, thinking about it. About going through all this, again. Just that the people torturing him would be strangers then, the very same people whom he knew now.

People like Jared Grimm, Head Handler of the facility, Tyler's supervisor. Had Tyler counted, he'd know if it was the second time, or the third, that it was Grimm's hand in his neck, pressing him onto the padded table. Maybe even the fourth. 

Grimm wasn't sadistic in his fucking. He was methodical, cold, detached. Working through a routine.

"Fucking. Idiot," Grimm breathed into his ears between thrusts. "It didn't. Have to be."

It did, Tyler thought, as a strained whimper escaped his lips. It did have to be. 

"Jared," someone said, far away. "There's a call from the reception, they need you."

The hand in his hair vanished. The weight on his back. The breath in his neck. The strain in his ass. 

Grimm didn't even slap his butt. He was just gone, leaving Tyler exposed and cold.

Not for long though. "Hey, pretty boy," Dinah Richardson purred. "You look so lonely."

Tyler closed his eyes.

Time passed.

-

Jared Grimm stared at his knuckles, stark white as he balled his fist on top of his desk. He willed himself to unclench his hand. He was head of this facility, he reminded himself. He had worked hard to get to this position. He was capable. He had it under control.

"Say that again," he asked into his phone.

"The police," the receptionist repeated flatly. "FBI. They're here with a warrant."

Jared exhaled sharply. "Let them in. I'll meet them in the hallway."

*

The officer in charge was a tall woman, around his age, late forties, he guessed. Long, brown hair that started graying at the temples, tied back in a pony tail. A vaguely familiar face. And a chilling stare that bore right into his eyes. 

"Mr Grimm," she said. "I hope you don't intend to stop me or my colleagues. We have a warrant. And anything you do to hinder me will only make your situation much worse."

Jared raised his hands in an inviting gesture. "No, of course. We fully support law enforcement." Financially, he thought grimly. Enough to avoid situations like this, he'd wagered. This woman didn't seem to have gotten the memo, though. He forced his lips to curl into a polite smile. "What can I do for you?"

"I am here to arrest Ms Carly Thompson and Mr Tyler Parker, both WRU employees."

Jared blinked.

Parker. Fuck. No. That couldn't be a coincidence. "I…" Jared's mouth felt dry. He forced himself to keep his gaze level, not to double check the state of his uniform pants. He hadn't even had the time to wash Parker off of him. "I… I'm sorry, I don't know everyone's schedules, I… I can confirm they both work here, but I'm actually not sure they're in today. It's pretty early, and-"

"I am sure." Her smile was icy. "Your receptionist has already told me that Ms Thompson checked in for duty this morning. As for Mr Parker, he seemingly didn't, but I… I actually do have a hunch we can find him here, Sir. And that you know exactly where he is." She folded her arms. "Get. Me. Tyler. Parker. As in, Tyler Parker himself, him able to recall his name, his mother, his past, and the crimes he committed." She lifted her chin. "Not trainee pet 002243."

Jared flinched violently. What the fuck. She couldn't know. Not what happened here, not even vaguely. But definitely not in detail. Not in this detail. 

The muscles in her jaw tensed at his reaction. She'd guessed. A shot in the dark. And his reaction had just confirmed it. Fuck. 

How could she have made such a precise guess, though? She knew his number. Nobody who wasn't in this building right now did. How-

"We are in possession of a video that has been filmed in this facility." Her voice was hard. "It shows Mr Parker and Ms Thompson drugging and torturing Ms Zsuzsanna - Suzy - Kowalski, threatening to make her into a pet. Ms Kowalski had been reported missing some days ago, then showed up in a hospital with no memory and serious brain damage. She isn't in a condition be interrogated. But we have proof, on this video, that all of this happened in here, in your facility, Mr Grimm."

It couldn't be. They had people for this, people that made sure WRU management knew before the authorities showed up in one of the facilities. And they would, he told himself. WRU could set this right. They always did. 

Only question was, who would the company let take the fall for it. And this cop? She'd just put his name on top of that list. 

Fuck.

This time, Jared controlled his face better. "I don't believe that's-"

"Mr Grimm," she cut him off. "Again. I do believe that. That video is… not shy on the details. And I would love to bring you and your entire fucking company down for it. I'm a very good investigator, you know."

Jared busied his fingers with straightening his jacket and tried a confident smile. It didn't work out the way he wanted. Still. There'd been something in her phrasing, something not entirely final. "I feel like you are going to present me with another option."

She raised an eyebrow. "Only if I get both suspects, in a state that allows them to be tried. And if you need to go make an immediate call to make sure Mr Parker is taken off from whichever drugs you use to mess people up, please, do so. Because I swear, if he doesn't remember his mother's face, it's not him going to jail, it's *you*, Grimm, personally. And I'm not going to stop at that. I might not be as good as you and your company are at destroying a life, but for you, I'll certainly do my fucking best."

"I…" Grimm stared at her. She was dead serious. "I… I think I didn't get your name, Officer-?"

"Ashley Browne." She smirked. "I didn't take my wife's name."

Her wife. That's how he knew her, how that face seemed familiar. There'd been a photo they'd taken from Parker's and the journalist's apartment, the two of them with his mother and another woman, who- Yeah. That tracked.

"Parker," he mumbled. "That would be your wife's name, wouldn't it?"

"Indeed it would," she confirmed. "So you better hand my stepson over right now, or I will make sure we turn around every last brick in this building and see what else we find."

"Oh no. No no." He shook his head. "You don't have the authority to do that."

"You want to bet on it?" She lifted her chin and raised the paper in her hand. "While we're here, with this warrant, my guys will listen to me, not you. And I'll have them turn on their body cams. Let's see how much we can find - how much we can film - until your bosses call my bosses and my bosses call me; such a hassle, only with the same old result that you need fall guys and Carly Thompson and Tyler Parker must be it. The more we see, though, the more names add to the list. Higher up the ranks."

"I-" Jared's mind raced. It couldn't possibly be. Carly would keep her mouth shut, with the right payment, just sit her time, be released, take the money and burn through it in some seedy beach hotel at the other end of the world. Parker however. The stupid asshole was a fucking liability. The attack on Alex. The pet lib journalist. That video appearing from nowhere. They should've put him on the Drip right when they'd brought him in. They should've shipped him out to another facility. They should've - 

They shouldn't have played this lightly. But they had. 

And now, the police officer in front of him nodded at her uniformed colleagues, lifted her hand in a sweeping gesture. "Search every room, every cell, every office. Turn on your cams, get a good look on every face you can find, trainee, employee, service worker, every single face, until we've found our guys. Clear?"

Jared had no choice. That woman was a fucking nuisance, but he couldn't take any other risk.

"Wait," Jared called. "I… I think I know where to find them. I'll make a call."

Browne stepped back and lifted her hands. "Good. Lead the way."

-

It was even worse than she'd expected. And Ashley had seen the videos. She had expected bad. 

The boy - even at 24, even a head taller than herself and twice her weight, she'd never brought herself to seeing him as a grown man - was curled up on the oddly colorful tiles of a shower room. He was naked, his light skin mottled with bruises of various colors and shapes. Some from weapons, bats or batons, she figured. Most from hands. 

She had to force herself to stand still. Not to fall to her own knees besides him, to run a hand through his wet blond strands, to hug him and shield him. Not to draw her gun and empty it into the smirking handlers around them.

"Our handlers sometimes get handsy with each other, after a stressful shift," Chief Handler Grimm said from behind her. His voice had a nervous pitch to it, but still, she swore she could hear a kind of glee in it. The knowledge, that this blatant lie, like so many others, would stay unchallenged. "We condemn any sexual relations at the workplace, but- I guess you know how it is."

"You don't get to assume what I know, Mr Grimm," she said flatly. "I'm a cop. What I know is what sexual assault looks like."

"It was consentual," another man said, and idly kicked a piece of soap over to Tyler. Ashley flinched, when it hit his side, the boy too weary to react. "Tell them, T. We had fun."

"It was consentual." Tyler's voice was all but a hoarse croak. Ashely's stomach turned. "It was."

"See?" Grimm said to her, and to him, "Clean yourself up, Parker, and get dressed."

Tyler struggled to push himself up to his knees, his hand shaking as he weakly reached out for the piece of soap.

It took Ashley a second to remember her duty. To remember that she was here to betray all her beliefs in law and order. Making a deal that was far from any justice. Saving her wife's boy. Who - given what Tara had told them - might as well have deserved all of this. But Ashley wouldn't be the judge of that.

She was here for Diane. She was here to get him out. Whatever the price.

"Tyler Parker," she said, a part of her wondering when she'd addressed him like that the last time. Tyler Frederick Parker, you call that cleaning up your room? It felt like yesterday. It felt like another lifetime. "Tyler. You are under arrest."

He sobbed.

Ashely told herself it was with relief.

[shootertron-stuff]

Black Legionnaire sticking his fingers in his Imperial Fist's wife's armor interface ports until they orgasm.

In the post-orgasm haze they're more amenable to learning about life in a Black Legion warband, and less likely to reject compliments.

Sometimes if he really wants the wife to be cum-brained, he connects electric shock plugs into the ports instead.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Gilly is a terrible person, and can only get worse from here, but I find it hilarious how he’s slowly realizing he’s probably not entirely straight.

He is realizing - not consciously yet, but it will come - that what he is attracted to isn't actually any particular gender of person, but rather his attraction is based on the power he holds over the other person.

It is going to be an awakening, to be sure.

[mamiownsyou]

I can just see Sophia licking reader’s tears the entire time they’re “making it up” to her 💜😈🖤

Y and R together pls, yandere sofia is a huge possibility

Over It

Pairing: Dark!Sofia Falcone x Reader

Warnings: Manipulation, Possessive and Obsessive Behavior, Sofia holds Reader at gunpoint, Yandere!Sofia

Summary: You have had enough of Sofia, but she won’t let you go.

Request:  “You can’t get rid of me.” | “Run… let’s see how far you get.”

You sat down at the table, having got Sofia’s text message wanting you to meet her at your favorite restaurant. Although you didn’t want to go, you knew this would be the perfect opportunity to end things with her. She had become obsessed with you and was too possessive for your liking. You needed space from her, pleading for her to allow you some when she had her men threaten your coworker for offering you a ride home in the rain. You had almost lost your job because of it, so it was the last straw and you knew it needed to end as quickly as you could do it.

Sofia smiled at you, “Hey, baby.”

You sighed, knowing that if you didn’t end it right here and now, you never would. Sofia was good at convincing you to stay, filling your head with empty promises and you hated yourself for falling for it every single time. But she was good at it, always making it sound as if she was going to change when deep down, you knew she never would.

”What’s wrong?” She frowned, picking up her glass of wine. She took a small sip, humming at the taste. “Is work okay?”

”Yes, Sofia, work is actually going good.” You said, trying to keep your voice steady. You knew if she realized you were nervous, she was going to play into it.

“Then what’s the matter? I invited you out to your favorite, expensive restaurant. I’m about to take you out on a shopping spree after, so what’s the matter?” she questioned as she sat her glass down. She licked her lips, waiting for you to answer her question. You knew she was getting ready to tear down what you had to say, but you needed to be strong.

“We need to break up,” you said, refusing to look at the woman across the table from you. “This isn’t working and you need… I don’t know what you need, but you almost made me lose my job last week!”

Sofia laughed and it caught you by surprise. Out of all the reactions she could have had, that was the last one on your mind. You pushed your glass of wine further away from you, shaking your head as you did it.

“I’m serious, my life has been hell since we started dating and I can’t do it anymore.” You said, crossing your arms.

Sofia’s smile faltered, realizing that you were being serious. She leaned in, “No we are not. You’re not breaking up with me, so when the waitress comes back, you’re going to order food that you want and then we’re going to have a nice night. Do I make myself clear?”

You shook your head, “No, we’re done.”

You stood up from your seat, but she was quick to grab your arm. “You can’t get rid of me.” she snapped, but you were able to get her hand off you. “You think words will do something? Us being in public will help you? I can pay everyone in this place to look the other way if I need to.”

“My friend is here to pick me up, now leave me alone.” You began, but she just smiled at your words.

“What friend?” She asked, and your eyes widened.

You rushed out of the restaurant and when you realized your friend’s car was nowhere in the parking lot. You were worried that Sofia had someone take care of your friend. You wouldn’t put it past her.

You realized you were going to have to walk home, but you didn’t mind - wanting to get as far away from her as quickly as you could. You were free from Sofia and the mess she had caused you, but you knew she wasn’t going to give up that easy.

It was colder than you would have liked, but you walked as fast as you could. After a few minutes of walking, you stopped to catch your breath when you felt safe to do so. You stopped in front of an alleyway, but realized the alley was a faster shortcut to your apartment. You decided not to give yourself a break and began to walk down the alley, you stopped when you saw a familiar looking silhouette standing in front of you. You were quick to turn around and walk back, but her voice rang out throughout the alleyway.

“Run… let’s see how far you get.” Sofia called out, causing you to freeze in your place. You heard her footsteps get closer and as you tried to move, your body wouldn’t let you. Finally, just as she began to reach out to grab you, you finally were able to move, sprinting out of the alleyway only to be grabbed by someone as you turned the corner.

“Let me go!” you cried out, struggling against the man’s grip.

The man held you in place and that’s when you realized that it was one of her men. She sighed dramatically, grabbing your shirt as she placed her gun to your cheek.

“Go get the car, I don’t think she’s going to be running any time soon.” She pointed out.

You watched him go back in the direction of the restaurant, leaving you with Sofia alone. She kept the gun trained on you, a sadistic smile on her face. “Oh, baby, I had such a nice night planned for us, but instead, you and I are going to go to my place and you’re going to make it up to me. I think that’s fair, right?”

You refused to answer her, but that only seemed to make her angrier. Sofia pushed her gun harder into your cheek, causing you to shake. “I- you’re right- right. Please, just… put the gun down, I won’t run off.” You promised, tears pricking the corner of your eyes.

To your surprise, Sofia put the gun down. When she saw her car pull up, she pulled you towards it.

“You’ve got a long night ahead of you, baby.”

[lazarrusrising]

Dean being able to clock the "wide eyed hitchhiker routine" because John used to make him do it to catch monsters, Dean knowing what roofies look like, Dean having resorted to finding alternate ways of getting food for Sam because money was tight, Dean's relationship with sex and sexuality and even porn being something he is obsessively performing for those around him, Dean doesn't like praying because it feels like begging.

[justplainwhump]

Mac

A short character intro of some sort, for the character that has lurked in the background of Adrian and Blanca's story since their very first chapter. The sixth guard dog.

[Pet Safety Masterlist]; this piece is referencing [Favor].

Content / warnings: BBU, (indirect) dehumanisation, captivity, briefly referenced/implied noncon.

In the nights in his cell - or kennel, rather, he didn't know why but there was a difference and it made his stomach uneasy - Mac had a lot of time for thoughts. And he used it. He thought about fights, about technique and strategies, about his opponents and their strengths and weaknesses. He thought about winning, about the feeling of triumph, and how stale it was. Like the tasteless, grayish mass that came from a dispenser in the kennel wall, a viscous nutri-shake, that fell into a stainless steel bowl welded to the floor. Victories in his fights were just the same. Bland, insipid, and utterly necessary to survive. 

Mac pulled down the lever and watched more of the nutri-shake fall into the bowl. Sometimes he thought about how long he'd have to hold it down until the room would be flooded. Sometimes he wondered, if the person he'd been before would've known how to calculate it. The pet he was now sure did not. He stared down at the food below him, let himself sink to his knees before he bowed down to eat it. He'd never been further from being a person.

He'd been allowed to eat at a table, real food, with taste and consistency, back at his owner's place. He'd had the others to talk to, Guards, like him. They hadn't been what people called *friends*, he wagered, at least he hadn't actually liked them, but they had existed together, shared a life and the dedication a common goal - to keep their master safe and satisfied. They hadn't been friends, but in lack of better terms, they'd been a pack.

Here, everyone like him was an adversary, who'd fight him to the death the next day or another. And those not like him were the ones who didn't care about if the others died, or Mac did.

It was exhausting. A feeling that wasn't going to bring him anywhere. That was why when Mac had time for thoughts, he didn't think too much about his pack. 

He thought about his owner.

—

Jack Donnell took great pride in his belongings, and that had always included his WRU-trained Guards. Six of them, all of the same height, featuring the same dark hair, same broad shoulders, same mannerisms. He employed a retired WRU Guard handler for some hours a week to make sure the Guards worked like one. He also bought the consulting services of a WRU Romantic Trainer - not for the Guards to be involved directly, but to make them part of intricate designed "scenes" that Mac learned to hate.

Jack wanted to be a ruler, a conqueror, and every once in a while he loved to dress his Pets up in accurate costumes, only to make them submit to him in every scenario possible.

Mac had endured. He'd been a good pet. Until the day a new business partner of Jack's had shown up with his Romantic.

Blanca.

Blanca was petite, with the sort of auburn hair that could look dark brown in one moment and light up like fire in another, with a seductive sway to her hips, full lips that curved into a knowing smile and clothes so tight they left nothing about her curves to the imagination.

Hot, Mac knew he was supposed to think. 

He didn't. 

Please spare her from this, he'd thought instead and closed his eyes. Prayed, almost. As if he knew, how to. 

As if there was a God who'd listen to a pet. No. Their only Gods were their owners.

And while her owner had all but fled the room and left his subject in the hand of another, Mac had stayed by the door, standing at attention, while he watched his master brutalize her.

It took hours.

And after Jack was done, he'd simply smiled to himself, sauntered towards Mac without another look at the broken figure of the Romantic behind him, and patted Mac's cheek. "Good boy," he'd said, and left. 

That moment had been the first in Mac's conscious life, that he'd felt something a Pet was never supposed to feel.

He'd felt hatred. Plain, pure, seething hatred, for the one man he was supposed to love. 

He'd felt it every day since.

-

--

tag list (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @gottawhump @flowersarefreetherapy @whumplr-reader @highwaywhump @tauntedoctopuses @pigeonwhumps @whumppsychology @labgrowndemon @whumpinggrounds @somewhumpyguy @whumpzone @tragedyinblue @theelvishcowgirl

[angelyuji]

more mark -O- & variants!!!

cw // yandere behavior, emotional manipulation, shitty smut for mark (kinda dubcon), implied noncon, toxic toxic toxic, the variants are evil, physical & verbal abuse, breeding kink too lowkey

mark thots :P

he’s sooo pathetic and cute i can’t

down baddd for you

i’ve said before that he’s superrr emotionally intense like he’s got the puppy-dog eyes DOWN

he knows that he can manipulate you into doing whatever he wants

i actually had something else to say but i forgor… so im gonna write some porn for u guys… don’t hate me if its bad… im trying

“i missed you so, so much.” he hugs you tight and you laugh.

“mark, we just saw each other yesterday.” you recount your dinner with him, debbie, and oliver.

he groans into your shoulder, “i know, i know. but i just missed you so much, after training oliver, all i wanted was to hold you.” the ache in his chest after being away from you disappeared at the sight of you. mark pushed you onto your bed.

“wait- mark, my roommate-”

“i don’t care.” he pulls you into a kiss, working his hands down to take off your pants. you try to push him off, but mark grips your hands. he uses a hand to pull off his mask, “please, (y/n). i need you.” his heart starts to ache at your resistance. you sigh, taking off your clothes.

“just-” you lay down, “-be quick, i have to go to a party.” he nods, making sure to quickly take off his suit. you moan as mark feels you up, groping your chest. he pushes two fingers into your mouth and he holds back a smile when you jolt.

“suck.” his voice feels rough in his throat; he was barely holding it together at the sight of you wrapping your lips around his fingers. he takes his wet fingers to press into your wet hole, “fuck, you’re soaked.” you huff, indignant, but you whimper at the feel of his fingers scissoring you open.

“mark…” you moan, hand reaching out to his face.

“yeah, baby?” his eyes are wide, watching you clench around his fingers.

“please, i need more.” mark pauses and you reach out to grip his hair, “please mark, i need you.”

his eyes trace over your naked body: your chest heaving, sweat glistening on your forehead, and your puffy lips. “only if you come over tonight.”

“what?” you breathe. mark’s fingers start pumping into once more and you writhe, pushing your hips back to feel him deeper.

“i just need you to say you’re coming with me, instead of going to the party.” mark smiles at you and he watches your face twist. he stops his hands and you whine.

“okay, okay. no party. just fuck me please.” you beg and mark smiles, innocently. mark takes his fingers out to wrap it around his dick, aligning it with your dripping hole. he sighs as he presses into you, “fuck…” you whimper, feeling him deep inside.

“fuck, baby, you feel so good.” mark grips your thighs, pounding into you. you could barely speak, letting out choked gasps at each push. “mine.” he growls as he folds you in half. you moan, feeling him deeper than before. “you’re all mine, (y/n).”

just remembered as i wrote this, but mark acts like he’s super pathetic and emotional in front of you

while also being pretty similar to nolan behind your back

he doesn’t want you to see that side of him, so his whole personality is pretty secretive

as papa nolan said, “what (y/n) doesn’t know won’t hurt them.”

anywho lets talk variants

im more familiar with them now jk i had to rewatch clips but its cool. i miss the show a lot already

“are you sure”

anyway first! viltrum mark

i tried to find more lore about the varients in the comics, but alas… none

looking at the few snippets we have of him, id say he’s very royalty, no nonsense, strict, and very much the type to actually follow through on the threat of washing your mouth out with soap if u swear

to my fellow manhwa readers: think very duke-of-the-north-red-flag-ml

like rn i was reading “how to win my husband over” and i’d say viltrum mark is similar to that fuckass pervert brother (i want that guy to die but that’s neither here nor there)

believes you are his future queen and all that

but also believes in corporal punishment to make sure u don’t repeat your mistakes

doesn’t allow anyone but him to disrespect you or touch you

if someone even looks at you in a way he deems “wrong”, he’s gouging their eyes out

if you talk to someone for longer than he deems necessary, he’s ripping their head off and giving it to you like “look what you made me do”

seems very mild-mannered considering how coldly he talks, but like… no not at all. he’s insane

he still treats you relatively well tho unless you’re being bad/bratty/talking back/not doing whatever he’s telling you to do

nsfw: if you’re capable of getting pregnant, oh brother. he’s fucking you into the mattress every night until you’re pregnant and all throughout the pregnancy too

like knowing you’re carrying the next generation of viltrumites…. he’s freaked UP

saying you’re the “queen” is a stretch cause ur kinda just a incubator atp but like mark loves you

ur his!!! you’re the reason he has children and also the reason he even cares about the viltrum empire hehe

sinister mark + mohawk mark :P

mostly keeps you around cause you’re fun to torture

he doesn’t really feel love, but he holds some affection for you

only because he likes your reactions to the things he does

he would’ve killed you first, but he thought you were cute to look at so he was like… lemme keep a trophy of my conquest!!!

so he really does only see you as his toy to mess with

not really a yandere imo, just a psychopath

so you’re just an object to use and abuse to him

he doesn’t really gaf about how u like it or feel abt it as long as he gets off

dark invincible/fully masked invincible

imo he’s one of the few that really does care about you

he came to earth for the invincible war to bring debbie back home (which is so cute and sad ugh)

so i can only imagine that he’s similar (in yandereness) to our mark except more pitiful and possessive

i can only assume nolan killed debbie in his universe so he was extra protective of you (or maybe the viltrum takeover was successful and the viltrumites killed debbie, letting mark and nolan live for some reason idk)

has some humanity left in him because he remembers what it’s like to have a family and a mom

would kidnap you from your house while you’re asleep and then act like he’s the victim in the situation

unmasked invincible/markvincible/no mask mark

i already hc mark is bi (i hc all characters i like as bi cuz i can)

but same as mask-vincible

he misses william :(

very cutie patootie, not as in touch with his humanity as mask-vincible or og!mark, but still obsessed with you

like he would kill the people you love if it means he could have you to himself

i hc that’s what he would’ve done if he got to william

like he’s killing the bfs and family and keeping you chained to him lowkey

anyway not much else to say i fear

please send me ur thoughts expanding on the characters lol i might’ve gotten the varients mixed-up or mushed them together idk sooo many characters to keep track off and sooo few clips of them that im basically making up my own personalities for these guys lolol

[cloroxcasser0le]

Jax has a flashback after looking at corn 🌽

Pretty fast paced. I’m bad at comics lol

[saintshigaraki]

sorryyyyyy the best hybrid/monsterfucking trope will always be random citizen that the monster showed an amorous inclination toward getting handed over to said monster by scientists (with no input from the random citizen) so that scientists can observe the courting and mating behaviors of the monster

[icepip]

big brother yuta making you sit on your lap even though you tell him you're too big.. his long fingers gripping your hips too tight when his cock twitches beneath you. you were just trying to get comfortable but it sure felt like you were grinding against him, practically begging for him to just slide the tip inside..

[justplainwhump]

Styling

Felix gets Ali a job opportunity at WRU.

Loosely aligned with the Pet Safety Series. Follows [Felix].

Content / warnings: BBU, an outsider being drawn into the system, reluctant(?) whumper pov. BBU-typical dubcon/noncon implied at the end; not explicit. Something more about WRU demo pets.

Ali had left early in the morning, after their first night. But on the kitchen counter, Felix had found a wrapped up sandwich, a bottle of water and an Aspirin. A phone number had been written all over the sandwich bag. Let me know if you liked it - A.

Smiling, Felix had texted him a photo of his lunch in the park behind the facility, careful not to reveal the location.

Ali had replied with a photo of a sandwich just like the one he'd made him, not hiding his work place, a luxury hair salon down town. Oh, look what I'm having! It's a match.

One thing led to the other, one night to the next, and to Felix' own surprise Ali grew into a constant in his life, the light touch of his kisses, the warmth of his body, the smell of his cooking, the sight of his dark eyes drinking him in in the morning.

*

"You don't actually sell cars, do you?"

It was one of the days where Ali worked an afternoon shift, while Felix had to get ready in the morning. With one leg in the dress pants, Felix paused and turned towards Ali.

"Does it matter?"

"Depends." Ali stared at him, hesitating. "Is it people?"

"Depends," Felix replied. "Some would say so. It's a matter of definition, really." He pulled the pants over his other leg and zipped them close. A part of him was getting ready to run and not see Ali again. Would be a shame, really. He'd started to like him. "They were people once. They signed up for it though."

"Pets." Ali stated it without judgement, only mild curiosity. "You're selling pets. You work for WRU?"

"Mh." Felix met Ali's gaze. "Does it... change things?"

Ali squinted, lost in thought for a moment, before he shook his head. "You think it should?"

"I've had dates who got judgmental." Felix shrugged. "It's a pretty controversial business."

"We do have pets in the salon sometimes." Ali pushed himself up in the bed. "A handful of our clients own Guards or Romantics. They bring them in, too, and we style them. I don't judge." He picked up Felix shirt and tossed it to him. "I do judge you for lying to me."

"I would've told you," Felix said, catching the shirt, heart racing at the boldness of his next suggestion. "In fact, Ali, I think I might have a job for you."

***

Ali Beheshti was and had always been a cautious man. His parents had been refugees, and a lot of their mannerisms and fears had been passed down to him. Don't trust the system. Don't trust people who pretend to know what's good for you. Stick to your own business. Always know a way out.

The first time the gates of a WRU facility slid open for him and then closed behind you with a small hiss, he wondered how Felix Kane had made him so readily betray this very part of himself.

Then Felix jogged up to him with that easy smile of his that could light up an entire room, and Ali forbid his thoughts to venture further down that route.

"So glad that you could make it! Big day today. Important client, some heartbroken youtuber who's been talked into a bet that not even a WRU pet could make him not think about his ex. However this trial ends, our products will be on thousands of screens, and I want them to look great."

Ali slapped the large trolley that held his equipment, swallowing down the unease roiling in his stomach. "I've got my red carpet set with me. I can make them camera ready."

They stepped into an elevator, and Felix pressed a kiss on the side of Ali's neck. "You're a saviour."

"Thank me later." Ali gently pushed Felix away. "This is a professional call, remember?"

"Sure." Felix grinned and swiped his id over the keypad. "I will thank you alright, love."

Ali eyed the keypad. Designed to make sure nobody could get in without a permission. Or out. "These pets," he said. "They signed up for this, right?"

"'Course they did." Felix raised an eyebrow. "They all do. Otherwise it would be illegal, wouldn't it? The ones you're going to meet - our demo pets - they have heartbreaking pasts. They're so much better off with us than they've been before. WRU saved them."

"Then why does the security look like a prison?"

Felix didn't miss a beat. "Maybe it rather looks like bank? They're worth a lot. Them and us put a lot of effort into training them to be at their best. People want to steal them. Others want to liberate them. Idiots, really. Our pets don't want to be liberated." He cast Ali a warm smile. "They're very obedient. You're safe. You don't need to worry."

"I, um. Never mind." He had not worried about that. He was too sceptical, probably. Definitely. Right? His parents had just messed him up with their fear of evil governments and imprisonment. "I... Why don't give me a quick run down already? How many are there, what styles do you want? A story you want their looks to tell?"

There were eight in Felix' responsibilty, Ali learned, eight of the so-called Romantics, various genders, various ethnical backgrounds, various stories to tell. The girl next door, the buff teddy bear, the quiet enigma, the dirty little secret, the soft dreamer, the confident performer, the spoiled princess, the devoted servant. Ali didn't dare ask, how the roles were assigned. How the people they'd been before were moulded into these shapes. It all had happened before. They signed up for it. Felix just did the sales part. And Ali just styled them. It wasn't as if his real life clients didn't come to him with stories just like these as well. Just yesterday one of hie regulars had requested to be styled like "Sin itself". This was just another job, one that challenged him in the best ways, one that paid extraordinilarily well - and one that would do a favor to the man he'd love to call his boyfriend some day. A great chance, that's what this was. Nothing less, nothing more.

Felix introduced him to the pets, one by one. They weren't supposed to be in the room together, he explained, only with clients present. Having them bond, to influence each other, would mess with their carefully calibrated training. Ali didn't try to understand that; these intricacies of Felix' job didn't need to bother him.

All of the pets that sat down in the chair in front of him shared an extraordinary beauty. All shared a quiet obedience, and the same set of mannerisms. And all of them flirted with Felix, who just replied with a generous smile. This was the one thing that did bother Ali. But then again, when Felix looked away from them, and at Ali, to give some quiet pointers at what to do, Felix' smile shifted into another one, a more private, cheeky, honest one. These were pets. Ali was a person. It wasn't the same.

"That's Noor," Felix said, when he brought over the last one, a slim man with long black hair an almost ethereal elegance to his movements. He was pierced in his lip and eyebrow, and as easily to see through his fishnet top, also elsewhere on his body. Ali found himself wonder, if that was all of it. Then, if that was exactly what he was meant to wonder about. He inhaled softly, counted to ten, hoping to banish the faint blush creeping up in his cheeks. Or the thought, of how well Felix would know the answer to that.

"Good morning, Mister Ali," Noor said softly.

"Noor?" Ali raised a brow. "A Persian name?"

"He got here right after I met you." Felix smiled. "Couldn't stop thinking about you. So I named him in your honor."

"That's-" Ali frowned. Creepy, a part of his mind whispered. Sweet, another part insisted. "Special," he settled.

Noor slid into the chair in front of him, gaze cast down, not meeting Ali's in the mirror. What had Felix said in that first night? About one of his so called "cars"? Totalled, by a client. Had to be replaced. Noor must've been the replacement. How long would he make it, then? How long the others? Ali swallowed, reached for Noor's long hair instead, letting his hands run through them carefully. It was beautiful, smooth and heavy and soothing. Could need a little more conditioner, maybe. Better care for the tips.

"Noor's the dirty little secret," Felix said, almost affectionate. "I want his hair open, shining, but in a way that makes you want to grab it, pull him around by it, you know?"

Ali wasn't sure if it was the request that made him shiver, or the way he exactly knew the feeling Felix described.

"I do", he said, his voice cracking a little. "I can do that. I'll wash his hair first, add a little treatment."

Felix nodded. "He's been good. You can be gentle."

He'd been like that before, too. Advised Ali, on how gentle to be, as if the hair styling was a part of a regimen of rewards and punishment.

Ali had mostly ignored it. He was always gentle. It would make him a horrible hairdresser, not to take care of the people- humans- beings, in the chair in front of him.

"Sure," he said anyways, and gestured Noor over to the washing basin. He checked the water temperature himself - he'd learned already at pet number three, that they'd say the temperature was fine with perfectly content smiles and soft voices, regardless if it was scalding or freezing. "You good?", he asked, still, mostly from habit.

Noor hummed in reply, a soft, peaceful noise, as Ali gently started massaging his scalp under the warm water.

Ali looked up at Felix, leaning in the door with his arms crossed, watching them with a soft smile. "He's enjoying it," he observed. "I'd love to switch places."

"Later," Ali said.

Noor's shoulders seemed to relax, his breath slowing, as Ali's fingers deftly worked his temples. He wondered quietly, how often the pets received something like that. A reward like that. And what it was for. What being good might encompass.

"You look good together," Felix said. "My favorite pet. And my... favorite person."

"Shush", Ali hissed, unable to hide the blush in his cheeks. "We're working."

"He's asleep." Felix nodded at Noor. "You're doing wonders on him. And it's good. He needs to relax anyway. I'm not meant to do favorites of course, but he is the best of them. I bet he'll be chosen today."

"Quiet," Ali muttered. His favorite person. He hadn't expected how nervous these words would made him feel. "I can't focus."

"I find it hard, too." Felix winked. "I'll think about this picture all day."

Ali reached for the conditioner and decidedly stared down onto Noor's beautiful, ink black hair, determined not to let Felix' words overwhelm him.

Thankfully, Felix did vanish shortly after, probably doing whatever else he needed to prepare for the evening, and Ali could focus on his job.

Felix returned, just as Ali finished blow drying Noor's hair. The pet looked stunning - of course he did. Ali was good at his job, after all. He worked out some strands, artfully twisting them, before he spun the chair towards Felix. "What do you think?"

"Stunning," Felix said, gaze more on Ali than on his model. "There's just something missing, for that freshly fucked look I was going for."

Ali frowned, ready to lash out against that criticism, but Felix was faster, looking at Noor now.

"Noor, dear, do you like what my friend did?"

"Yes, Felix." For the first time, Noor did look up at Ali in the mirror, a shy smile dancing on his pierced lip. "He was very nice."

"I think so, too. And I think you should thank him properly, don't you?"

Noor nodded, and before Ali could properly react to the innuendo, even make sense of what he wanted, his mind lost somewhere between Noor's smile and Felix' voice, the pet swung himself over the chairs armrest and dropped on his knees in front of Ali, looking up at him from deep brown eyes. His teeth played with the piercing in his lower lip, and there was a small dimple in one cheek, when he smiled.

Ali was dizzy. "I-- I don't think-"

"I can't tip you as you deserve, this is a company invoice after all," Felix said. "But I - we - can make you feel good anyway. Believe me. Noor will blow your mind." He smirked. "Literally."

"I- I styled his hair, but-" Ali wanted this. He didn't want it. His pants were awfully tight suddenly, his mind blank. Fuck. He should've been prepared, right? Had he been? Did he want this? He wondered how that piercing would feel.

"I respect if you don't want it, of course, I do, I just thought..." Felix voice was soft. "My boyfriend deserves some relaxation, too."

There was a soft touch between his legs, a hand moving over to his zipper. Ali didn't fight it. Boyfriend. Felix called him his boyfriend. And he wanted him to feel good. Noor wanted it, too. And fuck, if Ali's body wasn't craving it as well.

Felix smiled and stepped in.

"Boyfriend, huh?" Ali asked, huskily, as he felt his pants pulled down, and soft lips wander down his hips.

"If you want to be?"

Ali nodded, unable to speak, and Felix's lips found his just in time for Felix' mouth to absorb the little whimper escaping him when Noor took him in.

"I love you," Felix breathed into their kiss, and whatever Ali's treachereous mind had been whispering was blown away entirely.

[dvchvnde]

Simon x Reader. IMPLIED NONCON HEAD. Simon is gross. and mean.

You can smell the musk on him—tobacco, stale sweat—and bite back a whimper when he peels his hand off of your nape, sliding the rough, dry skin of his palm over your jaw, your cheek. Cradling the side of your neck in his grip, the tips of his fingers sinking in—just a bit—against the bruised, tender flesh of your neck. Nestled over your stem. The jut of your spine.

His thumb sweeps over the curve of your chin, inching higher with every pass—back and forth. Up. Back and forth. Up—until it sits against the seam of your mouth, pressing into the corner. 

Brief pressure—open up. 

His nails dig in, sudden and sharp—you’ve pleased him. You think about preening, but the urge dies quick when his thumb glides over the ledge of your bottom lip, pressing the tip in until it’s wedged between your teeth. 

You know what this is even if you have no name for it. No measure of experience. Just—

Instincts: fawnlike and unsure. They trickle in—drip, drip, drip—until a puddle forms on the floor of your belly. Brinepool. Sharp and bitter. All salt. Nausea on your tongue when you taste his skin, the grime under his nails. Congealed blood. Something sour. Meaty. 

It tugs at something inside your stomach. Makes you feel like you're going to be sick—

This feeling worsens, churning in your guts when he spears his thumb into your mouth, grazing against your tongue and pulls it out just to push it back in again. A repetitive motion. In out, in out. Hooks the crook of his first knuckle over your bottom teeth, scraping the tip between the gap of your tongue, running it over the ridges of your gums. Saliva fills your mouth. The puddle quickly polluted with the briny, rotten beef tang of his skin. 

He hums. His eyes are drawn, shuddered. Lids falling to a flat, even curtain at half-mast as he gazes at you with an impenetrable expression. Almost impassive. Cold. But the artificial deadpan in his mien is broken by the shift of his throat when he swallows. The plumes of black smoke that fill the gaps in his bloodshot eyes. 

In, out. 

It thickens. Becomes a dense, caliginous cloud. Nimbostratus. The sight of it sours in your guts, rankles sharp talons of unease, fear, down your spine. 

“Go’ such a pretty mouth, don't you, pup?” 

In, out. In, out. In—“gonna catch flies if you keep it open like tha’;”—in, out, in—“yeah, tha’s a good girl—nice and tight now; go’ such a soft little mouth, huh?”—in out in out—

on a pop that fills the cab, spears you with the brutal sting of embarrassment; his echoing groan suturing around the trepidation that shivers over your nape

—his thumb is wet when he presses it to your lips. A secret. A garish kiss. Shush shush, pup, ain't go’ nothin’ to cry ‘bout—

Yet. 

“Nothin’ in life comes free,” he drawls, arched and mean. His damp, sticky thumb smearing over your mouth before stamping into the corner; eyes shading, procellous, in the low gloam as he wets your skin with your own saliva. “‘pect you know tha’, though. Don't you?” 

You want to ask what do you mean—if only to angle for time; delaying what comes next until you can figure out how to get out of this—but his finger peels away, swiping over the swell of your cheek as his hand reclaims the grip it had on your nape. Bruising and painful. What was once just a hold quickly becomes a guide, pushing your head down, down—

And there's really no dancing around the inevitable. 

“C’mon, pup,” he mutters, still pushing, pushing. His hand forcing you low, belly on your thighs, head inches from his lap where a thick, dark bulge pulls taut against the jeans spilling over his thighs. Intimidatingly thick. Long. It's enough to make you dizzy. 

So dizzy that you think you might get sick. 

But you can't. 

It's all happening so fast. Not fast enough. You could wriggle free, maybe. Run.

He pried the lock out of the door. Stay. Just do what he wants, just—

His thighs are thick. Stretched lax over the seat. The wobble of the truck down the empty stretch of gravol road bumps your chin into his firm, corded flesh before coming to an abrupt stop. 

—an escape;

His fingers tighten over the scruff of your neck. Your chest presses tight into the tops of your thighs. It feels like you can't breathe—

“Give us a taste, huh?” 

He's not asking. Your hands shake. The other flashes in your periphery, snaking between the steering wheel and his belly, fumbling over the button keeping his trousers fastened. There's no pretending when the button pops out, splits his jeans down the middle. 

The scent of him—thick musk, sweat; humus—is potent. Overwhelming. All salt. Stale piss. It's gross. You feel it glueing in your nostrils, leaking down your throat. Something you could taste—

In your panic, you tense. Body coiling, head trying to spring back, away from the heavy, olid smell that makes your belly churn, nauseated by the idea alone. 

He doesn't let you get far. His hold is ferric. A shackle. The paroxysm, all panic and fear and instincts, just makes him huff, amused by the attempt to get away, and—

The fat bulge in his pants twitches against his thigh. His hand slides inside the gap, gripping the thick length in his fist, and pulling it free.

The noise that spills out at the sight of it—a pathetic whimper clawing up your throat—makes him groan, twitching in his hand. 

“C,mon,” he rasps, tugging so hard against your nape that your vision swims from the pain of having your skull rattled so viciously. The ink that bleeds in congeals over the hideous thing in his grip—impossibly thick, molted like a bruise; angry looking with straining veins looking primed to burst—and doubles your vision for a moment. 

Whitenoise rings in your ears. You blink through the pain, and nearly choke on a sob when the fog dissipates and unveils his fist squeezing tight, pulling upward as a thick glob of sour milk white bubbles from the mushroomed head, the thin slit oozing it out over the red, engorged flesh of his—

his—

“—fuckin’ hell. Ain't you sight? Lookin’ all scared of my cock. Come on, don’t be shy, pup. Give ‘er a kiss—”

Your stomach churns again when he pulls you forward, your nose pressing against the molten length of him, smearing your skin against the hot, sticky spill leaking done the sides and over his fist. 

Use that pretty little mouth o' yours to earn your keep. 

[aeriondripflame]

jaehaerys the conciliator & his daughters

george r.r. martin, fire & blood. sigmund freud, totem and taboo (chapter iv). flowers in the attic: the origin (2022). giovanni gerolamo savoldo, tête de vieillard. johann hofman, leda and the swan. dacia mariani, dreams of clytemenstra. lolita (1997).

[angelyuji]

webbed-up

spider-man x f!reader (noncon/kinktober week 1)

cw // noncon, shitty smut, implied stalking, dubcon

18+!!! minors dni!!!

“HELP ME! SOMEONE HELP!” it was the middle of the night and no one was out. you were all alone when someone had snatched your purse and ran. you chase after them, screaming for help, but no one was coming. you follow them into an alley and before you could continue screaming, a familiar voice comes from behind you.

“woah woah, what’s the issue here, cutie?” you turn to see spider-man standing before you.

“s-someone t-took my p-purse.” tears streaked your face as you sobbed.

he tilts his head and lifts his hand, “this purse?” you blink. your purse hung from his arm.

the relief came in waves, “oh my god thank you so much-” as you reach for the purse, he tosses it into the air and webs it to onto the wall of the alley. “-what are you…”

“since i helped you, you can help me, can’t you?” his voice was deep, and as he moved closer, you could feel your heart in your throat.

“y-you’re not spider-man, spider-man wouldn’t…” you back up, alarms going off in your head.

you hear him sigh, “spider-man has needs too, you know…. i mean, it’s only fair." you back up, looking around for a way to get out, “uh oh babe, are you trying to run?” before you could move, you feel your arm slam against the wall. “just stay still.” he grabs your other arm, forcing it against the wall, and webs it. you try to struggle, but you weren’t budging.

“please d-” your words were silenced as he webs your mouth closed.

“for today, i’d prefer your mouth closed.” his spandex-clad fingers go under your shirt, “god, how i’d love to really feel your skin.” chills go down your spine and you choke on your sobs. he coos, softly, his hands wandering down to grope your ass.

you try to scream through the webs, but your sound comes out strangled and muffled. spider-man taps your butt, “we don’t have much time, jump up and wrap your legs around me.” you shake your head and he huffs, “don’t be difficult. the faster we get this done, the better it’ll be for you.” he tilts his head. you test the webs trapping your arms once more, seeing no change, you try to jump in little space you have. he makes sure to grab your ass, letting you wrap your legs around his waist. you could feel his hard cock under the suit, pressing against your cunt. you let out a panicked sound at the feeling. he groans, letting his head drop to your shoulder. slowly, he rolls his hip into you, pressing himself closer. you let out a muffled moan and you hear him chuckle.

“i wish i could taste you.” he groans into your ear, as he grinds against you. you could feel heat starting to pool at your abdomen as he gets rougher. “my good girl, my pretty girl.” his voice was dripping in pleasure as he breathlessly groaned, getting faster. you couldn’t hold back your moans and spider-man gets faster hearing you. you let out muffled pleas, as you feel the coil tighten in your abdomen. “i hear you, cutie, i hear you.” he grinds you against him for the final time and you feel that coil snap as pleasure washes over you in waves. you hear him groan and slump, pulling you as close as he could without hurting you.

a few minutes pass before spider-man collects himself, letting your legs drop to the ground, “this-” he gestures between the two of you, “-was great. let’s do this again sometimes.” he blows you a kiss and swings away, leaving you attached to the wall. after another 15 minutes, you feel the webs start to disintegrate. you rip your arms out and pull the webs covering your mouth off, letting you loudly sob. you snatch your purse off and dig out your phone, in between your choked whimpers.

the phone rings for a few minutes, before he picks up, “p-peter? c-could you come pick me up? p-please?”

his voice was sympathetic, “god, of course, (y/n)… i’ll be right there.”

[snail-day]

I love your yandere fics so much!! You write them so well like how imagined them to be! Can i request a yandere!gojo with celebrity reader. Gojo is a smitten fanboy (he finally found his match a beauty that can be on par or surpass his looks) who then kidnaps reader and with somno and mindblowing smut (he is intimate and makes love, very sensual — but sometimes can be cruel when reader is not cooperative), very obsessive and possesive behavior, where reader eventually falls into a stockholm syndrome when she realizes he is the only one who can lover her like that.

Ah, anon, fanboy gojo is a horrifying gojo. I couldn't fit the somno in there my bad but I did let em get frisky. Yan!Gojo x Idol! Reader TW: Yandere Behaviors (Heavy in obsession & manipulation, stalking, trapping), Non Curse AU, Noncon / Dubcon, Stockholm Syndrome, Unbalanced power dynamic, Lifesize Doll, Gojo is just a fucking creep in this one. Reader has bad ending and is going through it. MDNI A/n: There's something absolutely horrifying about just anyone with too much money. Also, this one gave me an icky feeling, like really icky to the point where I had to go play some wii sports for some serotonin . So just fair warning on that everyone.

So this would definitely take place in a non-curse AU where the Gojo family reigns supreme over an empire of companies, including your idol agency. Satoru’s obsession with you began long before his parents handed him the keys to your career as a "gift" for his 21st birthday. By then, he already had an entire shrine dedicated to you—a collage of your debut album covers, grainy videos from your first audition, and meticulously preserved cut-outs of you in your signature frilly stage outfits.

He even went as far as purchasing your stockings and, disturbingly, a vial of your sweat from an online auction. Because when it came to you, no price was too steep, no boundary too sacred.

Satoru had been such a good boy, after all. He kept his record spotless, avoided any scandals, and played the part of the dutiful heir to perfection. So, for his birthday, the Gojo family rewarded him in the grandest way possible: a private concert (in their household theatre)  featuring none other than his favorite obsession.

Lucky you.

"Why do I always end up with the creeps?" you muttered under your breath backstage, steeling yourself for what was to come. You’d been expecting a small, exclusive audience—maybe a handful of elite guests alongside the infamous Gojo Satoru. Instead, the venue was eerily empty, save for one man sitting dead center in the front row.

Of course, it was him.

Satoru lounged in his seat, his long legs spread comfortably and his unrelenting gaze fixed on the stage. Those icy blue eyes shimmered with a kind of deranged excitement.

Still, you plastered on your most radiant smile, the same one that had been drilled into you since your debut, and stepped onto the stage. "Satoru-kun!" you called sweetly, your voice dripping with feigned delight.

That simple acknowledgment sent him into a visible frenzy. He straightened immediately, his grin stretching impossibly wide, the edges almost unhinged. His hands clutched the armrests of his chair as if holding himself back from leaping onto the stage.

"Satoru-kun," you repeated, your tone syrupy enough to mask the bitterness in your throat. The way his eyes sparkled, as though you’d just handed him the universe, made your skin crawl.

Why did he have to smile like that? Why did it feel like this wasn’t just a concert, but some kind of trap?

You swallowed hard and launched into your first song, your voice steady even as your heart raced. Through it all, his gaze never wavered, and you could swear that he wasn’t just listening—he was memorizing every note, every movement, every glance in his direction.

The worst part? You could feel that manic, suffocating grin even with your eyes closed.

The final note faded, and you lowered the mic with a practiced flourish, painting on a dazzling smile despite the tight knot in your stomach. Applause didn’t erupt—just a slow, deliberate clap from the lone figure seated in the otherwise empty venue. Each measured beat sent an icy shiver down your spine.

"Bravo! Amazing, as always," Satoru called, his voice laced with the kind of excitement that made your skin crawl. His bright grin stretched wider, his icy blue eyes fixed on you like a predator watching its prize.

Suppressing the urge to grimace, you clasped your hands in front of you and tilted your head, letting out a bubbly laugh. “Aww, Satoru-kun, you’re too sweet! You always know how to make a girl feel special!” Your voice was light, airy, laced with the charm your agency had drilled into you since day one.

His grin widened, if that was even possible, and he leaned forward in his seat, resting his chin in his palm. “Only because you are special, [Y/N]-chan.”

You swallowed back the bile creeping up your throat and gave a coy wave, bowing deeply. “Thank you so much! I’m so glad you enjoyed the show!”

The second you turned and stepped offstage, the smile dropped from your face like a mask sliding off. Your jaw clenched as you made your way backstage, your mind racing. What is wrong with this guy?

Inside the dressing room, you immediately set to work peeling off your stage outfit and shoving your things into your bag. The faint hum of the mirror bulbs was the only sound as you yanked off your heels, wincing at the ache in your feet. “Just a few more minutes,” you muttered to yourself, your tone dark and venomous, “and I’m out of here.”

A sharp knock at the door shattered the momentary quiet. Your heart sank. “Just a minute!” you chirped, forcing the syrupy sweetness back into your voice. But your hands trembled as you zipped up your bag. He wouldn’t come backstage, would he?

The door creaked open without waiting for a response, and your worst fears were realized.

Satoru stepped in as though he owned the place—which, you supposed, he technically did—and shut the door behind him with a soft click. The sound of the lock sliding into place sent a chill racing down your spine.

You plastered on another sunny smile, turning to face him. “Satoru-kun! What a surprise! Did you come to say goodbye?” Your voice was an octave higher than usual, chipper and fake as it could get, but he didn’t seem to notice. If anything, it only made his smile softer, more adoring.

“Goodbye?” he repeated, tilting his head as if the very idea was foreign to him. “Oh, no, [Y/N]-chan. The night’s just getting started. I thought we could spend some time together. Just the two of us.”

You laughed, the sound forced and overly bright. “Oh, Satoru-kun, you’re so funny! I’m sure you’re busy, though, and I wouldn’t want to keep you—”

He interrupted by stepping closer, and you instinctively took a step back, your spine hitting the edge of the dressing table. His eyes gleamed with something dangerous now, something far too intense.

“I made sure I wouldn’t be busy,” he said softly, his voice unnervingly calm. “This is a special night, after all.”

Your hands tightened around the strap of your bag, but your bubbly mask stayed firmly in place. “You’re so thoughtful, Satoru-kun! But really, I’m just so exhausted from performing—I don’t want to ruin your night by being a boring old workaholic!”

His smile faltered, just for a second. The glint in his eyes shifted to something colder.

“Ruining my night?” he echoed, his voice dropping a pitch. He stepped even closer, his long fingers brushing against the edge of your bag. “Oh, [Y/N]-chan, you could never ruin anything for me. You’re perfect. That’s why I waited so long for this.”

The room suddenly felt too small, the air too thin. Still, you kept the mask on, even as your pulse thundered in your ears. “Satoru-kun, you’re such a charmer!” you said with a giggle, though the sound nearly cracked under the weight of your fear. “But really, I—”

“Enough.” His voice was soft but firm, and it froze you in place. The playful tone was gone, replaced by something sharper. His hands found your hips, firm but not painful—yet. “You don’t have to pretend with me, [Y/N]-chan. I know what you really need. What you deserve.”

For a split second, the mask cracked. Your smile faltered, your eyes betraying the panic clawing at your chest. But you quickly forced it back into place, stretching your lips into something resembling a cheerful grin. This wasn’t just any creep—this was the owner of your agency. The man who could ruin your career with a single word. Rejecting him wasn’t an option.

“Oh, Satoru-kun!” you said with a bright laugh that sounded hollow even to your own ears. “You’re too kind, really!”

His expression softened at your attempt, though the unsettling hunger in his eyes never wavered. “I want to show you something,” he murmured, his voice low and syrupy as he stepped closer.

Before you could react, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. The sharp scent of his cologne—overly expensive and cloyingly strong—invaded your senses, making your head spin. You froze as you heard him inhale deeply, the sound sending an involuntary shudder down your spine.

“That’s it,” he sighed, as if your discomfort was the most intoxicating thing in the world.

You swallowed hard, suppressing the wave of revulsion rising in your chest. “Y-Yeah, sure. Anything you want,” you said, forcing another fake giggle. The bile was starting to creep up your throat, but you choked it back.

Satoru straightened, beaming like you’d just granted him his deepest wish. Without another word, he grabbed your hand and tugged you along, his grip firm but not painful. His long strides made it hard to keep up, and you stumbled slightly as he led you down a long, opulent hallway.

“This way,” he said brightly, his excitement bubbling over as he opened a door at the end of the hall. “I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to show you this.”

The room you stepped into wasn’t just a bedroom—it was a shrine.

Your face froze in a practiced smile, but your stomach churned violently. Every inch of the walls was covered with photos of you, from professional headshots to candid moments you didn’t even know had been captured. A glass case in the corner held memorabilia from your career: props from music videos, outfits you’d worn onstage, and even a pair of shoes you’d discarded years ago. The bed, an enormous thing with crisp white sheets, was adorned with pillows printed with your image.

And in the center of it all, on a pedestal near the window, was a life-sized figure. You.

Your knees nearly buckled at the sight. It was a doll replica, eerily accurate down to the smallest details. The same smile you forced onstage, the same sparkle in your eyes. But the longer you stared, the more disturbing it became.

“Oh, this isn’t even the best part!” Satoru chirped, oblivious—or perhaps delighting in—your horror. He dropped your hand and strode over to the pedestal, gesturing at the figure like a proud artist showing off their masterpiece. “It’s perfect, don’t you think? Just like the real thing.”

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling as you clutched your bag to your chest. “I-I don’t even know what to say, Satoru-kun,” you managed, your voice strained despite your best efforts to sound enthusiastic.

His gaze snapped to you, a flicker of something dangerous crossing his face. “Say you love it,” he demanded, his tone sharp enough to cut through the air.

“I love it,” you echoed immediately, the words leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. You felt like you might vomit right there on the pristine floor.

Satoru’s grin returned, softening into something almost tender. “I knew you would,” he said, stepping closer until he was mere inches away. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face with a touch that made your skin crawl. “It’s because it’s all for you, [Y/N]-chan. All of it. Everything I do is for you.”

Your smile wavered as you nodded, the muscles in your face aching from the effort to keep it in place. Inside, you screamed.

He began to ramble, his voice drifting into an almost giddy monologue as he circled the room. “The doll is great, don’t get me wrong,” he said, gesturing at the figure with a flourish. “But it’s not you. It doesn’t feel like you.” His words trailed off into something quieter, almost wistful. “At least… not yet.”

You didn’t want to know what he meant by that, and you weren’t about to ask. Instead, you kept your fake smile plastered on and nodded along, praying he’d lose interest and let you leave.

“But…” He stopped mid-sentence, turning to face you with that same soft, disarming smile that would’ve melted hearts if it weren’t attached to someone so terrifying. He stepped closer, and you instinctively backed up, only to find the edge of the bed pressing into the backs of your knees.

“You can be the real thing for me, right?” he asked, his tone almost teasing, as if this were some innocent joke between friends. His hands came to rest on your shoulders, deceptively gentle as he guided you to sit down.

“Satoru-kun…” you began, your voice high and airy with forced politeness. “I-I’m not sure what you mean—”

“Oh, come on.” He crouched down to your level, his face just inches from yours now. The smile on his lips didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t play dumb, [Y/N]-chan. I mean… heh…” His laugh was soft, almost self-deprecating, but the threat behind it was crystal clear. “Imagine if the media found out we did something together? Your career would be over, wouldn’t it?”

Your blood ran cold. The bile that had been simmering in your throat threatened to rise, but you swallowed it down, forcing another laugh. “Satoru-kun, you’re so funny! You know I’d never want to disappoint you, but—”

“You wouldn’t disappoint me.” His interruption was immediate, his voice firm but still unnervingly calm. He tilted his head, studying you like a puzzle he was eager to solve. “You’d make me the happiest man in the world, [Y/N]-chan. That’s all I want.”

The weight of his hands on your shoulders grew heavier, and for the first time, the mask you wore faltered completely. You could feel the edges of your resolve cracking as panic clawed at your chest.

“I—I think I should go,” you stammered, your voice trembling now. “It’s been such a long night, and I’m so tired—”

“Shhh.” His finger pressed lightly against your lips, silencing you. “No need to rush. You’re home now. With me.”

The words hung in the air, suffocating, as he gently pushed you back onto the bed.

You felt caged, trapped beneath him as he leaned down and kissed you with a fervent passion that left no room for doubt. His lips moved against yours with a confidence that sent heat spiraling through your body, surprising you with how skilled he was. How is he this good? you wondered, a flicker of reluctant curiosity slipping into your thoughts. For someone with a room like this, you didn’t expect him to know his way around intimacy so well.

When his kisses trailed down your neck, you couldn’t suppress the small sounds that escaped your lips—tiny, breathy moans that only encouraged him. You hated how natural it felt, how easy it was to let yourself melt just a little under his touch.

His hands moved with practiced ease, unbuttoning your soft frilly blouse and sliding it down your arms. The fabric fell away without ceremony, leaving your skin exposed to the cool air. He unhooked your bra without even looking, his attention fixed on you as if you were the only thing in the universe.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your collarbone. “So beautiful. I can’t believe you’re real.” His voice was thick with awe, the kind of adoration that would have been flattering in another context. Here, it only added to the strange, heady mix of fear and something else stirring in your chest.

You didn’t stop him.

Instead, you found yourself leaning into his touch, your mind a blur of conflicting emotions. Part of you screamed to push him away, to escape this madness before it consumed you. But another part—a quieter, insidious part—was starting to crave the way he made you feel. The way he looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

When he pulled out a condom, your breath hitched. He held it up with a playful smirk, his icy blue eyes glinting with mischief. “Can’t have my favorite girl off the stage because of a baby,” he teased, the words delivered so casually it made your head spin.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared at him, your body caught between tension and reluctant desire. “S-Satoru-kun…” you murmured, your voice softer now, less forced. You weren’t sure what you were trying to say—if you were trying to stop him or if you were giving in.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Don’t worry, [Y/N]-chan. I’ll take care of everything. Just trust me.”

And for some reason, at that moment, you did.

His actions surprised you. For all the unsettling obsession and the manic energy that seemed to define him, he was unexpectedly gentle. Every hitch of your breath, every flinch, had him pausing immediately, his hands soothing against your skin. He pressed soft kisses to your cheeks, your lips, your jawline, as if trying to reassure you, as if trying to prove that this was about more than just possession.

Each movement was careful, each thrust deliberate, his pace slow and measured, as though he was determined not to hurt you. Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but notice how his body seemed to move in perfect rhythm with yours, how his touch sent shivers coursing down your spine—not from fear, but from how good it felt. It felt almost too wrong for it to feel this good. 

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with emotion. “So much better than I ever imagined. So much better than… than her.”

You knew exactly what he meant by her—that unsettling doll that resembled you sitting in the room. But there was no malice in his tone, no frustration, only unbridled awe. “I knew you’d feel like this,” he continued, his words tumbling out in a breathless babble. “So warm, so soft… so real.”

His hands caressed your sides, trailing down to grip your hips with a reverence that made your chest tighten. “You don’t understand, [Y/N]-chan. I’ve waited for this. For you. I’ve dreamed of having you here, like this, for so long.” His lips found yours again, and this time, you kissed him back. Perhaps out of fear, perhaps out of obligation—or perhaps something else entirely, something you weren’t ready to confront.

“I’m so happy,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm and steady against your skin. His hips ground against yours with a practiced ease that sent shivers through your body, small, involuntary moans slipping from your lips. You weren’t even sure anymore if they were fake.

His icy blue eyes softened, a vulnerability shining through that you hadn’t expected, a strange mix of desperation and adoration. “So happy you’re finally here with me. You belong here. With me.”

The words sent a wave of unease crashing over you, yet his touch—so deliberate, so intimate—made it harder to hold on to that feeling. His pace quickened, his rhythm building into something that pulled soft cries from your throat, cries you weren’t sure belonged to the person you thought you were.

And then it was over, leaving you breathless, your heart pounding in your ears. You stared blankly at the ceiling, the tension in your body refusing to dissipate even as the room fell silent.

Silently thankful for that condom.

Satoru, however, seemed perfectly at ease. He snuggled into you with a satisfied sigh, his face pressed against your chest, his arms wrapping around you like he was afraid you’d disappear. 

His white hair tickled your skin, and without thinking, your fingers found their way into it, absently threading through the soft strands. The motion felt automatic, like muscle memory from a life you weren’t supposed to be living. Your mind raced with conflicting thoughts, questions you didn’t have answers to. Yet, as he murmured something incoherent against your skin, his voice content and heavy with sleep, you found yourself continuing the motion, stroking his hair in a way that felt far too natural.

Because even if it’s love from some creep, maybe that’s the kind of love you crave.

The thought sat heavy in your chest, an unwelcome truth that made your stomach twist. You’d never had someone hold you like this, never had someone look at you the way he did—as if you were the entire world, as if you were the answer to every question he’d ever asked. It was overwhelming, suffocating, and yet…

It was something.

Your fingers paused in his hair for a moment, hovering as if they’d been burned by the thought. But then his arms tightened around you, his face nuzzling deeper into your chest, and a soft, contented sigh escaped his lips. You couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

Maybe you didn’t deserve something better. Maybe this was all there was.

So, you let him hold you. You let your fingers tangle in his hair again, let yourself relax just enough to make it through the moment. Because even if it was wrong, even if it wasn’t the love you’d dreamed of, at least it was real. At least it was something.

[wr3stlingindirtpitz]

it’s weird cause i ship wincest but not romantically. YES i believe these brothers are grossly codependent and YES dean resorts to beating (worse case, raping) sam to reinforce control over him and YES i believe that sam is like john and dean’s mini mary and that’s why they are so possessive and protective and attracted to him but do i believe sam and dean want to be BOYFRIENDS? no, are you crazy?