#some of these have dozens of submissions
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Submissions Open
Submissions are open again while I have a bit of time. You can submit via this form The (quite long) list of fandoms we have backlog for is under the readmore. You can still submit blorbos from these fandoms, but know that you'll be waiting longer for your submissions to be posted:
LEGO franchises (Monkie Kid and Ninjago) Transformers: Rescue Bots Spider Man (Spiderverse) Sonic the Hedgehog a3! act! addict! actors! Kingdom Hearts The Adventure Zone Portal Legend of Zelda Gargoyles Inanimate Insanity Pokemon Kirby Danganronpa Baldur's Gate 3 Animal Crossing The Henry Stickmin Collection Honkai: Star Rail Riverdale Kill Six Billion Demons Darkwing Duck Warrior Cats Slayers Super Mario Bros. Cuphead Team Fortress 2 My Little Pony Stardew Valley Jungledyret Hugo Grandia II Beatcats Splatoon Daria Disco Elysium Teen Titans Undertale Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle Wandersong Sanrio franchises Papa Louie's Games TMNT Twisted Wonderland The Elder Scrolls Peanuts Earthbound / Mother Invader Zim Sleepless Domain Ace Attorney
#Talking#i will do it in a different timezone soon#this time just works out convenient for me rn#also feel free to ask who's in a fandom's backlog#some of these have dozens of submissions#others only have one or two
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Tim Drake who hates his dad for various reasons, very few to do with his parenting and more for his actual personality, but his mother?
There isn’t a person alive he adores more than her.
Like, he genuinely worships the ground she stands on and will spend hundreds of hours thinking about what present to give her with a dozens ideas and he always, always, just decides to do them all.
His way of greeting his mother is to kiss her hands, the hands that raised him and defend him from people like Vale with unrelenting force.
Janet isn’t a submissive woman, she is a mother.
Like a predator in the wild, she will do whatever it takes to take care of her son. Janet is a quick witted woman raised in the high class, meaning she can verbally destroy anyone no matter how much their net worth is.
One of the most well known photos from all of Gotham is when Lex Luther came to visit and made a subtle remark about Tim being apart of the ‘woke kids’ after it spoke out about climate change. The photo is of Janet Drake, a remarkably tall woman in stiletto’s, pointing a finger at Lex Luther as if a witch making a curse, the hairless man standing there with a look of genuine regret, and nine year old Tim Drake standing behind his mother with a shit eating grin.
It naturally gets memed.
Tim has called restaurants ahead of time to make sure they will have his mother’s favourite wine when she goes to dinner events, dates with Jack, or a family dinner since he learnt what it was. (And if not then anything Bordeaux will do.)
Tim would come home and cry whenever he wasn’t able to tell his mum about the secret parts of his day, such as him taking photos of Batman and when he became Robin.
But his mother has so much to deal with, so many rude people and conniving businessmen, sexist journalist and people attacking her for her overtly pro-choice commentary.
She doesn’t need to worry about her baby boy and he calls her every night anyway, so she’ll know he is okay.
After all, she went through a horrible pregnancy and never once took it out on or blamed her son.
She went through body dysphoria from how it changed her, struggling with how her hips felt bigger and her whole self felt different, but learnt to love it because it was just proof she did the best she could for her baby.
Even though she went on trips with her husband, she never once forgot to call her son or bring him back little souvenirs. She fully supported him taking photos, buying him a camera even though she didn’t get the appeal, and would laugh so brightly when little Tim begged to take photos of her even though she had just woken up without a hint of make up on and curlers still in her hair.
Naturally, when she passes away he is a wreck.
Even Vickie Vale keeps quiet about it, knowing that the love the boy has for his mother isn’t something to mess with.
Photos of him sobbing at her grave are shamed by the masses, the journalist and paparazzi who toon the photos getting all kinds of backlash.
Bruce, who had once been watched by Tim like a hawk to make sure he wouldn’t do the same thing, subtly puts Tim on watch just in case. He’s not sure if Tim is at that breaking point, but the teenager spends hours walking around the empty house he and his mother used to live in while waiting for his dad to wake up. He’s like a ghost some days, wearing the same clothes and barely talking, while other days it’s like he’s running on pure determination to be the best Robin and heir for his mother’s company.
After a few months, Dick asks Tim what keeps him going even though he’s clearly hurting.
Tim, who has worn black most of that time like Queen Victoria, smiled at his pseudo-brother and answers like it’s obvious,
“Because I’d never hurt my mamas little boy.”
#batfam#tim drake#bat family#dc comics#batfamily#dc universe#dc#tim drake is red robin#Janet Drake#Bruce Wayne#janet and jack drake#good mum Janet Drake#eh dad jack drake#Drake family#drake family dc#mourning#Drake industries#Tim and Janet
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sugar daddy bar!owner john price series | warnings: +18, age gap (reader is 21 and price is in his 40s), fem!reader, sugar daddy/baby relationship mentioned, not smut but suggestive.
price thought a doll like you deserved a grown, strong old man like him to treat you like a princess — spoil you rotten, wrap you up in bubble wrap and take care of you. You didn’t need to work, get your pretty hands sore and tired from pouring drinks all the time. he’d give you all the money you needed to pay off your college and to get all the pink, girly things you liked so much, ribbons and all. You just needed to sit cutely on his lap, to be his, and he’d give you the whole world. He was in his 40’s, you had only recently turned 21, a flower on the prime of her blossoming youth, who could give an old, worn out man like him some sugar.
that’s why he offered you to be his sugar baby. that offer, made you flush on the spot — he was so confident and composed, unfazed by his own words. The moment he saw redness spread over you cheeks, he knew he had you. His mustache twitched, his salt and pepper beard stretched as he wore an amused, lazy smile. you were always so obedient and compliant to him, always chirping a “yes sir” to anything he’d ask or tell you to do, a sweet, young, too young lil thing, eager to earn his praise, to feel those goosebumps trail down your skin when he muttered a gruff, deep “good girl”, you’d be the perfect submissive, you’d have it in you to be trained already, even in your innocence and inexperience..
..but, you’d initially declined his offer, because “I want to earn that money, sir, and I’d feel bad if you just..gave it to me like that”
oh, how honest, naive, innocent and pure you were. He admired that about you, but you could see it in his eyes, the way he cocked his thick, dark brown brow upward, that he didn’t believe you’d cling onto those words for long. He knew you were just too shy to accept, but you wanted to. You wanted to be his pretty, little girl. and he was right, as always. One particular night, you’d found a moment to lean your arms against the wooden counter and just breath. You’d been studying all morning, head buried in your notes, and when you got to the bar, you found dozens of soon to be drunk men ready to order alcohol and ask you to bring them ashtrays.
you wanted nothing more than go back home, snuggle in your pink, soft blankets and read your so loved books — it had just been a draining day, you enjoyed your job, but to be honest with yourself, the thing you liked the most was feeling john’s attention and eyes on you during your whole shift and maybe you could finally have someone provide for you.
so, that’s how you found yourself in front of his office door, hesitating lightly while millions of tiny butterflies flew around in your chest, your cheeks as red and warm as ripe strawberries under the summer sun.
knock, knock.
he’d recognized that knock. A feeble, light thud against wood. That couldn’t possibly have been Simon, whose hand could make the whole door shatter down with a single knock, nor Soap’s — bloody hell, that man never bothered to knock at all, he’d just break in.
so he wasn’t surprised to see you, standing meekly in front of his large, wooden desk, the hem of your skirt hugging your milky, bare thighs, your fingers fidgeting together and your eyes looking down at his sitting stance, shy and timid.
“what is it, doll? need ol’ price?” his voice was so rough, so husky, you wondered how it would sound from between your thighs, or from behind you, while his large palm pulled your hair to make you arch against him.
you blinked once, gathering courage to ask for what you’d secretly been daydreaming about, your boss, old enough to be your father, aging like the finest wine, showing you things you’d never ever experienced.
“about your offer, sir” your cheeks were burning, flaming up, “if I accept, can I still come here and help you around?”
“if you accepted,” he almost didn’t even let you finish, eyes already darkening at the thought, a wave of desire rushing through his weary, battle scattered heart, “you could do whatever you wanted, angel, you’d just have to say please”
#john price x y/n#john price x reader#john price imagine#john price x f!reader#john price x female reader#captain price x female reader#captain price x reader#cod#price x female reader#captain price smut
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a list of stark family moments and details i treasure 🫶
jon telling gilly she has a pretty name when they meet because sansa told him once that he should always tell a lady they have a pretty name upon being introduced (jon iii, acok)
robb sitting up with bran after he goes to bed, trying to cheer his little brother up after his fall by telling him how their mother will be home soon and after they'll do a surprise visit to jon in castle black
and bran realizing robb has started crying as he says this, and so taking on the role of comforter and reaching out to hold his big brother's hand as they sit in the dark (bran iv, agot)
robb being unable to resist correcting catelyn for leaving jon out when she says there were 'five wolves for five stark children' despite trying not to argue with her (catelyn ii, asos)
this acting as an echo of when they found the wolves and it initially appeared there were only five, and jon, arguing they should keep the pups to make bran happy, told ned it was a sign that there were five direwolves for five stark kids. even at 7-years-old, bran understands jon is leaving himself out of the count to make it match and loves his brother "with all his heart at that moment." (bran i, agot)
"he was no true stark, had never been one... but he could die like one. let them say that eddard stark fathered four sons, not three." - jon, as he attempts to leave the night's watch to join robb (jon ix, agot)
"mother. you forget my father had four sons. jon's more a stark than some lordlings from the vale who've never set eyes on winterfell." robb, as he legitimizes jon as a stark, names him his heir, and goes to release him from the night's watch (catelyn v, asos)
jon being so overjoyed when bran wakes up from his coma that he cries, hugs tyrion and runs around castle black telling random guards his brother is going to live (jon iii, agot)
arya and bran teaming up to ambush sansa with a dozen snowballs each and sansa retaliating by chasing arya throughout the castle until she tripped. arya stopping to make sure she wasn't hurt and throwing another snowball at her face when she isn't. sansa pulling arya to to the ground and covering her in snow while they both laugh the whole time.
sansa making a snow model of winterfell after reliving this memory because there's no point in snowballs without someone to throw them at. (sansa vii, asos)
everything about the story of jon and robb's ghost prank in the crypts. robb making sure they have one (1) candle about to flicker out. jon being covered in flour makes him a ghost. bran holding arya's hand and hiding behind robb. sansa just fucking taking off. arya's strategy being to punch a ghost into submission. jon and robb laughing so hard bran and arya can't even stay mad and start laughing too. the fact the entire reason it comes up is it's a memory that makes arya smile and feel brave. (arya iv, agot)
rickon being too young to understand why jon isn't sitting with them like he normally does when the king is visiting and holding up the procession when he sees jon sitting somewhere else. (jon i, agot) he keeps asking why jon isn't sitting with them throughout the feast. (bran iii, acok)
jon telling catelyn he doesn't care if she calls the guards on him, she can't stop him saying goodbye to bran.
robb being able to tell something is off with jon after this takes place, and gently asking if his mother said something and jon lying in response to smooth the situation out. (jon ii, agot)
bran wondering if direwolves miss their brothers and sisters too. (bran i, acok)
jon and robb climbing the towers at winterfell to practice shouting at one another after ned told them it's doesn't matter how brilliant a man is if his men can't hear his commands during a battle. (jon vii, asos)
arya thinking if she could see sansa again she'd kiss her and beg her pardons like a proper lady to make her happy. (arya vii, acok)
sansa, believing her younger brothers to be dead, thinks of how she'll name her sons eddard, bran, and rickon. she pictures them all looking like her "late" brothers and sometimes dreams they'll have a girl who looks like arya too. (sansa ii, asos)
when jon imagines leaving the night's watch, he thinks wistfully of having a son named robb. he also fantasizes gilly's son and mance's son would grow up as pseudo-twin brothers like him and robb (jon xii, asos)
the boys would all share a bed to stay warm whenever it got cold. i love to picture this after they got the direwolves so the humans and wolves are all in one big puppy pile. (jon vi, acok) jon also says he would lay up at night while his brothers slept next to him and make his plans to join the night's watch (jon i, agot), so in this mental picture i have all the other boys are dead asleep, while jon super seriously explains his plans to ghost at 3am.
whenever she's on the verge of reuniting with other family members, arya worries they won't want her anymore because of what she's had to do to survive. but when she thinks of reuniting with jon, she thinks "jon will want me. even if no one else does." (arya xii, asos)
bran, sansa, and arya all saying they have to be as brave or as strong as robb when they're hyping themselves up. (bran iv, asos; sansa iv, asos; arya ii, agot) jon dreaming of being "as good and true a son as robb." (jon x, asos) he's literally the golden standard for all his siblings.
robb's ghost showing up in both jon and arya's dreams, with neither one recognizing him (jon viii, asos; cat of the canals, affc)
bran being jealous of jon for thinking of the name ghost first for his direwolf because it sounds so cool while being so disdainful of rickon deciding to call his shaggydog. (bran ii, agot)
jon continuing to hope bran and rickon's consciousnesses live on in their direwolves when he believes them dead. (jon i, adwd; jon viii, asos)
bran wanting to be a wolf so he could find arya and sansa and protect robb in battle so they could all return to winterfell. (bran i, acok)
jon remembering how bran would always follow him and robb everywhere and try join in on whatever they were doing. (jon iii, agot)
rickon following robb everywhere and physically clinging to robb after their other siblings and parents are gone. robb arguing with catelyn over how scared and abandoned rickon feels with her gone. (catelyn iii, agot)
after bran wakes, rickon cries if robb's away more than half a day and asks bran when robb is coming back (bran iv, agot). when robb goes south, rickon melts down so much that he won't eat - he just screams and cries all day and attacks adults who try to comfort him. (bran vi, agot)
jon imagining both his sisters' reactions to seeing the beautiful morning frost at craster's. he pictures sansa crying from how magical it looks and arya running to touch everything he can. (jon iii, acok)
robb and jon's bickering devolving into a race where robb is laughing and hooting and jon is super serious and intent on winning, in a way that implies this is the norm for them. (bran i, agot)
not just summer, but shaggy and grey wind also howl in mourning when bran's in his coma. robb opens the window in bran's room so bran can "hear them sing." (catelyn iii, agot)
when bran hears the wolves howling again he worries it means somethings happened to one of his siblings. (bran i, acok)
jon and arya are so in tune they'd regularly speak in unison. (jon ii, agot; arya i, asos; arya i, acok; jon iii, agot)
jon and robb building a "great mountain" of snow to dump on whoever walks under the gate, even getting mance fucking rayder to be their accomplice, and then getting chased around the yard by their poor victim fat tom until their faces are "red as autumn apples." (jon i, asos)
rickon immediately asking if robb's coming home upon seeing a letter from him and upon being told no tells maester luwin to write robb back and tell him to come home and bring grey wolf and their parents back too. (bran v, acok)
the fact rickon specifically mentions he should bring grey wind back too, because we saw him playing with grey wind, summer, and shaggydog when his siblings were all gone or busy. they were basically his only friends for a time. (bran iv, agot)
when tyrion leaves to head back to winterfell, jon tells him that rickon will ask when he's coming back and to try explain it to him, and also adds to tell him he can have all his stuff while he's gone, which is just such cute little sibling thing, but also shows how even then jon thinks of the night's watch as being away; winterfell is still his home that he'll come back to one day.
he also tells tyrion to tell robb that he can melt down his sword and take up needlework because jon's going to command the night's watch and keep him safe. and of course, his pleas for tyrion to find a way to help bran are what lead tyrion to give bran his new saddle. (jon iii, agot)
despite his mistrust of tyrion and the lannisters, robb offers to let tyrion stay at winterfell after he sees how much his gift means to bran. (bran iv, agot)
robb no longer believing the direwolves were sent by the old gods after bran and rickon were believed dead, because what was the point of a gift from the gods if it didn't keep his brothers safe? (catelyn ii, asos)
bran going to the godswood to pray that robb doesn't have to leave and then adding if he does to have to leave to make it so he comes home with their sisters and parents and that rickon will understand what's happening. (bran vi, agot)
when jon and sansa remember robb after his death they both picture him with snowflakes melting in his hair, the way he was when they left winterfell. (jon xiii, adwd; sansa viii, asos)
when seeing sam off, the last thing jon says is for sam to put his hood up because the snow's melting in his hair, and sam notes the strange smile on his face when he says it. (samwell i, affc)
bran arguing lord hornwood's son out of wedlock should be named his heir, thinking of jon. (bran ii, acok)
robb being so upset when catelyn compares jon to theon that grey wind hops onto the crypt and bares his teeth at her. (catelyn v, asos)
jon wondering if ever really had any right to call arya his sister, saying he was as out of place as theon at winterfell. (jon iii, asos)
just... the contrast of jon thinking about sansa, and how since she became old enough to understand what a bastard is she's only ever referred to him as her "half-brother", but he misses her anyways... and sansa missing jon while living as alayne, calling him the only brother that remains to her and thinking "i'm a bastard too now, just like him." (jon iii, agot; alayne ii, affc)
robb also calling jon the only brother who remains to him. arya calling jon the only brother she has left. (catelyn v, asos; arya xii, asos)
rickon crying and refusing to leave bran until he's physically forced off. (bran vii, acok)
every word of this sentence shatters me: "every morning they had trained together, since they were big enough to walk; snow and stark, spinning and slashing about the wards of winterfell, shouting and laughing, sometimes crying when there was no one else to see." (jon xii, asos)
ok now the angsty part
like! jon is having this flashback because he feels guilty and conflicted over stannis's offer to legitimize him and name him heir to winterfell, never knowing that's exactly what robb wanted.
(jon xii, asos)
(catelyn v, asos)
he keeps remembering robb calling him a bastard as a mental chastisement for daring to put himself on their level, but one of robb's very last acts on earth was to name him jon stark!! bran wanted lord hornwood's illegitimate son to be allowed to succeed him because of jon!! jon doesn't think he counts as arya's brother. but he's the one she misses the most, the only one whose unconditional love she never doubts!! jon!!!
(jon xi, asos)
and yet! despite all the shame and guilt, the thing that ultimately stops him from accepting stannis's offer is his belief that the old gods sent the stark siblings their direwolves, and he can't betray his family's gods! that's what makes his decision, above all else!
(jon xii, asos)
#apologies to ned cat and benjen etc. but if i included parents and uncles this would have gotten absurdly long#anyways! the stark siblings are very dear to me and i love them so#🩶🤍🩶🤍#kaitlin.txt#asoiaf#starklings
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GUINEA PIG ───
jonathan crane ✧𖦹
ೃ⁀➷ “I think we most fully understood each other when once I tried to kill him with a kitchen knife.” — ‘South and West’, Joan Didion
pairing. switch!jonathan crane x professor!reader
summary. you and your dear friend, jonathan crane, have an odd relationship: he experiments on you, you experiment on him. one day, you experiment your aphrodisiac on him.
warnings. swearing, use of aphrodisiac & fear toxin, oral sex (m), unprotected sex, creampie, p in v, mention of death, murder, drugs, multiple orgasms, slight breeding kink, face fucking, dubcon(?) SMUT UNDER THE CUT!
word count. 6.1k
a/n. the enemies to friends to fucking pipeline is sooo real and i love it. BTW! this is really self indulgent and again, i’m a beginner to writing smut so pls don’t judge😭 the beginning is also oddly plotty, so i apologize for that.
You and your colleague, Jonathan Crane, have a harmonious, albeit slightly sick and twisted, relationship.
Your repertoires, opposite in every way, complete one another like you were made to match. You are messy, frenzied, intimate; he is neat, calculated, distant. He is impatient, histrionic, stubborn. You are tolerant, deadpan, submissive.
This is an odd, good-cop bad-cop dynamic you’ve built, but it works. Your traits uphold the order you’ve built around yourselves; you allow each other to function.
Who ever said something so codependent, so parasitic, would fall apart? That it was dangerous, destructive? Everyone, but in your case, it has been anything but.
These are the simple rules of your relationship: he experiments on you, you experiment on him. This partnership came to bloom when, after years of competing to be the “better” psychology professor at Gotham University, he sent you a gift that sprayed with you with fear toxin, and you baked him a cake that knocked him out for 24 hours following, heart rate so low he could’ve been mistaken as dead.
“Fucking - hell,” You murmured under your breath, stumbling halfway across Gotham City to locate Crane’s absurdly lavish condo in the Diamond District, barely able to keep yourself upright.
You were being visually assaulted by dozens of images, all your phobias no matter big or small, dancing across your senses. Spiders crawled all over your body, you saw yourself about to step off a steep, snowy cliff, you felt yourself suffocate as you were buried to death in a casket. It was utter torture, and you would have to endure it until you found Crane.
You must’ve looked like one of those tweaking drug addicts from down in the Narrows, shivering, sweating, and rubbing all over your body to remove some of the “spiders” taking over your body. The terror was settling into you, into your spine like a terribly malignant disease.
At last, you found the apartment building, blearily snuck in behind a drunk couple, and scanned the mail boxes until you found J. CRANE: 525.
You headed up the elevator, grasping at the walls for dear life, feeling that growing, unmistakable sense of dread start to take over your mind. You felt like you were going mad, now, not just afflicted with something that made you look like it.
When you finally got to his door, it was left open a crack, and you welcomed the small mercy of Crane’s overarching narcissism: he didn’t lock his door, often, because most days he felt more invincible than fucking god.
“Crane!” You shouted, clutching at your head and staggering into his large apartment. “Crane!” you repeated, this time more desperate, more fearful than anything.
However, your deepest fear, at the moment, had come true. You stepped into his kitchen, and found the man laying on the floor unresponsive.
“Fuck me,” you cursed. You’d sent the man home with the cake twelve hours ago, when he took the half-day off from GSU, and you came home from your after-class tutoring hours just moments ago.
You’d opened the mystery package on your front porch promptly, and you found yourself having been gassed with a compound that made you see every little thing you were afraid of. Immediately, you’d known it was Crane; the man’s pet specialty was fear.
As for you, you wanted your… gift, to serve a reminder to him that he should not overstep your boundaries, your territory, as the psychology professor who was there first. If knocking him out was a little bit mad, he was bordering insanity for the toxin he poisoned you with.
Even so, your threat was an empty one. You weren’t counting on the man to even eat the cake - hell, you’d never seen the man consume anything but straight black coffee.
You couldn’t judge a book by its cover, you know now, and laid there on the couch of his apartment, waiting for the twelve hours to be over. Waiting for Crane, the fucking madman, to wake the hell up, blaming him for the predicament despite your very obvious involvement in it.
You breathed in and out, harried and rapid fire as you tried to focus, tried to block out the horrific things you were seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting.
(Your eyes are swarmed, viscerally, by a grotesque hallucination of your family burning to death; you hear them cry out, voices interrupted when they’re fire gets to their lungs; you smell their death, the smell of flesh burning, how the smoke chokes you — you taste their blood on your tongue, how tender a raging fire makes charred flesh.
Tender, you think on your choice of words again, and almost throw up.
What have you done, you think, and what is going through that fucked up head of yours, Crane?)
You tried to ground yourself, tether your lost mind back to Earth. You’re sitting in a field in Northwestern Ireland, you said to yourself, inhaling. Up ahead is the beach; water is crashing on the rocks. You exhaled, the wind tastes like salt, and it is just you and I, here together. It is only I and you, here, together.
Like so, 12 hours passed. Not so much passed — that word gave the connotation the hours slipped past you, the way a peaceful stream of water does; no, more accurately, it dragged by, like when an arm slips out of the ambulance cot on its way to the emergency vehicle, and drags on the concrete. The EMT’s don’t notice what’s making their trip so hard, so slow, until the hand is rubbed raw and bloody.
You repeated that mantra so many times you were starting to get queasy when you thought the words “you’re sitting in a field..” but nonetheless, the string of words kept you sane.
Sane enough, at least - you weren’t sure you’d be the same blissful person you were yesterday. Sure, you were always a little bit… unorthodox? Petty? Competitive enough to bake so many drugs into a cake your opposing professor knocks out?
But, with this — this being drugged by Crane — made you feel a piece of yourself break away. There would be no more of your life lived without knowing how fearful, well, fear, is. It's like discovering the Boogeyman and never being able to stop checking under your bed; the paranoia moves into your head and never leaves.
Crane began stirring, and your eyes opened as soon as you heard the noise. Surprisingly enough, however, you were no longer being hammered with the hallucinations that had been distressing you just half a day ago.
Had it been the mantra? The near-prayer you now swore was etched on your heart?
“Fucking…” Crane said, getting up off the floor. He was clutching his head, eyes squinted, body hunched and tense. Looks like spending half a day on the floor wasn’t the most comfortable place to sleep, but you didn’t give a fuck — atleast he was sleeping. If you had to be mentally destroyed by his toxin, you’d best believe you were taking the couch.
“Why - why are you here? What the hell did you do to me?” He said after noticing you, voice raspy. He hadn’t had anything to drink or eat in a while, after all.
“I could say the fucking same for you,” You muttered, giving him a pointed look. “You - what the fuck did you spray me with?”
Immediately, a twisted grin was bared on Crane’s lips, despite his fatigued demeanor. “Did you like it? My fear-toxin,” he preened, like the winning kid at a school science fair.
You rolled your eyes, and before you could control your tendencies, you’d swung back and then socked him straight in the face.
Crane double-backed, looking terribly affronted, as if he hadn’t sent you the gas knowing how it would affect you. “Ow,” is all he said, face contorting oddly around the pain.
“Yeah, “ow”. Fuck you, Crane.”
Crane raised a brow. “You’re acting like you didn’t feed me a poisoned cake!” He said incredulously.
“It wasn’t that poisoned,” you bit out, teeth gritted. “Not so poisoned I was hallucinating my family dying for twelve hours straight.”
“Ah, thanatophobia, not really one of my favourites—“ Crane started, like he was losing himself in a romantic daydream, before snapping back to reality. “Did you just say twelve hours?”
“Twelve hours for me. Twenty-four for you.” You said, reveling in how panicked he looked.
“I — that’s long enough for me to be killed a hundred times over,” he mumbled under his breath. “What the fuck did you put in that cake?”
“I never expected you to eat it, Crane. You’re fucking skin and bones, I thought you’d just throw it out.”
“What did you put in the cake?” he repeated.
“Ugh,” you sunk into the couch, “some amytal, zolpidem. Some melatonin. I didn’t measure, okay, and again, I wasn’t counting on you eating it.” You didn’t know why you had this urging feeling to respond to him, to humor his jabs, his dumb fucking theatrics, but you did anyway.
“Some amytal? Some zolpidem? Some melatonin? Jesus fucking christ - is that what you wanted? To kill me?” He was leaning down, face inches away from yours now.
You pushed him away, disgust on your features clear as day. “Shut the fuck up. I’m not some sociopathic fear-freak like you, Crane. I don’t mix compounds in my creepy little office with the thought of drugging out my fellow professor in mind. It was just an empty threat.”
He let out a disbelieving laugh, “Mixing barbiturates and medications into a cake sounds like an empty threat to you?”
“You know what?” You said brightly, getting up off the couch, “I don’t have to argue with you. I came to get my cure, woke up having cured myself.” Then, you burst out the door, fury rolling off you in waves, and you left.
There was something about the incident, however, that seemed to intrigue Crane to no end. Soon enough, he began entering your office during your breaks, asking to have a chat. Or, he’d walk in during your lessons, forcing you two in the hall alone. Sometimes, he’d even wait for you after school, dozing off in front of your classroom and waiting for you to exit your office.
You couldn’t tell what was making Crane so interested, but he was hanging off you and your every word like some lovesick puppy.
You, on the other hand, also couldn’t get Crane out of your head. Certainly not for some weird, fucked up reason like his, but because of what he had created. A lot of people doubted his intelligence, mostly because of his obsession on things nobody really cared about, but that obsession made way to the destructive fear-toxin you’d inhaled, and it was seriously unlike anything you’d ever experienced, hell, even read about. It was a brand new creation, and downright deadly.
Your interest in the man was more so on… keeping him in check. As rivals did. But his was on how you’d breezed past the effects of his toxin in just twelve hours. He’s expected you to go half mad, honestly. Your threat was empty… his was, decidedly, not.
By the end of the next week following the incident, you two began eating lunch together, asking for joint classes, and spending nights over at each other's places. Not in that way, of course — your way was like a group of scientists having a forever eureka, because your minds fit like perfect puzzle pieces.
Your intrigue had met his intrigue, and it felt natural, coming to a united front like that. You found you had more in common than you thought, something you should’ve found out about a long time ago, 3 ½ years kind of long time ago. Apart, you two were volatile; angry, spewing threats, attempting murder on the other. Together, however, you were absolute perfection: productive, well-mannered, motivated.
Now, fast-forward coming on two years since the incident. You and Crane - now, Jonathan, have been inseparable since that time. You two were close, closer than siblings or children and parents or couples; you felt like the same person that had been split into two. Being together was the only thing that felt right, being back at the origin, like being at home.
Fuck’s sakes, you did have the same home — you’d moved in together. Not to his, nor yours, but to a big house you bought on the outskirts of Gotham, with a big yard and an even bigger lab in the basement. It was like a scientist's amusement park.
Maybe it - this relationship of yours - was codependency. But maybe it was utter genius: your careers had both never seen so many accomplishments until you and Jonathan came together. Partly because you had a greater inspiration when coupled with the other, but, mostly because you had a body to test on during preliminary trials.
Creating things, like the fear-toxin, required human testing, and finding a way to get that done always slowed Jonathan down. Since finding you, however, it’d been a breeze.
You offered yourself up readily, given Jonathan would do the same. And, besides, Jonathan had never been worried about you and his toxin very much — after that first time you took the toxin, you could easily find yourself out of its effects. You were the only person he’d ever encountered who could do this, and it was downright fascinating. He wanted to keep you, see how that strong little mind of yours worked overtime to fight his toxin off.
You, on the other hand, rarely tested anything like that on Jonathan. Your interests lied elsewhere: what smells activate the human mind to recall memories, what are ways to accurately fight off drugs like GHB — all mental stimulation.
That, however, changed one evening, when you had been brewing up a serum for the past few weeks. You’d gotten to the point in creation where you needed to test on someone, and observe the effects.
“Jonathan,” you called out, looking down at your notes. The man in question was grading assignments for the psychology class you taught — now, in joint lessons more often than not — sitting at a desk a few metres away from you in the lab.
“Jonathan!” you repeated louder this time, looking up from your notes.
“What?” He shouted back, still hunched over on the ungodly amount of assignments he needed to mark.
“Come here. I need to test something on you.” You said, nonchalant.
That, however, piqued Jonathan’s interest to no end: you hadn’t tested anything on him in nearly a year. It hurt, a little, to test you endlessly and have nothing to give in return - so this, no matter what it was, Jonathan would take in stride.
Jonathan nodded vehemently, “Okay.” He then dropped all he’d been doing on the desk and made his way over, before sitting in the chair next to you. You made quick work, tying his arms and legs to the chair like he’d done to you so many times before. He watched you work, completely enraptured in how you looked while experimenting.
“So,” He said, tearing his sticky gaze off of you, “what’re you pumping me full of?”
You sat back in your desk chair and scratched your cheek, a little unsure how to say this. “Well, I created a serum that, once injected, would lower or lose all inhibitions of the victim. They’d be completely malleable, agreeable, if you just, um,” you fanned yourself, feeling a little too close to the man in front of you, room feeling incredibly warm.
“Just what?” He pried, leaning back in his chair.
You exhaled shakily, “if you just promise to - to provide relief to them. Sexual - relief.”
Jonathan let out an incredulous laugh. “You made a working aphrodisiac?”
“I mean, I wouldn’t exactly — I don’t even know if it works, for sure. If you don’t want to- take it, then you don’t have to.” You offered up weakly.
“How d’you get it out of the system?” He said instead, ignoring your words and picking up the needle you had ready for him on your worktable, which was filled with a thick, pink liquid.
You flushed. “You, um, help the victim relieve themselves, until the feeling is gone.”
Jonathan looked up at you, a sly smirk on his lips. “And you were going to give this to me?”
You turned away, face red, exasperated. “I told you, you don’t have to take it if you don’t want to.”
“And let you pleasure some random guy you snatched off the street? No way,” he said, before you heard a familiar prick, small whine leaving Jonathan’s mouth.
You spun back around so fast you thought you got whiplash. “Jonathan, wait—“ you said, alarmed. You were really, seriously, considering not giving the aphrodisiac to him — it would disrupt the careful balance you and he had built over the past years.
You were afraid that if he took the serum, and let you, for lack of a better word, get him off, you wouldn’t be able to look at him without remembering him needy, hot and bothered, calling your name out like it was the only word he knew.
He’d done it anyway, though. And now, you both just had to get through this… experiment.
Quickly, you grabbed your pen and notebook, ready to approach this scenario as detached and clinically as possible, ignoring the pulsing need in your insides as you saw Jonathan’s face slowly contort into a warm, heavy-lidded lustful one.
“How do you feel, Jonathan?” You said, standing further away from him so he couldn’t so much as feel your body heat on him.
“I…” Jonathan blinked rapidly, licking his lips, looking you up and down. “Warm. I just feel… warm.” He readjusted in the seat, unable to sit still. “And - kind of, tingly? Like I - well, I don’t know…”
You noted his words, as well as some of your own observations: his pupils were dilated, so much so the crystalline blue of his eyes were merely slivers, his lips were pursed, plump, and he was pink all over; pink cheeks, pink ears, pink neck. He was talkative, loose-lipped and a little out of it.
You inhaled, then exhaled, before starting the next phase of the experiment. “Jonathan, how do you feel when I touch you here?” You said, raising the back of your hand to caress his cheek.
Jonathan was affected almost immediately, eyes shutting tight. “It feels,” he said breathily, leaning into your touch, “ah… nice. Good.”
You nodded, promptly pulling away as soon as he’d finished his sentence. Subject enjoys physical touch. Jonathan then peered up at you, looking slightly… disappointed?
You shook yourself, getting back on task. “How do you feel now?” You pried, noticing he looked far more affected than before.
Beads of sweat were dripping from his forehead, making his wavy brown hair stick to his skin. He was breathing heavily, and, when you had touched him, he was extremely warm, like he had a fever.
“I’m, I…” Jonathan trailed off, eyes shutting, shaking his head. “Mmm… my head feels — fuzzy,” he bit out raspily.
“Okay. Good. It's exactly as I thought,” you murmured, continuing to scratch down notes.
You ignored him for a few minutes, writing up a list of side effects and observed results of the aphrodisiac. Then, your gaze drew back to him, who had been focussing intently on you the whole time.
“Jonathan?” you called out quietly, seeing his dazed expression. “Talk to me.”
Jonathan shuddered, leaning forward in the chair, head hanging low, “My - my body’s, hnngh… it feels— feels weird.” He bit his lip, face screwed up and tense. “I’m warm all over…”
His shoulders were hunched in, and he was trembling. You lifted a hand up to his head, petting him softly, carding your fingers through his hair.
“Ah…” Jonathan squeaked out at your touch, face going slack, “I feel like I need you to - to…” he sighed exasperatedly, “I need you.”
You chewed the inside of your cheek conflictedly. On one hand, you needed to finish up a few more tests, meaning Jonathan would be teased - or tortured, depending on how fast the aphrodisiac was affecting him - a little longer. On the other hand, he was already a breathy mess, begging for your touch. For you.
“Fuck,” you murmured, turning away from the man who’s eyes were practically rolling into the back of his head at the way you tugged at his locks. “No, no,” you fought your internal struggle. You would not give in to his pleas - you would finish this experiment.
“Okay. Okay.” you said to no-one but yourself, extracting your hand from his velvet soft hair. “Let’s be professional about this. Jonathan, I’m going to take your clothes off, but you can’t move, and you can’t touch me, okay?”
Jonathan’s breathing became more labored as you spoke, and you swore you could see desperate tears filling his eyes. “I can’t- I can’t touch you? But… but why not?” He was practically whining for you.
“Because, Jonathan, it wouldn’t be beneficial to the experiment.” You didn’t look your partner in the eye, because his complete and total change in behavior had you feeling, quite frankly, as warm as him.
You continued by undoing the restraints on his arms and legs, and his sharp intakes of breath as your fingers brushed past his skin didn’t slip past you. Not at all.
Firstly, you undid the man’s white button-up shirt slipping it past his flushed torso. Jonathan’s skin was actually pink and warm all over, and he was breathing heavily now, gripping the chair so tight his knuckles were white.
“Are you okay, Jonathan?” you asked absently, as you began unbuckling his belt and slipping down his fly.
Jonathan’s breath hitched in his throat, and he didn’t answer you, biting down on his lower lip to stop any desperate moans from escaping him.
You finally finished undressing your partner, then redid his restraints, before you stepped back to see him fully. Jonathan was shivering, faint tear tracks on his pink cheeks, head cocked back.
“It’s just - one, or two more tests, Jonathan.” You murmured quietly, kneeling down in front of him.
Your hands pressed flat on his thighs, rubbing him up and down, grazing your fingers lightly on his feverish skin. You had to regularly ground yourself, stop yourself from inching up to the poor, untouched tent in his boxer shorts.
Above you, you could hear Jonathan let out a low groan, “Ah, hnng— please,” he called out to no-one in particular.
“Does that - feel good, Jonathan?” You ask, getting back up on your feet. His desperate groans were getting to you now, how needy his little keens were.
“So - good,” he panted. “Your— you, I want— need, I need…” he trailed off, babbling, lost to the pleasure of your touch.
“Jonathan, if I… touched you more, would you do anything for me?” You said finally. The invention of the aphrodisiac was intended to sway someone's motivations, make them bend to your will. Sure, there was that added sexual aspect, but it was created with less… pleasurable intentions.
“Anything, anything at all,” he said deliriously, rolling his head around. “Jus’… just need you to- touch me.”
“Would you give yourself fear-toxin, Jonathan?”
“Yes! Yes, just — please… please! Stop asking me— questions… I need you so fucking bad, ah…”
“Jesus,” you said. Your aphrodisiac was stronger than you thought. You were satisfied, however, with the results of it. The first trial was a success, and you saw how you could use this on anyone - even people in particular positions of power, and get them to do your bidding. Quite helpful, indeed.
Now, you needed to… get Jonathan out of this state. By, ah, relieving him.
You had decided to do this, to test him, so you had to be responsible and help ease him out of this experiment. Quickly, you stripped your own clothing, even your underwear, before undoing the restraints on his arms and legs.
Jonathan’s eyes widened as he watched you undress. “Are you - are you… gonna t—touch me? Now? Please?” He practically begged, almost drooling at the sight of your naked body.
“Mhm,” you said, a tremble in your voice. “Gon’ help you get out of this.”
Then, you climbed onto Jonathan’s lap, shutting your eyes as you felt his hard cock within his boxer shorts slide between your legs deliciously.
He let out a guttural groan as your weight pressed down on him, feeling your wetness soak his shorts. That measly piece of fabric was all that was keeping him from entering your plush, velvet folds, and he was going practically insane at the feeling.
“M’god,” Jonathan whined out, leaning his sweaty head on your shoulder. “Y’feel so, a—ah, good…”
You couldn’t help the breezy laugh that made its way out of you. “I haven’t even touched you yet, Jonathan, and you’re already so worked up,” you whispered in his ear, hot breath fanning on his warm skin.
“P-pleeeease,” He begged, slowly grinding into you. Jonathan was barely coherent, mind just focussed on chasing the release he so desperately needed.
You raised a brow, but complied, slipping your warm hands down his boxer shorts and pulling his thick length out. You pumped him lazy, feeling how he writhed under you, tasteful whimpers slipping out of his mouth.
After another second of you stroking him lightly, your thumb grazing past the tip and collected a decent amount of precum, he actually did come, wet hot load spurting upwards on his chest and your face. “Ah - hnngh, oh my — oh my god,” he drooled, jutting into your hand.
It dripped down from your cheek onto your lips, and Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut, losing himself in the pleasure. You swiped a handful of his cream off your face, before covering his still hard, curved cock with it.
“You’re not done, aren’t you?” You said to him quietly, his hips stuttering as you artfully smeared his come on himself. Jonathan was arching into your touch, completely putty in your hands.
“Nuh- no, m’still— still need you, need you so bad.” he whimpered shamefully, hands stuck to your waist.
“Look at you go,” you found yourself cooing, dragging a creamy hand down his equally as creamy chest, your fingernails grazing him. “Let me take care of you.”
Then, you lifted yourself up off his lap, and carefully situated your slit on the tip of his head. “Christ,” you called out as you slid down, “you’re fucking big,”
Inch by inch, you took him, and Jonathan’s eyes were rolling into the back of his head, a string of senseless groans and whines leaving his mouth. “Feels so warm, so so warm,” he choked out at last, looking at you adoringly.
You started to lift out of him, your cunt stinging slightly at the sheer size of his cock, when you felt a heated liquid shoot through you, Jonathan’s knees buckling under your ass.
He’d come, again, even before you could get started. You shook your head incredulously at the terribly horny man beneath you, eyes glazed over in the pure ecstasy he was feeling.
“Stop, fucking — coming,” you scolded, bottoming his cock into you once more, “you’re gonna get me so — ah— fucking - pregnant if you keep coming.”
“Sorry,” Jonathan said sheepishly, burying his head into the crook of your neck. “Can’t help it— you feel so — hnngh — feel so good.”
You rolled your eyes at his words, then focussed on getting a good pace of sliding in and out, your hips rolling deeper and deeper into his own. You were bouncing quickly on his cock, dick-riding him like you’d never done before.
With all other sexual partners you had, they wanted to be all vanilla, always just missionary, going slow until they were close, no sense of creativity or any other wishes that just feeling you. With Jonathan - especially in the state he was in now - you could do whatever you wanted, as long as his cock was in your cunt.
“Good — god,” you screamed out, when Jonathan suddenly gained control over himself and snapped into you, rough hands pinching the flesh of your hips. He rutted into you, hard and fast, for a moment like that continually, before his control melted once more into nothingness, and all he could do was let you take the reins.
“Please— how’re you so — ah, how does your pussy feel so good…” he murmured, trailing off into a high-pitched moan when you pulled out, then just as fast sunk down on him.
Jonathan’s fingers trailed up your body, rubbing at your soft flesh, before they found your breasts, kneading you tenderly. He chanced several licks on both your erect nipples, and you shuddered, tightening around him. Your cunt was sucking him in, devouring his length no matter how big he was, and he could feel how his length was stretching your walls wide open.
“So fucking big.” You panted, arms wrapping around his neck, “fat fucking cock all needy, just me.”
“Jus’… just for you! All - ah, all for you,” Jonathan repeated with a squeak, lips bitten delicately between his teeth.
Your hands trailed all over his body, and as the pleasure was getting to you, making your head dizzy and your thoughts foggy, you bounced down on him and your nails scratched up his back, surely leaving small wounds.
This miniscule amount of pain seemed to amplify Jonathan’s endless pleasure, and you could feel him pumping you full of his come once again, the tip of his dick pressed flush against your cervix. His come made you feel so full, fuller than you already did with his monstrous cock nestled into you, continually rubbing up on the toe-curlingly spongy spot in your cunt every time you pushed him back in.
“Mmf,” Jonathan groaned, pleasure muffling whatever he was was going to say, “m’gonna… gonna get you pregnant,”
“Yeah?” You breathed out, squeezing your eyes shut, “Is that what this needy cock wants? To get my wet cunt full and me pregnant?”
“Yes, yes, hnngh, please, wanna come - wanna come more,” Jonathan cried out.
“‘kay, okay,” you nodded vehemently, “then make this pussy feel good.”
Then, you slid out with a whimper, two loads worth of come spilling out of your worn-out cunt, turning around so your ass would face him, before you sunk back down on him. You were chasing your own pleasure now, the unmistakable feeling rumbling within your lower stomach.
Jonathan was completely fucked out, just a shaking, hot and bothered mess on the sticky wooden chair you’d both occupied, but he still welcomed your warm pussy back on him with open arms. Your folds beat any other cunt he’d ever been in, and he knew nothing, not even his own hand, could match up to how addicting you were, how delectably you took him.
The new angle had you reeling, your hands gripping Jonathan’s thighs for some much-needed support. You were buckling, getting weaker with every bounce, but were still desperate for release. It affected Jonathan too, and he was pressing his face up against your hair, biting down lightly on your shoulder to collect himself despite the earth-shattering pleasure you were inflicting on him.
Your fleshy cunt met his rock-solid cock every moment perfectly, and soon enough your back was arching, head leaning back on Jonathan’s shoulder. That knot in your stomach was tightening, a fire burning within you and begging you not to stop.
Jonathan’s needy hands were coursing all over your body, rubbing on you in all the right places, and when his calloused fingers began pinching and twisting at your sensitive nipples, you saw white. That burning feeling dragged across your entire body, your jaw tensing, and you felt positively fuzzy, pure pleasure destroying all coherent thoughts you’d been having, your mind now focussed on the insane way he made you orgasm.
There was nothing that could compare to how you felt now, this being the hardest you’d orgasmed in your entire life. There was just something about Jonathan — be it how unbelievably big he was, or perhaps the odd tension that surrounded you two for the past few years — that made this experience ten times, no, a hundred times, better.
It was like his dick had been artfully crafted to stretch you out and stuff you full; that thick cock, made just for you.
In place of your weakening strength, Jonathan kept his hand tweaking your breast, and his other hand gripped your hip tightly, helping you bounce up and down on his cock. Thus, the pleasure was maximized by his touch, and you rode out your high like that for a few more long moments.
You stayed there, on his lap panting and drooling, for a few more seconds, before you climbed off of him, grimacing at the loss of his sweet cock in you.
You stood shakily, feeling his come ooze out of your sticky hole, and you were surprised to see that Jonathan was still hard. He was panting, head leaning against the chair, hands and legs trembling, but his dick could probably still pump out another round of come.
You did always wondering how he’d taste, and after seeing how long and thick he was, you wanted to know if his dick could make you cry, too. So, you kneeled down on the cold floor, pulling him by the ankles a little further off the chair, so you could get better access to him, and buried your pretty little head between his shaking thighs.
“What’re you— doing?” Jonathan said blearily, but before he could continue, your soft lips wrapped around him, and your tongue began artfully swiveling his sensitive head.
The loudest moan you’d heard so far was drawn out of Jonathan, and more, similar noises came out of him. It was nonsensical, and unintelligible, but you could tell he was having the time of his life — as if he hadn’t just orgasmed three times prior.
You started slowly, mouth taking his cock until you felt like you couldn’t anymore, before forcing past that point and making yourself take him to the back of your throat. Tears lined the rims of your eyes, your head swimming from lack of oxygen, but you couldn’t help how badly you wanted to hear him whimper and whine out from how good you were servicing him, his pretty groans reaching your ears like music.
You pulled his cock out of your mouth when you felt like you were going to pass out, and then you began lapping up at his cock, sucking and curving your tongue around his long length. You sucked him hard and fast, and then, his hands grappled at your hair.
At this point, you believed the aphrodisiac was wearing off, and Jonathan, now a little more clearheaded, began face fucking you, filling your sweet mouth full with his filthy cock. He couldn’t resist doing so, especially with you looking up at him through your tear-stained lashes, hollowing out your cheeks and gripping his thighs like your life depended on it.
You gagged on him, several times, but he didn’t care, and with a jolted thrust past your swollen lips, he came, squirting all he had left down your throat. You sucked and swallowed every drop of him into your mouth, loving the taste of his salty liquid.
Now, you were both fucked out, beyond tired, the strain on your muscles settling in. Your core had been properly exercised, what with how many times you rutted into Jonathan, and he, similarly, had a strained back with how much he arched into your touch, his aphrodisiac-clouded mind wanting nothing more but to be touched by you.
“Good god, woman,” Jonathan said, collapsing into the wooden chair, which was sticky with sweat, come and your cunt’s soaking wetness. “You could’ve just said you wanted to fuck,”
You panted, dropping down onto the cold floor beneath you and wincing. “We’re — we were, just friends.”
He waved away your words, “We live together, darling. Not quite sure if that's “just” friends.”
You looked up at him, before laughing agreeably. “Felt good though, didn’t it?” A smug grin made its way on your lips, remembering how submissive Jonathan had been, how desperate he’d been just for the slightest bit of touch.
“Amazing,” he said exasperatedly. “But next time, you’re not topping.”
“Next time, huh?” You said brightly, shakily getting up. Jonathan helped you, both of you limping exhaustedly up the stairs to your actual house, where you really should’ve been fucking, instead of the clinical environment of your large basement lab.
Jonathan’s hands found your ass, pulling you flush against him and kneading the flesh roughly. “Why not? Don’t you wanna know how I fuck?” he whispered suggestively into your ear, nibbling at the lobe.
“I think, you’ve still got some aphrodisiac in you, Jon.” you said, laughing breezily.
#jonathan crane x reader#jonathan crane smut#jonathan crane#cillian murphy smut#cillian murphy x reader#cillian murphy#batman#sub!jonathan crane#sub!jonathan crane x reader
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When You Fake It (Zoro x Reader NSFW)
Law Version! A/N: happy kinktober!! this is an unofficial submission for it lol it's zoro yearning hours out here!!! Pairing: Zoro x AFAB reader CW: smut MINORS DNI, P in V sex, missionary, riding, unprotected sex (Wrap it up), creampie uhhhh I'm bad at warnings if I missed anything lmk • masterlist • ko-fi • discord server •
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Zoro looms above you, his thick, hard cock sliding in and out of your drenched pussy. Your body jolts with each thrust, the bed creaking with the force. His hands grip your hips tightly, holding you in place as he drives into you, the sounds of flesh against flesh filling the air along with your shared ragged breaths.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he growled, voice strained. You nod in response, biting your lips as your body rocks beneath his large frame. The stretch of him inside you never seems to get less intense, the sensation of his cock dragging against your walls sharp and deep… but its not hitting the way you need it to. You try to focus and fall into the rhythm of his movements, but the pleasure just isn’t building the way it usually does.
His hips snap forward, faster now, and you force a moan, making it loud and particularly breathy, hoping that it’ll trick your mind into pulling you closer to the edge. Instead, it just feels distant. Detached.
“You close?” Zoro pants, his gaze dropping to where his cock disappears into you, watching the way your greedy hole sucks him in with each thrust. His fingers dig harder into your skin, the force enough to leave marks where the fingertips lay.
You nod again, squeezing your eyes shut. You couldn’t bear to tell him that you were far from it. Couldn’t admit that something was missing, not when he’s like this- not when he’s giving you his all. So instead, you arch your own back, hands sliding down to grip the bedsheets below you, and you make yourself moan again. This time louder, higher pitched, doing anything in your power to make him believe your actions.
“Zoro,” you gasp, breath hitching. He grunts in response, his pace becoming erratic as he pushes into you deeper, harder. The thick heat of him fills you completely, but the pleasure you oh so desperately crave still doesn’t come.
So you just decide to rip off the bandaid and fake it. You tense your body, trying to move in the way that you have done dozens of times before in this exact same scenario. You close your eyes, arch your back off the bed and let out a choked, broken cry, jerking your hips up as you do everything you can to put on the most convincing act possible. You clench around him, squeezing tight as you whimper out his name, and just internally pray that he buys it.
You almost sigh in relief as he slows down, and for just a second, you think you’ve gotten away with it, your body slowly relaxing against the sheets. But then, you open your eyes to meet his and the heat in his gaze makes your stomach churn. Zoro is watching you closely, and that look in his eyes tells you that he is not entirely convinced by your performance.
“Did you fake it?” it was a straightforward question– one that had an almost challenging undertone to it right alongside the obvious suspicion.
Your heart stutters in your chest as you realize your lies are crumbling apart by the second. “I-” you start, stumbling over your words, “I didn’t-” but the lie doesn’t come easily. You know he can see right through you, see how you are just putting on some poor excuse of an act.
Zoro raises an eyebrow, expression unreadable, and suddenly the weight of his body on top of you feels much much heavier with the occasional pulse of his cock deep inside of you not letting you forget just how full he has you.
You swallow hard and your hands reach up and slide over his broad shoulders. You can’t hide from him, not when he’s looking at you like this- like he knows exactly what happened. “I’m sorry,” you mumble in defeat. “I just wasn’t feeling it.”
He’s silent for a moment, but then Zoro dips his head down, lips brushing against your neck as he kisses a trail of warmth along the column of your neck. “Why didn’t you ay something?” his voice is softer now, the rasp of his breath hot against your skin. “What’s wrong, huh? Tell me what you need.”
You can feel the sincerity in his question, his concern, but your words seem to be trapped in your throat. You’re not quite sure whato say, not even sure what is it that you need. Instead of verbalizing your response, your hands slide down to his chest, pushing gently. Zoro watches you for a beat, expression shifting to realization as he leans back allowing you to guide him. You press harder, silently asking for control, and he complies as he shifts under your touch as you push him onto his back.
He lets out a low hum of approval, hands resting on your hips as you straddle him, his cock still nestled deep inside of you. “Take what you want, then,” he murmurs, voice low and velvety. “Make yourself feel good. I’ve got you.”
You settle on top of him, your thighs trembling as you take a moment to adjust to the different angle that allowed him to feel much deeper inside. It’s a moment of control, and it feels better- feels right. And Zoro just watches you, hands on your hips as he supports you.
You bite your lip, testing the waters with a slow roll of your hips, feeling every inch of him drag against your gummy walls. The pressure, the stretch- its intense, but its now all on your own terms, building into something that sends shivers down your spine. You hear the green haired man groan below you, and watch as his fingers twitch against your waist as if he’s barely holding back.
Each roll of your hips against him seems to spark a flame within you and you move with more confidence, finding that pace that makes heat pool in your belly, the pleasure nothing short of real this time. Your movements grow bolder, each motion of your hip more purposeful, grinding down until you feel that electric friction right where you need it most. Zoro’s cock twitches inside of you with every roll of your body and you cant stop the tilt of your head back as gasps of pleasure fill the air.
Your nails dig into his chest, leaving small crescent marks in his skin as you ride him with abandon now, the pressure between your legs building and building until you are trembling on the edge. There’s no room for pretending anymore– this is real, the heat between your thighs scorching, the sensation of being so full, so utterly taken over by the moment.
“Fuck… Zoro…” you moan, the words slipping out before you can stop them. It’s as if your senses are heightened and every touch, smell, sound, and taste are all on a different level.
“Good,” he grunts out, hips twitching upward, meeting you halfway as you sink down onto him again. “Thats, it. Don’t stop.”
But how could you? Your body feels like it’s on fire, your clit throbbing in time with your rapidly beating heart as the waves of pleasure grow closer and closer to their peak, threatening to drown you in sheer bliss.
The sensations intensify and soon you feel that familiar pressure coiling tighter and tighter within you. You lean forward, panting and breathlessly saying his name over and over again like a mantra and he responds by thrusting upwards, the bulbous head of his cock bullying that one spot inside you that has you reeling with pleasuere.
Your body oh so craves release as you feel yourself teetering on the brink, and thats when he speaks up. He urges you, his voice low and deep, “I can.. ah fuck-... I can feel how close you are. Just let go for me.”
And thats when that coil just snaps.
The tension that had built so intensely within you shatters like glass, sending shards of pleasure exploding throughout your veins. You cry out, a broken sound escaping your lips as your body convulses in pure ecstasy. Your hands tremble against his chest in your futile attempt to keep yourself grounded while the focus around you shrinks until all that’s left is the pleasure coursing through you. Your walls clench around him, spasaming with each wave of your orgasm in a cycle of overwhelming bliss that seems to stretch on forever.
Zoro’s breath hitches, and you can sense the way he’s watching you– that gaze flickering between your face and that spot where you two connect as he drinks in every detail of your release. “That’s it. Just like that,” he grunts as he grips your hips, guiding you as you ride the waves of your climax.
But he doesn’t stop. Not even after you left that ring of your milky white essence coating the base of his cock. He continues to thrust into you, chasing his own high. It’s a delicious feeling that nearly sends you spiraling again, the sensitivity from your orgasm leaving your mind in a total state of disarray.
“Zoro, a-ah! t- too much-” you gasp out, your words swallowed and replaced by broken whimpers and shaky gasps as his thrusts grow more urgent.
You could see the way his eyes are clamped shut, eyebrows scrunched in focus, jaw slack as hot puffs of breath release with the occasional grunt. All tell tale signs that he was close as well. He mutters out something confirming your thoughts, but you can only focus on the way his pelvis slams up into your clit over and over again, sending you jolting and whining out with the overwhelming sensations.
And with one final thrust, he gasps as his hips stutter into you before he stills completely, emptying his balls into your throbbing cunt. You could feel the way his cock twitches with each spurt of his seed, mixing with the remnants of your own release.
You sigh out as you collapse onto him, the sweat of your bodies mixing as you both pant. Neither of you move, not daring to interrupt the blissful silence as the world comes back into focus. When he pulls out, you whimper at the sudden emptiness, feeling your combined slick pools between your legs. As you shift and settle onto his side, you press lazy kisses against any exposed skin you can readily reach and Zoro responds in kind, pressing kisses to your forehead as his fingers trace your body in lazy patterns. Something about this moment fills you both with the desire to recreate it over and over again. But that’s for another time. For now, you two simply will soak in the afterglow of your feelings for each other, and thats more than enough.
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Pre-Wenclair. Late one night, an exhausted Wednesday crouches to peer beneath Enid’s bed.
Wednesday: For the last time, there is nothing under your bed.
Enid: *on Wednesday’s bed* B-But there was something there! It was m-making gurgling noises!
Wednesday: *glances back* Enid, you are a fearsome werewolf who faced a Hyde. If there were some creature beneath your bed, you are more than capable of mauling it into submission.
Enid: That’s not— I just— *sniffles* —can’t even!Wednesday, please, I am like SO freaked out right now!
Wednesday: *fixes Enid with a flat stare*
Enid: *hopeful* Can I uh… maybe like—sleep next to you?
Wednesday: *stare widens*
Enid: Puh-lease? Just for tonight?
Wednesday: *stare narrows*
Enid: *engages puppy eyes level 3*
Wednesday: *flinches blinks*
Wednesday: *grudgingly* Fine. You may join me for the evening—
Enid: Thankyousomuch! *dives beneath the covers*
Wednesday: —but if you monopolize the sheets, I will skin you for a new set.
Enid: Sure! No prob! *noisily getting comfy*
Wednesday: *peers back beneath Enid’s bed*
Wednesday: *whispers harshly* You have the wrong room.
Hideous entity: *apologetic gurgle*
Wednesday: Tanaka’s room is one level down, with a sign that reads ‘Count Snackula’. Fail again and you’ll be down several dozen tentacles. Understood?
Hideous entity: *fearful gibbering*
Enid: Wednesday, c’mon! What are you doing? I neeeeed you!
Wednesday: *ears do not burn* I was merely marveling at the sheer amount of dust beneath your bed.
Enid: Well, stop scaring my dust bunnies and get over here. I want my safety snuggles!
Wednesday: *glowers and obeys*
– Some time later in Yoko’s room. –
Yoko: 😴
*wet gurgle*
Yoko: *blinks awake* The fuck?
*nightmarish gibbering*
Yoko: 😭
#pre wenclair#monster under the bed#wednesday addams#enid sinclair#wednesday netflix#wenclair#incorrect wenclair#incorrect wednesday addams#incorrect wednesday quotes#incorrect quotes#ficlet
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https://www.nytimes.com/2024/09/02/world/europe/france-husband-rape-drug-trial-mazan.html
For years, she had been losing hair and weight. She had started forgetting whole days, and sometimes appeared to be in dreamlike trances. Her children and friends worried she had Alzheimer’s.
But in late 2020, after she was summoned to a police station in southern France, she learned a far more shattering story.
Her husband of 50 years, Dominique Pelicot, had been crushing sleeping pills into her food and drink to put her into a deep sleep, the police said, and then raping her. He had ushered dozens of men into her home to film them raping her, too, they said, in abuse that lasted nearly a decade.
Using the man’s photographs, videos and online messages, the police spent the next two years identifying and charging those other suspects.
On Monday, 51 men, including Mr. Pelicot, went on trial in Avignon, in a case that has shocked France and cast a spotlight on the use of drugs to commit sexual abuse and the broader culture in which such crimes could occur.
The accused men represent a kaleidoscope of working-class and middle-class French society: truck drivers, soldiers, carpenters and trade workers, a prison guard, a nurse, an I.T. expert working for a bank, a local journalist. They range in age from 26 to 74. Many have children and are in relationships.
Most are charged with raping the woman once. A handful are accused of returning as many as six times to rape her.
The victim, Gisèle, who has divorced her husband and changed her surname since his arrest, is now in her 70s.
Since his arrest, Mr. Pelicot, 71, has “always declared himself guilty,” said Béatrice Zavarro, his lawyer. “He is not at all contesting his role.”
Other defendants have denied the rape charges, with some arguing that they had the husband’s permission and thought that was sufficient, while others claimed they believed the victim had agreed to be drugged.
When the police showed Gisèle some of the photographs they say her husband had carefully classified and stored, she expressed deep shock. She and her husband had been together since they were 18. She had described him to the police as caring and considerate.
She had no memory of being raped, by him or the other men, only one of whom she recognized, she told the police, as a neighbor in town.
The first time she will consciously witness the rapes, her lawyer Antoine Camus says, will be in the courtroom when the video recordings are played as evidence.
The trial comes at a moment of heightened scrutiny of the handling of sexual crimes in the country. Rape is defined in French law as an “act of sexual penetration” committed “by violence, coercion, threat or surprise.” A number of feminist lawmakers want to amend that wording to say explicitly that sex without consent is rape, that consent can be withdrawn at any time, and that consent cannot exist if sexual assault is committed “by abusing a state impairing the judgment of another.”
“There is a kind of naïveté on the topic of predators in France, a kind of denial,” said Sandrine Josso, a lawmaker who led a parliamentary commission into what is known in France as “chemical submission” — drugging someone with malicious intent. She started the commission after she says she became the victim of a drugging last year. A senator is being investigated on accusations that he slipped Ecstasy into her Champagne.
Ms. Josso hopes that the Avignon trial will draw attention to the use of drugs to prey on women, and also shed light on the wide profile of predators. “They could be your neighbors, without falling into paranoia,” she said.
Mr. Pelicot seemed like a classic man next door. He was a trained electrician, an entrepreneur and an avid cyclist. His middle child and only daughter, Caroline Darian, her pen name, described him as a warm and present father in a book published in 2022 about the case, “And I Stopped Calling You Papa.” She tried to turn her family trauma into action, forming a nonprofit association, “Don’t Put Me to Sleep,” to publicize the dangers of drug-facilitated crimes.
Her father, she wrote, was the one who drove her to school, picked her up late from parties, encouraged her and consoled her. Her mother was the stable breadwinner, working as a manager in a Paris-area company for 20 years.
When Gisèle retired, they moved to a house with a big garden and pool in Mazan, a small town northeast of Avignon. The couple regularly hosted their three children and grandchildren for summer vacations peppered with late dinners on the terrace, where the family debated, held dance competitions and played Trivial Pursuit.
“I think of us as happy,” his daughter wrote. “I thought my parents were.”
None of them harbored any suspicions. Then, in 2020, three women reported Mr. Pelicot to the police for trying to use his camera to film up their skirts in a grocery store, and he was arrested.
The police seized his two cellphones, two cameras and his electronic devices, including his laptop, before releasing him on bail.
On the devices, the police say they found 300 photographs and a video of an unconscious woman being sexually assaulted by many people. They said they also found Skype messages in which the man boasted of drugging his wife and invited men to join him in having sex with her while she was unconscious.
Over the course of their investigation, the police found more than 20,000 videos and photographs, many of them dated and labeled, in an electronic folder titled “abuse.” The timeline they built began in 2011. The list of suspects grew to 83.
Two months after his initial arrest, Mr. Pelicot was arrested again and charged with aggravated rape, drugging and a list of sexual abuse charges. He is also accused of violating the privacy of his wife, daughter and two daughters-in-law on suspicion of illegally recording, and at times distributing, intimate photos of them.
If he is found guilty, he faces up to 20 years in prison.
During interviews with the police, the details of which were included in an overview of the case by the investigative judge, Mr. Pelicot said he began drugging his wife so he could do things to her, and dress her in things, that she normally refused. Then he started inviting others to participate. He said he never asked for or accepted money.
He met most of the men, the investigating judge’s report stated, in a chat room on a notorious, unmoderated French website implicated in more than 23,000 police cases in France alone from 2021 to 2024. It was finally shut down, and its owner arrested, in June after an 18-month investigation stretching across Europe.
The chat room where most of the men met Mr. Pelicot was called “a son insu,” which means “without their knowledge.”
Over the years, Mr. Pelicot told the police, he developed rules for the visitors to ensure that his wife did not wake: no smoking or cologne; undress in the kitchen; warm hands under hot water or on a radiator, so their cold touch would not jolt her. At the end of each night, according to the investigating judge’s report, he cleaned his wife’s body.
Of the 83 suspects, the police identified and charged 50.
Only one of the men is not charged with rape, assault or attempted rape of Mr. Pelicot’s wife. Instead, that man is accused of following the same model, and drugging his own wife to rape her. Mr. Pelicot is also charged with raping the man’s wife while she was drugged.
Five of the men also face charges for possessing child sexual abuse imagery.
Mr. Pelicot is also being investigated in the rape and murder of a 23-year-old woman in 1991 and the attempted rape of a 19-year-old in 1999. He admitted to the attempted rape, according to Florence Rault, the lawyer representing the victims in both cases, but denies any involvement in the 1991 homicide.
The story has prompted some soul-searching among doctors, since Gisèle had visited gynecologists and neurologists over a series of mystifying symptoms, but had received no diagnosis, according to her daughter.
“What I found disturbing for us doctors was that no doctor considered this hypothesis,” said Dr. Ghada Hatem-Gantzer, a well known obstetrician-gynecologist and expert in violence against women. She and a pharmacist, Leila Chaouachi, have now developed training for doctors and nurses on the symptoms that victims of drug-facilitated assault can experience.
Contrary to popular belief, most cases occur at home, not at bars, said Ms. Chaouachi, who runs annual surveys on such offenses in France. Most victims are women, the surveys show, and around half of the victims do not remember the attack, because of blackouts, she said.
In the case going to court in Avignon, some of the accused admitted guilt to the police. According to the investigating judge’s report, many claimed that they were tricked into having sex with a drugged woman — lured by a husband for a three-way encounter and told she was pretending to sleep, because she was shy.
Several said they believed that she had consented to being drugged and raped as part of a sex fantasy. Some said they did not believe it was rape, because her husband was there and they believed he could consent for both of them.
“It sends shivers down the spine regarding the state of affairs in French society,” said Mr. Camus, who is also representing Ms. Darian and many other members of the family. “If that’s the conception of consent in sexual matters in 2024, then we have a lot, a lot, a lot of work to do.”
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Boadicea | Feyd-Rautha
You took the lives of his men. It's only fair to the na-Baron to have yours in return.
Warnings: NON-CON, Fedaykin! Reader, Fremen Reader, Forced Submission, Dacryphilia, Collars, Mouth Gag, Cannibalism, Knives, Death Fetish, Exhibitionism
This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.
Elation bursts through your chest as the dying gurgle of yet another Harkonnen soldier fills your ears. You grow even more satisfied when his body hits the ground. Another screaming bald-headed demon lunges at you. Fierce blows are exchanged. You wince as he nicks you in the flank.
The desperation to win explodes through your veins. You slam your head into his, disorienting him long enough to drive your crysknife right through his gut. Even as he falls across the sand, blood spilling from his gaping mouth, you don’t stop. Unrelenting, you keep stabbing him, fury and vengeance driving your blade. With each strike, more of his dark blood splatters over your face, adding to his slain comrades’.
A war cry rips from your throat when he stops moving.
You rise on quaking feet, the exhaustion of hours of fending off the never-ending swarm of Harkonnen warriors crashing over you at once.
Your gaze swings across the battlefield. Horror surges within you.
It’s a slaughter. Fellow Fedaykin are burning right before your eyes. The Harkonnen artilleries rained death upon the Fremen troops the likes of which you’ve never seen before. The shock of sheer helplessness drills a gaping hole inside your chest.
Cowards, you muse bitterly. Of course they will not face you on the ground. It is well-known one Fedaykin is worth a dozen Harkonnen soldiers. None in the known universe fight more ferociously than the Fremen.
So they resorted to unleash heavy weapons from the sky. The sweltering Arrakis weather did the rest.
You whirl to your little brother. Just like you, he’s covered in grime, dirt and the putrid ichor that serves as blood to the Harkonnens.
“Run, Kaleb, hide!” you yell in Chakobsa, urgency bleeding in your tone.
You are lost. So is the rest of the Fedaykin army. But if your brother leaves now, he can use his hooks to call a maker and hitch a ride to safety.
A frown carves your little brother’s brow. “I can’t leave you,” he says.
You grip his shoulders.
“You have to. Get supplies at the village and go south with the others. Do you hear me?”
When he doesn’t reply, staring at you mouth agape, you jostle his slender frame.
“Do you hear me?” you repeat, louder this time.
He gives a shaky nod. “Yes!”
You remove the cord around your neck to place it around your brother’s instead.
A look of terror distorts his features.
“No, I can’t take your water rings,” he says, his voice trembling.
Your forehead presses against his.
“You must.”
A single errant tear spills down his cheek and you swipe it with your thumb, pressing it between his lips so it reenters his body.
“Do not waste your moisture. Now go.”
Reluctantly, you brother scampers away. A surge of relief fills you as you watch him stand before a dune slope in the distance and plant his thumper into the sand. The drumming begins. The ground starts rumbling some minutes later to signal the arrival of a worm. You dive inside a cave, taking cover as a wave of rising sand crests above the horizon. The deafening familiar hissing of Shai-Hulud surrounds you.
You close your eyes and suck in a wide breath, soothing yourself with a common Fremen saying.
The Uncleansed who have seen a crysknife may not leave Dune alive.
The screams of Harkonnen soldiers, unprepared for the sudden arrival of a sandworm, swell inside your ears as you settle in your hiding spot.
When the uproar dies, you ponder returning to the battlefield. However, whispers in the cave have you freeze in the rocky dint concealing your presence.
You lean forward to steal a peek. Your heart bounces.
Men in full Harkonnen livery stand beneath the vaulted ceiling of the cave.
Your eyes widen as you hear them idly discuss their plans to purge the remainder of the Fremen forces in the south.
Your focus sharpens. You slow your breaths and dull your quickening heartbeats.
A wild, insane idea takes shape in your head.
If you could stay hidden long enough. Perhaps you could return to Sietch Tabr. Report back to Muad’ Dib. Warn them of the Harkonnens’ plan.
A word keeps pouring from the men’s lips, one whose meaning evades you.
Na-Baron.
Confusion knits your brow.
As you continue trying to commit the conversation to memory, the chatter abruptly dies.
You go still, your mind buzzing.
The quiet deepens. Only the muffled sounds of the desert remain.
The blunt features of an Harkonnen warrior crowd your sight.
Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest.
Before you can hatch an escape plan, you’re roughly dislodged from your hiding spot.
You struggle against the arms that hold you, whirling to shove your crysknife into the man’s throat. He grabs his throat, choking on his own blood before his body finds the ground with a loud thud.
More men lunge themselves at you.
You cut down five more Harkonnen soldiers before a swarm of them surrounds you, punching and kicking you until you tumble to the ground. You cough out a trickle of blood onto the ground.
After every hit, the men attempt to interrogate you.
“Are there any more hiding like you?”
“Where are the others?”
Every inquiry thrown at you encounters a stubborn wall of silence. You will never betray the other Fremen. Though the prospect doesn’t thrill you, you’d much rather die. In fact, you’ve already embraced your inevitable fate. This is where your story ends.
You console yourself with one fact.
That at least you won’t leave this world a traitor.
It takes three men to restrain you long enough to tie you up. You only let go of your crysknife when one of the bald-headed warriors stomps over your hand with his boot, snapping your wrist bone and forcing your palm open. An ear-splitting scream rips from your throat. Still, you do not cry, refusing to waste your body moisture for these monsters.
You’re forced on your knees, hogtied while your broken wrist throbs against your back. The corpses of the men you slaughtered are dragged away.
Voices from outside grow louder as you hear the echo of steps fastly approaching.
“There is only one spy left behind. We couldn’t find the others,” one of the men says.
A gravelly voice, like the scraping of a rock against a hard surface, lands in your ears.
“They have gone south to hide in the storms,” it says.
Your pulse escalates, your gaze lifting slowly. There is something different about the newcomer. He’s tall, athletic, with delicate, aristocratic features that are unusual amongst the Harkonnen. An aura of authority hangs around him, every soldier’s stance stiffening as he enters the cave.
He must be the one in charge, you realize.
Someone hands him your crysknife. A tide of anger mounts within you at the sight. If you were free, you’d plunge it in his neck.
He gauges the blade attentively, his fingertips caressing the bloodied edge.
“Send this message to my uncle,” the newcomer says. “The North is tamed and secured. Harvest spice at will.”
“Yes, na-Baron,” a man near him replies before taking his leave.
Na-Baron. You frown. So it is him.
He takes sluggish, lithe steps towards you, the corner of his lips twisting upwards.
Your muscles coil, cold tendrils of dread clutching your insides.
Even on the battlefield, as your life hung in the balance, you didn’t feel this creeping sense of imminent danger.
The primal, gut-deep inkling that you should run…and never look back.
“You killed six of my men with a single blade,” he says, a mix of surprise and admiration laced in his raspy baritone.
“She won’t talk,” the man behind him says. “We even broke her hand but she still won’t say a word.”
He cocks his head, his tone bone-chilling as he casually states, “Tell her that’s fine. I already know everything I need to know.” A man near him hands him a flame thrower. You take a deep breath. You’ve witnessed Harkonnen soldiers use them to set ablaze corpses and catch runaway Fremen, burning them alive. There isn’t a hint of emotion in the na-Baron’s voice as he points the flame thrower at you. “Only pleasure remains.”
You lift your chin. If death you must meet, you will do it with dignity.
“The pleasure’s all mine,” you reply calmly, a wide smile spreading onto your lips.
The na-Baron’s eyes bulge and narrow, his hands dropping.
He strides forward.
“What did you just say?”
“Just get on with it, will you?” You unleash a frustrated sigh. Shouldn’t you be a charred heap of smoking flesh and bones already? What is this na-Baron wasting time for? You are resigned to it now, having used the time before to accept your fate. “I’m eager to meet my ancestors and be freed of your foul Harkonnen stench,” you taunt, hoping your insolent tongue will hasten things along.
You wait and wait, your defiant gaze never wavering.
But the deathly flames that should lick the flesh clean off your bones never come.
Instead, the na-Baron tosses the flame thrower on the ground and barks an order to one of his subordinates.
“Take her back to my chambers in our base.”
The man casts you a disdainful glare.
“But na-Baron. That woman is danger-” A swift slash across the man’s throat from the na-Baron’s blade has the man choking on his words. Blood fills his mouth, his body twitching as it sprawls across the ground.
He doesn’t spare the dying man another glance, his head slanting.
He leers at you, exerting no effort to disguise the lewd intent etched in his dark gaze.
“And make sure to tell my darlings she’s not for them to have…but for me to feast upon later.”
Fear floods your veins. You readied yourself for death, not for…whatever the Harkonnen warrior has in store for you.
“Yes, na-Baron.”
You’re hauled off the floor. When you refuse to move, one of the Harkonnen soldiers twists your broken limb to get you to lurch forward. You clench your teeth and blink back the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. You will not cry. You will not give them the satisfaction.
Tears are sacred. They are to honor the dead and nothing else.
Before you’re carried away, the na-Baron approaches you and frames your jaw.
“I hear Fremen do not cry, never squander their water under any circumstance. I wonder…” A sadistic smile unfurls on his pale lips, baring a glimpse of inky black teeth beneath. His thumb sweeps across your tightly pressed lips. “What will it take for you to shed a tear for me, pet?”
You shiver in the ropes as you watch the three Harkonnen women tear bloody ribbons in the male Fedaykin’s flesh with their claw-sharp black nails. The delighted purrs they emit while feasting on human flesh bounce off the black, sterile walls of the palatial chambers.
Your gaze is wide, horrified.
You’ve seen death. You’ve seen violence. But you’ve never laid eyes on such a ghoulish spectacle before. The na-Baron’s cannibalistic mates picking the meat off the man’s bones and digging their hands inside his gut. As if he were nothing but a heap of fresh meat to sate their hunger.
You want to peel your gaze away… but you can’t.
You’re paralyzed.
His lifeless blue eyes, a sinister mirror of your own due to the spice melange, send prickles through your spine.
This could have easily been you. And it would have been…weren’t it for the na-Baron’s whim changing course as swiftly as a weather vane. Just like the apparel must yield to the fickle will of the winds, you must surrender to his.
When the women are done, one of them flashes you a broad smile. Shredded pieces of organs stick to her teeth and blood covers the bottom of her face, dripping down her chin.
A shudder ripples through your spine.
Their inky, whiteless stares settle on you. They discard the mangled corpse and inch closer to you. You retreat against the wall, fear gripping your throat. Ravenous expressions light up their pretty faces.
You swallow through your aching, parched throat. Are you next? Will they do to you what they did to that poor man?
They whisper in Harkonnen. The confusion about the words pouring from their tongues stokes the terror consuming you.
Then they laugh. Strident, bloodcurdling, wicked laughs. You remain still, willing your heart not to beat so loudly.
Dying on the battlefield is one thing. Being eaten alive is another, wildly different thing. The kind of needlessly cruel death you never envisioned for yourself.
Despite the distress tossing your senses into chaos, you force yourself not to cry. No tears, you remind yourself. Not for them. Never for them.
One of them snaps her teeth in your face. Your lip quivers as blood drains from your head. Your reaction draws another round of laughter from them.
They tease you for a while, their threats disturbingly clear despite not understanding a lick of their coarse native tongue.
It’s in their hunched, predatory stance, the hunger twisting their pretty features. They could pounce on you at any time, rip you to shreds and you’d be powerless to stop them.
Their vicious taunting is still in progress when the na-Baron storms into his chambers. His arrival does nothing to alleviate your worries.
A fond smile ghosts over his lips as he soaks the scene before him.
“I see you’ve met my darlings.” The women coo as he approaches them. He lovingly cradles each of their faces, planting deep, passionate kisses on their lips. The sickening display by your fellow Fedaykin’s slain form a few feet away makes your stomach wrench. “Darlings, meet my new pet.”
“I’m not a pet,” you snarl.
The women hiss at you in concert, sounding like snakes ready to strike. You flinch backwards.
He cocks his head.
“You are whatever I say you are.” He glides towards you slowly. Once he’s in front of you, he taps the booted tip of his foot into your bruised knee. His gravelly baritone scratches along your eardrums. “Kiss my feet. I’m your master now.”
You squint at him.
“Fuck you.”
His plump mouth quirks lopsidedly. He then kicks you in the gut without ceremony. The searing pain knocks the breath from your lungs. You keel over, groaning against the tiles.
He hunkers down and grabs a fistful of your hair, tugging your head backwards. The sting in your scalp has you blink back tears before they can spill.
“In time, pretty little pet.”
Steps echo from afar. A man enters the room. The na-Baron’s authoritative timbre whips across the stiff, sweltering air of the room.
“Did you bring what I asked?”
“Yes, na-Baron,” the man replies swiftly. From the corner of your sight, you get a glimpse of metal. Panic sings inside your veins.
As your pulse soars, you’re shocked when the ropes around your frame come loose through a few nimble slashes of a knife.
You jump to your feet.
Your shocked gaze locks with his. Amusement decorates his features.
Layer after layer, he removes pieces of his armor. Until his carved alabaster, muscles are exposed to you, leaving him in little more than a thin strip of fabric hanging precariously over his tapered waist.
A second long, curved blade is tossed at your feet.
Your eyes bounce from the weapon to him. Utter confusion wars with fright within you.
When the guards begin to draw their weapons, he barks at them, “Don’t.” They place their weapons back in their sheaths. He opens his arms, the blade in his hand glinting in the dull light of the room. “Go on. This is your chance.”
You gawk at him. Is he truly baiting you to attack him? Does his life mean nothing to him? Is he a madman?
Your brows crumple. With every second, your confusion grows.
He approaches you. Adrenaline pumps through your veins. You rush to pick up the knife with your unbroken hand and point it at him.
There isn’t an ounce of fear in his eyes as he inches closer, the blade grazing his bulging pec.
“Do it,” he challenges, a clear taunt in his haughty inflection.
Your mouth trembles. What do you stand to lose? You will never see Sietch Tabr or your brother again. You’re a war prisoner. You might as well be dead. You should be dead. In another life, you would already be.
You suck in a sharp breath. You move as quickly as your feet and dwindling strength allow. He matches each of your brutal, clumsy blows. You go for his head and he dodges with ease, grabbing your broken wrist, causing you to stumble. Your breath falters, throbbing pain exploding in your limb. Grinding your teeth, you whirl and deal another series of strikes. He parries each of them, a delighted expression etched on his slender features. Anger glows within you. He’s enjoying this. While you’re in agony, he finds pleasure in every brush with death.
You graze his cheek, leaving a long cut across his flesh. A demented, black grin breaks out on his face. The fight continues for a few more minutes, the clash of metal and his feral roars swelling in the room.
It ends with him tackling you to the ground as he slams your wrists besides your head. The knife slips out of your grasp. You hold your breath, helplessness filling you as his muscular frame drapes over yours.
His lips skim against your temple.
“You fought well, sweet pet. Better than most,” he whispers. You shudder when his cool tongue drags over your cheek. “But it’s time I claim my prize.”
Ice ripples through your blood. You struggle beneath him as he rips your stillsuit from your body. Every effort to fight against him is for naught. Soon, your bruised and battered form is completely bare to him.
He drinks you in as your chest lifts and sags, lust sparkling in his dark gaze. He wrestles a collar around your neck and a ring-shaped gag on your mouth. The contraption forcing your lips apart makes you feel even more trapped than before. He tugs off the cloth covering him, revealing his massive erection, the pale tip already glistening with his arousal.
He hoists you up until you’re on your knees. His fist tangles in your hair, wrenching your neck backwards. Muffled moans of protest fly from your throat.
“I never wondered what a desert rat’s mouth felt like before. But now…” He pumps himself, his tongue darting out to sweep over his bottom lip. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”
He slips his tip between your lips, nudging you closer when you try to turn your head. That mere contact has him purring in delight. You push against his thighs, desperation swelling as your palms meet unflinching bands of thick, corded muscles. Even the tip of him feels like too much, the corners of your mouth bursting at the pressure. You groan, completely helpless as he pushes more of himself in your mouth.
He cradles your face, his grip firmer than before, and plants his feet in the ground. You gag on his length as he finds the back of your throat, the salty taste of his skin filling your mouth. Shame wells up inside you. Tears burn the back of your eyes as you choke on his size.
Nearby, the cannibalistic women laugh at your torment, sharing words in Harkonnen you don’t understand.
The na-Baron snickers, making you jolt as he shoves inside you to the hilt. The corners of your mouth ache, both from the device and his thick girth.
“Yes. She does take me gloriously, doesn’t she?" He smirks. "Like a true warrior.”
Hatred burns in your eyes as you glare up at him. He seems to bask in the sight, moaning in pleasure as he starts thrusting inside your mouth.
You’re left with no choice but to take his merciless assault. His eyes roll back as he bruises your throat and steals your breath. Stilted whimpers roll off your tongue.
Your eyes sting. You try your hardest to swallow every tear and sob, but as time goes on…your pride crumbles. In its stead, only despair remains.
Tears swell in your eyes and make a slow descent down your cheeks.
“Ah, there it is,” he rasps, collecting the droplets with his thumbs.
As he brings one to his tongue, humming at the taste, you feel him grow harder on your tongue.
The pit of your stomach sizzles. With humiliation. With defeat.
Throaty moans pour from his chest, his head tossing back as he pounds harder into your mouth.
Your body goes limp, his hands the only thing keeping you on your knees. Your vision blurs as you become nothing but a toy for the na-Baron, a vessel for his brutality. A tool to satisfy his basest needs.
“Perhaps, we shall keep that one. What do you think, darlings?” The women’s excited squeals land in your ears. He caresses your damp cheeks. “And if she ever bores us, well…” He licks his lips, a wide grin unfanning on his face. “We’ll make sure no part of her goes to waste.”
#feyd rautha x reader#feyd rautha harkonnen#feyd-rautha#dune fanfiction#dune#dune part two#feyd-rautha x reader#feyd rautha#dark!fic
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Could i ask for HCs of Mizu with a mommy kink? Like her liking to be called that? Thank you!
Mizu with a Mommy Kink (18+ mdni after the line) gender neutral! reader
ALRIGHT
Honestly, the kink stemmed from the fact that she's a natural protector
She may have a contradicting personality with regards to socialization but overall, it's probably because it's influenced by the values and mindset that she learned from when she was young
Violence had never been the right answer and while the world continues to change influenced by the bloodbath in its history, why can't she make use of it as a way to save others?
yeahh getting philosophical in a fucking nsfw post YEAHHH
anyways, you and Mizu had been acquainted for a while now and she respects you enough to be somewhat vulnerable with you
It's the same with you as well, you regard Mizu as a close confidant of your life stories
It's safe to say that you know each other well enough despite how it looks
There have also been quite close calls that made your relationship with Mizu border something more than acquaintances slash friends with a question mark in bold (its for the emphasis)
So imagine to your surprise how worked up she gets over a joke you made after commenting on her natural need to protect
"Y'know," You lick your lips, eyes squinting as you assessed the woman before you quietly drinking her tea. "You have a natural sense of protecting. Kinda like a mommy."
The blue-eyed samurai freezes in her place
It was a look of horror at first and you were quite tipsy during that time (you two were lounging at your home)
So your thought process was, heyyy why not make fun of this mf while I have no shame
so you did
The look of horror, turned into being uncomfortable until her cheeks flushed to a deep shade of red
You've never seen someone change emotions in just a few seconds
You were enjoying this clearly
Mizu was having none of it and while the term did fluster and invoke horrors worthy enough of the judgment of Izanami no Mikoto
Fueled by her emotions, her secret-not-so-secret attraction towards you, and her need to shut you up, Mizu moved towards you
And now you're where you are now
NSFW
Soft dom with a hint of sadistic tendencies
She likes making you beg and plead for her to do something, then turn a 180 and praise you for your work
loves loves loves overstimulating you
I think its because she hasn't gotten any action over the past few years that all she's doing is take take take from you
You're writhing and shaking in the sheets with just her mouth and she hasn't even gone to her fingers yet
She loves looking down at you, reveling in the superiority that your submission to her brings
It makes her menacing tbh but its hot okay
This mf eats you up like a champ
Fast learner
Has a good stamina but her refractory period can take some time
so yeah it ultimately ends up with you overstimulating a dozen times before she finally gets to have her own release (also probs bc she prioritizes your pleasure over her own)
she loves it
She gives you reigns at first, just to let her know what to do and a few seconds later, your eyes are rolling in the back of your head
Quite manipulative in bed
Says a lot of things like, "you're mine right?", "say you want me", "tell mommy that she's all you need"
you indulge her manipulative tendencies tho
all of this is making you develop a praise kink omf
Sometimes gets overwhelmed by the pleasure and pushes you too far but thats okay cuz its mizu
Stops completely and stares you down when you stop saying mommy
That completely just puts you in your spot
Then her voice drops to a chill and calm tone and suddenly you're shivering and flushing at her stare
Know how people's eyes get duller when they're in the state of lust or smn
Hers get brighter for some reason
She likes positions that allow her to wrap her arms around you or where her body is either on top or covering you
yeahhh stems from the need to protect
After you and Mizu establish this kind of relationship, she begins to act more mischievous around you
MIZU IS MISCHIEVOUS damn, that mf will tease you like its nothing
she will eye you up with no shame, whisper in your ear like its not bothering you, and then act like she hasn't done anything at all
Esp when she gets joke gifts from the brothel like sex toys and what not
She will use them on you and you will limp for a week
More of a service-top rather than receiving
She likes the reactions she's pulling out of you and when you return the favor, she pampers you with so much love and affection and you just flush in shyness
yeaaaaa, its okay to be a red flag in bed as long as it's mizu
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imagining ghoul just being completely dazzled by vaultie reader….their beauty, their clean teeth and nails, their skin…the softest, smoothest skin he’s seen in hundreds of years. he could hardly remember how it looked til now.
he’d watch over you while you slept by the fire he made with such fascination, studying your features like this when he knew you wouldn’t be able to raise an eyebrow at him and he could allow himself to be relaxed and let down his tough guy wall (after all, you only just met a few days before).
and when you roll up the pants of your suit one day in the heat and expose your legs…he sees they’re perfectly waxed (who knew they had that in the vaults?) and it takes everything he has not to just reach out and touch them.
Smooth Skin
Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Vault Dweller
Word Count: 3,109
Warnings: smut (18+), sexual tension, masturbation (male), mild somnophilia, very mild angst.
Summary: Cooper's new companion is beyond distracting.
Notes: Another excellent submission! I have had VERY similar thoughts about how people in the vaults would still adhere to so many old grooming practices that had long disappeared from most of the Wasteland. It would be such a weird thing for non-vault dwellers to see, and not being able to maintain them would be quite the shock for vault dwellers.
Also, this poor old man wouldn't consciously recognize the feeling of "arousal inspired by a specific person" if you beat him over the head with it. It's been about 200 years since he felt it.
Cooper was beginning to wonder if he'd been screwed.
Holding the deeply familiar vial up to the light once more, he gave the liquid contents a shake, examining the consistency, the color, the weight. For the half dozenth time that hour, he lifted it to the open cavity in his face where his nose once sat, inhaling deeply, testing for any unfamiliar odors, ultimately finding none. Lifting the solution to his lips, he tasted it, once, twice, rolling it around in his mouth with deep suspicion.
Everything seemed to be normal about the latest bunch of vials he'd acquired, at least on the surface. However, he was beginning to worry that he'd been given some sort of dud batch, and now he was starting to dissolve into some sort of ferality.
But this didn't feel like the dozens of other times he'd cut it close over the years, when his chest constricted, fighting for every breath as his mind began to cloud with aggressive thoughts, making him feel ready to lash out at anything that moved. No, he could breathe just fine, and he didn't necessarily feel aggressive, but he did feel oddly tense and ready to pounce at the slightest provocation. It didn't seem like anything had changed about his treatment.
Then again, something else had changed pretty drastically over the last few days.
Standing in the baking sun, he waited impatiently for the little vault-dweller he'd inexplicably managed to become attached to to finish her business, infinitely more fidgety than usual. He scanned the horizon with uncharacteristically anxious eyes, his boot tapping in the dirt.
"C'mon, Vaultie! Move your ass!" he called, harsher than he intended, but when the girl came scurrying up out of the ditch, he offered no apology, simply jerking his head in the direction they'd already been headed down the road, waiting for her to get a step or two ahead of him so he could follow, watching her closely.
Very closely.
The old cowboy prided himself on his ability to analyze people, to figure things out about them long before they were disclosed. It had proved an immensely useful skill over and over again. This girl, however, confused him. The pristine cheeriness of her was unsettling, making her stand out clear as day against the dingy, angry, consuming Wasteland.
He didn't trust it, frankly. It had been a long time since he'd met anyone who was genuinely selfless and kind simply because they felt it the right thing to do. She was definitely hiding something, concealing her true nature, but at least she was good at it. Besides, he'd be lying to himself if he said part of the reason he allowed her to tag along with him wasn't that he didn't want to walk past her pretty little corpse on the side of the road in a few days...as if there would be a corpse leftover. At least, a recognizable one.
Ahead of him, the girl caught her boot on a crack in the ancient asphalt, sending her stumbling; his quick reflexes kicked in almost instantly, and he yanked her back by her suit sleeve, sighing when she cast a sheepishly apologetic glance his way. He rolled his eyes and gave her a small push to keep it moving, watching as her hair swished back and forth with her movements.
How many decades had it been since he'd seen a woman with long hair? Maybe it had even been a century, or more. Most women in the Wasteland kept their hair cropped fairly short; easier to care for, less for someone to grab onto if you were attacked. Shampoo was still fairly easy to acquire, but only because most people didn't have consistent access to enough clean water to bathe with. Hair could also be sold in some cases, and many people found themselves desperate enough to do something like that in this world, unfortunate as it was.
But this girl, her dark curls hung down to her waist, flowing down her back and shoulders elegantly, or laid along her spine in a neat braid when she got especially red and sweaty. It was so shiny; he wanted to run his fingers through it for some reason, so badly that when she'd bumped into him their first day of travel, her view obscured by the dark curtain, he didn't even think to scold her, too busy willing himself to not thread his fingers into the soft strands. When he was close enough, he noticed that it smelled like wildflowers.
He'd met her just outside Filly. Where she was headed, a few settlements northwest to find an aunt or a sister or a grandmother or something, wasn't the most perilous route she'd shown him on her Pip Boy (in a very surreal conversation where she'd treated him like he was any other man), but she was already showing that she wasn't truly equipped to make it there intact. Hell, she had flagged him down for directions, in a move that had made him genuinely wonder if he hadn't done too much Jet that morning. That little maneuver wouldn't get her killed with him (at least, on the right day) but it would quickly get her robbed or worse with many others.
His first instinct had been to leave her to her fate, but he found that he just couldn't leave her there on the side of the road, that blinding white smile, those big, round eyes, her basically pristine vault suit making her stand out like a sore thumb. Begrudgingly, he had agreed to let her walk with him to where she was going.
She tired rather quickly compared to him, his condition making thermoregulation much less of a concern. His soft new companion, however, was unaccustomed to the sun, to the heat, and was often too exhausted to continue in any real capacity by the time the sun set. The nights got cold, colder than it seemed she'd anticipated, and she chattered her way through that whole first evening; each subsequent night, he'd built a small fire to keep her warm through the coldest part. It annoyed him immensely, having to expose them in the dark like that, but, oddly, he found that he equally disliked watching her shiver on the ground.
"Do you think we could stop for a while?" she asked suddenly, stopping in her tracks to turn to him and nearly slamming into his chest in the process. His hand braced on her shoulder, slightly shoving her aside so they didn't collide; the hand that touched her tingled when he pulled it away, and he cast a quick glance at his palm.
"You're really pushin' it today, kid. You know that?" he growled, his tone dripping with unconcealed irritation. They could easily get at least a few more hours of walking in before the sun went down, and once she stopped walking for the day, it was hard to get her going again.
The way her eyes widened at him before dropping to the ground actually made him feel guilty, flooring him just a little. He held his face in its usual neutral mask.
"I'm sorry." she murmured, chastened. "I'm just not used to walking so long in the heat."
Immediately, he rolled his eyes, though whether he was rolling them at her or at himself, he genuinely didn't know. Casting his eyes further down the road, then around where they'd stopped, they fell onto a clutch of old, dead trees and rocks, a small amount of shade gathering there. It was well concealed enough, he supposed.
"Fine. We can stop over there. But we're gonna get a few more miles in today, at least, so don't get comfy."
Flashing him those perfect teeth again, she quickly made her way off the road and threw herself down at the base of the largest tree, hiding from the sun as best as she could. He took the opportunity to dig some food out of his bag, have another smoke or two, and reflect on his choices, his back to her by and large as he watched the road.
"I didn't know the sun was so bright." she huffed after while, her tone almost petulant. "Or so hot."
He turned back to her, a slick reply about her general naivete locked and loaded, but he was stopped in his tracks by the sight of her sat there on the ground, tugging off her boots and socks. Folding each sock into a neat little ball, she tucked them into their corresponding mate and sat them aside, stretching her legs out in front of her. Quiet, he watched her roll up each pant leg to her knee, as high as the cut of the material would allow, reclining back in the small patch of shade she'd found.
Those toned, smooth calves that peeked out at him were the most intriguing thing he'd seen in a minute, his eyes practically glued to the exposed skin. There was a softness to her that he thought didn't exist anymore; in her supple body, the way she actually held a little extra fat from years of being fed and safe in a vault, the soft, clear expanse of her skin, her clean, manicured fingernails. Oddly enough, he found himself deeply wanting to reach out and wrap one of his hands around her ankle, the other running up the taut muscle of her leg. He shoved the feeling down and turned back to the road, fidgeting.
A while later, the sun was dipping behind the horizon, but still frying everything it touched when she finally spoke again.
"Do you wanna get going soon?" she called, tone much more relaxed than before.
He turned to look at her again, having avoided doing so for over an hour, her sleeves rucked up to her elbows as well, and shook his head.
"Nah. Might as well just bed down here and get some sleep. Good a place as any, I guess. I wanna cover some real ground tomorrow." he replied, keeping his tone noncommittal. "Get your rest, princess. If you can't keep up tomorrow, I'm leaving your ass behind."
She shot him a look, somewhere between evaluating whether or not he was serious and rolling her eyes at his continued unpleasantness, but she didn't respond outside of a simple nod, sinking back down onto the ground and closing her eyes. Once the sun went down fully, he went around gathering up dried sticks and brush to build a small fire, setting up near where she was obviously quickly falling asleep, curled up on her side and using her backpack as a pillow.
Cooper kept watch for a few hours as it quickly darkened, the girl falling soundly asleep as he sat polishing his guns. Eventually, he grew bored of weapon maintenance, and his eyes were drawn to the vault dweller lying a few feet to his side.
He leaned closer, allowing himself to inspect her face closer than he'd had a chance to thus far. Walking behind her all day allowed him plenty of time to study her silhouette, her gait, the dancing length of her hair. But her face was always hidden, and when she turned to face him, he felt unable to look her in the eye for too long without that itch creeping into his brain, sending him searching through his pockets for his inhaler.
Now that he could take a long, uninterrupted look at her without worrying about being caught, it finally dawned on him, though, not immediately:
Fuck, she was beautiful.
And she was, and would have been if he'd met her in another life, too, each feature of her more appealing than the next. That long hair had been braided back away from her face, the length of it coiled like a snake along her back as she snored ever-so-lightly, her head sitting crookedly against her backpack. Before he could even think about it, his hand had already been tugged loose of his glove and reached out to softly pet at it, the strands silken under his bare fingers.
When did he get so close to her?
He thought back to her exposed legs, now hidden back away beneath her pant legs, kicked most of the way back down to assist in keeping her warm, and thought about how there had been no hair there. Many aspects of grooming that had once been normal were long lost to him, but that was certainly one of the biggest ones. He had completely forgotten that women once generally shaved the hair from their legs, and how big a deal it was considered when they didn't. He'd thought it was a silly thing to expect then; now, it just seemed like a sad thing to fixate on, with all that had been going on at the time.
However, that didn't stop him from imagining how smooth, how silky her legs would feel if he ran his hands along them, how high the smoothness would go until he would be able to feel the presence of downy little body hairs, the likes of which he hadn't had himself in centuries. Would they start at her knees? Or would he have to feel all the way up to the tops of her pillowy thighs to feel them? He remembered, vaguely, that some women would shave between their legs, too, and wondered if she did that as well.
Why was he thinking about what was between her legs?
His brain was so foggy the longer he looked at her, his one free hand quickly moving to dig his inhaler out of his pocket, taking the longest drag he could take off of it. It didn't clear his mind, didn't stop him from feeling like he wanted to touch more of her, to lean close and smell her, taste her. A hard shudder broke down his spine, and his cock set to throbbing in his pinstriped pants, his teeth gnashing. He was anxious to get to the next big settlement so he could buy new vials; he was convinced there was something wrong with these ones.
Regardless, he could breathe fine and didn't feel like a threat to the girl, necessarily...so his attention shifted, rather sourly, to his aching erection, now straining against his thigh.
It wasn't that he never masturbated; he was still a man beneath all the rads and rot, and his sex drive had never fully died, only dwindled down to a single flame whose presence didn't usually draw any attention from him. But it wasn't something he relished in, no more than eating food he couldn't really taste anymore to sustain himself or feigning sleep to allow his legs and back to rest. It was simply another need that had to be met on occasion; a quick tug at himself, not thinking of anything in particular, until he spilled onto the ground and went on with his life. It never needed to be more than that.
Now, however, his entire gut was aflame, the smell of her filling the air and further intoxicating him, his still-gloved hand moving to press against his cock through the fabric, the feeling leaving him arching his hips slightly up into his own touch. He wanted so badly to touch more than her hair, but knew that it wasn't advisable; the girl slept more soundly than anyone in the Wasteland, it seemed, but if she were to wake up and find him touching himself beside her, who knows what trouble there would be?
He couldn't touch her, but that didn't mean he couldn't study her, running his eyes over each part of her over and over again as the light and warmth of the fire slowly died down. He was tracing curve of her breasts and the way it flowed into the little roll of her belly for the umpteenth time, grinding hard against his hand, by the time the flames died down completely. She'd curled almost completely in on herself, hiding her face against her hands, and he wished he could look closer at it again as he slunk closer and closer to the edge.
As if she could read his mind, she suddenly rolled onto her back, resettling quickly as her head slid fully off of the bag. The mild highlights of the moon played along her face and torso, her plush lips parting in a soft, dreamy sigh. Fleetingly, he wondered if she would make that sound for him if he touched her just right, and, embarrassingly, that thought was enough to put an end to him.
The orgasm that washed over him granted some mild relief, his spend pooling in a sticky mess in his pant leg as he let out a few quiet heavy breaths, the hand that had been touching her hair scratching lines into the dirt, but it was bittersweet. In the haze afterwards, for the first time in a long, long time, he thought about Barb, about the way she would sigh his name when she came apart, about how soft and warm she would feel against him when he held her close after they made love. The deeply buried pain behind his breastbone that had started the day he'd found out the truth about her kicked up once more.
Sitting in the dark silence, a hard edge of discomfort and annoyance steeled up his spine, leaving him still in his ruminations until the uncomfortable feeling of the mess in his pants became intolerable. Letting out a huff, he shifted away from her and walked a few steps away as quietly as possible to clean himself up as best as he could, shame thick in the crisp air. When he finished, he dug into his pocket for an angry cigarette, jamming it between his thin lips and turning back towards her to face away from the breeze as he lit it.
But when he looked at her once more, really let himself look at her, he felt that pain in his breast soften, her soft skin almost glowing in the moonlight as she slept, peacefully unaware of anything but her blissful rest. It wasn't something he saw often. When he sat back down beside her, grabbing for his loose glove in the dark, he sat close enough that the outside of his thigh touched the arm under her head, pulling on his lit smoke absentmindedly as he continued to study his little companion. Her even, steady breathing was quite soothing to him, actually.
He was still going to buy a new set of vials.
#cooper howard#the ghoul#cooper howard smut#cooper howard x you#cooper howard x reader#ghoulcy#vaultghoul#submission#I hate titling so much#fallout tv show#fallout prime
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Here's another brainrot for you. Your an adventurer (famous or not is up to you) stationed in Fontaine & you just got an mission to you know...stop some Fatui agents from disrupting the peace or something. So since you became an adventurer in the 1st place for the thrill, the mission was accepted by you. You go blazing into the fatui camp and like take them out (lets assume like theres at least 15 people there). Arle was just watching everything from a cover (which you obviously don't notice) & knocks you out after the whole fight. So arle was really impressed by you cus like you took out the entire camp & she wants that strength for herself. You were really stubborn about not betraying the guild & joining the fatui so arle decided to rail you into submission cus like torturing you is not gonna help in the long run.
NSFW transfem! Arle please.
Also, can I be 💫anon? So that you know its me next time XD. I am too shy to NOT ask as anonymous.
okkk HIIIII 💫 ANON!!:3 here's ur rqst hope u eat it up good, it has a small little sprinkle of jealous arlecchino to spice it up a little..
-warning/s : NSFW, transfem! arlecchino x fem! reader, lightly dark content, dubious consent, blowjob.
(men and minors dni utc!)
"take care out there, ranger!"
you waved your guildmates goodbye, heading off to the north to disband a nearby fatui camp as the agents there have been causing chaos within the area recently. you were scouting the area, when you saw the said camp.
it was fairly small, but with around a dozen to fifteen agents present.
you let out a sigh, hoping they would cooperate lest this would end up a mess like last time you've done similar missions to these.
you slowly approached the camp, a nervous and awkward smile on your face. "hello there, fellows!" you exclaimed, hands near your weapon, but not on it, in hopes that no aggression would occur.
"oh? what's a pretty little lady like you doing out here in the wild?" one of them snickered, and you instantly knew this wouldn't end up peacefully like you hoped. still, you tried. "uhm, well, this pretty little lady is respectfully asking you to please go away." you told them, oh, but they persisted. one of them even grabbing your wrist with a perverted grin. "well, i'm afraid we'll have to decline. especially when we've caught prey as good as you."
needless to say, you immediately grabbed your weapon and started kicking their ass. they were all caught off guard, but had immediately started coming after you one after another. "damn it, what in the hells are you all doing!? that's just one girl!" one of them exclaimed, frustrated at the fact that you were able to knock half of the camp out alone.
little did you know, a certain harbinger was supervising your little fight with the fatuus. she was also surprised at the fact at how easily you were taking down trained fatui, and she wanted you.
after taking down the last of those annoying perverts, you dusted off your hands and double checked yourself for injuries and your items.
the harbinger however, had come out of your hiding spot, silent steps approached your oblivious ass.
and the next thing you knew, all you saw was black.
"what the.. what the hell?"
you opened your eyes, barely aware of what had just happened before you passed out, but upon realizing that your hands were tied and you were stuck to a chair. you realized you were knocked out.
"oh, finally awake?"
a voice that belonged to a woman echoed behind you, along with loud clacking of heels, and lo and behold.
before your eyes stood the 4th of the fatui harbingers, arlecchino the knave.
you'd be a liar if you said your knees weren't shaking. that was the arlecchino, standing before you, right in front of you, just a few meters away! you were no match for the harbinger, and you feared for your life. scared that you might've angered her for wrecking a whole camp of fatui, shit, what if those were her soldiers? you thought.
"tsk. calm down. i did not bring you all this way to kill you. if that was my intention then i would have done that right then and there."
she told you, probably noticing how nervous you were from your silence. usually, people would've been screaming for help, but you weren't.
".. then, why am i here?"
you asked, calmly, trying not to look too scared. "i've witnessed your fighting prowess, how you took down those agents in mere minutes. those agents were trained for years under the regime of fatui military, with strict discipline and harsh conditioning." she walked towards you, a curious gaze settled upon you, besides that though, her expression was hard to read. you couldn't tell if she was angry? upset? sad?
"- and you made those solders look incompetent, stupid and weak. i commend you."
her answer wasn't one of your expected reactions from her. her expression was still deadpan and you couldn't tell if she was pleased or happy, but judging from her words alone you could at least say that.. she was satisfied with your performance? "thank you, uhm.. miss harbinger?" was all you could say, unable to really make out what her intentions were.
"perhaps you wonder why i took you here, little lady."
she walked closer to you, rough, dark blackened hands approached your face and gently caressed your skin. you noticed how cold the knave's hands were, and your curiosity was piqued as you started to wonder why her hands were like.. that.
it could've been considered an honor to be praised by a harbinger, but to be asked to join their side was completely something else. "no offense and with all due respect, miss arlecchino, but i will not leave the guild." you told her, all of the fear you felt was gone and you wanted to make it clear to her that you didn't want to join. "tsk, you are held captive and yet you still have the will to say no?" she grumbled, finally showing at least one expression on her face- annoyance.
"- it is because i want you to join us, join me, under the house of the hearth."
"EXCUSE ME WHAT?"
"i do not care where i am, but i will not leave the guild."
you stood your ground, nor longer were you afraid for your life, but for your friends and loved ones at the guild. "fine. it is your choice, but do make sure that you wrap your pretty little head around my words-- you will not leave this place safe, not until you agree with my offer. make your choice, or you'll regret making me impatient." she told you, tightening the ropes around your wrists and ankles, making your skin slowly start to burn but you stuck to your resolve. arlecchino left the room, and this was only the beginning of her trying to convince you to give in.
at first, you were starved for 2 days, with each time that you reject her offer she ends up slapping you on the face. today was the third day, you were hungry and light-headed. you swear you could feel like you were slowly slipping away from sanity as from spending so much time in solitude. your body was sore from being tied to a chair for 2 whole days without food nor water and you swear there were rope burns on your wrist and ankle.
arlecchino however, realized that starvation wouldn't make you crumble, much to her annoyance. this was not her usual preferred method of torture, thinking it was a waste of her time, she didn't like to wait and would prefer to end things swiftly. oh, but you, much to her annoyance, she didn't want to waste the talent that you had. she couldn't resolve to physical pain or she might accidentally inflict injuries that might hold you back from improving so she had to resort to slowly destroying your will, but she didn't expect you to be this stubborn. so she had to resort to the last method she could think of- fuck, she cursed under her breath. she may not admit it, but besides wanting to have you as a useful little helper, you may have caused her to have desires she never thought she'd have. it was a nuisance to her, but she couldn't get it off her mind-- she couldn't get the thought of using you like a slut out of her mind.
arlecchino walked back into the room, untying you and you were puzzled, "w-what are you going to do to me?" you asked, alarmed from her sudden behavior. you tried to struggle and squirm as she got you off the chair, but you could barely even stand on your own. "pathetic. so much for being a feisty little mouse." she mumbled, placing a collar on you and tying the leash on the wall. your ankles were freed but her hands were tied. "you've wasted plenty of my time with your reluctance to obey, little lady. don't you think it's about time that i finally teach you some manners, hm?" she placed her hand on your head, forcefully pushing you down on your knees. she unbuckled her pants. your heartbeat started to accelerate. no, no, she wouldn't do what you thought she would, right?
"open that pretty little mouth of yours."
she commanded, but you kept your mouth close as she pulled down her pants. "tsk, stubborn little mouse." she harshly squeezed your face, pulling you forward. "not going to follow? too stupid to understand instructions? fine then." she untied the leash, instead wrapping it around her hand before walking to the chair where you were tied to.
"i'll give you options, little mouse. either you learn to obey and i will reward you, or you will be forced to obey and i will continue to isolate you in this room."
you sat there, weighing your choices. should you comply? should you disobey? but you really wanted to get out of this dark, isolated room. arlecchino clicked her tongue, tugging on the leash.
"hurry up, little mouse, before i lose my patience and decide for you."
she huffed, and you know you've really got no choice here than to follow. with tears in your eyes, you slowly crawl forward, making her tug on the leash. "faster, you're too slow." she grumbled, making you approach her faster.
as soon as you were on your knees, right in front of her, you put your hand on her lap and stared at the intimidating bulge in her pants. you slowly pulled down her pants, along with her underwear.
your eyes widened at the mere sight of her dick, she was at least 7 inches-- and you were going to take that in your mouth? "very good, you're finally putting some sense in you." she praised you, her other hand now making it's way to your head, lightly pressing some weight downwards. "now suck." she commanded, and you didn't want to, you took some time before you leaned down- and it ticked her off.
she pushed down on your head, making you forcefully sink down onto her dick. "i said do not make me wait, obey if you want me to be nice." she warned you as you choked on her, and then she released her grip on your head. "go on, please me. show me that you if you cannot be of help in the battlefield, at least be good at something."
throwing away all your dignity and pride, you lifted your head up, your tongue running along her dick as you did so, before going back down all the way to the base. your actions made arlecchino shiver and she looked down at you with a dark stare, but said nothing.
you repeated this, bobbing your head up and down, and you could hear small little grunts from her. as you went up this time, your tongue ran over the tip, making her groan. you went down, angling yourself so it hit the back of your throat this time. oh, you felt arlecchino shiver. ".. hm, what a slut. you're surprisingly good at this." she told you, now gently grabbing your head and setting the pace. she bobbed your head a bit more faster, but you kept up with your tongue movement earlier. her grunts were becoming louder, but she was becoming more rougher too.
she pushed your head down and pulled on you with no remorse, like you were a toy for her pleasure only. you almost choked, the pace was becoming too fast for you, but she was already thrusting her hips into you. loud groans could be heard from her along with your whimpers and moans at the way she tugged on your hair and used you. she was trembling, her hips stuttering, and before you knew it-
she pulled you off, your lips creating a pop sound. "strip, dear." she commanded, staring down at you with half lidded eyes as she panted. oh, oh no. you didn't want to, but you were determined to see this through and not anger her. you slowly took off your clothes, leaving you only in your underwear. she now, gently took you in her hands, pulling you down on her lap to sit with your back facing her. "darling, open your legs." she purred in your ear. compared to earlier, she was much more gentler and affectionate. you closed your eyes in pure embarrassment, her hand cupping your breast as she spread soft kisses on your neck.
"tsk, those fatui soldiers.. must you know, that even after you've beat them up- they continue to speak about you. incessant chatter about your body, it makes my blood boil."
she whispered against your skin with a tone of possessiveness dripping from her words. her hands gently massaging the mounds of your breast, making you let out soft moans. "they do not know that beneath the orphanage, i hold you captive and that i am the one holding you, not them." as she let go of her words, she started to suck and bite on your skin, her other hand trailing down your tummy as she spoke. "i am not better than them, i am aware.. but i will certainly give you more what they can, my dear. join me, and i will make all of your dreams come true." her gentle words were accompanied with her hand ghosting against your clit, breath grazing against the sensitive marks on your skin, and her other hand squeezing your chest. your mind was hazy, you felt overstimulated, and all you could do was nod. you may not be aware, but arlecchino was overjoyed with your answer. "so wet, little mouse.."
she slowly pulled your underwear off, lifting your hips with only her strength, then kissing your back. she slammed you back down, her dick forcing it's way inside of you. the sheer pain was enough to bring you back to your senses and you gripped onto her lap as you let out a whine. your reaction made arlecchino feel guilty, she immediately wrapped her arms around you. "shh, shh.. i'm sorry, my dear but.. bear with me." she wiped away the tears from your eyes.
"i promise, now that you are mine darling, i will give you all the pleasures in the world.."
#arlecchino x female reader#arlecchino x reader smut#arlecchino smut#arlecchino genshin impact#arlecchino x reader#lilac writes💜#💫 anon
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Hey y'all! Wanted to take a sec for some real talk, so if you're interested and are able to seperate me from the persona that this blog embodies, read under the cut!!
So! In light of my Domme to Diapers pipeline post and folks reactions to it, I wanted to air some stuff out!
First off, thankyou for the supportive that's been given 🩵🩵🩵
Secondly, I am still and will always be a switch. Clearly I love being humiliated and teased, and take very naturally to being a sub. But regardless of how pathetic or submissive or regressed I can be, I was actually a professional Domme, and haven't lost that skillset. Part of why I switch is that I get to experience both ends, and learning how to Domme made me a much better sub, and vice versa!!
Now, this blog is NOT a dominant one and never will be. I come to this blog to embrace my little space and engage in some fun humiliation. More to the point, teasing me in character for going from Domme to baby is all well and good! Love that shit.
But goading me into still trying to Domme while pointing out how I never will be able to is not fun. I don't like feeling as though I'm doing a shitty job. It's also very disingenuous. You don't actually want me to be dominant, you want another reason to try and humiliate me. But frankly I have given so many options for that already that don't make me feel like shit.
And if you genuinely do want me to be dominant, then prove it! I'm not about that power struggle stuff and will simply not engage if you try and turn the tables on me. Learn to behave or find someone that's into fighting over being in charge.
Many thankyous for anyone who took the time to read this ramble. I genuinely love this community and the majority of interactions, and am excited to keep making content and meeting new friends!! But if you're part of the influx of people challenging me to try and be a Domme or prive that I was or still could, please ease off? A few times is fun, dozens in a few days does bad things to my mental health.
Love you all, thankyou for your time, remember to hydrate 🩵🩵🩵
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What's New In IF? Issue 29 (2024)
By Aj, Dion, Briar, Jen and Peter
Now Available!
Itch.io - Keep Reading below
If you read the zine, consider liking the post: it helps us see how many people see it! And sharing is caring! <3
~ EDITORIAL ~
Small Talk... is back!
As you might have read in our last Issue, the Small Talk... section is back due to our amazing interviewers! Continue reading and check out their short debut interview with Leia Talon!
If there’s someone else you’d like to see them interview, don’t hesitate to let us know!
We want some feedback!
As we’re starting to get a hand of things, we would love some feedback from you guys! What you enjoy, want more or less off, how we could improve... Anything goes! We even have a nifty form.
We hope you enjoy this new issue!
AJ, DION, BRIAR, JEN AND PETER
~ BE A PART OF THE ZINE ~
THIS ZINE ONLY HAPPENS WITH YOU!
Want to write 1-2 pages about a neat topic, or deep-dive into a game and review it in details? Share personal experiences or get all academic?
WRITE FOR THE COLUMN!
Prefer to be more low-key but still have something to share? Send us a Zine Letter or share a game title for Highlight on…!
WE WANT TO HEAR FROM YOU!
Came across something interesting? Know a release or an update announced? Saw an event happening? Whether it's a game, an article, a podcast… Add any IF-related content to our mini-database!
EVERY LITTLE BIT COUNTS!
Contact us through Tumblr asks, Forum DMs, or even by email! And thank you for your help!!
~ ENDED ~
The 7th edition of inkJam is over and you can check out the result here.
You can now check out all 58 entries for the Monstrous Desires 2024 Visual Novel Jam.
The October Bitsy Jam has also ended. There were only two entries, so be sure to show them some love.
~ ONGOING (VOTING) ~
The voting for ECTOCOMP 2024 has officially started! To vote and participate as a jury, you must do so by giving between 1 to 5 stars on each entry page of the jam. The voting period ends on November 30.
~ ONGOING (SUBMITTING) ~
Disabled Rep VN Jam has a very simple premise but a very important message.
Once upon a time, a game jam was held to create stories around the theme of fairy tales… and that game jam is the Once Upon A Time VN Jam. It’s running from October 1st to January 31st.
Concours de Fiction Interactive Francophone 2025 is for all French-speaking enthusiasts. Submissions are accepted March 3rd 2025.
Are you perhaps a fan of more somber, melancholic themes? Then check out the Dying Year - Visual Novel Jam! You have until the end of the year to participate.
The Black Visual Novel Jam is all about working with creative professional developers who work in visual novels to bring more Black stories to life. The goal is to create a space where Black creators can show their unique storytelling through visual novels.
~ OTHER ~
Jams are a great way to find new games! Don’t be afraid to check out submissions from previous years as well. There might be some gems hiding between them!
~ SMALL TALK… ~
> WITH LEIA TALON @leiatalon
Joining us today is a fantasy romance writer Leia Talon! ~ Author of the newly released “Ink and Intrigue”, “Their majesties’ Pleasure” and and The World Tree Chronicles book series.
⟶ Hello, Leia! Welcome to Small Talk. We are absolutely thrilled to have you here with us!
Thanks for giving me a chance to chat with you!
⟶ Before we begin, would you mind sharing with us a bit about yourself and how you got into IF writing?
A few years ago I was looking for writing opportunities that were outside the box, so to speak. I’ve gone the self-publishing route and tried my hand at getting a traditional publishing deal as a novelist, and was hoping there were other avenues to earn a bit of money doing what I love, which is writing fantasy romance.
At that time I’d written a dozen novel manuscripts and dabbled in screenwriting, then stumbled upon Choice of Games and Heart’s Choice, which piqued my interest in a big way! I thought I’d try my hand at interactive fiction. Many of my manuscripts aren’t published, so I thought I’d be able to pull source material from stories I’d already created. What actually happened is I made up a completely new world for Their Majesties’ Pleasure, my first game with Heart’s Choice, then built on that and pulled from one of my unpublished stories for Ink and Intrigue.
⟶ Now, onto the questions! Would you ever try different mediums when it comes to IF? (i.e Ren'Py, Twine)
I’m not opposed to it, but I’m a storyteller more than a gamer, so it would really depend on how well I could use each medium to tell a story.
⟶ What are the similarities and differences between writing a “simple” novel and an interactive fiction one?
So many! How about some bullet points?
Similarities:
Both need strong characters,
A strong plot,
Vivid worldbuilding,
And plenty of motivation and conflict for characters.
Differences:
Outlining is a must! You can write a novel on vibes and figure out the plot as you go. You can’t do that with IF, at least I don’t think it can be done well, or at least it would prove extremely difficult for the author to pull off. Having a plan helps figure out pacing, scope-creep, and gives you a definite outcome (or outcomes, as the case may be) to work towards. Planning is helpful for novels, too, but essential for IF.
With novel writing there’s the phrase “K!ll your darlings,” meaning you cut any scenes, sentences, or words that don’t advance the plot or add something vital to the story. In IF, all your darlings can come out to play! If someone isn’t interested, they can skip that choice, or if they are interested, they can enjoy the side-quest or conversation or glimmer of information that would otherwise be omitted in a novel.
Writing IF adds coding, obviously, and a lot more details and complications to a story, keeping all the variables in play and making sure to wrap up all threads at the end. You have to do a certain extent of wrapping up plotlines with novels, but nowhere near the extent required by an IF.
A novel is typically 90,000 words or so, whereas an IF can be far longer (or shorter, if the author prefers). I’m honestly still blown away that Ink and Intrigue ended up being over 300,000 words! A playthrough obviously isn’t that long, but that’s like writing three novels.
I’m sure I could keep going with other similarities and differences, but these are some big ones.
⟶ What made you come up with this idea for an IF?
Ink and Intrigue is based on one of my unpublished manuscripts, though it’s vastly different in myriad ways. I took some of the worldbuilding from that story and meshed it with the world in Their Majesties’ Pleasure, and then made up an entirely new cast of characters.
⟶ What is your biggest source of inspiration? A lot of people say music, but we are interested to know what yours is.
Fantasy books, nature, and the characters who come to life in my head.
⟶ It's normal for creators of all kinds to encounter writer's block. What do you do when this formidable foe appears between you and your will to write?
I stick to my outline and keep writing, or take a break if that’s what I need. Going for a walk works wonders.
⟶ Tattoos have power in this IF; could you describe what that feeling is like? Is it like a burning sensation across your skin or more akin to releasing a breath you didn’t know you held?
The actual tattooing process is painful in this story as the dragon ink is painted on, but after the tattoos heal there’s no pain involved. It’s more like a rush of power or a tingling of awareness, depending on the strength needed. I think different mages would feel it in different ways, depending on how long they’ve been using dragon runes. The sensations might be strange to an initiate, but second nature to a master.
⟶ Tell us about your favorite ROs and why you feel drawn to them. When you were writing this character were you including traits you find ideal in partners?
I love all the ROs, but Kai is special. Partially because he’s the only character I brought over from my manuscript, and also because he’s this delicious blend of stoic, funny, driven, kind, and constantly working to better himself. I think those are ideal traits in partners. He also has other traits I enjoy in fictional characters, like a dark past and a dash of vengeance.
⟶ What’s the most important thing you consider when designing ROs?
I aim to write distinct characters who are genuinely good people, even if some are also morally gray. Otherwise, the characters basically form in my head and tell me who they are as I’m writing. I do a basic sketch when I outline, just a short description of each character, then see how they develop as the story progresses.
The characters are in charge. I’m just along for the ride.
⟶ Which RO do you think is the hardest to write and which one is the easiest?
I don’t think any were harder or easier. I had previous material for Kai, so that helped, but each character was fun and offered up plenty of dialogue and personality as I got into the story. Rae is feisty, Thea is quiet but playful, Teo is a compassionate artist, and Kai is humble and at the same time he’s one the most powerful mages on the island.
⟶ Which characters from your previous IF would get along with the cast of Ink and Intrigue?
All the main characters would get along, though there would definitely be some sparring on the training field to see who was the best fighter and blow off steam. It would be a wild party if you brought the cast from Their Majesties Pleasure together with the characters in Ink and Intrigue. That would be fun!
⟶ Could you give us an idea of the future your choices hold for Kitherin?
I don’t know how to answer this without spoilers. lol! Suffice it to say you can help the Kitherin in many different ways, including protecting from otherworldly threats and traitors within.
⟶ How do you manage the branching in your story?
The outline helps, but it still gets out of control. I write notes in future chapters as I go about how I’m going to pull each thread through to be sure I don’t drop any branching plots along the way. Editing and getting feedback is key. Beta testers to the rescue!
⟶ Was a scene exceptionally challenging to write?
It’s not like a single scene jumps out at me, but there are always places in the story where I just don’t want to write what needs to be written because I want to go on to something else that I’m excited about. There’s definitely a degree of discipline required.
⟶ Some people find it difficult to write spicy scenes. Do you have a certain mindset when writing these?
Honestly, spicy scenes are some of the hardest to write. My mindset is I’m trying to write something that has heart to it, as well as physical tension—where you can get to know the characters in a more intimate way. It can be hard to balance the art I want to bring into it with the choices and variables, as coding all those can complicate a scene that I really want to flow well. I also work hard to ensure there’s a range of spice, sweetness, and options that don’t involve physical intimacy at all, but that still feel fulfilling and special.
⟶ Would you like to give some advice to people who want to get into IF writing?
OUTLINE! Seriously. Know where you’re going and what endings you’re aiming for. Things will change, but at least you’ll have a road map. Otherwise, keep at it. Consistent practice really does pay off. Just keep going and have fun with it!
⟶ Thank you for sitting with us here today! It was lovely to have you, Leia.
My pleasure! If any of your readers are into magic tattoos and legendary love, you can play the demo of Ink and Intrigue for free!
> ONCE AGAIN HUGE THANKS TO LEIA TALON FOR SITTING WITH US AND ANSWERING OUR QUESTIONS!
~ NEW RELEASE ~
Sacred Veins is an 18+ game collective with a classic art aesthetic, creating games with focuses on narrative. They just released their first game collection: Righteous. Check out Apistis Sophia, Disiecta Membra, Heaven For A Heathen and Svipul. @sacredveinscollective
Werewolves 3: Evolution’s End (CScript) is the third installment of Jeffrey Dean’s acclaimed “Claw, Shadow, and Sage” series. After years of conspiracies, secrets, and escalation, the fight has finally come out into the open.
A (self-proclaimed) heartwarming visual novel about spending the days with your dog. Mugi-chan was abandoned at the shrine; now it's time to take him home! You can now play the un-official English release of I Can't Be Human (TyranoScript).
Légumes de saison (Decker) is a compilation of two games - 1 Duck, 2 Ducks and 33 // Apocalypse : Le Banquet.
You wake up in an unknown room with no memories of your past. With nothing, you must research, find and choose to find the way out from here in Silent Perception (Ren’Py).
Protect Mina from haters and find the recipe for the most delicious secret dish in Mina’s Cooking.
As always, don't forget to check out the submitted entries to the events mentioned in the previous pages. They deserve some love too!
~ NEW RELEASE (WIP) ~
Kassja is ill, and being too weak her village throws her into the forest. Yet, as she is dying under the scorching sun that trespasses the greenery, the spirit patron hears her hateful prayer of death for those who used to be her folk. Check out The Rerooting of an Asphodel (Ren’Py)! @thebreezyslothstudios
In The Chronicles of Salt and Iron (CScript) you’re trapped on an Iron prisoner ship after incurring the Triad’s wrath. Your future seems bleak, until a freak disaster grants you a new chance at freedom…and a glimpse of a deadly secret that could topple the entire regime.
In Fortune Forsaken (CScript) ancient shackles bind you to the mortal realm, a soul severed from a home lost to the sands of time. A curse on you, a blessing for those who take command; Who wouldn't like to own a God? @fortuneforsaken-if
The Lost Bride (CScript) is a reimagining of Bram Stoker’s iconic novel, Dracula. Play as Mina and shape her fate as she visits her childhood friend Lucy, who’s seeking her company and counsel with an urgent matter concerning her very own future.
King Arthur: Living Again (CScript) - After being badly injured by Mordred, King Arthur finds himself as his 15-year-old, inexperienced self.
As you learn the ways of the criminal underground you reconnect with people you never met. Reforge bonds that you've never made. And recall memories you've never had. You were a god once upon a time, can you become one again in God Syndicate (CScript)? @god-syndicate-if
~ UPDATES ~
Blackwood Manor (CScript) released Chapter 2 Part 1. @ang3lwithapen
The Sunhold Coven (CScript) released Chapter 3. @the-sunhold-coven
Vanguard (Twine) updated Chapter 1. @vanguard-if
A Shriek of Ash and Fire (CScript) released update no. 5. @krogpile
Haunted (Twine) updated a final part of a rewrite.
Honor Amongst Thieves (CScript) added extra content to their Patreon demo. @leoneliterary
Hubris (Twine) updated Chapter Two- Luminary Fever. @hubris-the-if-game
Reincarnation Of The Archdemon (CScript) released Chapter 2.
Sanguine Sky (CScript) added new content to their Patreon demo. @sanguinesky-if
The In-Between (CScript) released Chapter 11 for early access. @dalekowrites
Thicker Than (CScript) released their monthly update. @barbwritesstuff
Viatica (Twine) released Chapter 11. @fir-fireweed
Universal Constants (Twine) released Episode 3.
Keeper of Life and Death (CScript) updated their demo. @keeperofthesunandmoon
Fallen Hero: Revelations (CScript) updated their demo.
Weeping Gods (CScript) added new content to Chapter 2. @jcollinswrites
Tri City Monsters (Ren’Py) released Amir Chapter 3. @tricitymonsters
~ OTHER ~
A collection of high resolution artworks from the game Chronicles of Taldun: The Remainder is here.
The VNture podcast is back with episode #124.
~
As always, we apologize in advance for missing any update or release from the past week. We are only volunteers using their limited free time to find as much as we can - but sometimes things pass through the cracks.
If you think something should have been included in this week's zine but did not appear, please shoot us a message! We'll do our best to add it next week! And if you know oncoming news, add it here!
~ MAYBE YOU NEXT? ~
We did not get a submission this week. But if you have an idea for a short essay, or would like a special space to share your thoughts about IF and the community...
Shoot us an email!
~ HIGHLIGHT ON ~
A couple of games that we thought were cool.
Dominion of Darkness by Adeptus7 (Twine)
"Dominion of Darkness” is a strategy text game in which the player takes on the role of a Sauron-style Lord of Darkness with the goal of conquering the world.
Vendetta by @vendetta-if (CScript)
*drum rolls* for the game highlight!!!!! Vendetta by @ vendetta-if !!! THIS IF IS FANTASTIC! DESERVES SO MUCH MORE LOVE 💖👏
//submitted by anon//
Apistis Sophia by @sacredveinscollective (???)
Whew, this one is an experience and I loved everything about it!
A big thank you to the anon who brought our attention to Sacred Veins and their work!
//recommended by Dion [Team]//
Your favourite game here?
Do you have a favourite game that deserves some highlighting?
An old or recent game that wowed you so much you spam it to everyone?
Tell us about it! And it might appear here!
WE LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU ALL! WHETHER IT'S GOOD OR BAD, OR EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN...
Have something to say? Send us a message titled: Zine Letter!
As we end this issue, we would like to thank:
our awesome anon!
For sending us their game Highlight!
As always, huge thanks to all you readers who liked, shared, and commented on the last issue!
What might be tiny actions are huge support and motivators to us!
Thank you for cheering us on this journey
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Would you like to know more about the Team? Check out our new Meet the Team post!
And see you again next week!
AJ, DION, BRIAR, JEN AND PETER
WHAT'S NEW IN IF? 2024-ISSUE 29
#NEW ISSUE IS OUT!!#interactive fiction#if news#visual novel#parser#choice of games#choicescript#twine#ink#twine games#ink games#itch.io#interactive game#interactive novel#IF#games#hobby#indie dev#choose your own adventure#if-whats-new#What's New in IF#zine
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Hi, I really enjoy reading your writings. I would like you to write an adaptation of Lionel Shabandar. At an auction he gets Y/N for a date night, for a very high price, the most sought-after girl at the event. I hope you understand what I mean and have heard about this type of auction before, perhaps for charity or something darker. I feel like it would be a promising plot. (It could end up in a hot night) PS: If there is an error in my request it is because I speak Spanish. I keep learning English, your texts contribute <3 Gracias
Title: The Auction of Innocence
Summary: When a reserved woman is thrust into a decadent world of affluence, Lionel Shahbandar spares no expense to secure her as his prized possession.
Pairing: Lionel Shahbandar × Fem! Reader
Warnings: Smut
Author's Notes: Hola! Thank you so much for your kind words, and I love that you’re enjoying my stories! 😊 I completely understand your request, and I have to say, it’s such an intriguing idea—Lionel bidding extravagantly for Y/N at an auction. The potential for a fiery and intense plot is definitely there! Gracias por leer y compartir tus ideas conmigo 💛 Happy New Year!
Also read on Ao3
Lionel sat in the far corner of the dimly lit room, nursing his whiskey with a lazy elegance that betrayed his sharp gaze. The heavy scent of cigar smoke mixed with expensive cologne lingered in the air, wrapping around the murmurs of anticipation as the next selection of escorts prepared to take the stage. The audience was a mix of suits and silks—wealthy men and women indulging in one of the darker privileges of affluence: buying a night of "luxury companionship."
Lionel chuckled softly to himself, swirling his drink as he observed the bidding. The escorts were beautiful, sure, but none had caught his eye. Not yet. He wasn’t here to settle for some dime-a-dozen arm candy—no, Lionel Shahbandar was a man of taste, discernment, and unparalleled appetite. If he was to pay for a night’s indulgence, it had to be exquisite, something worth his time and his substantial fortune.
As the next group of women sashayed onto the stage, Lionel leaned forward slightly, his hooked nose casting a shadow across his chiseled face. His baritone voice, low and tinged with mischief, muttered to himself, “Let’s see if the good pimp has finally outdone himself.”
The presenter’s voice rang out over the murmurs of the crowd, laced with theatrical enthusiasm. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you Stefanini—our queen of dominance, for those who enjoy the thrilling bite of submission.”
The spotlight illuminated a striking woman dressed in daring red lingerie, her curves accentuated by the corset that clung to her frame. She held a whip casually in one hand, her red lips curling into a predatory smile as she surveyed the crowd. A collective murmur of appreciation rippled through the room as she strutted across the stage, her stilettos clicking sharply against the polished floor.
Lionel barely glanced up, swirling his whiskey as if the display were nothing more than background noise. His hooked nose wrinkled slightly in disinterest as bids began flying.
“Ten thousand.”
“Fifteen.”
“Twenty.”
The gavel struck, and Stefanini disappeared behind the curtains, claimed for twenty thousand pounds. Lionel exhaled softly, his baritone voice a low mutter. “All that pomp and leather for a boy with deep pockets and shallow tastes.” He smirked, taking a slow sip of his whiskey.
The next woman stepped onto the stage, introduced with a flourish, but Lionel barely glanced up. He had made one bid earlier in the evening, for Eliza—a familiar face, a comfort more than an indulgence. When someone outbid him, he didn’t bother raising the stakes. Eliza had served her purpose in the past, but she wasn’t the kind of woman who could ignite his interest anymore.
Lionel leaned back in his chair, his sharp gaze sweeping across the room. Most of the patrons had found their evening’s entertainment, their eyes glazed with lust and anticipation. The air was heavy with satisfaction, yet Lionel remained unengaged, his attention returning to his drink.
“This is a waste of time,” he muttered under his breath, though his tone carried no real frustration. He enjoyed the spectacle of it all, the sheer decadence and audacity of wealth on display. But tonight, none of it stirred the lion inside him.
As the auction neared its end, Lionel’s thoughts wandered. He considered leaving early, retreating to his penthouse where he could spend the evening indulging in his own luxuries—ones that didn’t require an auctioneer. But just as he pushed his chair back, preparing to stand, a new voice interrupted his thoughts.
“Ladies and gentlemen, a final surprise,” the presenter announced, his tone charged with anticipation. “Something truly unique for those with refined tastes.”
Lionel paused, his curiosity piqued despite himself. He leaned forward slightly, his hooked nose catching the edge of the light as he swirled his glass.
The auctioneer’s voice brimmed with enthusiasm as he announced the final offering of the night. Lionel’s gaze, sharp and curious, flicked toward the stage. The lights dimmed briefly, and when they brightened again, there you were, stepping onto the platform. The room fell into a hushed silence, the air thick with intrigue.
You looked distinctly different from the women who had preceded you. Where they exuded confidence and theatrical flair, you seemed nervous, shy. Your modestly styled black lingerie resembled a delicate nightgown, its soft fabric draping over your curves in a way that left more to the imagination than it revealed. Stockings ran up your legs, adding a subtle edge to your innocent appearance. Your hands fidgeted slightly, betraying your unease, and your eyes darted across the room, meeting Lionel’s for the briefest moment before skittering away.
Lionel’s interest ignited instantly, a predatory gleam lighting up his hazel eyes. His lips curved into a slow, deliberate smirk, and he leaned forward in his chair, his hooked nose catching the golden glow of the chandelier overhead. This wasn’t just another pretty face; this was a rarity—a prize worth pursuing.
The auctioneer stepped forward, clearly thrilled by the reaction your presence had elicited. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his voice practically vibrating with excitement. “A true gem, a treasure—our final offering of the night. Allow me to present a virgin.”
The murmurs in the room swelled into a wave of shocked excitement. Virgins were rare in this setting—practically unheard of. And now here you were, standing on stage, looking vulnerable and out of place. The effect was intoxicating.
Lionel’s smirk deepened as he noted the way the other bidders reacted. Eyes gleamed with desire, hands tightened around paddles, and the tension in the room was palpable. But Lionel wasn’t concerned. These were men who played at being lions, their roars hollow. He was the real deal, and tonight, he would prove it.
“The bidding will begin at twenty thousand pounds,” the auctioneer announced, his voice cutting through the chatter.
“Twenty-five!” someone called out almost immediately.
“Thirty!” another voice followed.
Lionel chuckled softly, swirling his whiskey before setting it aside. He raised his paddle lazily, his baritone voice cutting through the room like a blade. “Fifty thousand.”
A hush fell over the crowd as heads turned toward him. Lionel’s reputation preceded him, and the sum he had offered was enough to send a clear message: he wasn’t playing games.
“Fifty-five!” came a defiant challenge from across the room, but Lionel didn’t even flinch. His hazel eyes remained locked on you, watching the way your breath hitched, your chest rising and falling beneath the delicate fabric of your lingerie.
“Seventy-five,” he said smoothly, his tone carrying an air of finality.
The auctioneer blinked, clearly caught off guard by the swift escalation. “Seventy-five thousand,” he repeated, his voice ringing out over the murmurs. “Do I hear eighty?”
Silence. The room was still, save for the sound of Lionel’s slow, deliberate breathing. He leaned back in his chair, his hooked nose wrinkling slightly as he surveyed the room with a look of supreme confidence.
“Sold,” the auctioneer declared, striking his gavel. “To Lord Lionel Shahbandar for seventy-five thousand pounds!”
A ripple of applause followed, but Lionel paid it no mind. His eyes were fixed on you as the stagehands guided you toward the edge of the platform. The faintest smile curved his lips as he rose from his chair, his presence commanding the space around him as he made his way to meet you.
When you stood before him, your eyes wide and uncertain, Lionel extended a hand, his fingers brushing yours with a deliberate gentleness. “You’re even more exquisite up close,” he murmured, his baritone voice low and intimate. “Shall we?”
You nodded hesitantly, allowing him to guide you away from the crowd and toward the private suites above. His hand rested lightly on the small of your back, his touch warm but firm as he led you into an opulent room bathed in soft, golden light.
Once inside, Lionel turned to face you fully, his hazel eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and hunger. “Do you know why I bid on you, my little lamb?” he asked, his voice a velvety purr.
You shook your head, your voice barely above a whisper. “No, sir.”
Lionel’s smirk widened as he stepped closer, his hooked nose brushing lightly against your temple as he whispered, “Because you’re rare. Unique. The kind of prize a man like me can’t resist.”
His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him. “Tonight,” he murmured, his voice thick with promise, “you’ll discover what it means to be claimed by a lion.”
Lionel gently guided you to sit on the plush velvet couch, his movements deliberate, a predator's calm precision in every step. His hazel eyes gleamed with an amused sort of hunger as he loosened his tie, the silk slipping free with an elegance that only enhanced his air of command. Tossing it onto a nearby chair, he shrugged off his jacket, the muscles of his shoulders flexing under the fine fabric of his shirt.
You watched, your breath catching, your cheeks flushing a delicate pink that made Lionel smirk. He saw your uncertainty, the way your gaze flickered nervously to the door as if weighing your options for escape. But running wasn’t an option—not from a man like Lionel. He was a lion, and you were his lamb, trembling but unable to resist the pull of his presence.
“Lean back, little lamb,” Lionel said, his baritone voice low, almost a purr, as he stepped closer. His hands found the edge of the couch, caging you as you obeyed without even realizing it, leaning back until you lay flat. His weight shifted above you, one knee pressing between your legs, his other hand braced beside your head.
Your hands fluttered to his chest, a feeble attempt to keep distance, but Lionel only chuckled, the sound rich and deep. “So sweet,” he murmured, leaning down until his hooked nose brushed against your temple, his lips grazing your shoulder. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.” His fingers slid to the hem of your nightgown, toying with the delicate fabric. “In fact,” he whispered, his lips grazing your ear, “I’ll make it unforgettable.”
Your breath hitched, a soft sigh escaping your lips as his mouth pressed against your shoulder, his kisses light, teasing. Lionel’s hand slipped under the edge of your nightgown, the roughness of his fingers against your smooth skin making you shiver. He paused, pulling back slightly to look into your eyes, his hazel gaze sharp but not unkind.
“What’s a little lamb like you doing in a place like this?” he asked, his tone almost curious, though the mischievous gleam in his eye betrayed his true thoughts.
You stuttered, your voice shaky as you said, “M-Mr. Gruber told me not to talk about my life… not to tell the customers.”
Lionel’s smirk widened, his fingers still tracing idle patterns on your thigh. “Ah, yes. Gruber,” he mused, his tone dripping with disdain. “Always trying to turn treasures into commodities. But I’m not just any customer, am I?”
Before you could answer, Lionel’s hand tugged at the edge of your nightgown, pulling it higher. You gasped, your hands darting down to stop him, clutching the fabric tightly and pulling it back into place. Your cheeks burned, the struggle making Lionel laugh softly, his head tilting as he watched you with amusement.
“Are we playing coy now, little lamb?” he asked, his voice warm with mockery. He leaned in, his hooked nose brushing your cheek, his lips hovering just above yours. “Shall I take it off myself?” His hand tugged gently at your nightgown again, his fingers brushing the bare skin of your hip. “Or would you rather do it for me?”
You shook your head, your hands trembling as you held onto the fabric for dear life. Lionel chuckled again, the sound vibrating through you as he leaned closer, his breath warm against your neck.
“Such a shy little lamb,” he murmured, his baritone voice dropping lower, thick with amusement and desire. “But don’t you see, darling? Fighting only makes me want you more.” His fingers tightened on the fabric, his strength effortlessly overpowering your resistance as he began to lift it higher.
“Now,” he purred, his hazel eyes locking onto yours with a smoldering intensity. “Let’s see what you’ve been hiding from me, shall we?”
Lionel froze mid-motion, his fingers still brushing the hem of your nightgown. His sharp hazel eyes narrowed slightly, the teasing smirk slipping from his face as he registered the panic in your voice.
"My father," you whispered, your voice trembling as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. "He’s in the hospital… he needs treatment." You clutched the edge of the nightgown tighter, as if it were a shield against his piercing gaze.
Lionel cocked his head, his hooked nose catching the golden glow of the chandelier. His expression shifted from intrigue to something more thoughtful, almost calculating. He didn’t move, his broad shoulders blocking the light as he loomed over you, but his voice softened, his baritone rolling like silk. "And Mr. Gruber? What part does he play in this little drama?"
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his eyes for a brief moment before your gaze darted to the buttons of his shirt. "He… he offered to pay for my father’s expenses. For the surgery. He said he’d cover everything if I…" Your voice faltered, trailing off into a strained silence.
Lionel leaned back slightly, giving you room to breathe, though his presence was still overwhelming. He crossed his arms, his expression unreadable as he studied you. "If you worked for him," he finished for you, his voice low and even.
You nodded, tears threatening to spill as you whispered, "I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t let my father die."
Lionel’s gaze lingered on you, his hazel eyes sharp and assessing. He stayed silent for a moment, the weight of it pressing down on you like a storm cloud. You felt your cheeks flush as you looked back down at the buttons of his shirt, your hands trembling where they clutched your nightgown.
"I’ve never… been naked in front of a man before," you admitted, your voice barely audible. "I was saving it for someone special. For my… for my future husband."
Lionel’s lips curved into a slow, wicked smile, the mischief returning to his eyes. He reached out, his hand brushing your cheek with surprising gentleness. "Your future husband, hmm?" His voice was a velvety purr, laced with amusement. "And what makes you think he’d be worthy of you, my little lamb?"
You blushed deeper, your hands tightening around the fabric of your nightgown. "Please," you whispered, your voice trembling. "Don’t hurt me."
Lionel’s smirk softened into something almost tender, though his eyes still glinted with that predatory gleam. He leaned in, his hooked nose brushing against your temple as his warm breath ghosted over your skin. "Hurt you?" he murmured, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Darling, I don’t want to hurt you. I want to ruin you—for anyone else."
His hands found your waist again, his grip firm but not harsh. "You think I’d take something as precious as this and be careless with it?" he asked, his tone a mix of mockery and reassurance. "No, my little lamb. If I claim you, it will be unforgettable—for both of us."
You shivered under his touch, your breath hitching as his lips brushed against your ear. "I’ll teach you what it means to be desired," he whispered, his baritone voice wrapping around you like a caress. "To be worshipped by a man who knows exactly how to make you tremble."
His fingers trailed down your arm, his touch light and teasing. "But you have to trust me," he said, his voice softening slightly. "Let me show you how good it can be."
You hesitated, your heart pounding as you looked up at him. His gaze was steady, his expression a mix of mischief and something deeper, something almost… reverent.
"Do you trust me, little lamb?" he asked, his voice a low purr that sent shivers down your spine. "Say yes, and I promise, I’ll make it so good, you’ll never want to leave my arms."
You hesitated, your mind racing as Lionel’s hazel eyes locked onto yours, waiting. His expression was expectant, confident, and unyielding, and you knew there was only one answer he wanted to hear. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you whispered, “Yes.”
The moment the word left your lips, Lionel’s smirk deepened, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. He shifted his weight off of you, surprising you as he effortlessly scooped you up into his arms. You let out a small gasp, startled by the sudden movement, but he merely chuckled, his baritone voice rumbling through you.
“Relax, little lamb,” he said, his tone dripping with amusement as he carried you toward the grand king-size bed draped in rich, silky sheets. “I’m going to take care of you.”
He placed you gently on the bed, his movements deliberate and careful, as though you were the most precious thing he had ever held. The mattress was soft beneath you, the scent of expensive cologne and whiskey lingering as he leaned over you. His fingers brushed against your arm, sending a shiver down your spine.
Lionel’s sharp eyes never left yours as he knelt by the bed, his hands sliding to your thighs. Slowly, he hooked his fingers into the delicate lace of your lingerie, tugging it aside with unhurried precision. He watched every flicker of emotion cross your face, his hooked nose casting a shadow over his features as his lips quirked into a smile.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice softer now, laced with something you couldn’t quite name. His fingers slid down to the tops of your stockings, hooking them with ease as he began to peel them off, one by one. His lips brushed against your knees, his kisses warm and lingering, as though he were savoring every inch of you.
You exhaled shakily, your body trembling under his touch. For the first time, you allowed yourself to relax, to let go of your nervousness and simply feel. Lionel’s hands were steady, his movements deliberate, and for the first time, you felt worshipped—truly worshipped—by a man.
Your gaze flickered to his face, and for the first time, you noticed the sharp lines of his jaw, the glint of mischief in his hazel eyes, the way his hooked nose gave him a uniquely commanding presence. Lionel Shahbandar, you realized, was handsome—devastatingly so.
He smirked as he caught you staring, his voice a teasing purr. “Finally seeing me for the lion I am, hmm?”
You flushed, your breath catching as his fingers trailed to the edges of your panties. But before he moved further, he paused, his expression shifting to something more serious.
“Do you know the color system?” he asked, his voice low but calm.
You blinked, confused. “No,” you admitted softly, shaking your head.
Lionel’s smirk returned, though his tone was patient as he explained. “It’s simple, darling. Green means keep going. Yellow means slow down, maybe adjust. And red?” He leaned closer, his lips brushing your ear as he finished, “Red means stop. Completely. No questions asked.”
You shivered at the intimacy of his voice, the low timbre curling through you. “I… I understand.”
“Good,” he murmured, his fingers resuming their descent. “I need you to say the words, little lamb. Green, yellow, or red?”
“Green,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.
Lionel’s eyes darkened with approval, his smirk widening as his fingers slid your panties down your thighs, exposing you completely. He let them fall to the floor before settling between your legs, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. His kisses were slow, deliberate, and maddeningly teasing, each one sending a spark of heat through your body.
“You’re trembling,” he murmured, his baritone voice thick with amusement. “Are you nervous, little lamb?”
“Yes,” you admitted, your voice shaky.
Lionel’s hands gripped your thighs gently, his thumbs brushing soothing circles against your skin. “Good,” he purred, his hooked nose brushing against you as his lips hovered just above your most sensitive spot. “You’ll be begging me for more by the time I’m done with you.”
Before you could respond, his mouth descended, his tongue flicking out to taste you. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of warmth and pressure that sent your head spinning. You gasped, your fingers tangling in the sheets as Lionel worked you with expert precision. His hands held your hips firmly, keeping you steady as his mouth moved against you, his tongue and lips coaxing sounds from you that you didn’t even know you could make.
“Green,” you whimpered, your voice trembling with need.
Lionel chuckled against you, the vibration adding to the sensation. “I know, little lamb,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin. “I’ll give you exactly what you need.”
His tongue moved in deliberate, skillful strokes, his baritone hums sending shivers down your spine. You felt yourself unraveling, your body arching into him as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. When you finally cried out, your release washing over you in waves, Lionel’s smirk only deepened.
Lionel pulled away, his lips brushing one last teasing kiss against your sensitive folds before he straightened, his eyes gleaming with triumph. “Sweet as honey,” he murmured, his baritone voice rich with amusement. “You’ve been indulging in fruit, haven’t you? I could taste it. Or perhaps that’s just you, my little lamb. Pure, unspoiled, and utterly addictive.”
You blushed, your chest still heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. The nightgown clung to your damp skin, bunched around your waist, a silent testament to the intensity of what you had just experienced. Without realizing it, your thighs pressed together, seeking friction in your haze of sensitivity and lingering desire. Lionel’s hazel eyes darkened, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk as he observed your unconscious movements.
“You’re insatiable already, aren’t you?” he teased, his voice a velvet purr as he began undoing the buttons of his shirt. “I must be doing something right.” His fingers worked the fabric with deliberate precision, his sharp eyes never leaving your form as he exposed his chest, the fine lines of muscle and a faint dusting of hair adding to his commanding presence.
You shifted on the bed, the silk sheets cool against your overheated skin. Lionel’s gaze was predatory, his hooked nose casting a shadow over his smirk as he kicked off his shoes and reached for his belt. The sound of the leather sliding free was deliberate, almost calculated, a symphony of dominance that had your heart racing anew.
“You know,” he said, his voice low and teasing as he unzipped his pants, “most women would be trembling with nerves, but not you, my sweet lamb. No, you’re trembling with anticipation.” He stepped out of his trousers, standing before you in nothing but his boxer briefs, the bulge beneath the fabric unmistakable and impossible to ignore.
You pressed your thighs together harder, the friction sending a small shiver through your body. Lionel noticed, of course—Lionel noticed everything. He chuckled, the sound deep and rich as he slid a hand into his briefs, pulling them down and freeing himself. His arousal was as impressive as the man himself, and the confidence with which he reached for a condom only added to his aura of control.
“Look at you,” he said, rolling the condom on with practiced ease. “Legs pressed together like you can’t decide whether to hide or beg for more. Which is it, little lamb?” His tone was playful, but the heat in his eyes betrayed the intensity simmering just beneath the surface.
You swallowed hard, your gaze darting between his face and the way his hand stroked himself slowly, deliberately. “I… I don’t know,” you admitted softly, your voice trembling.
Lionel climbed onto the bed, his presence overwhelming as he settled between your legs. His hands gripped your thighs, prying them apart with gentle but unyielding force. “I’ll decide for you,” he said, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down your spine. “You’re mine tonight, and I intend to ruin you for anyone else.”
He shifted, the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. “No man will ever satisfy you the way I will,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “You’ll remember this night every time you close your eyes. Every time you touch yourself, you’ll hear my voice, feel my hands, taste my kiss.”
You gasped as he aligned himself with your entrance, his hooked nose brushing against your temple as he pressed forward, slow and deliberate. The stretch was intense, almost overwhelming, and Lionel’s baritone voice rumbled with satisfaction as he sank deeper. “That’s it, my sweet lamb,” he murmured, his lips grazing your jaw. “Take me. Every inch.”
As you grabbed Lionel's shoulders, your nails digging into his skin, a sharp cry escaped your lips. “Yellow!” you screamed, your voice trembling with a mix of pain and panic. Lionel froze immediately, his baritone voice softening as he whispered, “Easy, little lamb. I’ve got you.”
He paused, holding himself steady within you, his sharp hazel eyes scanning your face. You kept your eyes squeezed shut, your face contorted in discomfort. Lionel’s hooked nose brushed against your temple, his lips grazing your cheek as he murmured, “Breathe for me. Just breathe.”
His hands shifted to the sheets beneath you, tightening them around your trembling body, grounding you as you adjusted to his size. He groaned softly, his control evident in the way his muscles tensed. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, his voice thick with awe and lust. “You really are a complete virgin, aren’t you?”
You nodded faintly, your body trembling as you clung to him. Lionel’s smirk returned, but it was softer this time, tinged with pride and something more primal. “Fuck,” he whispered, his voice dropping lower. “I would’ve thought… maybe a toy, at least. A little rubber cock to ease you into this.” He chuckled darkly, his fingers brushing against your hair. “But no. That delicious little pussy of yours is completely untouched. Pure. Mine.”
You whimpered softly, your breath hitching as your body adjusted to him. Lionel leaned back slightly, his hazel eyes blazing as he looked down at you, his hooked nose casting a shadow over his face. “Look at me, little lamb,” he commanded, his voice a mix of velvet and steel.
You opened your eyes hesitantly, meeting his gaze. The intensity in his expression sent a shiver down your spine. “That’s it,” he murmured, his fingers trailing down your cheek. “Good girl. You’re doing so well.”
His hips shifted slightly, testing your response, and he groaned as you clenched around him instinctively. “Fuck,” he muttered again, his hands tightening on your hips. “You’re squeezing me so damn tight. Feels like you’re trying to keep me out and pull me in at the same time.”
Lionel’s gaze softened for a moment as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. “I’ll give you a moment, darling,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “Let you get used to me. But know this—once you’re ready, I’m not holding back.”
His lips found yours in a kiss that was both tender and possessive, his hooked nose brushing against your cheek as he whispered against your lips, “You’re mine now, little lamb. And by the end of this night, you’ll know exactly what it means to be claimed by a lion.”
You adjusted slowly, your body trembling as Lionel remained perfectly still, an unusual act of restraint for a man of his ego and insatiable appetite. His sharp hazel eyes scanned your face, watching every flicker of discomfort and hesitation with an intensity that bordered on reverence. His hooked nose brushed against your temple as he murmured, “Breathe, little lamb. That’s it. Breathe for me.”
His hands were warm on your hips, firm but gentle, holding you steady as he pressed the faintest kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, the corner of your trembling lips. His baritone voice softened, low and soothing, as though coaxing you through the moment. “You’re doing beautifully,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. “There’s no rush. I’ll wait.”
Lionel’s shallow thrusts were deliberate, almost teasing, giving you time to adjust to the fullness of him. Each small motion sent a ripple of warmth through your body, the tension in your muscles easing bit by bit. Your breath evened out, the sharp pangs of discomfort melting into something else—something deeper, more intense. Lionel’s smirk returned, faint but unmistakable, as he felt the shift in your body.
When you whispered the word, your voice trembling but clear—“Green”—it was like a spark igniting a fire. Lionel’s hazel eyes darkened, his smirk widening into something predatory, and his hands tightened on your hips. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice a velvet growl. “Now let’s make this a night you’ll never forget.”
He began to move with deliberate precision, each thrust slow and deep, dragging a soft cry from your lips. Lionel’s gaze was locked on you, drinking in every sound you made, every flutter of your lashes, every arch of your back. “God,” he muttered, his voice thick with awe and lust. “The sounds you make… magnificent. Where did Gruber even find you, hmm? Did he dig you up from some untouched paradise just to torment me?”
His lips trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine. His hands slid higher, tugging at the bunched fabric of your nightgown. “Let’s get this off, shall we?” he purred, his hooked nose brushing against your collarbone as he helped you lift it over your head. The nightgown slipped free, leaving you bare beneath him.
Lionel paused, his breath catching as his gaze roamed over you. “Christ,” he muttered, his baritone voice dropping lower. His hands cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples with maddeningly light strokes. “You’re perfection, little lamb. Absolute perfection.”
He leaned down, his lips closing over one of your nipples, his tongue flicking against the sensitive peak. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your hands flying to his shoulders as a soft moan escaped your lips. Lionel chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin. “So responsive,” he murmured, his voice tinged with satisfaction. “I could devour you, piece by piece, and never get enough.”
His hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips as he moved within you, his pace increasing slightly. Each thrust was deliberate, his movements calculated to drive you higher and higher. “Do you feel that, little lamb?” he asked, his voice a low growl. “That’s what it means to be truly desired. To be worshipped by a man who knows exactly how to make you sing.”
Your nails dug into his shoulders as the pleasure built, the tension coiling tighter and tighter within you. Lionel’s smirk widened as he felt you clench around him, his hooked nose brushing against your cheek as he whispered, “You’re close, aren’t you? I can feel it. Let go, darling. Let me hear you.”
Lionel tightened his grip on your hips, pulling you closer with a possessiveness that sent shivers through your body. “Look at you,” he murmured, his baritone voice rich with desire, “a goddess among mortals, trembling beneath me like the most exquisite prey.” His hooked nose brushed against your temple, his lips ghosting over your skin as he whispered, “Do you know how rare you are, little lamb? Seventy-five thousand pounds was a pittance for something—someone—as divine as you.”
Your breath hitched, and you tried to stifle your moans by pressing your mouth against his neck. The rough stubble along his jaw scraped against your lips, a delicious contrast to the heat of his skin. Lionel’s chuckle rumbled through his chest, a low and mischievous sound. “Oh, no, darling,” he purred, his voice dropping an octave. “None of that. Don’t you dare hide those sweet sounds from me. I paid for every moan, every cry, and every whimper you make tonight.”
His words sent a bolt of heat through you, and your nails dug into his back, leaving red trails down his skin. The bite of pain seemed to spur him on, his hips snapping forward with renewed fervor. The rhythm was relentless, each thrust deeper than the last, forcing you to arch into him, your body molding perfectly to his. “That’s it,” he growled, his breath hot against your ear. “Give in to me. Let me hear how much you love being mine.”
You gasped, your moans growing louder despite your attempts to keep them in check. Lionel smirked against your shoulder, his hooked nose brushing the curve of your neck as his teeth grazed your skin. “There it is,” he murmured, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “That’s my good girl. You sound so fucking perfect when you’re lost in me.”
Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him even closer, and Lionel groaned, the sound raw and primal. “Fuck, you’re incredible,” he muttered, his hazel eyes dark with lust as he gazed down at you. “Do you have any idea what you do to me? How badly I want to ruin you for anyone else?”
You couldn’t answer, your voice lost in a cry of pleasure as his hand slid between your bodies, his fingers finding the sensitive bundle of nerves that sent shockwaves through you. Lionel’s smirk deepened as he watched you writhe beneath him, completely at his mercy. “That’s right,” he murmured, his voice a velvet growl. “Let go for me. Scream my name if you have to. I want the whole damn world to know who owns you tonight.”
Your release came crashing over you, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. Lionel followed close behind, his groan of pleasure muffled as he buried his face against your neck. For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, the only sounds in the room your ragged breaths and the faint rustle of silk sheets.
But Lionel was far from finished.
As you lay beneath him, your body still trembling, Lionel’s smirk returned, cheeky and mischievous. “Don’t think we’re done, little lamb,” he said, his baritone voice laced with playful menace. “We’ve barely scratched the surface.”
He rolled off you, standing to retrieve another condom from the nearby nightstand. His sharp hazel eyes glinted with mischief as he turned back to you, his hooked nose casting a shadow across his face. “You didn’t think I’d stop after just one round, did you?” he asked, his voice dripping with mock disbelief. “No, darling. I paid for the whole night, and I intend to savor every second.”
You blushed, your breath catching as Lionel reached for you, pulling you to your feet and guiding you toward the plush velvet couch. His hands were firm on your waist, his touch possessive as he turned you around and pressed you against the armrest. “Knees up,” he commanded, his voice low and authoritative. “I want to see you stretched out for me, trembling and begging by the time I’m done.”
Your pulse quickened as you obeyed, your body arching against the soft fabric. Lionel’s hands roamed over your skin, his touch sending shivers through you as he positioned himself behind you. “So beautiful,” he murmured, his voice filled with genuine admiration. “Every inch of you is a masterpiece, and I’m the only man worthy of worshipping it.”
The second round began with the same deliberate intensity as the first, Lionel’s thrusts slow and deep, each one calculated to draw every ounce of pleasure from you. He leaned forward, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered dirty promises that sent your mind spinning. “I’ll have you in every way tonight,” he growled, his hands tightening on your hips. “On this couch, against that wall, maybe even on the floor if we run out of furniture. And every time you cry out, I’ll know it’s because you’re mine.”
You moaned, your voice muffled as you bit into the velvet cushion, your hands clutching at the armrest for support. Lionel chuckled darkly, his hooked nose brushing against your shoulder as he murmured, “Don’t hold back, darling. Scream if you need to. I’ll only make you scream louder.”
The night stretched on, a blur of heat and sensation as Lionel claimed you over and over again. By the time the final condom was used, your body was exhausted, your voice hoarse from crying out his name. Lionel lay beside you, his arms wrapped around you as he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple.
“Seventy-five thousand pounds,” he murmured, his baritone voice soft but filled with satisfaction. “Worth every penny. And I’d pay it again in a heartbeat for a night like this.” His smirk returned, playful and wicked as he added, “Next time, maybe I’ll buy out the whole damn auction, just to make sure no one else can touch what’s mine.”
You blushed, your heart pounding as Lionel’s words sank in. For tonight, you were his—and Lionel Shahbandar was a man who never settled for anything less than perfection.
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I don’t know if you’ve been asked this yet but could we get a snippet of Ronan actually being nice to Izaak for once. Further down the line when he’s good pet. No pain or work around tricks to make him get into trouble. Like how he coddles Henley. I just want to see this boy not scared for two seconds lol.
Some broken Izaak, coming up! Having a little cuddle with his owner! 🥰🙈
CW: pet whump, whumper turned whumpee, intimate whumper, submissive whumpee, light reference to previous torture, begging.
---
Ronan’s gentle fingertips absent-mindedly danced across Izaak’s scalp, waltzing with his dark chocolate curls of hair. Not a flinch or a wince, nor a cringe or grimace came from Izaak. His usually sharp and observant eyes were soft and doe-like, slowly slipping shut as he melted into the tender touch.
It pained Izaak to admit how taking this was easier. Much easier. Easier than all the kicking and screaming; hissing and scratching, the growling and barking that never got him anywhere other than in a world of pain. Through blood, sweat and tears, Izaak had lost to himself, his fight ripped from him. It was terrifying, almost exhilarating? It was exhausting. But most of all - it felt like sweet relief. In the surrender, Izaak found some twisted sense of peace.
He purred, like a content kitten, and nestled further into Ronan’s lap. What a fall from grace, what a fucking embarrassment. From the apex predator to a wounded beast, yearning and vying for comfort.
He couldn't sink any lower if he tried.
“Naw. Sleepy puppy. Should we get you to bed and all tucked in?” Ronan cooed down to his perfect little pet. As he reached across Izaak’s curled-up body for the remote to switch off the TV, Izaak squirmed and whined his dissent. He would bend over backwards to delay being dragged back down to that frigid basement, being chained like a beast, left alone with his thoughts, demons and the ghost of his past tethered to the opposite wall.
Izaak felt his heart plummet as he gazed up at Ronan, pleading with his glassy eyes. He desperately wanted to stay upstairs, safe and warm. Up there, he could believe in some warped sense of normality. Leave the horrors behind and pretend.
Despite how much it disgusted him, Izaak forcibly swallowed his final few crumbs of pride and nuzzled into Ronan’s belly. A calculated act of submission.
“Sir - please. I want to-”
Izaak caught himself there and the plea died on his lips. Pets didn’t have wants. Izaak shouldn’t ever want for a thing, his master gave him all he needed. If he wanted to keep Ronan sweet, he can’t risk silly fuck ups. He should blindly obey and be grateful for what he is afforded. Even if it’s scraps.
A weak sob choked in his throat, "Please...can we stay like this? I'll be so good-”
He was like a begging dog. His eyes wide and pleading, his head tilted to the side. If he had a tail, he’d wag it, too.
Ronan's fingers traced Izaak's sharp jawline, his touch lingering. A moment stretched between them, a silent battle of wills. Izaak's breath hitched, his heart pounding ten to the dozen in his chest. His collar suddenly felt suffocating, like it was two notches-too tight around his neck.
"Oh, aren't you darling, Izzy? You want to stay with me, hm? Curled up in my arms?"
His fingers delved beneath Izaak’s chin and scratched the sweet spot, the place where a dog would lean into the touch and kick his leg frantically in enjoyment. A low rumble escaped Izaak’s throat, his eyes half-lidded in pleasure. He tilted his head up, offering himself to Ronan's hands.
“I have you wrapped around my little finger now, don’t I, pet?” Ronan chuckled.
“Yes, sir,” Izaak whispered, earnestly and shamefully.
“Don’t get me wrong, you were oh so fun when you were naughty. But I much prefer you like this. So desperate, so submissive. Such a needy little thing.”
Never in a million years would Izaak have thought it would come down to this. A shadow of his former self, a mere husk of the man he once was. The once proud and defiant spirit had been broken down, shattered into a billion pieces. Now, he was nothing more than a creature of habit, a slave to Ronan's whims.
"I knew you'd break for me, sooner or later."
Shame settled heavy in Izaak's empty belly.
“And isn't it a sight for sore eyes! You're a delight. Such a good boy,” Ronan hummed, his voice laced with a hint of cruelty. His thumb stroked across Izaak's puffy cheeks, “So obedient. Don't you worry your pretty little head, we can cuddle all you want, pup.”
Izaak forced a wavering, teary smile to try to hide the turmoil within.
He craved the fire that used to rage fiercely within his core, long since snuffed out. Deep down, Izaak still felt the smallest flicker remained, a tiny ember waiting to reignite. Determination and defiance smouldered, ready to be rekindled.
Instead of fueling it, Izaak resigned to his cruel fate and rested his weary head on Ronan's thighs. "Thank you, master. You're too good to me."
---
Ronan tag list: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast
Izaak tag list: @thewhumpywitch @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @sorrowful-hyacinth @whumpsoda
#I hope this suffices anon!!!#I can't say he's too happy about it but hey Ronan is nicer than usual! ahaha#and he's a lot more willing and pliant#pet whumpee#whumper turned whumpee#whumperee#intimate whumper#ATOYOM#A Taste of Your Own Medicine#Ronan Ellis OC#Izaak Silvera OC#whump#whump writing#answered asks#whump community#whumpblr#whump blog#whumpee#whumper#captivity
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