#Con Coverage

[tabletopbellhop]

Like watching?

Ep 270 Returning to Breakout Con, Gwen's first game convention, is up on YouTube

We talk about our time at Breakoutcon which was my daughters first con, the games we played there, and review two games we brought home: Maki Master (Kids Table Board Gaming) and Sinoda (BSGames)

[noahschnappinfs]

Noah with fans at the German Stranger Con and the SFMT in Paris

[garak-pussy-indulgence]

Wow ok I need to utilize the humble colored pencil more often it is so easy to fuck up a lineart w paint

[louishawkins671]

How Much Life Insurance Coverage Do You Need for Your Spouse?

When considering life insurance, many individuals focus on their own coverage needs, often overlooking the importance of ensuring adequate protection for their spouses. Life insurance serves as a crucial financial safety net, providing support to loved ones in the event of an unexpected loss. Determining how much life insurance coverage is necessary for a spouse is a vital aspect of comprehensive financial planning. This article aims to explore the key factors that influence the amount of coverage needed, helping couples make informed decisions that align with their financial goals and responsibilities.

Understanding the Role of Life Insurance for Spouses

Life insurance for a spouse is designed to replace the lost income and provide financial stability in the event of their passing. The death of a partner can lead to significant emotional and financial strain, making it essential to have a well-structured life insurance policy in place. The primary purpose of this coverage is to ensure that the surviving spouse can maintain their standard of living and meet ongoing financial obligations without the deceased’s income.

When assessing the need for life insurance coverage for spouse, it is important to consider the specific financial obligations that would arise if one partner were to pass away. This evaluation includes not only immediate expenses but also long-term financial goals and responsibilities that the surviving spouse would need to navigate.

Assessing Financial Obligations

To determine the appropriate amount of life insurance coverage for a spouse, individuals should start by assessing their financial obligations. This assessment can be broken down into several key areas:

Income Replacement: One of the most critical factors to consider is the income that the spouse contributes to the household. Calculate how much income would need to be replaced to maintain the family’s current lifestyle. This calculation typically involves determining the number of years until retirement or until children reach financial independence, allowing for a clearer picture of how much coverage is necessary.

Debt Considerations: The couple’s outstanding debts should also be taken into account. This includes mortgages, student loans, credit card debt, and any other financial obligations. Life insurance can help ensure that these debts are settled, relieving the surviving spouse of the burden of managing them alone.

Childcare and Education Costs: For families with children, it is crucial to consider the costs associated with childcare and education. Life insurance can provide the necessary funds to cover these expenses, ensuring that children have access to quality education and care even in the absence of one parent.

Final Expenses: It is essential to account for final expenses, such as funeral costs and any other related expenses. These costs can add up quickly, and having sufficient life insurance coverage can ease the financial strain on the surviving spouse during a difficult time.

By carefully evaluating these financial obligations, individuals can begin to understand the total amount of life insurance coverage necessary to protect their spouse and family effectively.

Evaluating Lifestyle Needs

Beyond financial obligations, it is also important to consider the lifestyle needs of the surviving spouse. Life insurance should not only cover basic expenses but also provide for a comfortable lifestyle. Key factors to evaluate include:

Current Lifestyle: Reflect on the family’s current lifestyle and whether the surviving spouse would be able to maintain it without the deceased partner’s income. Life insurance should be sufficient to cover the costs of living, including housing, utilities, and other daily expenses.

Future Aspirations: Consider any future financial goals that the couple may have set together, such as saving for retirement, traveling, or purchasing a new home. Life insurance can help the surviving spouse continue to pursue these goals, even after the loss of their partner.

Emotional Well-being: The emotional impact of losing a spouse can be overwhelming. Providing adequate life insurance coverage can alleviate some of the financial stress, allowing the surviving partner to focus on healing and adjusting to their new reality.

Utilizing Life Insurance Calculators

Once individuals have assessed their financial obligations and lifestyle needs, they can utilize online life insurance calculators to estimate an appropriate coverage amount. These tools can provide valuable insights based on various inputs, including income, debts, and future expenses. However, it is important to remember that these calculators serve as guidelines rather than definitive answers. Every couple's situation is unique, and personal judgment should play a significant role in determining the final coverage amount.

Consulting Financial Advisors

For those who find the decision-making process overwhelming, consulting with a financial advisor can be an excellent option. Financial advisors can offer personalized guidance based on the couple's financial situation, goals, and obligations. They can help individuals navigate the complexities of different life insurance products and policies, ensuring that the chosen coverage aligns with the couple's overall financial strategy.

Insurance agents can also provide valuable insights into the various types of life insurance available, including term and whole life policies. They can explain the benefits and drawbacks of each type, helping couples make informed decisions about the best coverage for their needs.

Conclusion

In conclusion, determining how much life insurance coverage to buy for a spouse is a significant decision that requires careful consideration of various financial obligations, lifestyle needs, and future goals. By assessing income replacement needs, evaluating debts, and considering the family's desired standard of living, individuals can arrive at an appropriate coverage amount that provides peace of mind. Utilizing life insurance calculators and consulting with financial advisors can further aid in this decision-making process. For those seeking a reliable partner in navigating life insurance options, Top Whole Life offers expert guidance and tailored solutions to help ensure that families are adequately protected, allowing them to focus on what truly matters—each other.

[wellhealthhub]

Mastering DME Breast Pumps: An In-Depth Guide by Well Health Hub

Get the complete lowdown on DME Breast Pumps with our detailed guide. From coverage to usage tips, we’ve got you covered. Read now! Introduction Welcome to our comprehensive guide on Durable Medical Equipment (DME) breast pumps. Whether you’re a new parent or a healthcare professional, this guide aims to cover everything you need to know about DME breast pumps. From types and coverage to…

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Besotted 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your new neighbour brings intrigue and a bit of danger.

Characters: ex-con!Bucky Barnes

Note: Oh, Mr. Barnes.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

It’s not exactly the promised casserole, but it’s what you can manage. You’re a simple woman. You wish more people appreciated that.  

The shepherd’s pie is much better in your opinion. A hardy full meal. A couple of dinners in a single pan at least. Even if he asks you to join him for dinner. 

Most of your night was spent on the feat. After your shifts, you don’t often have much energy, but you’re committed. You’re finally going to prove Angelique wrong. You’re going to rub it in her face, too. 

You change out of your gravy spattered sweats and change into something cuter. Sexier.

The halter dress doesn’t offer much in the way of coverage or support. Your chest tests the strength of the bodice, your cleavage squished together in the deep vee, and the skirt ends just low enough to hide your panties. 

You cover the pie and slide into a pair of wedged sandals. You use your elbow to open the screen door and push out with your hip, spinning onto the front porch. It’s quiet outside. The sky slowly dims as the streetlights flick on one by one. 

You clomp down the steps dangerously, balancing yourself with the ceramic dish. You bought it just for this very purpose. You want everything to be perfect. 

You have a fresh coat of nail polish on your fingers and toes alike, sparkly and perfectly sealed. You dab on a little lip gloss before you left your side of the duplex and touched up your mascara. Just enough but not too much effort. 

You stop at the bottom of his steps. You stare up at the door. You glance over at the black motorcycle. You saw him ride up on it earlier. He looked even sexier. He had his long hair pulled back, a few strands blown free by the wind, and he wore a pair of dark black sunglasses. He really has the whole dangerous aesthetic down. 

You climb stair by stair and ease open the outer door. You rap on the thicker wood door and wait. You arrange yourself and the pan. The screen door rests against your elbow. 

When the locks twists, you push your shoulders up and chest out. You smile big. He pulls inward and greets you with a grunt and raised brow. His eyes drift back and forth as if looking for something, or someone. 

“Hi, Bucky, remember I promised you a casserole?” You chime. 

He’s in his usual all black attire. Black jeans, black tank, his left arm swathed in tattoos. His silver-streaked hair hangs around his chin and his beard adds to the sharpness of his jawline. His forehead lines deeper as he looks you over. 

His eyes come back to you and flick down. You hold the dish before your chest so his eyes snag first on your cleavage. You see the way they dart in between the two then back to your face. You extend your arms to offer the pan. He reaches to catch the screen door so it doesn’t hit you, stepping closer as he does. He’s made even bigger as the porch is slightly lower than inside the house. 

“It’s a shepherd’s pie. I know it’s not exactly what I promised--” 

“I told ya not to bother, girl,” he grits. 

You bat your eyes and pout. His voice is silky but gritty. You could drown in it as easily as his eyes. 

“It’s no bother,” you insist. “Really. Secret family recipe. I make my own gravy. Oh and I use sweet potato. You get the sweet and the savoury together.” 

He hums darkly and inhales. You watch his chest rise and fall. His cheeks dimple. He reaches for the dish. 

“Be worse to waste your effort,” he utters dully. 

“It was easy,” you assure him and hand it over. “I just know when you’re settling in, there’s so much to be done. I didn’t eat a real meal for two weeks when I got my place.” 

He holds the pan in his hand and looks at your again. His eyes seem to strain as he meets yours. As if fighting not to look somewhere else. 

“Thanks,” he growls. Oof, he’s like those romanticized bad boys in a novella. 

“No problem!” You wiggle. “I really hope you enjoy it.” 

He nods and stands there awkwardly. He sighs again and taps his fingers on the screen door. He clucks before he speaks again. 

“Guess I shouldn’t... just send you off. You went to all this trouble,” he begins. Your heart picks up. Yessssss. “You eat?” 

Your smile can’t get any bigger, “oh not yet, I was cooking but I got a Michelena’s in my freezer--” 

“Wouldn’t be right if you didn’t try some,” he insists, though hesitation plucks in his timbre. 

“Oh, you are too nice, Bucky. I’ll have a little, but I made it for you.” 

“Mm,” he goes to back up and you shuffle forward. He stops again. 

“Wait out here,” he commands. 

Yes, daddy, you nearly blurt out, even if you are disappointed not to be let in. 

“I’ll bring it out to you. Place is... unpacked.” 

“Right, okay, I’ll be here. Waiting,” you twirl away and flutter over to the small table against the siding. You watched him set it up the other day. With two matching chairs. It’s that discount set you saw outside the hardware store. 

You sit and put your elbows on the table. Then you make yourself sit up. You look down and fix your tits in the dress. The dress keeps riding up as your chest is heavy enough to bunch up the fabric under it. The cut of the bodice ends a bit short of your actual proportions. 

Angelique, you bitch. She has those perfect, high c-cups. She can wear anything without a bra and no one really knows, unless it’s cold. But you, it’s oh so obvious, not that you mind at the moment. Still, it kills the back. 

You cross one leg over the other as the screen door whines on its hinges. Bucky comes around and places two plates on the small table. He shuffles the cutlery in his hands and offers you a fork and knife. He approaches the other chair, a short pause before he sits. 

He’s quiet. That’s okay. Your job is mostly talking. You can be a real yapper when you want to be. You thank him as you hover the fork and knife on either side of the plate. 

“Nice night,” you say. 

He slices through the layers of beef and potato, scooping up the veg with it. He shrugs. 

“The oven heated up my place so much though, I’ll have to keep the windows open,” you press the tines into the top layer of potato. “I wish I had AC, it gets so hot.” 

He looks at you to show he’s listening but still has no response as he chews. You don’t mind a bit of silence. It’s kind of like a sexy mystery. You just have to solve his riddle. 

“Oh, I had a question. About your bike.” You brighten up, jolting so your chest bounces with you. His eyes sink for a split second. 

“Are you going to try it?” He gestures with his fork. 

“Oh, uh, of course.” You stop and scoop up some pie. You smile then lean in to slide it into your mouth. You drag your lips down the fork as you stare at him. Your chest is as good as one the table. “Mmmm.” 

You quickly swallow and run your tongue over your teeth, “about your bike.” 

“The motorcycle?” He rasps. 

“Sure, um, well, you know, I’ve been saving up for a car but I was thinking a bike might be cooler. Faster. I looked up some lessons but thought you might know some stuff too.” You twirl your fork in your fingers. 

“Dangerous,” he says. “And you can’t drive around in dresses.” 

You look down and lean back. You giggle, “do you like it? It’s new. I got it on sale.” 

He sounds like he’s choking as he swallows. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, “pretty colour.” 

“You think? I don’t know. I was looking at the purple one too.” 

“Wouldn’t know the difference,” he mutters. 

“Well...” you grin at him and lean forward. “I like your necklace.” 

He brings his hand up to his neck, “dog tags.” 

“Oh, you’re a soldier? Or, were? A veteran?” 

“Was,” he answers curtly and takes another bite. You have more as well, feeling a bit awkward. 

“So how about it? I could pay for lessons, I don’t mind. Or... maybe other things. Make ya more dinners?” 

“Dunno. Got work,” he says. 

“Right, me too. What do you do?” You ask. 

His cheek ticks, “nothing exciting.” 

“Ah, me neither. I work at this call center in the bank. Sit in the basement and try to sell credit cards. Pays pretty good though and you get commission if you sell a diamond.” You explain, “boring, I know.” 

“Gotta start somewhere,” he remarks. 

“Yeah, I guess,” you agree. “So, are you from around here?” 

“I’m here now. Doesn’t matter,” he answers. He’s stubborn, you’ll give him that. 

You watch his hands. His knuckles are tattooed with little wolf heads. His fingers are deft and thick. You think about them doing other things.

“I grew up here. Not in this house but in this town. I guess it’s alright.” You preen and fix your dress. He’s looking again. “But I only really got friends from around here too. I love learning about new people. New places.” 

His plate is clear already. You don’t realise until that moment how quick he was eating. Almost mechanically. 

“You gonna finish that?” He asks. “You girls peck like birds.” 

You giggle again, “that’s funny. My mom always said I chatter like one. Called me Chickadee when she got annoyed, which was like always.” 

“Mm,” he drones. 

“I’ll finish,” you push your fork into the pie, “like a good girl.” 

His eyes flash. You got him. He shifts and puts down his cutlery. He sits back and crosses his arms. His knees are set wide as he heaves another deep breath. 

You suck another bite off the fork. You lick your lips. You set down your knife on the rim of the plate and touch your chest, just below your throat. 

“I’m so sorry, could I get something to drink? Please?” 

He twitches, “shoulda offered before.” 

He gets up. You smile, “thanks, Bucky.” 

He gets up and takes his empty plate. He walks past you with a gristly breath. You catch how he tugs at the loop of his belt, adjusting his pants just slightly. You’re not trying to be too into yourself but you think you know why. 

You continue to eat. The pie turned out pretty good. And you are starving. He returns with a tall glass of water for you, a beer for himself. He doesn’t sit. 

“Thank you so much,” you smile and reach for the glass. You rinse out your mouth and watch him as he puts his back to you and looks out at the lawn. “Did you like it?” 

“Hm?” He turns his head so you can see his profile in the streetlight’s glow. 

“The pie?” 

“Oh, yeah, good cooking. Been a while.” 

You smile. You’re proud of that. You’re no Gordon Ramsay, you can cook simple things, but they do the trick. 

You finish as he watches the neighbourhood. A few passerbys have his posture changing. You set the cutlery neatly on the plate and stand. You come up next to him and put your hands on the rail. You sense him flinch. 

“I hate this humidity, makes me so sticky,” you fan yourself. He must be dying in those jeans. 

He grunts but offers no other reply. 

“I like your tattoos. I was thinking of getting one,” you turn to look at him, keeping one hand on the rail, as the other frames your hip. “Maybe like a little heart?” 

“Mm, if you want to. Just ink.” 

“Sure. Do you have any recommendations for an artist? I don’t even know where to start.” You giggle again. 

“Didn’t get any here. Make sure you don’t cheap out,” he shrugs and tucks his thumbs into his jeans pockets. He won’t look at you. 

You search for something else. Anything. 

“Dinner was good. Thanks. I don’t wanna keep you,” he gets there first. Fuck. 

“Oh, I don’t mind.” 

“Got an early morning,” he sniffs. 

“Alright, uh, sure. I’ll see ya around?” He nods. You try not to show your disappointment. You tremble then squeeze his arm, “I like talking to you, neighbour.” 

You drag your touch down his forearm then turn away. You sway your hips as you head for the stairs. You get to the top and look over at him, “good night, Bucky.” 

“Night,” he growls. 

You take the first step down but on the second, your wedge sandal slips off and bounces down the steps. You trip and find yourself stumbling forward. It all happens so fast, you yelp as you find yourself just a few inches off the ground, staring down at your fate but not meeting it. 

Bucky has you by your arms. He holds you almost horizontal as your feet remain on the third step. He pulls you up to your feet and you lean back against him with a gasp. You feel him tense. 

“Oh my, I’m so clumsy,” you fan yourself. “Bucky, you saved me.” 

His fingers curl into your bare arms before he lets go. He steps around you and stomps down to grab your shoe. You tug at the top of your dress as he looks up, your left boob is almost out. Your cup it and guide it beneath the fabric. 

His throat bobs as he stares up at you. He puts the shoe flat at the bottom of the stairs. He doesn’t say a word as he offers his hand. You take it and hobble down in your single wedge. 

“Thank you, Bucky,” you step into your shoe at the bottom and cling to him, “you’re such a gentleman.” 

He shudders and gently wiggles his hand free, “get outta here, girl.” 

He backs away and turns to take the stairs two at a time. You grimace at his suddenness. You turn as the door swings shut behind him and the inside one closes in quick succession. Your plate and the drinks are still on the table. 

You’re only disappointed your night was cut short. You let the agitation slake away and sighs. You laugh to yourself and slowly strut away. Oh, you did something. 

[yandere-sins]

Bathhouse Service

[My Commission Info] | [My Ao3] | [Ko-Fi]

a/n: Here we gooo, the first commission of this year for a super sweet anon ♥

Characters: Phainon (HSR) x Male!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Content (Non-Con/Dub-Con, Pec job, Anal, Fingering, Hand job, Musk Kink), Domination, Obsessiveness, Stalking, Abuse of Power, Long Post Words: 6647

Taking a deep breath, you waded through the bathwater, happy to finally put down your golden tray for the day.

You'd been working hard, serving food and drinks to the guests of the bathhouse, constantly forcing a smile on your face even though it was hard to stand in the water, people sloshing it against your body and soaking your clothes. This job wouldn't have been your first pick if you had a choice. Being out in public and in constant contact with people was nerve-wracking on the good days, and the feeling of being constantly exposed by the bare minimum of coverage your clothes provided only added to your discomfort. 

Something more private, away from the prying eyes, would have been nice. But being a bathhouse attendant was what paid the bills. Rolling your shoulder, you breathed into the tension that had built all over your body. Ironic since the baths were the most relaxing place in all of Okhema, but all they did was add stress to your nervous system. It wasn't easy not being as socially adapt as the other attendants and more introverted when having to talk and attend to countless people every day, their prying eyes prickling like needles on your skin, and their hands were sometimes a bit too adventurous to be well-mannered. But you kept telling yourself you were merely too shy for your own good, misinterpreting everyone's intentions. 

After all, you also felt like you were being watched when there was no one around you at all.

Turning around, you looked over at the few people still lingering in the baths. It was almost closing time. Finally, you thought, your shift having taken its toll, and you desperately needed a good night's sleep. Tomorrow would be your day off work, and it was exactly what you needed to recoup and gather your strength to survive the following shifts ahead of you. Especially the busy rush hours after people finished their work were exhausting, the crowded baths being treacherous to navigate and the demands of people even harder to fulfill. You didn't have the gift of being born exceptionally tall and strong like your peers, so you often found yourself in trouble with the guests who looked down on you. Everything about you was average enough to escape trouble, but trouble seemed to try and find you wherever you went. Not everything about the job was terrible, but you were reminded every day why it simply wasn't suitable for you. 

"Hey!" someone called out, and you jerked out of your daydreams where you imagined having a nice dinner before slipping into your warm bed, already waiting for you.

"Y-Yes?" you stammered, turning towards the voice, expecting a visitor trying to get your attention. However, instead, the face was familiar, the big smile curling your boss's mouth making you dread the interaction even more. You two had very different opinions on what made you happy, and seeing him excited, almost skipping steps to get to you faster, wasn't a good sign for you at all. 

"I need you to go upstairs to the upper baths and serve some food and drinks before you leave for today. Can you do that?"

"What, me?" you asked, flabbergasted. Usually, there were special attendants for these baths. People who underwent specific training and had to sign confidentiality contracts. It was for the good of all the people to pick the very best attendants for the Chrysos Heirs, and you weren't one of them. "That's… Isn't there someone better suited for this task? I- I mean, going there is such a big honor. I'm not sure if I am worthy of it…"

"You're too modest! You're doing a great job!" your boss laughed out loud, the praise feeling undeserved, as if he was doing it just to encourage you. Still, you fumbled with the hem of your tunic, feeling flattered. Giving you a strong pat on the back that almost toppled you over, he leaned over the counter, grabbing and piling some fresh fruit and a bottle of the best drink money could buy in all of Okhema with two glasses on top of your tray before turning back to you. You got nervous just seeing the bottle that cost more than all you had ever earned, hoping you'd not be the reason it would fall and shatter along with your savings.

"Besides, it was specifically asked for you, so it's not like we can send anyone else."

Giving your boss a questioning look, he merely slipped the tray from the counter, holding it up to you. Afraid he might drop it and blame the loss of merchandise on you, you caught it, sealing your fate effectively. The bottle and glasses swayed, and so did you, trying to adjust to the weight of the tray despite your exhausted muscles. You really didn't want to do it, but when you looked up, your boss was already a few steps away from you, waving as he yelled back. 

"Amazing! See you for your next shift, then! Take good care of our customer!"

With that, he was gone, leaving you behind to figure everything else out on your own. Still a little unsteady, you bit your lip as you balanced the tray while putting one foot in front of the other. Freedom was so close, even if the way to it was anxiety-inducing and exhausting. What could your boss have possibly meant when he said someone specifically asked for you? You weren't acquainted with the heroes at all, so it seemed unlikely that they'd ask for you by name. It all sounded like manipulation at its finest when he phrased it like that, and you felt even more uncomfortable with the task than you already were. 

Nonetheless, it had to be done. The quicker you were, the faster it would be over, too, and you'd probably not have to interact much with the Heir who was expecting your service. Stepping onto the elevator platform, you kept reassuring yourself that everything was fine and you could do this. However, a knot formed in your stomach, making you wish the elevator would never stop. 

The temperature wasn't much different from the lower baths, yet you felt yourself breaking out in beads of sweat, your body heating up with every second spent in agonizing anticipation. Who was going to wait for you up there? What did they want? Would you be able to hold the ever so slightly shaking tray until you reached their table? What if all of the Heirs were there, watching and judging your service? What if you lost your job?

You walked off the platform with unsteady steps, nervously scanning the area. You had been up here before, of course. But only to clean when there was no one around. Now, even without seeing it, you immediately felt the presence lingering in one of the baths. Eyes of striking blue fixated on you, raking down your body and leaving only goosebumps in their wake as they scanned over you. Halting your breath, you heard the water swaying to your left before you saw the body moving it. Casual, relaxed, but focused—on you.

Phainon.

Barely anyone was as well-known as he was around Okhema. Naturally, every Chrysos Heir was revered, but no one was as loved as Phainon. With his cheerful nature and helpful spirit, many people looked up to him as their savior and hero. They felt safe and comfortable around him, no less because he showed everyone kindness, his smile more dazzling than most could stand without fainting. The same smile he was showing you, now that he had your attention on him.

"There you are!" he greeted you, waving from his bath as if you two were lifelong friends. You had never met him privately before, only ever watched from the masses when he returned after a mission. The two of you lived in entirely different worlds, yet it made your face heat up to be greeted by him like a friend. 

Quickly but while carefully balancing the expensive bottle on your tray, you made your way over to Phainon, his smile growing bigger as you approached. As if he was about to jump up, he leaned forward, shifting to the side on the bench closest to you and sending waves your way as you stepped into the water. With the waves crashing into you, you had to fight with your balance, the fluid soaking your clothes again, making them cling to your body uncomfortably.

There was something special about the Hero's baths; their effects were even more soothing and healing than those below. You were immediately confronted with these effects as you felt your body relax. That was one of the reasons why it took special training to serve the upper floor, and you struggled with not just giving in to the relaxing effects. You barely reached the table before letting the tray down. Accidentally, a soft groan escaped you as the strain disappeared, immediately causing you to feel ashamed as you realized how unbecoming such a sound was in front of a hero who fought for the people all day. The least you could do was serve him properly, without complaints, yet here you were.

"A- Apologies for the delay, Sir…" you mumbled, giving a small bow while averting your eyes. Your heart was pounding increasingly fast, but you tried your best to simply get the task over with, not wanting to raise more attention on yourself.

"No need, you are right on time!" Phainon replied chipperly, another large wave crashing into you, almost knocking you over. Immediately, you looked up, seeing him standing right before you, his hand reaching out. "I was looking forward to seeing you again."

Fingertips ghosted over your cheek, and your body did the most logical yet stupidly over-the-top reaction and jumped away. You were so surprised by his sudden touch that you didn't consider your surroundings, the water reaching up to your hips tripping you over as you crashed backward, barely cushioned as you landed on one of the stairs leading into the bath. Bewildered and surprised, you looked up to see Phainon slowly close the distance, his expression a mix of concern and something softer, perhaps pity… or maybe not.

"Sorry, I just couldn't help myself. The last mission took so long, I really missed you."

"N-No, I'm so sorry! I was just surprised, forgive me…" you quickly tried to wave off the embarrassment. Your eyes darted from side to side, trying to be polite but also not stare. From your position, it was hard not to look anywhere indecent, but you also didn't want to be rude and just bolt. Still, you couldn't help but see a few glimpses of his body, water dripping down the lines of his muscles, making him glisten in the moody lightening of the bathhouse. The towel around his hips was one of the regular ones, yet, on Phainon, it looked almost too small as it hung low on his body, leaving neither his defined thighs nor the bulge between his legs to your imagination.

It was massive. 

Gulping, you felt the heat rise dangerously hot into your face, shaming you for having even a tiny indecent thought about the Heir. Someone like you could barely stand in his presence, let alone think about what his cock must be like. You watched in a mix of embarrassment and surprise as Phainon reached out again, certainly to lend you a hand. He was that kind of man, a true hero. Selfless and kind. That's why it surprised you even more when his arms landed on either side of you, your legs opening without thinking to welcome his body between them. 

For a moment, you merely stared at him, his face so close now that you felt his breath tingling on your damp skin. Seeing every eyelash on his gorgeous eyes and the small dimples as he smiled felt utterly unreal. The next thing you knew, one hand was on your thigh, massaging your muscles as it slowly moved upwards. 

"I missed you so much," he murmured. "I kept thinking of returning to you. Guess it's too much to ask if you missed me, too?"

For the first time, you listened to his words more closely. It was easy, really, with his mouth so close that you watched his lips move. "Do we… know each other?" you asked, confused. You didn't remember ever interacting with Phainon before, much less having a relationship close enough to miss each other. The crack in his smile was noticeable, the disappointment reaching even his mesmerizing blue eyes. But as fast as it had appeared, it was gone again. Instead, you were confronted with the feeling of his hand beneath your clothes, dangerously near to your privates.

Letting out a small gasp, you looked down at it, reacting instinctively as you gripped his wrist, barely able to wrap your fingers all the way around it. The differences between you two were much more significant than you first expected, his body able to shield you from anything and all while he could break you like a twig at the same time. You never felt as weak as you did now when you were in Phainon's presence, his touch creeping higher and higher. 

"Ouch," he laughed, faking his hurt before quickly returning to his confident and sweet smile. "You know how to break hearts, don't you? And here I am, so happy to see you…"

"S-Sorry!" you immediately apologized, although you didn't know if it was necessary. 

However, your words were cut off as you suddenly felt Phainon's hand placed on top of your lower stomach, playing with the rim of your underwear. "W-Wait!" you stuttered, and his grin widened more as he dragged the fabric down. 

"I've waited a long time, don't take this from me now, please."

You could barely believe what was happening as the Phainon lowered himself before you, never breaking eye contact as he freed your cock from the clothes holding it back, the traitor jumping up and brushing against Phainon's chest with gentle arousal. It was all too much as realization finally dawned on you about what was happening, and you still found it hard to believe. But with a long sigh, Phainon's expression softened as he briefly looked down at your member, swaying his chest to move it around until it was situated right between his pecs, his eyes returning to yours with a flush of adoration in them.

And then, with more vigor than anyone had ever touched you with before, Phainon began rubbing your length up and down between his pecs. Water was sloshing all around you two as he moved up and down your cock, slowly picking up the speed. Your hands reached for his shoulders, trying to push him away, embarrassment burning in your cheeks. Instead, they only found hold there as Phainon pressed against you harder, mistaking your resistance for an invitation.

"W-Wait!" you stammered, but your words were followed by a stifled moan as you bit your lip hard. With the water acting as a rough lubricant, the friction between your skins wrapped deliciously around your cock. His tough muscles seemed to soften, adjusting so they could pleasure you better, and you heard him chuckle as your legs pressed into his sides. At this point, you didn't even know if you wanted to push him away or draw him closer while he turned you into a gasping mess. 

"This is like a dream come true," Phainon sighed blissfully as he worked your shaft between his pecs. "I've always wanted to be alone with you like this! You have no idea how long I've been trying to get closer to you."

His words reached your ears but couldn't settle your raging thoughts. Nothing about this made sense! Why would the Chrysos Heir want someone ordinary and unremarkable like you? All of Okhema laid at his feet, yet he wanted you of all people? It didn't feel right, and neither did what he was doing to you without your consent. And yet, against all reason, your head fell back just as you felt your body tensing. 

"That's right," he mumbled, his weight bearing down on you as he buried your cock between his pecs." Be a good boy and come for me. Let me have a taste, I've been starving."

All you could do was obey, your toes curling as you tried biting back the moan that finally broke free. It felt incredibly wrong, but as you watched your cum splash and spread across Phainon's chest, you couldn't help but stare in stunned silence. Both of you were breathing heavily, the motion continuing to tease your cock, which still throbbed between Phainon's pecs. Only now did you realize what you had done—and to be fair, it was his fault as well—the shame burning through your whole body as you whimpered fearfully. 

What if he'd tell everyone that you had forced yourself on him? What if he blackmailed you? No… Phainon wasn't that kind of person. You had always known him to be noble and kindhearted, your mind was merely playing tricks on you out of your own anxiety. And besides, he had attacked you first… even if you ended up being on the receiving end of the pleasure. 

At this point, you didn't know if it was merely the heat of the baths getting to your head or if you were about to pass out from exhaustion. Yet, you managed to pull yourself a few inches away, your cock slipping out from between Phainon's pecs with a nasty squishy sound, reminding you too much of sex. Well, technically, this was a form of it. Still, it made you nervous to consider this an act of intimacy. You two still barely knew each other, even though Phainon kept claiming he did. 

Stealing another glance at him, you watched him lean back, dragging his fingers through the spilled cum as if drawing patterns on himself. He searched for your eyes again, satisfied as he met your gaze. Phainon grinned, bringing his palm in front of his mouth and giving it a good lick, slurping up some of the jizz as if it was the drink of the Titans itself. Wide-eyed, you watched in horror, but as Phainon made one more step out of the bath, your gaze was drawn away, the towel around his hips loosening up before dropping to the ground. Not without getting stuck on his erection, though, and you gulped as you watched his cock bounce free the second the fabric slipped off. 

He was massive. You had suspected as much from the bulge you had noticed before, but seeing his cock fully erect, ran goosebumps all over your body. Something like that was what every man wished for. It probably made anyone faint the moment it slipped in, but it would be so worth it just to be fucked by it. Getting down on his hands and knees, Phainon crawled after you, a sight to behold, the great hero on his fours, preying on you like an animal. Now that he had a taste, his eyes had darkened with an unfamiliar desire. It made you gulp hard as you realized you were the object of lust reflected in them. 

"I- I'm so sorry! I can't tell you how sorry I am, this is unforgivable—I should leave!" was all you could come up with before quickly twisting your hips around and trying to stand up. You were already on your knees when one strong arm wrapped around your neck, and you clawed at it, fearing the enormous strength Phainon seemed to wield with ease. You had no question that he could suffocate you just like that, and the anxiety raised some panic inside you. 

Soft lips fell at the spot behind your ear, slowly kissing down your neck and making you gasp and shudder. His other hand dropped to your right pec, squeezing at it despite your body being less refined than his. Compared to your average size and looks, Phainon was like a god. Perhaps that's why he thought it was okay to play with your nipple, flicking it with his pointer while you felt the lips at your neck suck your skin into his mouth.

"Don't leave just yet," Phainon muttered against your body. "I finally got you right where I want you."

"I- I'm just an employee, Sir! I can't possibly be what you want!"

"Mhm," a long, thoughtful hum escaped Phainon before you heard his lips smack as they were pulled from your body. "And yet, you are. Always been," he confessed, and you weren't sure if this was a lie like your boss had told you or if you should have felt flattered to be confessed to by the Heir. However, your cock jerked as you listened to him, no less because of all the stimulation you were receiving. 

"And tonight, I finally have you all to myself."

Hand falling from your chest, it drove lower over your stomach. You inhaled sharply at the sensation of his fingers parting so they could wrap around the base of your dick. Jerking your hips back, you felt his length press between your ass cheeks, his hot and eager cock twitching as it was greeted by softness. Phainon let out an audible breath before he chuckled, allowing you to feel every inch of him by rubbing his cock against your butt. Simultaneously, his pointer and thumb created a circle around your own sex, stroking it up and down slowly. 

You two fell into a rhythm of stroking and rubbing, Phainon's kisses returning to the nape of your neck, together with his hot breath and wet tongue. The arm around your neck kept holding you up, choking you a little every time he pressed you forward with a push of his hips, and you gasped, making Phainon's breath shudder every time as if your voice aroused him. Soon enough, your cock was up and ready again, although you felt exhausted after all the work that day and having already spent yourself all over the hero. 

But when you felt the next orgasm built, making you snap your own hips forward into Phainon's hand, he suddenly let go of your cock, leaving it to pound helplessly into the air. "You're already ready again," Phainon teased, and you bit your lip, holding back the frustration. Suddenly, he let go of you, pulling away and leaving you to catch your balance until you found yourself on all fours this time. Your dick was twitching between your legs, upset about not finishing what Phainon had started.

But before you could come to your senses and use the chance to leave, Phainon was back, his legs on either side of your body as he got down on your level. Next thing you knew, something slimy dripped onto your butt, running off the curve and into your crack. Alarmed, you looked back, watching as a focused Phainon poured some liquid out of a golden pitcher, letting it run over his hand and thoroughly coating it in the thick substances. When he looked up again, he smiled again, assuring you, "No worries, I prepared for this."

Then, he slipped his hand between your cheeks, his middle finger pushing against your hole. Realizing that he was preparing you for penetration, you gasped, immediately trying to crawl away, but Phainon was quicker. He laughed as you squirmed, calling out, "Not so fast!" as he grabbed your ankle with his free hand, pulling you back on the first step and into the bath. The water was a treacherous accomplice, trying to soothe you with its warmth and calming effects, but as his finger slipped inside you, there was no calm to be found in you. 

"Wait!" you yelled, pushing back against the arm whose finger penetrated you with your own hand, but you didn't have the strength to fight him. The lube he used had some form of relaxant in it, making it easier to stretch you. You mewled up as he pushed another and a third finger into you, undoubtedly preparing you for his cock's girth. 

"You're ready," Phainon let you know as you breathed heavily, his fingers stirring up your insides mercilessly. When you came to serve him food and drinks, you didn't think you'd end up being assaulted. Yet here you were, at his mercy, as he placed the tip of his cock against your hole, pressing against it over and over until he was frotting the lotion and coating himself in it. You opened your mouth to protest one more time when he finally decided to go for it, his entire tip slipping inside you, spreading you to a never-before achieved level of width. No scream escaped you as he pushed himself further into you, the only sounds around being the bubbling of water and Phainon's groans. 

"That's it," Phainon purred. "Take it like you were made for me."

Even without looking back, you knew he had managed to lodge his entire shaft inside. Your cheeks were spread, and his balls pressed against your ass. You could barely endure it, your vision blurry with a mix of tears and seeing stars. Phainon had yet to move, but there was no guarantee he wouldn't knock the breath from your lungs with one deep pound, making you faint like you had anticipated his cock would. 

Grunting, Phainon slowly pulled back out of your hole that clung to him tightly, all the lube being absorbed to ease your pain. However, instead of knocking you out cold, your whole body sprung to life as he pushed into you. In an instant, you were overcome by fear, panic, pain, and the desire to get away, but with the next push, you were left a moaning mess, rolling your hips in an attempt to adjust to his thickness penetrating you. 

Steadily, the pace increased, and your body took every push with delightful pleasure that made you almost forget that you didn't want any of this. Phainon's arms soon snaked around your torso, helping you back on your knees and pressing your back against his chest, your body molding into his. You listened to his grunts, trying not to admit your own sounds of pleasure as he plowed into you, hugging you tighter and tighter.

You could feel his cock swell inside you, the signs of arousal all there, even on your own body. This was not how you imagined your first private meeting with the Chrysos Heir to go. This wasn't the kind and heroic person he had been made out to be by everyone. If anything, he was an animal in heat, forcing your head back and to the side. 

"Look at me," he murmured while continuing to fuck his shaft into you mercilessly. Licking his tongue over your lips, you sighed as his dick pressed against your sensitive spot once again, giving Phainon enough time to capture your mouth with his, kissing you deeply while holding you painfully close against him. Not even a piece of paper could have fit between you two. You could feel gravity pulling you down on his cock even when he stopped moving, accommodating your second orgasm and allowing it to spill on the pristine floors of the bath freely. You not only had disgraced the Chrysos Heir now with your juices, but also your workplace. Even wiped up, you'd never forget your cum glistening on the stone. 

Phainon sighed as your body spasmed, wrapping tightly around his cock in waves of pleasure. Your brain felt muddy, the orgasms in quick successions taking their toll on you as you allowed your body to be laid back down on the ground next to your spurts of jizz that seemed to taunt you for your easily influenceable mind. Deep inside, you knew this was wrong, but after two ejaculations, you didn't have the strength to resist him anymore. 

Instead, you mewled, feeling Phainon's cock twitch inside you, still ready and eager to come himself. You met his eyes, a victorious grin on his lips as he watched you. Your reflection looked well-fucked and dazed, and you were, moaning softly as Phainon pressed down on you, imprisoning you between the ground and him. His hands fell to your thighs, picking them up and pressing them forward, and you whimpered as it allowed his cock to bury even deeper. You knew instinctively that when Phainon undoubtedly filled you with all his cum, he wanted it to be at the deepest point, the one that would drive you absolutely insane. And it was, every roll of his hips making you shudder and cry out from the overstimulation. 

His mouth found yours once more in a mix of hot breath and drool, the kiss so intense it felt like you were melting. Both of you had worked up quite a bit of sweat, too, your bodies slipping against each other as your ass was fucked raw. "Mhm, S-Sir…" you moaned, his body threatening to bury you beneath it as he kept pressing himself against you more and more. 

"P-Phainon. My name is Phainon," he replied, grasping for breath himself but smiling from ear to ear as if telling you that made him extremely happy. As if you didn't already know his name. Then again, he seemed disappointed when you asked him if you two knew each other, so introducing himself felt like a step forward in your non-existent relationship. 

"Phainon…" you called out to him awkwardly, intending to tell him to stop as you simply couldn't take it anymore. However, it had the opposite effect, his cock twitching inside you, causing you to clamp up. Both of you turned into a mess of gasps and moans, and instead of stopping, Phainon picked up the pace. You could tell he was close, and he placed his arms on either side of your head, plowing into you thoughtlessly. His whole body enveloped you, chest now closer to your face than his head as Phainon readied himself to fill you with his cum. Salty skin rubbed against your lips, and you caught a whiff of his natural scent mixed with the gentle aroma of the baths. 

He smelled almost like metal, which wasn't surprising for a trained warrior like him. The sharp iron mixed with the salt of his sweat, and there was a faint trace of your cum left, everything about Phainon smelling so manly. His smell was everywhere, on his arms to your sides and chest above you. Perhaps with his scent points on his neck and wrists so close, it was unavoidable for you to inhale it deeply. He was all around you, there was no escaping this man.

After tasting it for the first time, you found yourself craving more of this strange combo. Without thinking, you let your tongue out of your mouth, dragging it over his pecs until you hit his nipples. Unexpectedly, it was the straw that broke the camel's neck for Phainon, the sensation of you licking him making his eyes go wide as his voice got caught in his throat, a strained groan all that he could produce. Next thing you felt was the hot spill of his seed inside you, the fluids sloshing against the walls of your bowels.

Moaning loudly, your body forced itself against Phainon's. Even in the state of pure bliss, he managed to catch you with one arm, supporting you like a true gentleman as you grew slack, while he filled you up with his jizz. You two ended up in a messy tangle, and you couldn't think straight as he hugged you, cock still balls-deep inside your hole, kissing the side of your face. 

"You did great," he praised you. "I knew it was going to be good, but I could have never expected it to be this amazing."

When Phainon finally lifted himself off you, air stormed back into your lungs, clearing your head somewhat. Your feet curled up, legs trying to close, and you whimpered as his cock slowly pulled out, unplugging you so that spurts of white jizz left you violently. You felt utterly disgusted, semen, sweat, and lube clinging to you, but at least it was over. Tears rose in your eyes as you realized what Phainon had done. You wouldn't even be able to tell anyone, as no one would believe you that he had assaulted you.

Everything hurt as you forced yourself to move. Cum kept dripping down your legs as you stood up, taking a few weak steps and picking up your discarded underwear. All you wanted was to get away and never come back. Try to forget what happened and wash yourself until you were rid of the memories Phainon had left on your body. You'd need time to heal from all of this and especially to come to terms with the fact that your body obeyed and accepted his malice so easily. Everything from your body to the image you had of the hero was utterly defiled, and you felt so, so dirty. 

"Where are you going?" Phainon asked chipperly, and before you knew it, he had picked you up from behind. In all your self-pity, you had totally forgotten about him still being here. About the weird behavior he displayed and how strangely he spoke to you. This time, you used your nails to cling to him, wanting to give him just a little bit of the pain he had caused you. 

"Let me down!" you protested, your voice hoarse after all the moaning, but Phainon didn't listen. Instead, he carried you back into the bath, sitting down on the bench with you on his lap. You could feel his cock still hard and twitching between your legs, especially when Phainon moved forward, reaching for something behind you. You managed to stifle a moan, barely. It only needed a brief rub against his length for your body to shudder, remembering all of the abuse you had suffered. And yet, sitting in the warm, soothing bath made your body tingle in anticipation, almost as if you wanted more.

"Here, drink," Phainon chimed, pushing one of the glasses into your hands. It was filled to the brim with a liquid, and with horror, you realized it was the expensive beverage you had brought up here. Hesitating, you held it in your hands, glancing sideways towards your escape route, the elevator still waiting there for you like you had left it. 

Taking a swig of his own cup, Phainon tipped against yours, urging you silently. You hated the authority he had over you, but spilling the drink could give him more reason to blackmail you if he told everyone you poured some of it into the baths. Not risking it, you took a quick sip of it into your mouth, swallowing it eagerly as your body demanded more hydration. It tasted sweet and delicious and felt so good after what you had endured. 

"Want some fruit, too?" Phainon asked as he watched you drink. His free hand had found its way to your thigh again, kneading it softly. When you finally put your cup down, you noticed the fond sparkle in his eyes, his muscles completely relaxed. Part of you had assumed he'd treat you like a quick stress relief and throw you out the second he was done with his fun. However, he seemed content taking care of you after fucking you against your will. Unconcerned, that's what he was—the complete opposite of you.

"Why?" you whispered, still so many questions on your mind.

"Well, fruits have vitamins and are very good to regain some energy–"

"Why did you do this to me?"

Phainon shut up the second you interrupted him. Placing his cup down, he took a deep breath before facing you with a smile again, wrapping his arms around your waist leisurely. "I'm a warrior, I can't afford to have everything I want. So I had to choose, and I want you. I've wanted you ever since I first came to this place. It has always been you that I looked for in the crowds, and still, I can't take my eyes off you. I want you. I need you. And now, I don't think I can part with you ever again."

"That's… But I–"

Reaching behind you, Phainon picked an apple from the platter you had served him, biting into it as he listened to your stutter. That guy had no worries, it seemed, casually dropping a confession as if it was the easiest thing to say. Maybe after already making you familiar with his massive cock, he got a bit ahead of himself, thinking that everything had a price. 

"I am not a whore," you protested firmly, standing up for yourself for probably the first time that night. "You can't just ask for me and then force me to have sex with you! We don't even know each other!"

The sound of apple crunching began to annoy you as he kept eating while you spoke your mind. Only when you tried to get up and away from him did you get resistance, his hands grabbing your sides, pressing you back down on top of his lap. 

"You're not my whore," he relented, and you thought you saw a splash of disappointment in his eyes, only angering you further. "I was hoping you'd be my lover."

"I'll never be with someone who treats people like he wants, not even caring about their feelings."

"That's fine."

Phainon's gaze was focused as he said that, his voice unwavering. The response was too quick, too calculated. His fingers gripped tighter into your flesh, and you took a sharp breath to suppress the pain. Something about him had shifted; he felt… cold. Undeterred. As if he was about to make a necessary sacrifice.

But just as quickly, his smile returned, and he pushed the apple into your mouth, muffling your complaints. 

"Eat it. You'll need the strength for the next round," he announced, setting you down beside him before getting up and stepping in front of you. His cock bopped right in your line of sight, a clear indication of what he wanted next, considering he was ready to go again. 

"What?! No!" you yelled, throwing the apple away. Despite the awkward position, you moved to slip past Phainon, but he gripped you by the hair, pulling you back. You hissed in pain, only distracted when you felt his glans poke against your cheek, his entire length sliding up your face. 

"If I'm not the one you want to be with, I just have to become someone you won't want to leave, right? I can do that," Phainon announced, appearing to be proud of his deduction. You felt a shiver run through your body as you realized you were utterly overpowered. Before you stood a Chrysos Heir, known for his strength, stamina, and aptitude. And apparently, you were the enemy he needed to subdue, no matter how long it would take. 

The sweet, kind Phainon was actually… a psycho. 

"Please…" you whimpered softly, tears filling your eyes. "I don't want that."

"You'll get used to it. "We have all night, just us two. It's a dream come true, isn't it?"

Phainon smiled at you, gently cupping your face with his other hand, rubbing his thumb over your cheek comfortingly. But before you could even utter a reply, he rested his hand beneath your jaw, pinching into both your cheeks and forcing you to open wide. 

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll do everything in my power to make you love me."

[ixxivvv]

small in your coat.

zayne, sylus, caleb.

(written by me in 15+hr makeup and contacts crouching on the station floor as i wait for the last train after a shitty night club shift, yearning for a dream to make me feel protected, in their coat.)

-⛄️ zayne ❄️-

made from well tailored houses, all his jackets had structure to them. shoulders wide and thick fabrics.

"Heading home." he sent to you, in mind you are waiting in his home. your night together, sleeping in his place for tonight for no particular reason was going to begin after a while of being busy with each others work: and you couldn't wait.

you explore his apartment in curiosity, a place you are familiar with now. his room still felt like you were entering his world. no dust, everything was in order and tidy. it still felt so wide and neat, in contrast to your casual attire now.

you opened his cabinets and drawers, observing the entire thing. you find bits and pieces of your favorite memories together- the shirt he wore to your first date together, the sweater you gifted him, and all of his coats on the hanger. reaching for one, the classic burberry trench coat and resting it on your shoulders. it just felt like a back hug- he may be cold but only you know how warm and kind he was. it nest heavy on you, nearly dragging the ends to the floor, the sleeves too long too. in his pocket, something crinkles- a piece of bonbon chocolate and a candy. it made you smile, as you look into the mirror.

as you felt him, the entrance door opens. "darling? im home..." you scurry over, "forgetting" to take your new cape on. "welcome home! :)"

he expresses that micro expression he often does- his pupils widening and looking to the side, almost processing his next move. but this time, he couldn't find words. was it too much? you tilt your head, peeping into him. ".. zayne?"

he managed to look at you, then suddenly grips your shoulders tight. he gasps and flushes,

"... did you miss me that much?"

- 🐦‍⬛sylus 🚗-

his biker jacket, thick leather with a thrashing pattern in his signature colors. the one you hold on tight to from his back when you two are on a joyride. in fancy outings with a dress he order made, he subtly pushes you forward: to show his beautiful girl, to lead the way and only when you seem lost he stands by your side.

he rarely showed his back, which is why you enjoyed joyrides. sylus hasn't taken you out for a dinner or party or anything for a while due to discourse and in fighting between groups. arrests, leadership changes, moving positions and disagreements. it was hectic and n109 zone was not safe now- less people in the streets. he kept you inside which is fine, but even without luke and kieran in the home, only mephisto kept you company for now.

eye rolling media coverage that would never have enough air time of what truely happened, social media discourse of what happened...

"mephisto-h... where is sylus?" and the high tech shows a display of his current location. still out there in some meeting with some people you wouldn't want to know. its all so hectic just looking at it. the cons of being a "mafia boss boyfriend's girlfriend" trope is going to your day job and watching people at work come and go, no idea of anything and the kind of people youve come to known and their struggles. its all just outsiders. you loved sylus, you really did, and more than the thrilling adrenaline. a kind of world which youve come to know that he is there in because he can't live anywhere else. the kind of loneliness and disconnect from people that "don't watch the news" or it's "too dark".

your heavy legs dragged you into his closet. opening the doors, it smelled of his cologne and dry cleaners. but you reached out for the only jacket that dosen't particularly smell of anything- his biker jacket. its made with protective plates and leather. it faintly smelled of his cologne and petrol. maybe you did miss the thrill of when you first got together. or the wind.

"kitten?" sylus walks in, surprising you.

"sylus? you were home?" "why, unhappy to see me? well, i can clearly see you wanted to see me." he chuckles and looks into you lovingly, like a kitten caught in a ball of yarn. caught redhanded, so small in his jacket all curled up like a blanket. he lifts you up, bridal style- so adorable, pretending to not miss him with your words but so clearly did.

sylus decided in that moment, that the discourse needs to end- to bring a sense of "peace" back.

- ✈️ caleb 🍎-

(soo theres a canon audio that you steal his jacket aand... well this will be based off that 😭)

caleb called you to eat dinner from downstairs- "y/n! dinners ready~!" he said so happily, he enjoyed cooking but he loves "playing" house with you.

but you weren't coming down, so he placed the pan in the middle of the table and headed upstairs? where were you now? werent you just taking a shower? still in the shower prohaps? however his instincts, senses you were in his room. his big footsteps, open to a sight he didn't expect.

you were already changed with no makeup, but you had your hands behind your back, staring into his closet like an art piece.

"did you, find my clothes interesting?" you took back by surprise, eyes widening. he informs you that dinners ready and guides you downstairs around your shoulder. you seemed to be in thought still, "i wonder whats in her head again." caleb ponders.

as you sit across him from the dinner table, chewing - still in thought. he couldn't leave it.

"pipsqueak, whats on your mind?" ".. nothing. pass the soy sauce?" his eyes lose its spark.

as he showered that night, washing his hair down in his own thoughts. he could feel himself getting anxious, triggering his own core and attempting to coax himself out of it. hes practicing not to doubt you so much.

he sighs as he steps out the shower in a single towel wrapped around his waist, just to see you sitting in the corner of his bed again, dangling your legs. you just stared into him, only with one thing. his colonel jacket hauled on your tiny shoulders. you were sitting on the long tail of the trench, the back stitching that resembles mechanical wings rests on your back. your soft features contrasted with the black color that faintly smelled of iron.

"...", he had no words, whether in disbelief or just how small you were in his build. if you stood up, the coat might drag across the floor. you fury your brows, sensing that he didn't enjoy the gesture. it was childish, but the details on his coat was impressive- no fraying or loose thread, some signs of wear. it sat heavy on you, emotionally and physically.

but caleb also adored it- his brute power and fear in the jacket suddenly seemed softer in your touch. how he'd just let you.

".. you like the colonel that much? or the owner of this uniform?" you touch the gold stitching, teasing him a bit more.

".. then, i must bow down to the colonel." he gets on his knee, softly taking your foot. he was still in his towel, but you knew what was going to happen-

and you loved it. crossing your arms, roleplaying your power. caleb smirks and places a kiss on your ankle.

".. you have the full authority to command me. i shall serve you, my entire body.." as he kisses up your foot and thigh- only you can do this to the actual colonel himself.

[wintrwinchestr]

strangers | part 1

summary: following in the footsteps of a girl you once knew, you decide to up and leave home one morning without looking back. when you find yourself to be tired, hungry, and alone in the middle of nowhere, you're thankful when a kind stranger offers you a ride, a warm meal, and a place to sleep for the night. he only tells you about himself in bits and pieces, but he seems trustworthy enough, and what you don't know can't hurt you, right?

!!PLEASE READ WARNINGS, THIS IS A VERY DARK FIC!!

I've tried to label this fic as detailed and as boldly as possible. I will not be held responsible or bullied off the internet if you choose to read this potentially upsetting/triggering work of fiction anyway.

warnings: joel miller x f!reader, 18+, smut, age gap (reader is college-aged, joel is mid-50s), no outbreak au, serial killer!joel, dark!joel, talk of death/murder and blood, mommy & daddy issues, brief talk of domestic violence, lying/gaslighting, manipulation, f-receiving non-con somnophilia (no sex, but groping, fingering, dry humping, kissing, and choking), degrading language toward victims, pet names (baby, darlin', sweetheart), some joel pov, no ellie/sarah but tommy has an unnamed daughter, somewhat inspired by "strangers" by ethel cain, takes place in illinois/ohio/indiana, vaguely set in the 70s/80s, this part is mostly introduction/storytelling/yapping, please respectfully let me know if i missed anything and i will rectify the tags

word count: 9.8k

a/n: i started this as a oneshot way back in november, and then it sat abandoned for a very long time. thank you to my lovely friends @polaroidpascal and @chippedowlmug for encouraging me to finish it, and also bestie kiers who never hesitates to match my freak. also thank you to the many writers who made me feel inspired to write something dark and not give a fuck what people think about it. i hope you enjoy this joel he's a freak and i love him and if you say anything mean about him i'll send him after you <3

divider by @saradika

series masterlist/moodboard

read this chapter on ao3

part 2

Ruby Carpenter.

You had spent all day trying to remember her name without really knowing why. Maybe it’s because as the sun sets on what would be the first day of your junior year at the nearby state school, you wonder if she ever made it to one of the fancy ivy leagues she had always aspired to attend. You wonder if she’s even still alive.

Ruby had disappeared a few years ago now, the summer after your senior year of high school. For nearly a year afterwards, her missing posters remained stapled onto every telephone pole and stuck onto every store window around town, until the paper began to disintegrate and the ink began to fade. In that time, you couldn’t even make a quick run to the grocery store without being confronted by dozens of replicas of her yearbook photo printed onto the sides of all the milk cartons. Despite all of the efforts to find her, including several search parties and a decent amount of statewide media coverage, everyone had just stopped looking for her, eventually. Even the police. Even her parents.

It was decided that she had probably just run away, and you can’t entirely blame her, but you can’t imagine why she would, either. You remember her perfect head of blonde ringlet curls that shone a yellow gold in the sun, and her bright blue eyes that turned fiery in her more passionate moments during classroom debates. She had every boy in your grade wrapped around her finger, was the teacher’s pet in every class, and it wasn’t even a question whether she would win prom queen your senior year. She was always sweet to you, always complimented your outfits or your makeup or your art projects with a genuine lilt in her voice and a kind smile, so you could never bring yourself to hate her even though it would’ve been so easy to. You figured she was going to cure cancer or become the president after you had all graduated, which is why you never really stopped wondering whatever happened to her that summer. She was beautiful, with boundless potential and a bright future ahead of her, why would she have just given it all up?

Everyone around town knew Ruby, or at least it seemed that way. But maybe nobody ever really knew her as well as they thought. Maybe she’d had a secret boyfriend all that time who whisked her away that summer, maybe she had decided to try drugs and fell down a rabbit hole that she couldn’t claw her way out of, maybe she had finally figured out that the only thing this town would ever be good for is holding people back. Maybe she did just wake up one day and decide to run without ever looking behind her.

Maybe you should do the same.

With your dad long gone now and your step-father doing a piss poor job of filling in the hole he left, following in Ruby’s footsteps has sounded like a better idea with each passing day. Rob isn’t even really your step-father, anyway, just your mom’s sorry fucking excuse for a boyfriend. The guy’s already been married upwards of three times before, why try for another one? He’s a lazy son of a bitch who can’t hold down a job at a fast food joint for more than a couple of weeks at a time, who sleeps every second of the day that he’s not chugging through a six pack, and who leaves marks on your mother uglier than his fucking face. 

She doesn’t deserve to be treated that way, of course, but it’s not like she’s winning the “mom of the year” award any time soon, either. She’s never even been nominated. She’s forgotten just about every one of your birthdays, been the reason you’ve never had any friends come over, and in her most recent offense, blew all the savings you had put away for your last two years of college. Which is why you’re not spending tonight celebrating being one year closer to at least having an official-looking piece of paper to show for yourself. Instead, you’re using the rattling of your bedroom window unit and the booming bass of your radio to drown out yet another drunken screaming match between your mother and the guy she lets live in your house now, watching the world outside pass you by and knowing that if you don’t do anything about it now, you’ll never make it out of here. You’re thinking about Ruby Carpenter, hoping she found somewhere greener and more promising and was able to make something of herself, far away from here. And you’re thinking that this rusted orange sunset is the last one you’ll ever see from your bedroom window.

It’s decided, then. You’re leaving, first thing tomorrow.

—

You’ve only gotten a few hours of sleep by the time your alarm clock chimes to life at five o’clock on the dot. You’re quick to silence the shrill beeping with a swift swat of your hand, careful not to wake anyone else in the house. The sun has just barely begun to stream in through the blinds of your bedroom window, but it illuminates the room just enough for your eyes to land on the backpack you had stuffed full of a few changes of clothes last night, waiting for you by the door. 

You don’t waste any time stripping off your pajamas and pulling on just about the only clothes left in your room that aren’t in your bag. You’ve got your teeth brushed, face washed, and hair tamed in all of about ten minutes, too anxious to spend even one more unnecessary second in this house. You swing your backpack over your shoulder, pull your bedroom door open at just the right speed so that the hinges don’t squeak too loud, and tiptoe delicately down the stairs, careful to avoid the creaky floorboards that you know like the back of your hand—the one three steps from the top, the one at the landing about halfway down, and the very bottom one.

You land softly when you leap over that tattletale bottom step, successful in the most difficult part of your escape plan so far. Rob is passed out on the living room couch in typical fashion, his mouth full of crooked teeth hanging open as his grating snores permeate the calm morning air. He’s still got a death grip around an empty beer can, even in his sleep, and your mother will likely be the one to toss it into the trash for him, useless fucker that he is. You aren’t going to miss either of them, and you imagine they’ll just skip trying to replicate the first half of the aftermath of Ruby’s disappearance altogether—no posters, no search parties, no police. You’ll just be gone, one less mouth for your mother to feed. Though, you’d been mostly feeding yourself since you were tall enough to slide a couple of bills across the counter at the corner store down the street, anyway. You’re ready to disappear, the same as candle wax when it burns, the same as the end of a rainbow, the same as Ruby Carpenter.

You don’t bother looking back when you shut the door behind you, content to leave it all behind just as the sun begins to rise and set the sky ablaze. By the time it sets again tonight, you hope to be in a different county, in a different state, anywhere that isn’t here. The rest, you’ll just have to figure out when you get there, wherever “there” may be.

—

You had only realized about an hour ago that you’d forgotten your cheap digital watch in the drawer of your bedside table, where it’s laid unused for the past couple of months, because who needs to tell time during the summer? You never had anywhere to be, never had to get to class or turn in a paper by a certain time, so it’s just been collecting dust since you had unclipped it from your wrist on the last day of spring semester. It sure would have come in handy right about now, when you have no fucking clue what time it is. The sun had disappeared behind the hills several mile markers back, so it must be… eight o’clock? Ten o’clock? Fucking midnight? You have no idea. What you do know is that you’re exhausted, hungry, and your feet hurt like hell. You aren’t really sure what you expected, the reality only just now setting in that you don’t even have ten bucks to your name anymore, thanks to your narcissist of a mother. The crumpled up bills you do have in your pocket are hardly enough for a goddamn sandwich, let alone a motel room. The cool night breeze raises goosebumps on your skin, and you swear you can see your fucking breath, even in the middle of August. You wrap your arms around yourself just as tears begin to prick at your waterlines, and you let them fall as you collapse onto the scratchy patch of dead grass on the side of the freeway, not a park bench or a bus stop or even a gas station in sight for God knows how many more miles.

You sit cross-legged, elbows propped up on your knees so that your hands can support your weary head, the skin of your palms becoming slippery with salty tears as your crying just doesn’t seem to stop. The road you’ve found yourself on seems relatively low-trafficked, the heaving sounds of your sobs accompanied by more cricket chirps and rustling wheat than rumbling tires. But a few high beams do streak across your vision every once in a while, coloring the backs of your eyelids a flaming scarlet.

After several minutes, your tears seem to dry up on their own, your body likely too dehydrated now to produce any more. You wipe the moisture from under your eyes with the back of your hand, sniffling as you gnaw at the skin of your bottom lip and debate if you should just turn back now, give up on your stupid little plan (or lack thereof) and just call the whole thing a loss, pretend it never even happened. Your mother and Rob won’t have even noticed you’d left.

Just as you pull yourself back up to your feet, set on at least finding somewhere that isn’t the hard ground to sleep on tonight before you make your way back home tomorrow, the warm headlights of an old pickup truck are shining bright in your eyes. You put your arm up to block them as the truck slowly squeals to a halt in front of where you’re standing, and you squint your eyes at the driver as your vision adjusts.

“You need a ride, sweetheart?” A man asks in a gravelly voice, and you can still hardly make out what he looks like. Based on the southern accent you pick up on, he doesn’t sound like he’s from around here. 

“N-no, thank you. I’m okay,” you respond shakily, taking a nervous step back from the stranger and his rusted pickup.

“You sure? Looked like you were cryin’ over here, like you might be lost or somethin’.”

“‘M not lost, I know where I’m going.”

“Oh yeah? Where’s that?”

Shit. 

You take a guess.

“Um… the motel down the road,” you reply, tilting your head in the direction you had been walking in.

“There ain’t a motel down there, sweetheart. Ain’t nothin’ in either direction for miles, ‘s all just farmland out here. Reckon you’ve already figured that out, though.”

You pause, unsure of what your next move should be. He knows you’re lying, knows you’re alone with no fucking idea where you are or where you’re going. You could run, but even that shitty truck of his could catch up to you in a matter of seconds. You take another step back, swiveling your head around to look up and down the road as you try to figure your best way out of this.

“Just lemme give you a ride somewhere, darlin’. There’s a diner just off the exit, ‘bout twenty miles up ahead. Could take you that far, at least, get you somethin’ to eat,” he offers. A warm meal does sound pretty good right now, and you suppose you aren’t exactly in a position to refuse his help.

You think on it for a second. “What’s it called? The diner.”

The stranger huffs. “Moody’s.”

“What do they have?” you challenge.

He sighs. “It’s a fuckin’ diner off the side of the freeway, darlin’. They got greasy food and black coffee, ‘s about all you need.”

You don’t say anything.

Then, after a beat—“They got some kinda sloppy mess they call the Thunder Burger. ‘S got onion rings and shit on it. Ain’t half bad.”

You have to admit, he’s passing your pop quiz with flying colors. His answers have been too quick, too specific for him to be lying to you. There’s a pretty solid chance this diner does exist, and that he’s been there before. The man hasn’t said anything that’s indicated he wants more to do with you than to offer you a ride and some dinner. He’s probably just somebody’s harmless grandfather, anyway, judging by his motheaten flannel and gray-stricken beard you can see now that you’ve approached his truck a few paces closer.

“Okay,” you concede, your stomach growling loudly as the man leans over the bench seat to pop open the passenger side door for you. You shrug off your backpack and climb into the cabin, clicking your seatbelt into place as you situate yourself on the cracked leather seat. 

“All set?” the stranger asks.

“Mhm,” you hum, finally getting a better look at the man you might just owe the rest of your life to after tonight. For being somebody’s grandfather, he’s… kinda handsome. Really fucking handsome, actually, in a rugged sort of way. He’s got warm amber eyes that sparkle even in the dark of night, a kind smile that completely disarms you in an instant, and a splintering scar across the bridge of his nose that somehow only adds to his good looks. You try to suppress your own grin as you look away from him quickly, opting to focus on fidgeting with one of the fraying edges of your denim shorts instead. Even in your peripheral vision, you don’t miss how his eyes shift from your own to the exposed skin of your thighs. He doesn’t say anything, just clears his throat as he shifts gears and steers his truck back onto the road again. 

He lets the next few minutes pass in comfortable silence before asking, “You got a name, sweetheart?”

You tell him, and he flashes another charming smile at you. “I like that, ‘s pretty… Well, I’m Joel. Sure you were wonderin’. Now you ain’t gettin’ a ride from a stranger no more, are ya?”

“Yeah, I guess I’m not,” you giggle, and you’re surprised at how comfortable you feel with him. “So… you’ve been to Moody’s before?”

“Handful of times, yeah. When I’m passin’ through.”

You nod. “So you come up here, like… for work or somethin’?”

Joel chuckles. “Or somethin’. You never even heard of the damn place, so… reckon you don’t find yourself out here very often, do ya?”

“No… ‘M not even really sure where ‘here’ is, to be honest. I just kinda… started walking.”

“Ah… a runaway, then, are ya?” Joel asks, with an appreciated amount of understanding in his tone rather than judgment. “‘M sure your folks are missin’ ya right about now, must have your boyfriend worried sick.”

You scoff at that. “Fuck no. They probably don’t even know I’m gone, won’t even bother trying to come look for me. And I don’t have a boyfriend, so…”

“Damn shame. ‘M sorry about that, sweetheart,” Joel comforts, placing a large calloused hand on your thigh. It makes your breath hitch, but his touch isn’t entirely unwelcome. You let him squeeze once at the plush of your leg before he replaces his hand on the wheel, and your cunt spasms out a little fluttering pulse against the seam of your shorts, despite yourself.

The rest of the drive to Moody’s is relatively quiet, save for the gentle crooning of an old country singer emanating from the cassette player on the dash. The soft singing and steady strumming of a banjo combined with the muffled chugging of the truck’s engine is enough to lull you to sleep, especially after the day you’ve had. You know that just about every mental alarm bell you have should be screaming at you to jump out of the car, to run, that sleeping alone in the dirt would’ve been a better decision than getting into this strange man’s—Joel’s—truck, but you’re too tired to hear them. He smells good, like woodsmoke and pine and cinnamon, and if he wanted to do something awful to you, he probably would’ve done it by now. So you trust him, for now at least, and let your lashes fan out against your cheeks as your head falls back against the cushioned headrest, coaxed into sleep by the lullaby of tires against pavement and fingertips against guitar strings.

—

You only rouse when you feel the truck come to a stop about half an hour or so later, slowly blinking your eyes open against the bright neon sign that reads “MOODY’S” in bold capital letters. Your jaw stretches wide as a yawn overtakes the muscles, and you hear Joel’s southern drawl replace the one from the cassette as he shuts the engine off.

“Mornin’, sleepyhead. Not too tired to eat somethin’ now, are ya?”

Another unpleasant-sounding rumble from your empty stomach answers for you, loud enough for both of you to hear this time. The air puffing out of the diner’s kitchen smells strongly of fatty bacon and rich coffee, just like Joel had promised you the place would offer. Although the digital clock on the dash read just after 10:30 before you fell asleep, you’ve never craved breakfast quite like you do right now. You absentmindedly lick your lips as you imagine the sweet and savory—and more importantly free—meal that could be waiting for you beyond that blinding beacon of a sign.

“Well, alright then. Let’s get some food in ya before you keel over, hm?” Joel says as he exits the truck, landing on his feet in the dirt parking lot with a soft groan. He waits by the hood for you to meet up with him, and you walk up the couple of steps to the entrance together. He holds the door open for you, and you offer him a shy ‘thank you’, to which he responds with a soft spoken ‘welcome, sweetheart’. You stand shyly behind his broad form as he asks the hostess for a table for two, and she leads you to a green leather booth tucked into the corner of the diner. She hands each of you a sticky laminated menu, the pages a charming mess of clashing colors and faded pictures and retro-looking fonts, then departs with a promise that your waitress will bring the two of you some water as you take your time deciding on what you might like. 

You light up upon reading that Moody’s serves breakfast all day, and that they can make you exactly what you were hoping for—a stack of chocolate chip pancakes with sides of bacon and hashbrowns. You can’t help but smile to yourself as you wiggle in your seat, excitedly anticipating the waitress to come back around so you can order.

“Whatcha so excited about over there?” Joel asks, eyeing you from across the table as he glances up from his own menu.

“Nothin’, I was just hoping I could get some pancakes, and they have ‘em on the menu,” you explain giddily. “I’ll probably get some coffee, too, really complete the whole ‘breakfast for dinner’ thing.”

Joel huffs through his nose. “Decaf, I hope. ‘S the middle of the goddamn night, sweetheart. Gonna be bouncin’ off the walls in the room later, hardly get any sleep.”

He’s right, you suppose. But wait—“What room?”

Joel shrugs casually. “There’s a decent motel another exit or two down, figured they could probably get us a couple o’ beds for the night. But, ‘m sorry, shouldn’t have assumed—”

“No! No, it’s okay.”

Is it? You only met the man less than an hour ago, and you already agreed to let him give you a ride before you even knew his name. You suppose you hadn’t really thought about what would happen after he bought you dinner, but not thinking ahead seems to have been a theme today, hasn’t it? You remind yourself that he’s only been kind and respectful to you so far, save for that placement of his hand on your upper thigh soon after he picked you up. But that could’ve just been a friendly, paternal gesture, right? And he said a couple of beds, when he mentioned the motel, which seemed to imply that he plans on the two of you sleeping in separate beds, maybe even separate rooms. You’ve found yourself having to make yet another somewhat reckless decision tonight, but one that would be in your best interest to say ‘yes’ to, at this point. What other option would you have if you declined his offer?

“Don’t really have anywhere else to go, so… yeah, okay. Motel sounds good. And decaf it is, I guess.”

Joel’s apologetic expression quickly morphs into a satisfied smirk. “Good girl,” he praises. You like how the words sound coated in his thick drawl, even though you probably shouldn’t. You shift where you sit as that familiar fluttering sensation returns to the seat of your panties, just for a moment. You’re grateful that the waitress arrives at the booth not a second later, cheerily introducing herself as she sets down a glass of water for each of you. When she asks if you’re ready to order, Joel gestures to you as if to say ‘ladies first’, and you politely prattle off your request. You make sure to emphasize that you’d like your coffee decaf, and ask if she could please bring some more of the little cups of vanilla creamer to the table. “Not a problem, honey,” she replies, and Joel winks at you as she asks what she can get for him. He orders the Thunder Burger he had told you about earlier, and a black coffee, which he doesn’t request to be decaf. The waitress leaves the two of you alone again with an ‘I’ll have that right out for ya,’ and you let your eyes follow the calming baby blue color of her dress as she glides her way back to the kitchen. When she disappears around the corner of the bar, you take the opportunity to study Moody’s other patrons. There isn’t another young person in sight, mostly just men around Joel’s age with similarly heavy bags under their eyes, likely truck drivers indulging in their first hot meal of the day within the diner’s comforting wood-paneled walls. You wonder if that’s how Joel knows about this place, because he “passes through” this area on long hauls across the midwest. You open your mouth to ask him if your assumption is correct, but he cuts you off before you can say anything.

“I gotta admit, sweetheart, I’m curious… The hell was a pretty thing like you doin’ out in the middle of goddamn nowhere tonight? I mean, I know you’re a runaway ‘n all, but… shouldn’t you be one o’ those college party girls or somethin’? ‘M sure you got plenty of friends wonderin’ where you are.”

You sigh, shaking your head as you distractedly pick at a splintered piece of wood at the edge of the table.

“I was in college. Was supposed to be going back again this year, but… my mom spent all the fucking savings I had left for the rest of it on fixing up her dumb boyfriend’s car. It’s just been sitting in the fucking lawn all summer, sure as hell not being used for something useful like going to the job he doesn’t have. That bastard…” You say the last part under your breath through gritted teeth.

“Shit… Tha’s a tough deal, baby, ‘m real sorry to hear that,” Joel comforts. “But y’know, everybody’s got mommy ‘n daddy issues, don’t mean you just up and start walkin’ all by your lonesome, not even have any idea where you’re goin’.”

“Well, it wasn’t just that. There was… nevermind, it’s stupid.” You slump into the cushioned booth, silently cursing yourself for even bringing it up.

“What is it?” Joel pushes, sitting up straighter to show you that he wants to listen, wants to get to know you. And God dammit, he might be the first person you’ve met in a long time who actually seems to care about what you have to say, as strange as it is. You flick your eyes up to his face, and he’s wearing a sincere gaze that convinces you to continue.

“There was this girl I went to high school with. She disappeared a couple of years ago, nobody ever found out what happened to her. People figured she probably just ran away, and I thought… I dunno. That maybe she had the right idea, leaving that place behind. I always held onto this hope that maybe she was still out there somewhere actually doing something with her life, that maybe she just changed her name or something and disappeared on purpose.” You pause. “I guess I just thought I might be able to do the same, if I left.”

“I see…” Joel muses sympathetically. “Maybe I oughta give you a lil’ more credit, then. Must’a been tough losin’ a friend like that, not knowin’ where she ended up.”

“I mean, Ruby wasn’t really my friend. She just—”

“Hang on. Ruby, you said?” Joel interrupts, his eyes suddenly looking a little wild.

“...Yeah. Her name was Ruby. Ruby Carpenter.”

—

Fuck.

Joel has to adjust himself under the table, his dick now hardening uncomfortably in his jeans at just the mention of her name. He remembers Ruby, remembers chuckling to himself when he realized the irony of her name matching the color of her blood, remembers watching the news coverage of her disappearance in this very same diner, those handful of years ago. She was a sweet thing, he remembers this, too. It was a shame she had ended up being such a fighter, that she had to get put down the way she did. But she shouldn’t have thrown that fucking rock at his face, called him a sick fuck and a freak as she made her pitiful little escape attempt. Joel is lucky that all he came away from it with is that ugly little scar that mars the bridge of his nose. He can’t say the same for her.

“Why? You heard her name before?” You ask him, an unfortunate little twinkle of hope in your eyes.

“Maybe.” Yes. “Sounds a lil’ familiar, might remember hearin’ about it on the news or somethin’.”

That goddamn news coverage sure as hell taught him a lesson. Joel had spent months trying to keep the cops off his fucking tail after he had dumped her body on some forgettable patch of land behind an old decaying barn. He had even gotten pulled in for a fucking interview at the station in what he now presumes to be your hometown, where they had questioned him for an hour or so about her disappearance. He still isn’t sure how he talked his way out of that one. Ruby might not have been good for much else, other than pissing him the hell off with all of her pathetic crying and begging to just please, please let me go back home, but she did help him perfect his craft, he can give her that much. It’s because of her that Joel makes certain now that any girl he picks up doesn’t have anybody who will miss her or plaster her face on every local channel or send out goddamn search parties to find her. Girls like you.

You’re just so perfect, it would be so fucking easy for him to make you disappear for good, it’s almost comical. It had hardly taken any convincing at all to get you to climb into his truck, had taken even less to get you to agree to go to some seedy ass motel with him that might not even exist, for all you know. It does, but you didn’t even try to test him about it this time, just put all of your trust in him like a stray puppy would to the first person to pick it up off the street. That is just about what you are, he supposes. So far, you seem like the perfect candidate to become his little captive pet. If you keep it up, maybe you won’t meet the same fate as the rest of them. He’d told himself he’d be done after the last one, anyway, his body too old and achy and slow now to chase after the ones who put up a little more fight, like she had. She’d nearly escaped, made it a decent way through the woods and almost reached the main road before tripping on an exposed root and snapping her ankle. He remembers how weak and scared she’d looked before he’d used his knife to put her out of her misery, and it makes his dick twitch. Joel doesn’t plan on snuffing you out, not right now at least, since you haven’t given him a reason to. But his fingers still twitch where they rest on the table, moving out of instinct as he can’t help but imagine what they’d look like wrapped so tightly around your little throat. Would you cry? Would you beg? Would you pray? Would he have to glide his blade across your vocal chords just to get you to stop screaming so fucking loud? He wonders.

“Oh… Was that one of the times you were just ‘passin’ through’ for whatever reason you haven’t told me yet?”

Joel hadn’t realized that his eyes had been unfocused for so long, or that he’d been holding his breath, or that his hand had been squeezing his glass of water so hard he’s glad it hadn’t shattered. The airy sound of your voice brings him back to reality, and he huffs a light chuckle as he fixes his face into a more pleasant expression. 

“Yeah, ‘spose it was.” 

You roll your eyes at him playfully. “Come on, Joel. I just told you, like, my whole sob story. I feel like I deserve to know at least one thing about you now.”

You have a point.

He gives in. “Fine. I got a brother, used to come through this area when I’d pay him a visit. That good enough for ya?”

You cross your arms. “No. What’s his name?”

“Tommy.”

“What’s he look like?”

“Like me. Little younger. Little uglier.”

You laugh at that.

It makes Joel smile.

Maybe you could be the one he’s been looking for all this time. Too bad he had to waste so many others before he finally got to you.

—

The waitress comes back to your table soon after that, with your steaming plates of delicious-smelling food and hot mugs of coffee balanced expertly on a large plastic tray. She sets them down in front of the pair of you with a cheery smile, and you thank her happily when she doesn’t forget the extra sickeningly sweet cups of creamer you had requested. Joel doesn’t take his eyes off you once during the interaction, not even to feast his eyes upon the monstrous burger now sitting before him, not even as he thanks the waitress for delivering it to him. His lingering gaze makes you feel a little warm, but it could just be from the heat radiating off of your plates.

“What? You’re not getting a bite of mine, if that’s why you’re looking at me,” you tease, already getting to work putting the sugary creamer to good use.

Joel just shakes his head, his caramel colored eyes still never leaving you as your coffee begins to resemble their hue. “No, ‘s not why.”

“Whatever,” you reply through a giggle, making a poor attempt to hide your girlish grin behind the lip of your white ceramic mug. 

The two of you eat your meals in relative silence, mostly enjoying each other’s company and basking in the relaxing ambience created by silverware tapping against porcelain, hushed conversations, and the local country station playing through the old radio sitting on the counter. The reception is a little spotty way out here in wherever the hell you are, so you can’t quite tell what song it is. But Joel seems to know, judging by the rhythmic bouncing of his knee under the table that creates little circular ripples in your coffee. Maybe you’ll ask him what it is later, how he knows it, if you can listen to it again in the truck together. He doesn’t seem to be as much of an open book as you’ve already given yourself away to be, and you respect that about him. It doesn’t make you any less curious, but you resign yourself to getting to know him better in the small doses he’s willing to offer you. 

You decide to begin a mental list of all the things you want to ask him later, knowing that by the time you make it to the motel tonight, you’ll be far too exhausted to do anything more than just collapse onto the springy mattress and sleep until you get kicked out of the room the next morning. You almost wish you hadn’t listened to Joel’s request for you to take your coffee decaffeinated tonight, and you still aren’t quite sure why you did. It just feels so strangely easy to give into him, to trust him, to let him make decisions for you. You suppose that’s what you’ve been needing all this time, someone to guide you and understand you and at least pretend like they care about you. Joel has shown you more concern and care and protection in the last hour or so than either of your parents have pretty much your whole life. And he’s good at this, making you feel wanted, making you feel like somebody, even in subtle ways, just by looking at you.

“A’right, why don’t you finish up, darlin’, ‘n we’ll hit the road again. Practically usin’ your pancakes as a pillow over there.”

“Oh, sorry,” you apologize sleepily, waking yourself up enough to make quick work finishing off your plate and your last few sips of coffee. 

“Nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout, sweetheart. Lord knows you need some rest, won’t be too much longer now,” Joel assures, fishing a few tens out of his faded leather wallet and placing them on the table. He slides to the edge of the booth and stands himself up with only a few pained noises as he straightens out his back, then offers his hand for you to take. You use it as leverage to pull yourself upright, and your hands linger in each other’s hold for a few seconds longer than they need to. The hostess thanks the two of you for stopping in when you pass her by, and Joel opens the door for you again as you leave Moody’s. He opens the truck door for you, too, and promises you that the motel is just another couple of minutes down the freeway. You make an effort to stay awake in your seat this time as Joel begins the drive, opting to gaze out the window and focus on trying to make out the sparkling constellations above the treeline. You smile privately at the moon when you find that she’s following closely behind you just as she always does, bright and full. 

She doesn’t leave your side until you reach the unassuming little roadside motel, which to your gratitude, proudly displays their vacancy on the flickering sign in the parking lot. It doesn’t look like a five star joint by any means, but you know it will serve its purpose just fine. Joel instructs you to stay in the truck while he goes about getting a room for the two of you, and you don’t object. He’d insisted that you didn’t need to be on your feet any longer than you already had been today, and you were too tired to argue with him even if you wanted to. When he returns, he taps lightly on the passenger side window so as not to startle you from the half-asleep, half-awake state you’ve found yourself in, and swings your backpack over his shoulder as he helps you out of the truck. He leads you to the room at the end of the row, and the door takes some finessing of the key and a shove of his shoulder to open. Joel flicks on the light, and you let out a disappointed-sounding ‘oh…’ when it reveals your accommodations.

There aren’t two beds like you had assumed Joel was going to request. There’s only one.

Joel catches your reaction. “‘S this gonna be alright? I know it ain’t the Ritz Carlton, but—”

“No, the room’s fine, it’s not that. I just thought… I just assumed that… I didn’t know it was gonna be, like… just the one bed.” You try to explain your discomfort as gently as possible, without seeming ungrateful for everything Joel has done for you tonight.

He looks at you sympathetically. “I know, I ain’t tryin’ anythin’, I swear. Guy told me it was the last room they had, jus’ figured it was better than nothin’.” 

You offer him a soft smile, but your eyes must still look a little wide as you begin to nervously pick at your fingernails. Joel continues, “I can take the chair if you want, darlin’. Get the bed all to yourself, how’s that sound?”

You visibly relax at that, your shoulders deflating as your smile becomes a little more genuine. “Okay, that’s good. Thank you.”

“‘Course, sweetheart. How’s about you take a nice hot shower, rinse off some o’ that dirt you picked up from walkin’ all day… Don’t suppose you got some suitable clothes in here for sleepin’ in?” Joel asks, handing your backpack off to you.

You shake your head. “Just some jeans and t-shirts, and another pair of shoes. And… y’know, some underwear, and stuff.”

Joel pinches the bridge of his nose, then rubs his fingers across his forehead exasperatedly. “I swear… it’s like you didn’t think there’d be a tomorrow or somethin’, girl. Christ.” Joel looks out the window to his truck parked just outside. “Tell you what, think I got somethin’ in the truck you can wear. Why don’t you see if they got anythin’ on the TV tha’s worth a damn, ‘n I’ll be back, alright?”

You nod, “Okay,” then set your backpack down on the drab carpet in favor of picking up the remote perched in front of the small square television. You sit yourself down on the edge of the bed as Joel leaves the room, and begin to flick through the few channels that aren’t just a screen full of snowy static.

Local news. Commercial. Game show. Commercial. Documentary. Commercial. 

Eventually, you land on what seems to be one of those old black-and-white western shows that you can never remember the name of. You only know that the reruns used to play on Sundays around lunchtime, because Rob would always be half paying attention to it with a beer in his hand when you and your mom would get home from church. For how adamant she was that you attend every weekend, she sure never called him a harlot and a sinner for not wanting to go with her. You’re not sure she had ever even tried to get him to go, but he probably didn’t own anything decent enough to wear, anyway. Whatever, fuck them. The show seems like the kind of thing Joel would like, so you let it keep playing. 

He comes back a moment later with a small stack of folded up clothes, tossing them over to where you sit on the bed. You unfold what he’s given you and examine them—a pair of simple pink cotton shorts, and a white tank top with a ditsy floral pattern scattered across the fabric. The clothing is a little more revealing than you’d like, but you figure you’d be a hell of a lot more comfortable wearing them to sleep than the denim shorts you have on now.

“These are… great. Thank you, Joel. But…” you snicker. “Should I be concerned that you have a very convenient supply of girls’ clothes in your truck?” Joel scoffs. “‘S for when I got Tommy’s kid with me, smartass. He’s got a daughter, few years younger ‘n you.”

“Okay, well, I dunno how I was supposed to know that, but… as long as you don’t have a girlfriend who’s gonna come after me for wearing her clothes.”

Joel only chuckles in response, his attention suddenly pulled to the TV.

“Gunsmoke, huh? ‘S a good choice, definitely what I’d classify as ‘worth a damn’.”

You smile to yourself, and his approval makes that warm fluttery feeling return to your belly. “I didn’t even know what it was called, just seemed like something you’d like.”

He turns back to you. “That obvious, huh? ‘S just ‘cause I’m old and southern, ain’t it?”

“Maybe a little,” you admit, making a pinching gesture with your hand.

Joel nods as he makes his way over to the armchair on the corner of the room, collapsing onto it with a groan. “Well, why don’t you go ‘n get yourself all changed and cleaned up, ‘n if you’re quick enough maybe we can finish the episode together and then get some shuteye, hm?”

You swiftly unzip your backpack to retrieve one of your clean pairs of underwear, then bound over to the small bathroom with them and your new change of clothes in hand. It’s not the most spotless one you’ve ever had to use, but you’ve honestly seen much worse. You rinse off quickly in the steaming shower, using the scratchy motel-provided washcloth to scrub the dirt from your legs, stuck to you with the sweat you worked up from God knows how many miles of walking today. 

Today. You can hardly believe it hasn’t even been a full 24 hours since you left home yet. It seems like you’ve already known Joel for days, maybe even years, as silly as it sounds. You wonder if he might just take you in after this, or if he’ll have had enough of providing for you after just one night. He seems like a man of limited means, and he’s already given you so much. If you’re brave enough, maybe you’ll ask him tomorrow, when you get to the ‘so… what now?’ part of your time together.

For now, you step out of the shower and dry yourself off with an impossibly scratchier towel, then pull on your panties and the tank top and shorts Joel provided you with.

Jesus, how much younger is Tommy’s daughter?

The shorts just barely cover your ass, and there’s a sizable gap between their waistband and the bottom hem of your top. The thin, white material of the shirt only serves to accentuate the way your nipples poke through the fabric, but you suppose there isn’t anything you can do about that.

You quietly crack open the bathroom door, and are somewhat relieved to find that Joel’s already fallen asleep in the chair. You do wish you could’ve finished the episode of Gunsmoke with him, but the end credits seem to be rolling already anyway, and you’d rather avoid being seen in your very ill-fitting pajamas. Although, you do wonder if he’d say anything, or if he’d just let his hungry gaze linger in silence again, holding himself back from touching you beyond a comforting pat on the thigh.

You pick the remote up off the bed and use it to make the TV screen sizzle to black, then tip toe over to the lightswitch by the door and turn it off, the room now completely shrouded in darkness. Joel snores softly from the chair as you blindly feel your way back over to the bed, pulling the covers back and nestling yourself underneath them. The bed is surprisingly comfortable, considering, and it doesn’t take long for your exhaustion to catch up with you. Your thoughts become slower and slower along with your breathing, and you’re asleep not even five minutes after your head hits the pillow.

—

The last room they had, yeah, right. You’re just the most pathetic little thing, aren’t you? You’ll believe just about anything that comes out of his mouth if he turns up the ‘southern charm’ dial a few ticks, throws in a feigned apologetic-looking expression for good measure. It’s sad, really. For you, anyway.

Joel fakes his snoring for another thirty minutes or so, until he’s certain you’re sound asleep. He had heard your breath even out almost immediately after you had tucked yourself in, but he had chosen to lay in wait for a little while longer, just to make sure you wouldn’t put up too much of a fight when he made his move. You don’t seem like the type, considering how you’d hardly argued with him at all tonight, like when he had convinced you to forgo the caffeine with your dinner. There’s a reason he wanted you sleepy and subdued tonight, but you didn’t know that. Joel likes how well you listen to him, how easily you do as he asks.

He also likes how warm you are, how small your body is compared to his own, the difference in size especially prominent now that he’s laying snugly against you, his front pressing firmly into the back of you. You don’t wake from his lumbering movement, only coming to slightly when you feel his arm slide underneath your body, his warm hand snaking its way beneath your tiny shirt to squeeze at your plush tits. 

You mumble out a little “Hm?”, which he’s quick to quiet with, “Sorry, darlin’. Chair was too hard on my damn back. Just go back to sleep, ‘kay?” That chair felt like laying on a goddamn cloud compared to some of the other surfaces he’s found himself having to sleep on before, but again, you don’t know that, and what you don’t know won’t hurt you. You probably won’t even remember this in the morning, how his hard cock is slotted so perfectly against your ass, especially without the confines of his thick jeans holding him back. They’re discarded onto the floor now in front of the armchair, along with his flannel shirt and jacket. Joel holds you tightly against his bare, hairy chest as he circles a roughened pad of his finger around one of your nipples, smirking to himself at how quickly the bud hardens from his touch. He knew you wanted this, and the wet spot that the fingers of his other hand are teasing in the gusset of your panties is proof of it. How long have you been leaking for him like this? Had you been soaking the seat of his truck earlier today? Filthy thing.

You still don’t rouse when he pulls your panties aside and slips a finger inside your slick cunt, or when his grip on your tit loosens in favor of sliding up higher under your tank top, his hand coming to a rest around the base of your throat as he pumps his finger in and out of your tight heat. It would be so fucking easy…

But he can’t, he won’t, because you’re not like the others. You want to get to know him, you let him take care of you, you seem to like his company, and you don’t leap out of bed and call him a fucking perv and a dirty old man for what he’s doing to you. That’s what the others would have done. It’s what they have done. And they faced the consequences.

But you’re different. You’re not like them. You’re like him. A lost soul, that’s what you are. Nowhere to call home, no one who misses you or loves you or gives a damn what happens to you. Joel’s mouth had tasted bitter when he had told you about Tommy, or rather, lied about him. Joel hasn’t seen the fucker in years, certainly doesn’t pay him any visits or watch his brat, not since Tommy had learned the truth. You better not show your goddamn face around here ever again, you understand me? Tommy had spat at him. You’re fuckin’ sick. Only reason I don’t turn your ass in myself is ‘cause you’re my goddamn brother. But if I ever fuckin’ see you again, I won’t hesitate. Better make yourself pretty fuckin’ scarce ‘fore I change my mind. That might’ve been about the only time Joel had ever taken orders from his little brother. 

That bitter flavor is cut by the sweet tang of you that he tastes on his finger now, so young and eager and fresh. The hand around your throat squeezes a little tighter, and Joel’s hips begin to move against your ass as he allows himself to suck wet kisses onto the skin under the hinge of your jaw. Softly, gently, so as not to wake you. He could come just like this, using your pliant body in your sleep, rutting himself against your still form with the taste of your pussy on his tongue and his fingers pressed against your pulse points.

He’s close when you stir again, making broken hiccuping sounds as you choke on your breath.

“Shh, shh,” Joel soothes. “You’re alright, sweetheart. ‘S just me. Just—fuck—hold still, go back to sleep, baby.” You let out a quiet whimper, squirming against him just a little bit, but return to your unmoving and silent state a second later. Joel finishes himself off quickly with another couple of shallow thrusts against you, his large hand still gripped around the column of your neck, trying to stifle his groans as he spills into his briefs. He removes his suffocating hand and keeps you pressed tightly against him for a while after that, tanned arms wrapped around your waist and breathing in your scent as he waits for you to settle back down. 

When he’s sure he won’t disturb you again, Joel releases you from his hold and pads quietly back over to the armchair, redressing himself and resuming the position you had left him in. In the morning, if you do remember any of it, you’ll just chalk it up to a very strange dream, one fueled by the desire he knows you’ve felt towards him since he picked you up. You’ll be left with a strange assuredness that he feels the same way about you, without really knowing why. 

But Joel will always know.

—

The digital clock on the nightstand only reads around 8:00 when you’re awoken by a beam of sunlight shining brightly against the backs of your eyelids, streaming in from the window’s lopsided blinds. You had gone to sleep with your back to Joel, but you find yourself facing him now. He looks kind of peaceful when he’s asleep, that permanent furrow etched between his brows finally smoothed out as he dozes. A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips, but they fall quickly when you adjust your legs and feel the cool dampness against your core, the sensation bringing back the memory of the dream you’d had last night. 

It had felt so real, but it couldn’t have been, could it? There’s no evidence that Joel had really laid next to you last night, that he’d really touched you like that, that you’d wanted him to keep going. It must just be some kind of strange side effect of the affection you feel toward the man who had rescued you, more or less. You’ll likely just part ways after today, anyway, so it’s probably best to just try and forget about the whole thing, put on a fresh pair of underwear and pretend it never happened. 

Joel is awake by the time you’re done freshening up in the bathroom, and he greets you with a raspy ‘Mornin’, sweetheart’ as you retrieve your backpack from next to the bed and shove your ruined underwear into the bottom of it. “You get some good sleep last night?” He asks, rubbing a hand over his eye.

“Mhm, the bed was nice, more comfortable than the one I had at home, honestly.” You finish zipping your backpack closed and sit back down on the bed, pulling on some socks and the lace up sneakers you had been wearing yesterday. “I hope the chair was okay, like, for your back and everything.”

“What makes you say that, baby?”

You pause in the middle of tying one of your shoelaces, turning to look at him with a confused pout. “Didn’t you…? I thought you had told me something about how the chair would be hard on your back. Like, last night.”

Joel frowns, shaking his head. “Don’t think so, darlin’. Chair was just fine.”

“Oh… Well, that’s good.”

Maybe it had just been a dream, then.

Joel hands you a few bills from his wallet, and tasks you with getting the two of you some breakfast from the gas station across the street while he cleans himself up. He tells you that he doesn’t eat much in the mornings, but that you can get yourself whatever you want, as long as you bring him back a carton of cigarettes and a black coffee. You obey eagerly, retrieving what he asked for and getting a pack of miniature powdered donuts and an equally as sugary coffee for yourself.

He’s just stepped out of the bathroom when you return to the room, and your face feels hot when you see him with his dark hair slicked back and wet from the shower. The few strands that fall onto his forehead as he laces up his boots almost make him look a little boyish, despite his whitened temples. 

“Such a good girl, thank you,” Joel praises when you hand him his items. 

You respond with a shy ‘You’re welcome’, but he doesn’t miss how you seem to light up at his words. You plop yourself down onto the worn-in chair that Joel had used as a bed last night, happily munching on your gas station donuts and sipping on your coffee. It all makes you feel warm from the inside out.

But you figure you should find out what the rest of today might look like before you let yourself enjoy the beginnings of it too much.

“So, um… We’re just gonna check out this morning and then… what?” 

“Whaddya mean, baby?”

“I mean… are you just gonna, like… take me to the nearest bus station or something?”

Joel’s confusion is written all over his face, embedded deep into those lines between his brows. You could swear he almost looks a little hurt. “Why would I do that? ‘S that what you want?” He asks softly.

You try to backpedal a little, afraid you might’ve offended him or seemed ungrateful in your question. “I just thought it might be what you want. That you probably have somewhere else you need to be, like Tommy’s or—”

“No, I don’t,” Joel says definitively.

You pause. “Okay, so—”

“You ever been to California?”

His question stumps you for a moment, seeming so random in its nature. “No.”

“You want to?”

You shrug. “I mean… sure. Maybe someday—”

“Why don’t you come with me then, baby?”

You let out an awkward giggle. “...Come with you where?”

“To California. Come with me.” Joel’s tone is genuine but firm.

“Like, today? Are you sure?”

“I mean, we ain’t gettin’ there today, darlin’. But yeah, I’m sure. We both got nowhere else to be, do we? So let’s just go, we’ll see it together.”

You beam up at him, realizing that he’s being serious. Joel does want you, wants you to be his companion, maybe even something more that you’ll discover on familiar-looking back roads and in cities you’ve only ever seen pictures of. 

“Okay,” you agree excitedly. 

Joel nods. “Okay, then. Lemme go check us out ‘n we’ll get back on the road again. Burnin’ daylight already,” he jokes. He carries your backpack out to the truck for you, setting it down between your feet after he opens the door and helps you inside with a stable hand. It only takes a few minutes for Joel to hand in the room key and pay for the night, and then he’s back at your side. You begin to feel like that’s where you always want him to stay. 

“So, where to first, baby? California ain’t goin’ anywhere, can take as long to get there as we wanna. We’ll go wherever you like, take your pick.” Joel leans across your body to dig a folded up map out of the glove compartment, handing it to you. 

You examine it, your eyes darting across the dozens of dots with the names of cities next to them, some you’ve never even heard of. You point to one that you have heard of, but have never been to, because you’ve never even left the state you grew up in before.

“Um… how about Detroit? I’ve heard it’s nice, I think.”

Joel belly laughs at that. “It ain’t, but sure. You wanna go to Detroit, that’s where we’ll go. Buckle up, baby,” he instructs, patting your thigh. You oblige, and it feels good to finally know where you’re going, and that you’re going there with someone who cares about you, who feels safe, who wants you around. You also feel a little hopeful that maybe you were right about Ruby, after all. That you didn’t start walking for nothing, that you weren’t following some childish delusion, that if something as good as Joel had happened to you when you left, that maybe she had found herself on a similar path, ran into somebody good who took her wherever she wanted to go and helped her find someplace she belonged. Maybe she found her way out to California, eventually. What you are certain of is that neither of you ever have to go back to that town ever again, and that feels good, too.

And if it feels good, then it can’t be bad.

tag list: tag list: @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @zliteraturehoe @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75 @luxurychristmaspudding @noisynightmarepoetry @mewantpeepaw @pedritoferg @alex-does-art-things @evolnoomym @annoyingmarvelreader @k1l4ni @joelsdagger (if your name is crossed out, it won’t let me tag you!!)

[diejager]

hiiiii! can i request a miguel x reader? miguel is a big shady business man (kinda like king pen) who owns a strip club and reader is one of the strippers who everyone knows not to mess with since she’s miguel’s girl. a guy starts sexually harassing reader and miguel kicks his ass and puts him in his place. if you’re cormfortable, i would like smut ❤️

Property Cw: smut, possessive behaviour, DUB-CON, worshipping, sex workers, strip club, pimp, cunnilingus, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, marking, stripper/sex worker!reader, tell me if I missed any.

Despite the place being a strip club - one on the higher end of the city - there was one rule that it followed to a T without exception: do not touch the workers without consent, yet this pig decided to forgo this fundamental rule put in place in ever strip club and touched you when you’ve told him many times to back off. His sweaty and grabby hands moving across your skin left you shuddering, his hands leaving you feeling disgusted by his touch.

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed, moving between the bodies to get away from the man.

“C’mon babe!” He moved to try to grab you, insistent that he only wanted to share a drink and talk, “Please! One lap dance!”

Men like him just couldn’t take no, it frustrated you. That might’ve been what he said : one lap dance, but you knew his type, he would demand for more after you were done and become forceful if you didn’t comply. You tried to distance yourself from him, your heels thumping quietly on the velvet flooring, hurried and annoyed while the man followed you, his fingers grazing the naked skin of your shoulder. You wore a blue teddy, the darkest shade of navy strapped to your skin, the bust acting as a corset to push out your breasts and the thin fabric cupping the swell of your ass. It was almost sheer, the few ribbons and decorative texture hiding anything too intimate from the public and garter straps holding your sheer stockings up your thighs. Your attire seemed to be the source of his obsession and of his liking, even following you to the boss’s VIP corner.

“No!” You swung your arm back, hurrying to the bodyguards standing between the VIP and public area of the club, “I told you-”

In your frantic hiss, you walked into a wall, groaning softly. The wall was more so a wall of sculpted muscle than a plaster and drywall, a firm hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his protective embrace. A wide and firm palm gripped your stomach, kneading the soft flesh under the lingerie.

“When she says no, it means no, cabrón,” Miguel growled, his broad stature overshadowing the man that followed you. When you turned your head, Miguel had his wrist in hand, the man winced and whimpered at the tight hold, strength threatening to break his wrist, “You got that?”

He nodded, running away with his tail tucked between his legs, out of the club and as far as he could from the beast that held you gently. Turning you around, he led you up the stairs connected to his upstairs suite, a personal balcony that overlooked the proudest part of his kingdom.

“He’s done.”

He wouldn’t be coming back, once Miguel gave the order, the person wouldn't ever be allowed back into any of his establishments. He had rules that he wanted to be respected, towards his employees and especially you, his sweet girl that he picked up from the previous pimp in the area he now controlled with an iron fist towards the cruel and abusive.

His mezzanine was spacious, a soft, faux leather couch, a black able and a private bar area in a corner for him to indulge in his drunken pleasures with or without guests. You’ve always liked this place, a distance from the music and crowd on the ground floor, it was a solace in the busy club. He sat you on the table, the cool surface making you flinch while he faced you, the leather dipping with his weight. He tenderly cradled your cheeks, thumb running along the curve of your painted lips, his eyes roving down your coverage, smooth skin uncovered to his hungry eyes and calling for him.

“Oh, mi dulce Musa,” he cooed, his lips kissing a line down your neck, the dip of your collar, the smell of your breasts and the warmth of your cunt, wetness pooling over the fabric of the teddy he gifted you. “I’m happy you came to me first.”

He hooked a thigh over his shoulder, spreading you on your back as he slipped a finger under your lace, pulling it aside to look at your glistening folds. Sliding two fingers between your labia and collecting your slick on his calloused pads, spreading them open to admire your cunt, clenching around air —hungry for his thick digits. He bowed his head, pressing a kiss on your throbbing clit, pulsing and needy, circling the entrance of your drooling hole, feeling it clench. Wrapping his lips around your nub, he sucked on it as he plunged in, two fingers stretching your tight warmth, guiding his hand in and out.

You cried out, bucking your hips against his rugged face, grinding upwards with a slow mewl. You felt stretched wide, a finger of his counted two of yours, long and sturdy, pumping into you with a goal in mind, tapping your gummy, sweet spot and pulling you apart from the seams. You moaned, shuddering under him, body wracked with tremors when he pumped a third finger, untangling you from the seams of your salacious and confident image you built from your time as a sex worker. You were a wanton mess, back arching and legs quaking, painted nails curled around Miguel’s hair, pleasure coiled tightly in your core.

His pace was steady, hand driving in deeply, coaxing more slick out of you, curling against your warmth. You clung to him desperately, head thrown back and teary eyed as you balanced on the precipice of your climax, an agonising thrum of pleasure beating between your thighs. Sensing your end, he rolled your clit with the tip of his tongue, giving you a bit of solace before he sunk his teeth into the meat of your thigh. You wailed, jerking around as your pussy closed around his fingers, your heat squirting over his hand. It was a blinding fire, eyes rolling back into a white cloud, sightless after your earth-shattering orgasm.

He whispered sweet compliments, laving over the bloodied mark with the flat of his tongue, slowly pumping in and out of you until you rode off your release, legs still shaking and hands still curled around his head. He kissed his bite, red eyes drinking in your debauched figure with his mark, a sign of ownership over you, the red indentation of his teeth bleeding you.

“Mía. Mi dulce Musa,” he whispered, gazing at you lovingly, predatory eyes glowing bright red under his lashes and wild curls.

Taglist: @yas-v @elliewilliamsbae @rinieloliver

[tabletopbellhop]

We record LIVE tonight!

Main Topic: Breakout Con 2025 and my daughter's first game con experience.

Reviews: Maki Master from Kids Table Board Gaming Sinoda from BSGames

https://www.twitch.tv/tabletopbellhop 8pm EDT

[noahschnappinfs]

Ahh I wonder how much that moment was worth for Noah too..like seeing the lil girl u grew up with finally becoming a woman and becoming someone's wife. I can imagine him bawling his eyes out smh😭

Btw Loving ur coverage work 💌

it must’ve been very special, millie seemed very touched by it. noah also made her cry during her 18th birthday so i’m sure he must’ve given her some kind of speech right before she walked down the aisle. it’s also very nice to get a confirmation from millie’s mouth that he was there and it was a very special moment for them.

i hope we get soon a pic of them at the wedding, just like this one because i’ll cry after seeing how much they’ve grown

[yandere-daydreams]

jason strikes me as the member of the family that holds out the longest and acts as the closest form of protection to a kidnapped darling-sibling that they eventually feel "comfortable" enough going to him as defense or a buffer from the others. until this inevitably leads to them alone one night and maybe they've allowed themselves more comfortable clothing (read: less coverage than a convent's dress code) and he gets a glimpse of skin as he glances down at his darling-sibling leaning against him. and is it hot in here? more than usual? it cant be the blanket it's been there a while without issue. and then darling-sibling makes the mistake of looking up at him, with big, innocent eyes and the most adorable pout.

i mean, everyone else has treated you so callously, like a piece of meat meant to be ravaged, jason would never! when he touches them, it's with nothing but gentle yet firm hands, like handling a baby bird. and he knows he makes you feel safe, imagine if he could make you feel MORE. something even more pleasurable than calm and secure? what if he could bring you ephoria and ecstacy? he's not thinking about what you would be doing to him, oh no, this is TOTALLY 100% altruistic big brother doing what a big brother should for his darling younger sibling who's needed him so much all this time. of course he'd be needed here too.

i got carried away.

word count: >1.0k.

tw: implied non/con, obsessive behavior, implied kidnapping, nonconsensual touching, and overall freak behavior.

He was doing this for your sake.

You didn’t know that. He’d tried to tell you, but you’d refused to listen – just cried and whined and clawed at his chest as he positioned himself above you, his body between your legs and a hand planted on either side of your head. He could still see your mouth moving, recognize that wet, glazed-over look in your eyes, but whatever sentiments managed to make it past your trembling lips were long underneath the sound of his own heart beating in his ears, the rattle of the air in his lungs as he struggled to keep his breathing even, to stay composed. If he panicked, rushed, you’d only get more scared and, well, he didn’t want you to be scared. Not of him. Not of what he was going to do for you.

With an airy sigh, he leaned down, leaving that much less space between your form and his. The shirt you’d borrowed from him (a sight too familiar to still send the pang of warmth through his chest it had the first time you smiled so shyly and asked if you could borrow something a little more comfortable than the pitch-black turtlenecks and baggie sweaters you chose to pile on around the rest of his family) was a size too big, prone to sliding down your arm, and he buried his face in the dip of your shoulder, letting his lips ghost over your unprotected skin. The hem had ridden up, leaving your side vulnerable, exposed. His hand fell to your waist, and—

Fuck.

You were softer than he thought you’d be.

Bruce would’ve been too cold, too busy pretending to be unaffected to savor the feeling of your unscarred, unhardened skin against his calloused fingertips, and Dick wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from tearing you apart. Jason, though – he kneaded into your hip, your thigh like you were the most delicate thing on the face of the planet because, even if he rolled his eyes when Tim explained that it was the Wayne family’s duty to protect you, you were. He was different from his brothers, from Bruce, from the rest of the manor. He knew what it felt like to break everything he touched, which meant he was the only one who could do this without breaking you.

He pressed a kiss, gentle and impulsive, into the corner of your jaw, then the side of your neck. This time, he heard the ragged sob that tore past your lips, felt your blunt nails rake over his back with enough force to break the skin. He stifled a throaty groan, ignored the way his cock pulsed behind the suddenly constraining material of his sweatpants – instead, he focused his attention on you, on pressing open-mouthed kisses into your collarbone. It took more self-restraint than it should’ve not to leave a mark, not to bite down and make sure anyone who looked at you would who’d put their claim on you, but self-indulgence could wait until you blinked up at him with those teary, glossed-over eyes and asked him to protect you from the rest of his family, the rest of the world. Caught up in his fantasy, he let his grip tighten, let his thumb press into your thigh with too much force, and you cried out, the noise cracked and helpless in a way that made him love you just a little more. “Jason, please, I don’t want to—”

He hushed you with an airy chuckle, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. “I know, baby bird, I know. You can just lay back and relax. I’ll try to make it fast. And fun, too, even if you’re gonna keep pouting like that.” He sighed, then smiled against the base of your throat. “It’s better like this. The other guys – they’d be too rough, and you’re too fragile for something like that.”

He pulled back, already grinning down at you. “This’ll be your first time, right? Don’t you want your favorite big brother to help you through it?”

You only sobbed louder in response, but he didn’t mind. This wasn’t for him. He didn’t have to enjoy it.

He was doing this for your sake.

Maybe, by the time he was done, you’d be a little more thankful.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How Google’s trial secrecy lets it control the coverage

I'm coming to Minneapolis! Oct 15: Presenting The Internet Con at Moon Palace Books. Oct 16: Keynoting the 26th ACM Conference On Computer-Supported Cooperative Work and Social Computing.

"Corporate crime" is practically an oxymoron in America. While it's true that the single most consequential and profligate theft in America is wage theft, its mechanisms are so obscure and, well, dull that it's easy to sell us on the false impression that the real problem is shoplifting:

https://newrepublic.com/post/175343/wage-theft-versus-shoplifting-crime

Corporate crime is often hidden behind Dana Clare's Shield Of Boringness, cloaked in euphemisms like "risk and compliance" or that old favorite, "white collar crime":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/12/07/solar-panel-for-a-sex-machine/#a-single-proposition

And corporate crime has a kind of performative complexity. The crimes come to us wreathed in specialized jargon and technical terminology that make them hard to discern. Which is wild, because corporate crimes occur on a scale that other crimes – even those committed by organized crime – can't hope to match:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/12/no-criminals-no-crimes/#get-out-of-jail-free-card

But anything that can't go on forever eventually stops. After decades of official tolerance (and even encouragement), corporate criminals are finally in the crosshairs of federal enforcers. Take National Labor Relations Board general counsel Jennifer Abruzzo's ruling in Cemex: when a company takes an illegal action to affect the outcome of a union election, the consequence is now automatic recognition of the union:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/06/goons-ginks-and-company-finks/#if-blood-be-the-price-of-your-cursed-wealth

That's a huge deal. Before, a boss could fire union organizers and intimidate workers, scuttle the union election, and then, months or years later, pay a fine and some back-wages…and the union would be smashed.

The scale of corporate crime is directly proportional to the scale of corporations themselves. Big companies aren't (necessarily) led by worse people, but even small sins committed by the very largest companies can affect millions of lives.

That's why antitrust is so key to fighting corporate crime. To make corporate crimes less harmful, we must keep companies from attaining harmful scale. Big companies aren't just too big to fail and too big to jail – they're also too big for peaceful coexistence with a society of laws.

The revival of antitrust enforcement is such a breath of fresh air, but it's also fighting headwinds. For one thing, there's 40 years of bad precedent from the nightmare years of pro-monopoly Reaganomics to overturn:

https://pluralistic.net/ApexPredator

It's not just precedents in the outcomes of trials, either. Trial procedure has also been remade to favor corporations, with judges helping companies stack the deck in their own favor. The biggest factor here is secrecy: blocking recording devices from courts, refusing to livestream the proceedings, allowing accused corporate criminals to clear the courtroom when their executives take the stand, and redacting or suppressing the exhibits:

https://prospect.org/power/2023-09-27-redacted-case-against-amazon/

When a corporation can hide evidence and testimony from the public and the press, it gains broad latitude to dispute critics, including government enforcers, based on evidence that no one is allowed to see, or, in many cases, even describe. Take Project Nessie, the program that the FTC claims Amazon used to compel third-party sellers to hike prices across many categories of goods:

https://www.wsj.com/business/retail/amazon-used-secret-project-nessie-algorithm-to-raise-prices-6c593706

Amazon told the press that the FTC has "grossly mischaracterize[d]" Project Nessie. The DoJ disagrees, but it can't say why, because the Project Nessie files it based its accusations on have been redacted, at Amazon's insistence. Rather than rebutting Amazon's claim, FTC spokesman Douglas Farrar could only say "We once again call on Amazon to move swiftly to remove the redactions and allow the American public to see the full scope of what we allege are their illegal monopolistic practices."

It's quite a devastating gambit: when critics and prosecutors make specific allegations about corporate crimes, the corporation gets to tell journalists, "No, that's wrong, but you're not allowed to see the reason we say it's wrong."

It's a way to work the refs, to get journalists – or their editors – to wreathe bold claims in endless hedging language, or to avoid reporting on the most shocking allegations altogether. This, in turn, keeps corporate trials out of the public eye, which reassures judges that they can defer to further corporate demands for opacity without facing an outcry.

That's a tactic that serves Google well. When the company was dragged into court by the DoJ Antitrust Division, it demanded – and received – a veil of secrecy that is especially ironic given the company's promise "to organize the world's information and make it universally accessible and useful":

https://usvgoogle.org/trial-update-9-22

While this veil has parted somewhat, it is still intact enough to allow the company to work the refs and kill disfavorable reporting from the trial. Last week, Megan Gray – ex-FTC, ex-DuckDuckGo – published an editorial in Wired reporting on her impression of an explosive moment in the Google trial:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/03/not-feeling-lucky/#fundamental-laws-of-economics

According to Gray, Google had run a program to mess with the "semantic matching" on queries, silently appending terms to users' searches that caused them to return more ads – and worse results. This generated more revenue for Google, at the expense of advertisers who got billed to serve ads that didn't even match user queries.

Google forcefully disputed this claim:

https://twitter.com/searchliaison/status/1709726778170786297

They contacted Gray's editors at Wired, but declined to release all the exhibits and testimony that Gray used to form her conclusions about Google's conduct; instead, they provided a subset of the relevant materials, which cast doubt on Gray's accusations.

Wired removed Gray's piece, with an unsigned notice that "WIRED editorial leadership has determined that the story does not meet our editorial standards. It has been removed":

https://www.wired.com/story/google-antitrust-lawsuit-search-results/

But Gray stands by her piece. She admits that she might have gotten some of the fine details wrong, but that these were not material to the overall point of her story, that Google manipulated search queries to serve more ads at the expense of the quality of the results:

https://twitter.com/megangrA/status/1711035354134794529

She says that the piece could and should have been amended to reflect these fine-grained corrections, but that in the absence of a full record of the testimony and exhibits, it was impossible for her to prove to her editors that her piece was substantively correct.

I reviewed the limited evidence that Google permitted to be released and I find her defense compelling. Perhaps you don't. But the only way we can factually resolve this dispute is for Google to release the materials that they claim will exonerate them. And they won't, though this is fully within their power.

I've seen this playbook before. During the early months of the pandemic, a billionaire who owned a notorious cyberwarfare company used UK libel threats to erase this fact from the internet – including my own reporting – on the grounds that the underlying research made small, non-material errors in characterizing a hellishly complex financial Rube Goldberg machine that was, in my opinion, deliberately designed to confuse investigators.

Like the corporate crimes revealed in the Panama Papers and Paradise Papers, the gambit is complicated, but it's not sophisticated:

Make everything as complicated as possible;

Make everything as secret as possible;

Dismiss any accusations by claiming errors in the account of the deliberately complex arrangements, which can't be rectified because the relevant materials are a secret.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/09/working-the-refs/#but-id-have-to-kill-you

My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful novel of the climate emergency. Amazon won't sell the audiobook, so I made my own and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter!

Image: Jason Rosenberg (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/underpants/12069086054/

CC BY https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

--

Japanexperterna.se (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/japanexperterna/15251188384/

CC BY-SA 2.0: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/

[chamomiletealeaf]

When I'm mad, I need Simon to shut me up and distract me by eating me out 🏃🏽‍♀️🏃🏽‍♀️🏃🏽‍♀️🏃🏽‍♀️

MMMM YES

Whether it's him you're mad at or mad at something else, he knows just how to calm you down.

Warnings: MDNI, oral f! receiving, Simon being a snarky bastard, kinda dub-con?? Simon cums in his pants

"I'm so fucking done." You say, frustratedly throwing your phone down on the couch and bringing your hand up to rub your eyebrows.

"Why the fuck are they asking me to cover everyone all the time but the one time I need it they act like I'm asking for them to sacrifice their first-born child." You sit down on the couch and cross your arms.

"It's such a problem every single time I ask for coverage for reasons I actually need, but no, Samantha wants to go to a birthday party so she just HAS to have off. And they accommodate her every need!" You rant to Simon who sits on the other side of the couch.

You needed off of work because you had a doctor's appointment and the next availability wasn't for another three months. Your manager was being a dickhead and wouldn't let you have off since Samantha is already out.

"I'm sorry love that's such bullshit." Simon sympathizes. And at first, he really did feel bad, but that was before he noticed the bounce of your tits every time you flailed your arms around in big gestures frustratedly and how your pretty lips pouted.

"I know! But yet they bend over backwards to make sure Samantha can get to her fucking nail appointment on time. But me?? They never give a fuck, and I'm always stuck picking up her slack!" Simon then scootches closer to you, watching as you continue your rant with a slight smirk on his face.

"It's so- why are you smiling?" You ask, brows furrowed in annoyance.

"I'm not." He shrugs, arms crossed and legs spread with a smirk still evident on his lips.

"You think this is fucking funny? I'm genuinely upset Simon." You say, raising your voice at him.

"I know love, I know." He puts a hand on your upper thigh and squeezes, fingers grazing over the gusset of your pajama shorts.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" You ask angrily, gripping his wrist.

"Nothin' baby. Tell me more hm?" He asks, pulling you into his lap so you're straddling him.

You cross your arms over your chest and pout.

"Simon you're not listening."

"Oh baby I know you're upset. But I have a better idea to help clear that pretty little head of yours hm?" Simon says while tilting your head up with his hand on your chin.

He leans forward and starts to suck on your neck, making you bite your lip to prevent a moan from slipping out.

"Tell me all about it with my face buried in that sweet little cunt love." He whispers into your neck, and you grind down on him at the command.

"Mm- Simon not the time." You say sternly, trying to stay mad.

Simon grips your hips and pulls you back down onto his clothed, hard cock before he whispers in your ear:

"These sexy fucking hips grinding into me tell me otherwise lovey."

Then, Simon flips you over so he's on top of you and you're on your back. He then moves his kisses from your neck all the way down to your inner thighs while you protest.

"Simon-nghh, I- what do I do? I can't keep letting them fuck me over like t-this. It's getting ridiculous. I hate this fucking place." You revert the conversation back to where you started, trying to ignore the way Simon bites at your inner thighs.

"I think." Simon starts, face still between your legs.

"That you should open wide for me so I can get my tongue on that sweet pussy." He says, not looking up from between your legs.

"Simon I- oh fuck." You moan out breathlessly and throw your head back as you feel Simon pry your legs apart further and press his tongue over your clothed pussy.

"Thaaat's it baby, just like that." Simon smirks as he laps at your cunt through your panties and pajama shorts, shaking his head to bury himself deeper.

"I think I'll just- mm, fuck me Simon that's so good." You say breathlessly, still trying to keep the focus on the issue at hand but his tongue makes your brain melt.

"Take these off." He grumbles to himself before tearing your panties and shorts off.

He closes his eyes and moans when he shoves his face between your thighs deeper and inhales, licking at your slick pussy.

He's buried between your thighs to the point you can't even see his face and he is blissed out. He starts licking and sucking expertly at your clit and lapping at your arousal so good that you forget why you're even mad anymore.

All you can think about is his warm, wet tongue.

"Ooh Simon-" You moan, throwing your head back while you play with his hair.

"That's it baby. Just relax. No more worrying." He coos.

He squeezes your thighs harder and holds you down the more you squirm. Then you tug on his hair which makes him moan and jerk his hips into the couch.

"Fuck do that again." He commands.

"W-what?" You ask, eyes half lidded as you look down at him.

"Pull on my hair again. Harder this time."

You grip a fistful of his hair and tighten your grasp and he whimpers.

"Fuck love you're gonna make me cum from that alone. But not before you do." He says, and then goes back to eating you out like he hasn't for ages.

"Simon I- mm- gonna cum." You moan.

Your orgasm hits you like a train as you arch your back and pull Simon's hair.

The taste and rhythmic pulsing of your pussy on his tongue, your moans, your thighs, and the sensation of you tugging Simon's hair is just enough to make Simon cum in his pants immediately after you.

He ruts into the couch cushions with his eyes rolled back. His death grip on your thighs are for sure to leave marks black and blue, but you like it that way.

"Fuck Simon did, did you-?" You ask, realizing the movement of his hips coming to a stop.

"Don't worry about me lovey." He cuts you off, trying to avoid talking about he embarrassing situation which you think is actually really hot.

"Now you're quitting that job. You don't need one anyway while I'm here to eat this sweet little pussy out whenever I can. Not to mention all the money I have to spend on no one but you." He smirks while planting a soft kiss to your inner thigh, making you giggle both at his avoidance of your question, and his lewd commentary.

Simon hands you your phone to call your boss for the final time and you take it.

He was right. Fuck that job. All you need is your soldier to treat you right.

[depravitycentral]

Inspired by my impending period (and scouring through the yan overhaul tag and finding this lovely piece by @after-witch), basically just a short, non-comprehensive yan Overhaul blurb when you’re on your period but I staunchly believe he's Weird About It in a pathetic sexually-repressed way

Tw: dub-con fingering, m masturbation, recording, kind of infantilization, minor mention of forcing you to finish your food

Thinking about Overhaul who is not the biggest fan of your menstruations. He doesn’t find you repulsive – far from it – but there’s still the fear of germs. He’s still hesitant about the dirtiness of it all, the messiness, the fact that you can’t control it. It’s a constant war in his head, each side of him wanting to simultaneously comfort you through the pain and your obvious embarrassment while the other side recoils and urges him to wrap you in disinfectant-imbued absorbent pads.

And he prepares very well for your periods – he’s got a few sets of antimicrobial sheets dedicated to your time of the month, the crisp white stretched taught over three layers of absorbant bed protectors. He’s got a set of extra absorbant panties with a wax coating in the material to minimize leakage, all in that same soft, off-white color Kai always prefers you in.

(Buying the panties had been a decision purely motivated by his worry for the mess you’d inevitably create, but the first time he sees you in them he has to suck in his breath, pupils dilating and his pulse quickening because fuck, how can you still look so enticing with clinical, full-coverage underwear?)

He’ll force you to wear special clothing during it, too – nightgowns that leave you skin feeling simultaneously ticklish and unbearably soft, the material of such high quality that you’re terrified you’ll somehow stain it. He’ll have you lather yourself in a special selection of ointments and exfoliants in the shower, claiming that your body needs exposure to more vitamins and quality supplements to account for everything you’re losing. He’s insisting that your portion sizes get slightly bigger even when you refuse to finish your plate.

(Something he won’t stand for: you’ll finish, or someone will pay – you’ll have a front row seat as he slips off his glove, and even afterwards you’re still expected to finish that last bite of mushy, flavorless ‘food’.)

You’re getting more protein on these days, too, his paranoia eating away at him because he needs to make sure you’re healthy and that you don’t develop any sort of deficiencies or illnesses or anything else that could snatch you away from him.

Anything that could cause you to abandon him.

But really, while his hyper-controlling behavior and the constant scrutiny and micromanaging of your every move is heightened on your period, arguably the worst time is the leadup to the first little drop of blood. Of course it’s never really a surprise when you’re due because he keeps anally strict records and documentation of your cycles – tracking each phase and making sure that everything is uniform, consistent, healthy.

(And yes, that includes tracking your ovulation phase as well – he still can’t quite muster up the courage to fuck you, his own insecurities and fears barring him each time his hand hovers over his zipper, each time the pretty pout of your lips and the lull of your voice leave him hard enough to hurt. He’s still tracking it, though, the start and end dates marked with a big red check mark on his personal colander, the sight making him adjust his tie in the mirror, eyebrows furrowing slightly as he takes in his appearance.

Maybe he should leave his tie just slightly askew – women like the casual, effortless look, right? Maybe it’d make him seem less stoic, less alien, less intimidating – maybe you’d even fix it for him, reaching out with hesitant hands, asking in that pretty voice of yours for him to let you fix it, the feeling of your fingertips through the layers of his clothing enough to get precum staining his boxers. He’ll swallow and leave the tie slightly off-center, throwing off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves for good measure. He’ll run a hand through his hair as he knocks on your door, already anticipating and hoping for even the slightest sign that you notice.

Perhaps your ovulation will leave you more recipient to the way he awkwardly settles at the edge of your bed beside you, his thigh just barely brushing against yours, your breaths close enough that he can hear. Hopefully you will be, because when he spends an hour that night with his cock in hand, embarrassment and shame creeping up his spine at how he's unable to stop thinking about how horny you must be, it would be much easier to imagine you'd at least be willing to let him help you. He wants to help you.)

He's tracking everything, and so he knows exactly when your period is due - but the human body is fickle, and so he relies on a system to ensure you've actually begun bleeding each month. It's clinical, more than anything - he'll ask you to follow him to the room with the gynecologist's chair, the kind with cold metal that bites into your skin. You'll settle in, legs spread and pretty cunt on display, Kai's gaze never wavering from the sight as he rolls on an additional layer of surgical gloves.

He'll maneuver the rolling seat up to the space between your spread legs, his voice monotonous as he asks you whether cramps have started, whether you've noticed anything unusual, whether you're yet experiencing that occasional bout of horniness that accompanies the first few days.

It's hard to answer with a straight voice as cold, latex-covered fingers prod at you, two thumbs spreading apart your labia to peer at your clenching hole, a single finger even running over your clit to test your sensitivity.

(Blink and you'll miss the way Kai tenses at the noise you make, his jaw clenching and his sharp inhale - he won't comment on it, but tonight it'll be on repeat in his head, your small oh mentally punctuating each of his strokes.)

He's silent once the touching begins, partially out of distrust for his own voice and concentration, and you won't bother to fill in the silence. You're completely dry each time, and after he spends a few moments poking and prodding to look for any signs of swelling or abnormalities, he'll pull back for a few moments.

It's short lived, and as he squeezes a bit of antimicrobial lube onto his pointer finger, you'll only shudder. He'll shudder too, for an entirely different reason, as he slowly pushes a single finger in, taking care to go slow.

(He feels a bit pathetic for being so attentive and slow with the 'exam', but he can't shake the feeling of wanting each and every sexual encounter between the two of you - he counts this as such - to be a positive experience. He wants you to associate him with treating you well, with taking the proper precautions for your comfort. Because ultimately, when he finally works up the courage to replace his fingers with his cock, he wants you to be receptive. He needs you to be receptive.)

It's still silent, and as he pushes all the way to the hilt, he'll curl his fingers slightly. He's moving them slowly and methodically, pressing his gloved fingertips against every inch of your walls, the sensation making you bite your lip.

And Kai's watching you - his gaze flicks between your face and his fingers, wanting to bask in the sight of you but also fixated on the sight of his fingers inside you. All the while he's trying to memorize the exact pressure of how you squeeze him, your natural curvature, committing everything to memory because it'll make his fantasies tonight that much better, that much more real, that much more preparative for when he finally, finally has you underneath him, staring up at him and begging for more, please Kai please...

After some thirty seconds he'll pull back, the wet noise of the lube making you cringe and him shiver, and he'll carefully examine the latex for any signs of blood.

If there's no visible blood, he's quick to discard the glove, immediately washing his hands in triplicate at the nearby sink, his voice finally cutting through the oppressive silence in the room. Everything checks out, he'll say, go shower. I'll have dinner delivered in an hour or so.

He'll pause, turning off the sink, but not turning around to face you. I'll be joining you this evening.

There's no question in his voice, no desire for your permission, only a vague sense of resoluteness that makes your heart sink.

Okay, Kai. The sound of his name rolling off your tongue makes his eyes flutter closed, and he only turns around once he's fully in control. The sight of you still spread in the chair catches his gaze, the beat of silence as he openly stares at your cunt nearly impossible to catch, but nonetheless present.

He swallows. I trust you remember where the shower is in this examination room?

He matches your nod with one of his own, before slipping past the steel door. Once it's shut behind him, he sighs, flexing his hand that had been, just moments prior, inside you. He stares at his finger for a moment, still gloved and protected, before slowly exhaling and returning back to his office, the footage from the examination bathroom already live on the screen as he waits for you to disrobe and follow his instructions.

You, meanwhile, will be left to bite your lip and try to forget the feeling of his finger inside you and the obvious bulge in his slacks.

And as the warm water runs down your back, you'll content yourself with the knowledge that at least the specula remains untouched on the bedside table.

For now.

(TLDR Kai uses checking for your period as practice for fingering you, and yes it's just as unsexy and weird as it sounds. And the longer it goes on, the more likely he is to record it - to record you, really, and the sight of his fingers sinking into you.)